Chapter 9

  Do not let your desire for success blind you into charging head first into danger. When your approach doesn’t work, try to find a new angle of attack.

  -Collected Teachings of the Exalted Sovereign

  Phaidros awoke the next morning to a letter from his brother. Anxious thoughts swirled through his mind. Where did he go? Would he be safe? What if he died and Phaidros never found out? He should have been better to his brother; he should have listened. Amidst the anxiety, anger began to rise. If Phaidros had been stronger, this wouldn’t be necessary. If Charon wasn’t so proud then he’d still be here. If Zenovia wasn’t weak, then his father would still be alive and none of this would be happening. The fire within him demanded him to act. His hand drew into a fist and he nearly slammed it on the table before he released the tension, hand instead going through his hair as he dropped into an open seat. He was truly alone now, with nothing but the fire within to both comfort and warn him. Should he give in, then the flame would take him, just as it took his brother. With great pain in his heart he pushed himself upright again, the sun was just starting to rise, and Zenovia was no doubt going to wring him thoroughly today. He retreated back to his room to don his armor with the silent resignation that whatever followed today was going to be hell.

  It was. Zenovia put him through the same routine as yesterday, except this time they didn’t have the excuse of a ritual in the morning and a smith to meet after to make the day feel any shorter. Zenovia chased him through the jungle, hunting him like he was some pack animal separated from the herd until all of his plates cracked. She never missed. Afterwards he spent the remainder of the day trying to hit her while she taunted him and struck at him every opening she saw. He always missed. By the end of the day, even through the protection of his armor and the fire around his soul, he had never felt more sore in his entire life.

  That was until the next day, then the day after that, and the day after that, until finally on the fourth day Phaidros felt like he had enough. It was storming that day, the heavens opening up in a torrent of rain, boom of thunder, and flash of lightning. He thought he had Zenovia today. He had sprung himself up into the trees and made her chase him without any good openings for over an hour. In the end, when he tried to feint and get her to finally miss, her shot glanced his shoulder plate, the final unbroken plate. It still cracked and with it, so did Phaidros’ senses. The constant failure, his father dead and his brother gone, the downpour around him, Zenovia’s taunting. He roared in frustration. When Zenovia had dropped from the trees, he launched himself at her, sword already drawn as he landed in a puddle of mud and swung out towards her in a violent arc. She dodged backwards and Phaidros followed through with his strike, stepping into it and thrusting at her midsection. She weaved to the side and stepped into his strike, her rifle butt coming up in a hard swing at his face that knocked him clear off his feet and into the mud below.

  His vision blurred as she stepped into view and looked down at him, waiting. Phaidros growled and shoved himself back to his feet, sword forgotten. He stalked toward her, finger jabbing at her. “Is this fun for you? Huh?” She didn’t seem the least bit intimidated, staring him down as he continued. “Kicking my ass up and down the jungle every day? You’re supposed to be helping me and instead all you’re doing is kicking me into the dirt over and over again. What in all that burns is that supposed to teach me? How to take a hit? That thing is going to kill me, Zenovia!” He realized he was trembling but the words continued to spew forth like the storm above them. “Is this all an excuse? Some way for you to feel like you’re tough after you let my father die?” He wasn’t able to get the next words out before Zenovia punched him in the face, splintering chitin and sending him staggering back.

  “You have some nerve talking to me like that, boy, when I’m the one trying to save you from the situation you put yourself in,” she hissed, pointing at him, already closing the distance again as she grabbed him and yanked him close. Phaidros couldn’t see her expression through their helmets but he could feel her glowering anger through the glow of her visor. “I could have called the rite of vengeance, I could have built a team from the ground up to be able to fight that damned beast without having to train some cindering boy who hasn’t stepped into armor a day in his life beforehand.” She shoved him back but Phaidros stood his ground this time, frustration and anger blinding him as he tried to return fire with a right hook. She moved into the strike, grabbing his arm and flipping him over her shoulder with her foot now planted against his neck. “You won’t focus, you won’t listen to me, you’re already dead, Phaidros. All this is just your final death rattle before you go to join your father.”

