Yig rubbed his face as he sat up. His eyes slowly peeled open, freeing his vision to see the unfamiliar bed he was lying in. His memory was faint, but he still felt that familiar surge coursing through his veins. Aura—that’s what they’d called it. He couldn’t help but grin with joy. Finally, he had a name to put to that sensation, a name others recognized. As special as that power made him feel, it was even better to have people around who understood what it was like.

  If only Mona were here.

  No. No! He rubbed his face again, perhaps trying to rub the grief away. No matter what, he would not give in to mourning. Life was too fun. He had no time to linger on that.

  He pulled his legs out carefully so as not to disturb the sleeping lamb on the covers, then stood and wandered out of his room to get a better idea of where he was.

  Walking through the hallways, he took in the building’s architecture. The house was crafted from dark wood, with strong beams. Large virginal murals were carved into the walls, presented like paintings. Paper decorations hung from various corners, so thin that the low, dim light shone through them, brightening the images imprinted.

  A couple of rooms had open roofs, allowing the sky to glow upon ponds and light foliage kept within them, with stacks of light rocks directing rainwater down subtle streams. He approached a bush in one of these small gardens and picked a purple berry from it. As he chewed, a strong, unexpected bitterness met his tongue. Though his lips puckered, he eventually swallowed. With a grimace, he walked away from that room.

  He returned to his room to find the lamb still sleeping, curled up with his bed sheets. In the quiet of the moment, the thoughts Yig had kept at bay resurfaced, and he had to sit down to clear his head. He placed a hand on the lamb, stroking the large ball of wool surrounding her, similar to so many critters he’d met in the woods of Chestnut.

  Have to give you a name sooner or later, don’t I? Yig thought. Has to be something strong, a name that represents determination, right? At least that’s what I think. You know what? I’ve got just the name for you—one that’ll be known far and wide if we give it enough time.

  “Spartan,” he said out loud.

  The lamb raised her tired head, as if she’d been called. Then she gave Yig a smile and rustled back into slumber.

  Both their heads shot up when they heard a knock on the door. Slye drifted in without needing permission, greeting Yig with a smile.

  “Dinner is being served, and Pervoick has requested we all join.”

  “We’re all eating at his house?”

  Slye looked slightly guilty at that question. “One of us should have probably explained it to you.”

  They were respectful in the Dining Hall, where the villagers sat, row by row, and ate as one. The walls held many epic paintings, and the tables stretched long—organized back-to-back at equal distances, reminiscent of pews. No plates were used. While outside the Dining Hall villagers carried food on napkins, these tables had rectangular spaces carved down to hold the food, and the only things similar to plates were the bowls from which the food was distributed.

  The art told huge stories—tales of gods and evil, with large mountains and trees at the center. One showed a great god buried under the earth, with a hand reaching up and bursting through the ground. Another showed a tree surrounded by five fairies—one red, one blue, one brown, one green, and the brightest of them all, flying above the tree, shone a strong yellow.

  Slye led Yig through the room, walking him past many tables, a few of which showed interest in their arrival with quick flickers of their eyes. The building had no need for windows, as many sliding doors formed a fourth wall, letting a cool night breeze condition the room, with a canopy outside to block the rain. At the far end stood the chef, with a unique table to display his cooking. Behind him hung the largest paintings in the room.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  Yig’s table was at the other end, where the rest of the students waited for him and Slye. Two were arguing about something irrelevant, while the others sat quietly, just trying to eat. Pervoick sat in the middle of the squabble, irritated, spinning a piece of cutlery between his fingers. They all sat on stools matching the wooden tables, each cushioned with a red pillow.

  Slye pulled out a chair for their guest. Yig stared across the table as he circled it to reach his seat, noticing dishes neither familiar nor smelling like anything from Chestnut. Only a few among the selection resembled recipes he’d eaten before.

  “Good nap?” one student asked.

  Yig, still a little drowsy, just nodded as he sat down, then nudged Slye. “I don’t know most of their names.”

  “Oh, sorry about that. Should have introduced them sooner.”

