Date: April 30, 541, from the Fall of Zanra the Dishonored
Morning in Ligra was never truly quiet. The city, spread at the foot of the hill on which the Agrim estate stood, awoke long before the sun's rays could touch the tiled roofs. From afar came the dull tolling of the Order Temple's bells, the shouts of porters by the river, and the steady hum of waking markets. But here, on the upper terraces of the estate, the air was different—cold, clean, and saturated with the smell of wet stone and pine needles.
Dur stood at the edge of the balustrade, watching wisps of fog slowly retreat from the alleys. His body ached—the dull, familiar pain in his muscles after yesterday's "Labyrinth" reminded him of every wrong move, every collision with stone walls. He slowly clenched and unclenched his fist. The skin on his knuckles had roughened, his palms were covered in calluses that no longer burst and bled, but had become reliable armor.
People in the world beyond the orphanage walls turned out to be the same predators, only more cunning and cruel. Regret was an unaffordable luxury, for which he simply had no strength left between exhausting training and the struggle for his own place in this new, complex world.
"Too early for philosophical musings, my friend," came Maël's voice from behind.
He had approached silently, but Dur sensed his presence by the slight disturbance in the air—his senses sharpened every day. Maël looked rumpled, with shadows under his eyes, but his posture held a firmness previously uncharacteristic of him. The son of Agrim Ma Rat no longer resembled the pampered youth Dur had met at the market.
"Koch is waiting for us on the lower yard," Maël continued, adjusting his belt. "Judging by how he looked at us after we came out of the Labyrinth yesterday, today we're in for not just a beating, but something worse."
They descended the spiral staircase carved directly into the rock. Master Koch was already standing in the center of the training ground. He was motionless, like one of the statues adorning the garden—a massive figure in simple leather armor, arms crossed on his chest. His spirit, "Leaden Fetters," wasn't active, but Koch's very presence created a zone of heavy, oppressive authority around him.
Koch took a step forward, his gaze, sharp as an arrowhead, piercing Dur.
"Dur. You are a hunter. Your movements are effective against beasts, but against a master, you are an open book. You have killed people, I know that. You didn't flinch in the forest, and that's good. But killing a brigand and fighting a warrior are different worlds. You win because you're willing to go all the way, but one day that won't be enough. Your Energy… it's still like a wild stream after a storm. It splashes in all directions, wasting nine-tenths of its power."
Then he turned to Maël.
"And you, Agrim heir, rely too much on your Spirit. 'Adaptability' is a great gift, but it makes you lazy. You wait for your Spirit to adapt your body to the blow, instead of not exposing yourself to it in the first place."
Koch fell silent, letting the words sink into their consciousness. Behind him, two servants carried out a heavy wooden rack of weapons.
"You have completed the initial stage. Now you are no longer just recruits the Agrim family invests food and shelter in. Now you are an investment. And investments must yield profit. The world we live in is structured. There are seven levels of Energy mastery. Most people never even reach the second in their entire lives. Those who pass the third become captains and lords. Those who go higher… they change history."
Dur listened with bated breath. This was the first official explanation of a system he had only intuitively felt.
"Dur, you are currently at the first level—'Novice.' Your trickle flows, but it's weak. Your body is a vessel. To move to the second level, 'Warrior,' your trickle must become a Stream. You must learn not just to feel energy, but to make it part of your breathing, your muscles. Your case is unique—you have no Spirit. For many, that's a death sentence. But for you… it could be an advantage. You have no 'parasite' eating part of your power. Your vessel has incredibly thick walls. You can densify energy in a way no Spirit bearer at your level can."
Maël frowned, digesting the information. "And me?"
"Your energy is also at the first level—'Novice'," Koch cut him off. "You are like a man trying to feed a giant with breadcrumbs. Your progress will slow until you develop your body to the 'Pillar' level."
Koch pointed east, where the sky was already beginning to take on an alarming, crimson hue.
"Alvost won't wait for you to become Masters. There, beyond the Ridge of Sorrow, Consul Valerius is already sharpening the swords of his legions. We hear the whisper of war in every caravan coming from the borders. My task is to ensure that when these walls shudder, you are something more than just corpses in expensive clothes."