  Phaidros tried to fight her grip but she had him thoroughly pinned. He struggled anyways, letting out a growl of frustration that echoed over the rain before his head hit the mud behind him with a small splash of rain. Water stained his face with the impact, his own tears. The choked sobbing began, though it sounded distorted through the filters of his armor. The rage subsided into a pure, guttural sadness. He was frightened, alone, and every step forward seemed futile. The flame in his soul offered no comfort now, only an ever-present reminder that he had to keep going, keep pushing. Right now? He felt as if letting the flame overtake him was the better option, to surrender to oblivion and let the fire burn away all that was him. That had to be less painful than this. “I don’t know what to do, Zenovia,” he admitted through tears. “I don’t know what to do, where to go. All of it seems wrong.”

  Zenovia watched him in silence, but her grip on him slackened. She tossed his arm from her grasp and pulled her helmet off, uncaring of the rain as she crouched down to look at him. There was pity hidden beneath the anger, Phaidros could see. “It is wrong. This whole thing is wrong,” she said, gesturing around them. “But we don’t have a choice, Phaidros. We have to keep moving, even when it seems like each step is taking us closer towards death’s door.” Even her voice sounded strained. “Because when we are lost? Then you might as well keep moving, every step forward has a chance to take you to a place that is better than where you were before.” She hesitated before continuing with a heavy sigh, “And you are in a better place, Phaidros. The first day, you lasted minutes before I could break all of your plates, in only four days you’ve made that process take hours. You’re grieving, I know, it is never easy to lose someone close to you like that, it’s a reminder about how the world is unfair and uncaring.” She sighed, running a hand through her now rain-soaked hair. “And I’ve been hard on you. I have to be, Phaidros. It isn’t because I’m trying to take revenge on you, it is because I want you to live.” She jabbed a finger at his chestplate. “I’ve already lost your father and Theseus, I’ll be ash and cinders before I let Za haunt me for losing you too.”

  Through her speech, Phaidros’ sobbing quieted. It was a strange comfort, making him forget about the pit in his stomach for the moment. He finally pulled himself up out of the mud into a sitting position and took off his helmet, carefully wiping away tears with a gauntleted hand. The rain brought a strange sense of calm as the water cooled how hot his face felt from the frustration and sorrow still present within him. “I’m sorry, Zenovia,” he said, voice still shaky. “I said some things I shouldn’t have and… maybe I was projecting a little.”

  She quietly scoffed but replied, “And I have not been the best teacher. I’ve never had to teach someone before.” She looked up at the sky through the trees, thoughtful. “We’re going to call it early today. Let’s let the bad blood rest for now and we’ll try it all again tomorrow. That sound fair?”

  Phaidros hesitated but nodded. “Alright.” He felt guilty now, every second that ticked by was a second closer to his end but he didn’t argue with the chance to let the tension die.

  Zenovia nodded, then put her helmet back on. “First light, same place,” she said, then began to walk away. Phaidros waited for a few moments longer, staring at the ground before he sighed and returned to Dasos as well.

  *

  Despite having the free time now, he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He didn’t want to spend more time with Zenovia than he had to, right now, his brother was gone, Suneater surely had more important things to be doing. The rain had begun to let up by now, leaving the city in the fresh aftermath of a storm. Puddles of rainwater collected in open dirt, reflecting the afternoon sun as it passed overhead and birds sang in the distance while uniformed Ignited wandered the streets as they always did. Phaidros had gone home to change into his own uniform before he, too, wandered the city. He glanced over to others as he passed, wondering what they might be up to or where they’re going. This was a city filled with people in the same situation as him, everyone here was trying to stay ahead of the flame, to find what drove them and improve themselves. Phaidros wondered how anyone could look so calm while they constantly fought off becoming Cindered. He had been ignited for less than a week and he couldn’t imagine people spending years and years like this. How had his father done it? How did Zenovia do it? Did they have the same thoughts he had? Zenovia seemed to be in a similar state as he was in, but before today he barely could see it. Not only were they fighting off the fire, everyone in this city was here because they too struggled with keeping pace with it. Did anxiety cloud their thoughts? Did they go to bed wondering if tomorrow was going to be the last day before they cindered? How could they walk around smiling and laughing with their friends when that future loomed just beyond the horizon for all of them?

