Adversary

I’ll make it back, Kass, the boy thought desperately. I promise. Once I kill this thing.

He pivoted fluidly to evade another swing of the adversary's obsidian blade, then planted his feet to catch the next attack with his staff. The dark blade nearly cleaved the boy’s weapon in two, but it held. His opponent pulled back, and the boy darted forward to deliver a deathblow, aiming the point of his staff directly at the creature’s neck.

The adversary dissipated, leaving a wisp of dark air in its place.

Again...? The boy settled into a stance, eyes cautiously scanning the vibrant greens of the woodland arena for his foe’s reemergence. His eyes lingered briefly on the cliff’s edge, making a mental note to be mindful of his footing. “Surroundings are key,” Uncle had always said.

The boy had frequently bested men nearly twice his age, but that experience meant nothing if he couldn’t land a blow. If he’d had time to complete his training, to learn from the Great Vagabond, he could’ve won. He could’ve….

No. Regret was a wasted emotion. He was here now, and he would save them. Whatever it cost.

A violent rustling of leaves to the right caught his attention. He spun as a pillar of dark wind swirled before him, taking the shape of a creature nearly double the boy's height. The only features revealed by the profound darkness of its hood were a pair of blazing red stars masquerading as eyes. The creature’s light-swallowing blade formed last, black as the midnight sun, and a shiver snaked through the wound on the boy’s shoulder. Once again, the boy felt the abnormal sensation of ice-laden air.

With barely a hesitation the creature swooped forward, graceful as shadow, its blade poised to strike. The boy readied his staff, and Spoke.

Terrae: Indomitable.

The shadow’s piercing blade met the boy's makeshift staff -- and went no further. The adversary’s eyes widened infinitesimally, and the boy couldn’t help but flash a bloody grin as a memory of his uncle resurfaced.

“Nonsense,” Uncle said, sipping his ale. “That’s all that’s left. The words we use to speak to each other are just a pale imitation of what once was. Centuries passed, and people forgot what it meant to relate to the true world. The world beneath. But the Speakers? We remember. Maybe you can, too. Hopefully that’s not too much to ask from a street rat….”

The boy’s grin faded. Forgive me, uncle.

The adversary brandished its unarmed claw of a hand. Wind gathered at its call, and the boy’s feet left the ground as he was shoved back by the invisible force. Panic nearly overwhelmed him, but he sharpened his mind and Spoke once more.

Aqua: Adaptation.

Tension dissipated from his muscles, and his body moved unconsciously. Still flying back, the boy leaned into his momentum and flipped vertically. His tattered boots skidded in the grass as he slowed to a stop and effortlessly settled back into his stance.

Ignis: Fireheart.

His muscles flared imperceptibly and a mild warmth permeated his chest, but that debilitating chill remained. It wasn’t enough.

In the palace of his mind, he painted images of their faces. His classmates, bound forever by their love of revelry. Madame May, heading her school of kindly gardening physicians in her grandfather’s place. And the mayor’s daughter, Kass. Another memory came, this one from childhood. A memory of the night before he would leave to train with his uncle.

“Let’s do it now!” Kass said as the two sat beneath their pear tree. With May’s help, they’d tended it together for almost a year. “Remember what May said about the legend of the star-shaped pear?”

He remembered, but grinned and shook his head.

Kass rolled her eyes. “If two people share one, they’ll be destined to meet again. So… if we do it now, tonight, you’ll come back.” She smiled. “What do you think?”

If the boy failed here, there would be no meeting. No one would be able to stop the midnight blade from finding them. Their souls would join his uncle’s within that blade, forever trapped.

Ignis: All-consuming.

Heat swelled. Muscles bulged. The boy bounded forward, dislodging dirt and grass as he sprinted with inhuman speed. The adversary stabbed at him, but he evaded it easily. His staff whistled, knocking the dark blade free from the creature’s grasp, and continued -- striking shoulders, forearms, ribs, legs. The creature’s anatomy wasn’t like a normal man’s, but it was all the boy had. And he used it. The fire in his arms convinced him he’d never moved faster than he did now. This was the summit of his ability, the culmination of hours of training. Uncle would’ve been prou--

Another attack cut dark air. The boy’s nostrils flared and he spun around to strike at the adversary’s neck. Air again. He might as well have been striking wind.

His arms slowed as his fire dimmed. On his next breathless swing, his feet tripped him and he dropped. Kneeling, he gulped air. Sweat stung his eyes.

The adversary reformed and loomed over him. Its eyes glared mockingly. Its boot lifted and slammed into the boy’s stomach, his shoulder, his chin. The boy reeled and coughed blood. He raised his staff in defense, but the ebony blade flashed and the staff fell to the ground, still gripped by the boy’s now-dismembered arm.

The adversary pulled back its fist and punched, stopping just short of the boy’s face. The boy blinked, then felt a dense impact nearly snap his neck. He was knocked backwards and landed in the dirt, dazed and dangerously near the cliff’s edge.

