Chapter 75: Basics
The last Bora Golem hit the ground with a heavy, final thud, and Lucas simply let his legs give out beneath him, collapsing into the scorched dirt without any grace left to spare.
"Okay," Mark wheezed, flat on his back beside him, gauntlets finally powering down and disintegrating into sparks of light. "Okay. That’s it. I’m done. I’m officially retired."
"You’re barely thirty years old," Eleanor said, though she’d sunk down onto the grass herself, breathing hard, her blade of living flame finally extinguishing.
"I may not look thirty, but I feel like I’m over eighty years old." Mark wheezed, chest rising and falling as he took deep breaths.
The fortress gates groaned open ahead of them, and a small crowd immediately began spilling out to meet the returning survivors— familiar faces mixed with unfamiliar ones, survivors who’d scattered during the drop finally reunited with people they’d feared they might never see again.
"Iris—!"
Callum’s voice cut through the noise, and he came sprinting across the field, relief flooding his face entirely as he ran towards her, catching her in a hug that nearly knocked her off her feet.
"You made it," Iris said, laughing despite herself, holding on just as tightly. "I told everyone you’d be fine."
"Wasn’t even that dramatic, honestly." Callum pulled back, grinning. "Landed pretty close to the fortress, actually. Found a handful of others who dropped near me too, and we just walked straight here. Been here for days, I think, wondering when the rest of you would show up."
"Lucky," Mark said, rolling his eyes from where he still lay sprawled in the dirt. "Meanwhile some of us got desert sinkholes and mind control fortresses."
"Sounds like a you problem," Callum said cheerfully, and Mark rushed at him, carrying him on his shoulder.
"Is that any way to talk to your Leader? You’ve grown balls haven’t you?" He lifted him, forgetting about the exhaustion and Callum laughed and screamed, forcing at barely audible apologies between laughs.
[Ding!]
[Faction member count updated: 150.]
The notification settled over the reunited crowd and a quiet exhale of relief and exhaustion escaped Lucas’ mouth.
He looked around, a warm smile finding its way on his face...
’We made it...’
***
Lucas found Eleanor later that evening, once the wounded had been tended to and the newest arrivals settled into whatever space the fortress had left to offer, sitting alone near the edge of the training yard and staring into the horizon. On her face, there was an expression of deep thought, as if she was reliving everything that had happened over the past few days.
Lucas walked over to her and stayed silent for a few moments before speaking...
"Can I ask you something?" he said, easing himself down beside her, exhaustion still clinging to his limbs.
"Depends what it is." She replied, turning to him.
"I want to learn how to use a sword." He said it plainly, without preamble. "Properly. Not the desperate swinging I did against Ryker."
Eleanor glanced at him, eyebrow raised. "Why me?"
"Because I’ve watched you fight with one. You’re good. Really good, actually; better than I ever gave you credit for. The fight with Ryker would have cost me if I didn’t find a blade lying around." He shrugged, a little self-conscious. "I can’t keep relying on [Ignition] for everything. The fight with Ryker proved that. If it glitches out in the middle of a fight again, I want something to fall back on that doesn’t depend on luck and me hoping that I get some kind of divine intervention..."
Something in Eleanor’s expression softened, though a faint, knowing smile tugged at the corner of her mouth and Lucas could’ve sworn he saw something teasing spread across her face. "You do remember how it went the last time someone tried to teach you how to use a weapon, right?"
There it was...
Lucas groaned, the teasing digging up memories he wanted to leave buried. "Please don’t bring up fencing class."
Eleanor grinned. "Freshman year. The funniest required elective I have ever seen. You lost to literally everyone in that class, Lucas. Including the girl who broke her wrist in the second week and she still came back to beat you left handed."
"That was ONE semester, and it was a long time ago. I was distracted by finals."
Eleanor laughed, clearing not buying it. "You were distracted by everything. You tripped over your own feet twice and still got folded." Eleanor’s laughter rose, genuine amusement breaking through the exhaustion of the day. "I still remember the look on the professor’s face."