  His thoughts continued to wander alongside him until he stopped and finally paid attention to his surroundings. He was in the smith’s district. An idea formed in his head. He couldn’t talk to the others, but maybe Daxia could be a voice of reason? Phaidros wasn’t sure how good of an idea this was, but frankly if he had to stew in his own thoughts for any longer he felt as if he was going to go mad. Soon enough he was in front of Daxia’s Hoard, hand raised and ready to knock. After one final moment of hesitation the fire within spurred him to give a few powerful knocks. Several anxiety-filled seconds passed before the door opened. Daxia stood across from him, dressed in a similar fashion as the other day with a half-filled cup of coffee in her hand, she blinked up at him blearily, “Yeah?” was all she asked.

  Phaidros had a sudden urge to run the other way but instead he stood there trying to remember what he was going to say. “Uh…” was the only thing that managed to leave his mouth. “I um,” he sighed. “Can I get your help? Zenovia’s running me through during training and it feels like I’m beating my head against a wall and my brother is gone and I don’t have anyone else to talk to about it.” Daxia stared at him with one raised brow before she took a long sip from her coffee.

  “Okay, this sounds like there’s going to be a lot to unpack here and I was about to head to the market to pick up some supplies, so let me finish this and we can walk and talk. Sound good?”

  “Um, yeah,” Phaidros said, surprised that she was agreeing at all.

  “Great.” She smiled, showing fangs, then closed the door in his face, leaving Phaidros to stand outside of her door awkwardly while she got ready. When she returned, a large, hovering cart followed after her. “Okay, let’s go,” she said, beginning to head west without waiting for Phaidros, hands in her pockets. Phaidros quickly followed after. “So, Zenovia—she’s the woman that was with you before right? Anyway, she’s training you and you’re having trouble, what’s the issue?”

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  Phaidros sighed, “We spend part of the day where she hunts me throughout the jungle until she cracks every one of my armor plates, I ‘pass’ when I get her to miss or parry a bullet out of the air. Then afterwards–”

  “Stop,” she replied. “I find it’s better to work through problems one at a time. What’s your strategy so far?”

  “Well… I’ve tried to out maneuver and outpace her until she finally missed.”

  “Uh huh…” she said, as if she expected more from the thought.

  “And… that hasn’t gotten me anywhere but Zenovia did say that I’ve been lasting a lot longer which is good.”

  “Lasting longer is great in certain circumstances but I think the goal here is to try and win,” she said with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders, “and with what you have going on it’s not working. So it’s time to change strategies.”

  “But what could I do, there’s no way Zenovia is going to miss, she never misses. If I try to attack her she just dodges and takes the open shot,” Phaidros said, his confidence beginning to wilt. Daxia nodded sagely, then her tail smacked him upside the head. “Ow– Hey,” he said, offended, the tail came in for a second swipe but he dodged backwards, the fur barely missing him.

  She wheeled around to face him, pointing up at him. “There. What did you do just there?”

  “I… dodged it?” Phaidros replied, sounding confused.

  “You didn’t just dodge it, you anticipated it was going to swipe a second time and you reacted accordingly. You picked a sword when you were in my shop. You know how to use it, right?”

  “Yes.” Phaidros answered, trying to follow along.

  “Then it sounds like the only thing you’re missing is anticipating Zenovia’s moves. For Ignited it’s a lot more difficult, sure, but it isn’t like she’s shaped. You’re both on equal levels and Ignited have the reaction to stop a bullet if you’re smart about it. So the answer is simple, anticipate where Zenovia is going to shoot, react accordingly. You said she can’t miss, so stop trying to make her miss.”

  “I…” Phaidros paused, then considered. “When you put it that way, it sounds easy.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, it’s still going to be hard, but in fighting, you want to be the one in control, if you let her have the control then she gets to pick and choose when to engage.”

  “That goes into my second problem though, the second part of training is I have to land a hit on her and she slips out of the way every time.”

  Daxia spun back around, waving a dismissive hand as she continued walking. “Worry about passing the first test, then you can worry about the second. You already know how to use a sword you said, so it’s the same thing, anticipate and try to put her on the back foot.”

