Pain wasn’t the best teacher but it was the fastest one.

  Plenty of methods existed for those in pursuit of knowledge or skill, each with varying degrees of efficiency, and perhaps a healthier setting would’ve allowed for saner methods. Sanity was for bitch ass bitches though, so I deferred to the expertise of suffering. Forcing myself in positions where the only escape was to simply be better.

  Every morning I sparred with Isidro, attacking the retired soldier with the enthusiasm of the insane. Swinging my wooden approximation of a blade only to be swiped aside and suffer in turn. My body had become a swan song to agony, bruises upon bruises.

  Magic hadn’t been idle, I was incorporating it into the healing process and it was…acceptable. Spending the rest of the day regulating a stream with the intent to mend was basically what I was doing for fatigue, the word just had to take a different meaning in my mind. Which was surprisingly hard since I was used to mending fatigue, sometimes I found that I was slipping into the old.

  Wasting my precious resources was plenty of motivation to stay focused though, even when making broadheads.

  Funny, I wasn’t capable of manipulating mana while focusing on something else before, yet in such little time it had almost become second nature. Like I’d graduated from driving school or some such bullshit. My control wasn’t good (though I had no frame of reference) but it was at the point where I could treat it more like a muscle to flex rather than a maze to navigate.

  Just had to get used to it, and the soothing warmth of healing—oh, that’s another thing. Where mending fatigue felt like caffeine—

  A crack of wood against the calcified structure I called a skull, snapping my head to the side like a whip. I stumbled and barely dodged Isidro’s next strike, the man gave no opportunities for me to re-orient myself in a flurry of mad jabs and slashes. I blocked one, was struck in the knee, then chin, dodged the next, and finally delivered retaliation in the form of a stab.

  He knocked my blade aside with casual ease, the World whispered in my ears of his intentions and I managed to parry the up-down strike that followed. A flicker of surprise glinted at the edge of Isidro’s eyes, and the corner of his lip curved slightly upwards.

  What followed was an attempted record on child abuse.

  Isidro wasn’t the best swordsman in the world, he couldn’t be, all he had was formal training. Granted, that was more than can be said for just about anyone else in the village but it didn’t make sense for him to be that good. I thought I’d closed the gap some from the earlier beatings he’d give me to shoo me away, but apparently not.

  “What’s the hurry, little elf?” Isidro said, tapping his blade on his shoulder. “By all means keep laying on the ground like a fool, the goblins are only right at our doorstep. Surely they’ll wait if we ask politely?”

  “Master, this is—”

  “Shut up, boy,” Isidro cut Jiso off.

  I didn’t let out a groan, my dignity refused such a show of weakness in front of the man. I grit my teeth and staggered back up to my feet, raising the wooden blade to a level that was just barely acceptable for a defence. Isidro grunted in approval and took a step forward. I had to breathe through the blood in my mouth, nose too broken to allow for any kind of airflow.

  His first swing was light and easy to predict, I stepped back out of the way just enough to dodge.

  Then I charged, thrusting my blade forward, aiming straight at his belly. He parried it and pushed me to the ground. I stared at the sky for a moment, but it was only a moment, and I got back up soon enough.

  “I told you not to hold back,” I said, spitting blood to the ground.

  Isidro smiled at me. “You’ve gotta work for it, elfie.”

  So I did.

  Over and over and over.

  Every bruise, just a little tougher. Every parry, just a little better. Progress.

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  Ever present progress.

  The insanity of it was actually soothing, in a way. Here there were no worries of the future plaguing my mind like incessant gnats. Here my skills were sharpened and tested over the whetstone of a veteran. Here I just had to push and be beaten, and in the act of rising again prove that I was something of worth. Here the demon delighted in the overwhelming—

  Wait, the demon?

  I looked deep into myself, and there it was, a little imp with a bulbous head, smiling at me with naked mania. It was happy, I could feel that to the core of my being and…I couldn’t feel its emotions before. Just metaphors it chose to share through the connection of our minds but now I could tell it was satisfied, like a lion licking its chops after a filling meal. Its smile widened at my attention, and I could feel the complex machinations of a predator oozing from its form.

