The Twin Who Out-darkened Heaven
Copyright© 2026 by A. K. Veyron
Chapter 10: The Abandoned Training Ground
The abandoned training ground was exactly as Darin had described it, which surprised Kael. In his experience, a merchant’s description of anything was about forty percent accurate.
It sat at the bottom of a shallow valley, an hour past the eastern road. A crumbling stone wall surrounded a dirt yard about the size of a small market square. Rusted weight racks leaned against the wall. A broken practice dummy lay on its side with one arm missing. At the back, a thin stream ran out of a rock into a stone basin, and beyond it stood a low wooden hall with half its roof gone. On a rise a short way off stood an old stone watchtower, flat on top and empty.
“Welcome,” said Darin, throwing his arms wide, “to the finest training facility in the eastern district. Rent is free, the neighbors are nonexistent, and the ghost is probably asleep.”
“You said there was no real ghost.”
“There is no real ghost. There is a story.” Darin picked up the basket he had carried the whole way. “Old Brenner, the master who built this place. They say he died of rage when his students quit. Now he stands up in that tower and shouts at people with bad posture.”
Kael looked at the yard. “Have you seen him?”
“No. But I always stand up straight, just in case.”
Darin had come prepared. From his basket he pulled two wooden practice swords, a cloth bag of rice cakes, a flask of sweet tea, and a pair of leather gloves meant for a much larger man. He put them on and looked at Kael with great hope.
“Right. I am ready.”
“For what?”
“The lesson. You are a Voryn. Your family has the best sword instructors in six cities.” He held out a sword. “Teach me a noble technique. Something fancy. I will pay in rice cakes.”
Kael took the sword. “I do not know any fancy techniques. Only the beginner forms Master Garrick teaches. First stance, first cut, first guard.”
Darin’s face fell. “No secret family methods? Hidden scrolls?”
“My grandfather had a bad knee and a large collection of teapots.”
Darin sighed. “Fine. Teach me the beginner forms. At least I can say a Voryn taught me.”
Kael showed him the first stance: feet apart, knees bent, back straight, sword at chest height. Darin copied him and wobbled.
“Your elbows are sticking out.”
“They like it that way.”
“Tuck them in.”
“They are shy.”
Kael pushed Darin’s elbows against his sides. Darin yelped. “That is a joint! Have some respect!”
For an hour Darin practiced the first cut, the first guard, and the first stance. He was terrible at all three. His swings were wide, his feet were crooked, and he sneezed twice from pepper dust still hiding in his jacket. But he did not complain, and he did not quit. Each time Kael corrected him, he nodded and tried again.
In the second hour he declared a rice cake break. They sat on the edge of the old basin, and Darin passed Kael a cake.
“I will be honest,” he said, chewing. “I was hoping you would be a secret prodigy. You have the look. Quiet, thoughtful, like a man who knows where the treasure is buried.” He swallowed. “Instead, you are a normal person who knows the beginner forms.”
“I told you I was the other one.”
“You are a decent teacher, though. You did not laugh at me, which is more than my cousins managed.”
“I wanted to.”
“I saw. It was very polite of you to hold it in.”
Kael looked at the sun. It was past noon. He had been here long enough that what came next would look natural.
“I am going to rest by the water. You can keep practicing.”
“Rest? You hardly did anything.”
“I watched you. It was tiring.”
Darin snorted and went back to the yard. Kael heard him mutter, “Elbows in. Do not look at the elbows. Why am I looking at the elbows?”
Kael walked to the far side of the basin, where the broken hall blocked the view of the yard. He sat against the stone wall, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes.
Finally, said Maltherion. I thought you would play with swords all day.
I needed a reason to be here.
You have it. Use it.
Kael began the breathing. In for four, hold for four, out for six. The warmth in his chest answered, steady and low.
Start the circulation. Slowly. Your body has opened a little. Test it.
He drew the warmth up and sent it down his right arm. For two weeks the heat had either stopped at the elbow or burned through in a painful rush. This time he pushed gently and let it find its own way.
It moved. It slid along the inside of his arm, narrow as a thread, past the elbow, past the wrist. His palm tingled like a foot waking up.
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