  Phaidros blinked, well, it seemed to make sense—and was more direction than Zenovia gave for certain. He felt another well of frustration begin to build but he forced it down, Zenovia had told him she had never trained anyone before. Which brought up a new question. “How do you know so much about this, Daxia? You’re a smith aren’t you?”

  Daxia’s smile became distant, and the exhaustion that seemed normal in her features were even heavier than before. “I wasn’t always, but that life is behind me now.” Her molten eyes flicked over to look at him. “And I’d rather not talk about it, before you ask.”

  Phaidros’ curiosity burned, but he respected her wish. “Right, got it.” The conversation naturally lulled as the two strode across the city. Occasionally some of the Ignited waved to them as they passed or brought a fist to their chest in a salute. Phaidros returned the gesture but Daxia kept walking, the only break from her silence being the occasional yawn. Another question did inevitably come to his mind though. “You know, since becoming ignited, I find it really difficult to be tired, yet both times I’ve seen you it looks like you haven’t slept in days. Is that… a smith thing?”

  Daxia reached up and scratched at her head. “No, all Ignited are the same, I have the same powers as you, I just don’t like to sleep is all.”

  Phaidros raised a brow. “How long have you been awake?”

  “A week,” she answered matter of factly.

  “A… a week?” He tried not to sound too surprised but failed. “I didn’t realize the powers extended your alertness that far.”

  “Oh it helps but coffee does the rest of the heavy lifting,” she said with a fang-filled grin. “Besides, when I have a project in my head it gets difficult to sleep until I’ve finished it. I’m going to give it a few more days before I let myself sleep. You don’t need to get all worried about me for it, this is just how I operate, the armor and sword works fine, yeah?”

  “Yes,” he said, voice trailing off as he thought more but decided against pushing further on the topic. The two exited the gate and entered into the market district.

  Unlike the rest of Dasos, the buildings set up here outside of the wall were not ancient stone buildings but a series of semi-permanent tents built alongside concrete structures for some of the merchants that had set up more permanent lodgings and venues here for both Ignited and the visiting merchants. Unlike the uniformed black of the Ignited, or the grey-uniformed Kindlings, the people here dressed in many different colors, patterns, and outfits, each calling out their wares to the Ignited and other traveling merchants that had begun to stream into the district after the storm. Some people were still pulling down tarps and coverings for the rain. Daxia paid them no mind, walking through the paved streets, people making way for the two of them as they passed. People didn’t seem too fazed by two Ignited walking by. Phaidros was a little underwhelmed. The Order of the Ignited were supposed to be heroes of the common man, but he supposed that if you saw them every day then perhaps that awe was tamed.

  Daxia led the two of them into the market square, where a bunch of stalls were set up in loose collaboration with one another with a circular path that cut through. The stalls themselves were big enough to be small shops in of themselves; if someone was traveling across the galaxy to trade here then they’d most likely have a lot of wares to sell. Phaidros was surprised to see that a lot of the merchandise were simple things like fruits and vegetables, butchered meat, trinkets, and other things that Phaidros couldn’t see the worth of. “What sort of supplies were you looking for again?” He turned to look and see Daxia already conversing with a ra merchant. The man was holding out a small device in his taloned hand. The ra himself was thin, like most of his kind, with barely any heft to his waifish frame. He stood on taloned feet, his frame mostly humanoid save for feathered wings on their back and a crest of red feathers lining the center of his otherwise dark, human like hair.

  “Four bags of Cretian dark,” Daxia said to the man, offering a small card to the ra. Those that were a part of the order got a monthly stipend, though from Phaidros’ understanding it was less on Dasos than elsewhere, due to the nature of the city. The man accepted the card, slotting into the device, and after a small ping he handed the card back to her and picked out four bags bigger than Phaidros’ head and hefted them to the front counter.

  “What’s tha–” Was all Phaidros had time to get out before the bags were shoved into his hands by Daxia.

  “Put those into the cart for me,” she said before wandering down to the next stall.