  It opened its mouth, and took a bite of my soul.

  An instant of pain, so intense and holistic that it threatened to stop my heart from sheer shock. It wasn’t like anything I’d felt before, a mix of emotional and physical. Like I was made less of who I was in the span of a moment, like a part of me was taken—

  What did the imp do what did it—

  It took a small piece of the soul it harvested, not even a tenth of a tenth, and ate it. The rest? The rest it pushed into my body, and suddenly pain was overtaken by an overwhelming flow of power.

  In all of this, just an instant.

  I could feel my body change, become more where my soul became less. Muscles and joints and cartilage and bone and brain—

  I could see the strike coming down, perfect in execution. Could hear the World sing Isidro’s praise at such a beautiful demonstration, like a moment of perfection captured in the sanctity of my memories. I could see it, it was slower than it should've been.

  I parried it, and struck Isidro’s arm.

  His eyes widened in shock and backed away from me to recenter himself. I blinked, blood flowing down my face. From my nose and…eyes? I brought up a hand. Yes, both eyes were leaving blood to flow like tears.

  Isidro could see it, as could Jiso.

  A spike of panic shoots through me—

  “Calm down,” Isidro said, it sounded too authoritative for his standard cadence.

  “I can explain,” I said.

  Isidro snorted and shook his head. “No need, only magic could’ve given you a moment like that. Seems like it took its toll though.”

  I blinked, magic…if I used my mana to do that I might’ve killed myself. It wasn’t wearing off either, not entirely at least. I could feel some of the change in my body settle as though it were my natural state of being, and the aching chasm where a piece of my soul was missing.

  But I could lean into this.

  I gave a nod, slow and cautious, and thanked the heavens that my mother wasn’t there.

  “Figured,” Isidro snorted. “All that smithing…well, kind of obvious in hindsight, isn’t it? Take a rest, knife-ear. I hear mana-sickness is a bitch.”

  “Okay…” I said as I walked over to a very conflicted looking Jiso.

  That was my life for the month, incessant smithing after intense training.

  Me being a mage had apparently become something of an open secret, according to Jiso. Everyone knew that my sudden intensity couldn’t be explained by motivation alone, at least the adults did, and chose to respect my wish not to flaunt. The children just thought I was cool as fuck, Jiso and Uria had their suspicions.

  I kept up the facade even after Isidro called me out, just felt like the right thing to do. My demon didn’t appreciate my lack of enthusiasm when it comes to flaunting but frankly? It could go fuck itself.

  More goblins were found, more goblins were killed.

  Days turned to weeks turned to a month—

  Until one morning I woke to the sound of marching feet.

  I rubbed at black and bleary eyes, sat up on my cot and let out a long yawn. I stretched out the kinks in my back and looked around to find neither mother nor father resting in the house with me.

  Then there was the marching and clinking of metal outside, I raised a brow of curiosity and got up. It hurt, but pain was kind of always around these days, so I learned how to deal. I walked outside to the front of the smithy where I found my mother staring at a procession of soldiers walking through the village.

  “Army’s finally here?” I said.

  Her mother flicked her gaze to me, cringing slightly at the sight of my bruises. “They are.” She nodded.

  “Where are they going? Not going to stay for the day?” I said.

  “Some will,” Asna said. “Perhaps a hundred, so that the farmers don’t have to worry for their cattle. The rest’ll be going to the real threat though. No point in loitering here.”

  “Sounds reasonable enough,” I sighed.

  Asna’s ears did a little twitch and she turned to me. “We’ll be safe, my daughter. I have been through many hordes in many places and here I still stand. The army isn't leaving us to die by doing their duty.”

  “Would be good for my sanity though,” I grumbled.

  “Selfish,” Asna chuckled. “Must be from your father, I am a paragon of humble and charitable demeanour.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sure, mom.”