  The quick rundown of names his mentor then gave left Yig more worried than informed. In all, this team of warriors had around fifteen members, many with names completely foreign to him. Though Slye was helpful enough to point out the five most skilled among them, excluding himself and Pervoick.

  Yig’s fight with Sil had left her face etched in his mind. She seemed to look his way once or twice but was far more interested in the meal before her. She scoffed it down faster than he’d expected, as if it might disappear. Was that how everyone saw him when he ate?

  Mair and Kacur were twins and had been the ones squabbling when Yig arrived. They shared similar features but were easy to tell apart. Mair had black hair like her brother but wore hers longer. Kacur’s hair was shorter, sharing blue eyes with his sister, but unlike her, he’d decided he had no need for a shirt.

  Plum had no hair on his head and carried himself with fine posture. Since Yig’s arrival, he had eaten very little, and what he did eat was consumed with terrific grace. His uniform fit nicely, without a mark. It looked brand new, which it very well might have been.

  Host had taken most of the food off the table since Yig arrived. On her skin, he spotted more scars than he’d seen anywhere since arriving in Sharirun. Yig avoided staring at the muscular figure, for each time he had during Slye’s listing of names, she had glared back angrily.

  Yig’s arrival and the following greetings caught the attention of Mair and Kacur, ending their argument—at least for now.

  “Do you think we can start talking about the raid now?” Plum proposed.

  Pervoick shrugged. “Might as well.” He set down his prong and shifted his posture, presenting himself with authority. “I’m not going to lie, it’s a simple task but a dangerous one. For the most part, I’m relying on your individual competence. I thank our guest for his help, even under the questionable circumstances of his continued presence.” He looked at Yig. “In the following days, you will train alongside us. I know our practices are far from what you know, but I promise you still have much to gain from staying here.”

  Slye patted Yig on the back. “Next few days, we’ll get a handle on that activation you’ve been working on.”

  “Can I ask more about your paper and clay techniques?” Yig asked.

  “No!” Host yelled, staring up from her food. “You might be the guest, but you can’t change the subject.”

  The others flinched at the aggression but also agreed with Host’s point. Yig apologized, and Pervoick continued.

  “Right. Well…” Pervoick said. “From our knowledge of previous encounters, their ‘nest,’ as it’s been called, is a deep cave surrounded by deteriorating trees. The whole area is unnatural, and I suggest we avoid touching anything if it’s within your power.”

  “What?” Kacur yelled. “I mean, how are we supposed to ‘not touch anything’? What happens if we do?”

  “I don’t know what will happen, and that’s why I’m suggesting you stay as safe as possible. Our collected knowledge tells us the toxins the bears spit and bleed won’t kill us, at least in small amounts. But they do eat away at whatever they touch.”

  “How do we get it off—like off our weapons, for instance?” Yig asked.

  “For the moment, our best solution is to wash it with clean water. Not only does it remove a lot of it, but it seems to slow down its effects. It’s most destructive when it lands on stone or metal, in which case water will only do so much. Speaking of which, Yig, your sword will be cleaned by tomorrow.”

  A high-pitched bell rang, turning the heads of half the diners.

  “Does that mean more food is ready?” Yig asked.

  “It does,” Pervoick replied. “But I suggest we raise our hands for the batch after that one. We’ll be spending a lot of time eating otherwise—time that could be spent conversing.”

  Yig’s stomach rumbled, a sound Slye noticed.

  “The one who talks the most in these meetings is you; the rest of us are hungry,” Slye said.

  The rest of the table cheered in agreement.

  “Oh, well, if you really are that hungry…” Pervoick raised his hand, calling over the waiters, who set down a second collection of bowls, spreading sweet and salty aromas under Yig’s nose. He reached forward, scooping up portions of food and dumping them onto his tray, then dug in.

  “Right,” Pervoick said, trying to steady those still shoveling food in with a few gestures to slow down. “We should probably talk about how we divide this team into groups. If possible, I think the plan should be to send people straight for the leader—what we’ve been calling ‘The Queen.’”