"Are you going to teach me or just relive my humiliation?"
"Can’t it be both?" But she was already rising, gesturing for him to follow her toward the open stretch of the training yard. "Fine then. Just the basics. Let’s see what four years and about a dozen near death experiences have done for your coordination."
***
It quickly became clear what the answer was: not much.
"Grip’s wrong," Eleanor said, adjusting his fingers around the practice sword’s hilt for what felt like the fifth time. "You’re choking the blade. Loosen it. You want control, not a death grip."
Lucas adjusted, swung experimentally, and nearly dropped the sword entirely when the motion pulled him off balance.
"Okay," Eleanor said, deadpan. "That’s new. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone disarm themselves before."
Lucas shrugged. "It’s a process."
"It’s really not supposed to be this hard." She circled him, studying his stance with the same critical focus she had used once when it came to correcting some of the survivors at the fortress. "Your feet need to be wider. You’re standing like you’re waiting for a bus."
He adjusted again, and she nodded, satisfied, before demonstrating a basic overhead swing.
The move was slow and deliberate, blade cutting a clean arc through the evening air.
"Like that. Follow through, don’t just stop the motion halfway."
Lucas attempted to mirror it. The sword went wide, missing the intended arc entirely, and the follow through sent him stumbling sideways into the dirt.
Eleanor pressed a hand to her mouth, visibly fighting a laugh.
"Don’t," Lucas warned, picking himself back up.
"I’m not laughing."
"You’re absolutely laughing."
"I’m allowed to find this a little funny." She composed herself, though the smile lingered.
Lucas looked at the sword in his hand. "Is this supposed to be this heavy?"
Maybe he didn’t notice it. Maybe the adrenaline rush he had when he fought Ryker didn’t allow him to notice.
Eleanor walked towards him and demonstrated another swing. The blade coming down in a clean arc before she did a follow through with a horizontal slash cleanly across the air.
Eleanor turned towards him. "You see that?"
Lucas nodded.
"Okay then, try again. Slower this time."
They ran through the same handful of basic strikes for the most part over the next hour — overhead cuts, horizontal strikes, simple blocks and whatnot .
Lucas’ form improved considerably with each repetition, though ’considerably’ remained a generous description of the progress.
He overcorrected his stance until he looked like he was bracing for an earthquake.
Eleanor laughed. "Hahaha you look like you’re holding in shit."
Okay, that sounded more accurate...
He swung too hard on the horizontal cuts and overcommitted his weight, stumbling forward every few times, and Elle could swear that if he swung again like that, the blade could come flying off his grip entirely.
"You know," Eleanor said, watching him fumble through another attempt at a basic parry, "I genuinely don’t understand how you’re this uncoordinated with a sword and this precise with your fists. A weapon is supposed to make things easier. Not this... whatever this is..."
"Fists don’t require me to track a three foot piece of metal," Lucas said, breathless, lowering the practice blade. "There’s also less to think about."
"Fair point." She nodded in agreement. She understood that using a blade needed a certain kind of coordination and careful reading of an opponent’s moves. And seeing Lucas struggle with mastering basic techniques, she felt kind of sorry for him.
She studied him a moment, arms crossed, some new calculation working behind her expression. Then, she moved towards him. "Okay. New approach."
"Please tell me it’s not more basic swings. I don’t think my dignity can survive another overhead cut."
"No." Eleanor summoned her own blade, the blade of living flame flickering to life, casting warm light across the darkening training yard. "I think you learn better under actual pressure. I don’t think You’re not built for slow, technical drilling. You’re built for improvising in the moment, which is exactly what got you through the fight against Ryker in the first place."
Lucas eyed the blade warily, a brief expression of anxiety flickering across his face. "What are you suggesting? Because I don’t like the look of that..."
Eleanor settled into a ready stance, a small sharp grin spreading across her face.
"I’m suggesting we spar."
Lucas blinked, shocking plastered on his face. You’re joking, right?"