  It was at that moment Phaidros realized he was being dragged grocery shopping of all things. He followed along, each item in question shoved into his hands for him to put into the car—he didn’t know why she bothered when the cart moved on its own—before moving onto the next one. It gave him more time to think on her advice on his dilemma. When he fought against Zenovia, his heart wasn’t fully in it. He wanted to win, yes, or more importantly he wanted to move on without taking the lesson to heart. That had led to him failing again and again, hoping that Zenovia might give up and teach him something else instead or change tactics. She never did, so he had to. Realization dawned on him. These past days since his father died, he has been riding along with the current of events, but he hadn’t really been present in them. He knew he needed to move forward but was letting others drag him forward as opposed to himself taking those first steps. He had no control over his situation other than the initial agreement to become ignited. If you let her have the control then she gets to pick and choose when to engage, Daxia had said and she was right, in more ways than one. His problem extended beyond Zenovia. New inspiration struck him and he suddenly spoke out as Daxia was heading towards another stall with a human family of four running a store that seemed a lot more mechanical than the rest. “Hey uh, I need to go.”

  She looked back at him, one brow raised. “Hm? Oh, alright,” she said, not offering any resistance.

  “Thank you, Daxia, you’ve been a great help to me today.” He saluted.

  She scoffed at the salute. “Don’t salute me, it’s weird. Go on, you’re welcome.” She made a shooing motion and Phaidros began running off back towards the city and back to his home. Any exhaustion or sore muscles he felt in the moment were gone as he donned his armor again to practice through the night.

  *

  The next day, Phaidros had gotten to the meeting place before Zenovia. He hadn’t slept all night, but that didn’t bother him. With a change in mindset, the fire within him was no longer an anxious reminder but had returned to a comfortable warmth that stoked him onward.

  Zenovia arrived soon after, her helmet tucked under her arm and her rifle on her back. “Eager are we?” she said, one brow raised. “Feel better? How long have you been here?”

  “Yes, yes, and most of the night, in that order.” Phaidros stood upright, resting his blade against his shoulder, his helmet was currently off and sitting against a nearby stone. “Can we get started, I think I’m going to pass today.”

  Zenovia gave him an odd look, then frowned, as if it wasn’t right for him to seem so pleased about this. “Alright, boy. Let’s see what you can do.” She donned her helmet, Phaidros following, and slung her rifle off her back, loading it and then leveling it at him. “Ten-second headstart as al–”

  Phaidros charged her. His blade arced through the air and she kicked back away as the blade missed her narrowly. She let out a sound of surprise but Phaidros didn’t give her time to make a snide comment and was already mid back swing. She leaped backwards, kicking off a tree and over Phaidros as she fired. Several of his plates cracked but Phaidros wasn’t focused on those today. He spun the blade around, whistling through the air before breaking into a sprint towards her. More plates cracked, but the only plate that mattered was the last and his maneuver forced Zenovia to duck and roll to the side before blasting up into a tree. By the time she turned around, Phaidros was out of sight.

  By this point, Zenovia most likely would use life sense on him to find him. He still hadn’t figured that part out but if he used the rest of his senses, hopefully he wouldn’t need to. Phaidros kept on the ground this time, ducking through trees as heard the distinct rustle of branches being disturbed by a heavy object nearby. There she was. He quickly threw himself into cover but not before several more plates broke in quick succession. With a jet-aided leap he was in the trees as well with a clear view of her. She had caught wind of his strategy by now and the second Phaidros moved towards her she fired off what shots she could before making a hasty retreat. Phaidros followed, leaping from trees and swinging through others, the jets in his armor roaring to life at a thought to keep his momentum going. He was already much better at navigating through the twisting branches, vines, and roots that made up the jungle, but Zenovia had been doing this a lot longer still. Soon enough he lost track of her but he did a quick reading of his suit plates. A bunch of them had cracked all over his front and side, but his back had been left completely unscathed. He knew where she’d strike next.

  He heard a rustle coming from behind him and he gripped his sword. Shots rang out, Phaidros twisted, and it was just then that he saw it. He saw what everyone had been talking about. The enhanced reaction, the bullet twisting in the air straight towards where his back plate once was. He swiped the sword across and split the bullet in a shower of sparks before it fell uselessly to either side of him. Silence followed and Phaidros could feel his breath heaving out of his chest. He… he did it. He parried the bullet. Another silent moment followed before a small icon appeared in his screen. “Well, burn me to ash, Phaidros, you did it.”