Terra… Tolerance….

The pain lessened somewhat, but his body was not earth; flesh and bone could only endure so much. He pushed himself up gingerly, and grit his teeth at the pain of his missing limb. The adversary stalked forward, drawn to his weakness.

He’d lost. Water, earth, fire, all his training. It hadn’t been enough. And now, he would join countless damned souls in eternal midnight. Followed shortly by his entire village, including….

NO! One last gambit, one final move. Fighting every impulse, as the adversary approached, the boy closed his eyes. And listened.

It was near, he knew. Everywhere. That elusive voice he’d often dreamt of. The great vagabond, the ceaseless wanderer. Coming and going as it willed, unbound by obligation or circumstance.

Its laughter stroked the leaves of the trees, its song harmonizing with something inside the boy’s soul. He grasped that song firmly, translating it one note at a time until the words finally came. Not spoken, but understood.

...never.

The boy frowned, eyes still shut. What?

Crafted from water, borne of the earth. Dust at the beginning, and dust soon enough. But before the end, before rejoining earth, you deign to believe you could become wind?

Crunching grass. The boy’s eyes snapped open to see the adversary almost on him. Its eyes burned with proud malevolence. The boy rose shakily, the blood from his phantom limb freely watering the grass.

Never, the words repeated. You could never become the wind.

The adversary flicked its shadowed fingers. A breeze with the impact of a horse’s kick crashed into the boy. He flew back, clear over the cliff’s edge into open air. The creature didn’t even bother to wait for his fall; it turned and began heading north, in the direction of his village. Its claws flexed impatiently.

For a long moment, the boy hung over the abyss. Lightness bloomed in his chest and he waited for the drop to begin, but the seconds slowed until time barely moved at all.

Why? the boy asked faintly. Even his inner voice was losing strength. Why can’t I… become like you?

A scoff. I see you. You embrace the adaptability of water, and tolerate its wavering consistency. You admire earth’s fortitude, but recognize its close-mindedness. Revere the passionate flame, but acknowledge its love destroys as much as provides. You perceive the duality in these things, but not in the wind. How could you ever become what you fail to understand? You marvel at my freedom, yet remain ignorant of its cost.

Its cost….

Another memory. “Languages may differ,” uncle said for the thousandth time, “but empathy binds all creation. Light creates shadow. Darkness demands radiance. And empathy reveals both. Remember well, street rat. The true business of a Speaker is listening.”

The lessons of other elements flashed through the boy’s mind. Sunlight spent meditating in shallow rivers and tranquil woodlands. Moonlight spent staring silently into campfires. The wind spoke true; every element had its advantages. And if that was true, then each had to have its weaknesses.

Nature’s duality. Living rivers, frozen ponds. Stalwart earth to drifting dust. Buoyant flame, dimming embers. Sweeping winds….

I see you, the boy said to the wind. Liberated from pain, and attachment, and fear; your freedom is unbound. You avoid pain, and the triumphs in overcoming it. You have nothing to lose, and no idea what it means to appreciate what little you have. You’ve never known fear, so you’ll never know courage. Your freedom is loneliness.

The wind was silent for a long moment. The boy tensed, anticipating that his deadly descent would finally begin. But the wind spoke again.

The wind blows where it wishes. You may hear its sound, but never know where it comes from or where it goes. I will not remember this; memory means nothing to one who never looks back. But you have shown promise; perhaps you are more wind than water, more air than earth, more gale than flame. I look forward to meeting again, for the first time, and may your memory serve us both. My freedom is loneliness, my loneliness is peace, and my peace is freedom. Be free, young wanderer. Let go.

The boy felt his body lighten until he seemed to weigh nothing at all. Instinctively, the boy gestured with his unmutilated arm.

The wind answered.

The boy righted himself as the wind lowered him back to the cliff. The adversary was still walking in the direction of the village. The boy inhaled deeply, and spoke.

“Lucien!”

The adversary stopped. Darkness swirled around its clawed hand, and the midnight blade manifested once more. The creature turned to face him.

Steam emanated from the boy’s wounds, including what remained of his mutilated arm. They were cauterized in seconds. Rock and stone assembled from the dirt to form a replacement for his lost limb. Sunfire erupted into the replacement hand, taking the shape of a blade identical to the adversary’s. A jagged shard of crystal ice materialized into the fingers of his living hand. The wind sang a new song, and the boy blasted forward.

He closed on the adversary and his sunfire blade clashed with midnight. Their main weapons locked in a stalemate, the boy stabbed his dagger into the creature’s chest. The adversary’s eyes smirked as it began to dissipate. The boy Spoke.

Ventus: Pressure.

A violent storm encased them in wind and rain, and the adversary’s form solidified. Its eyes widened as the boy’s crystal dagger penetrated deep into its chest, where a man’s heart might have been. But the boy wasn’t done.

Ventus: Liberation.

Arcs of lightning ripped into the storm, performing a frenzied dance around them. Lightning flashed three times, illuminating even the shadows of the adversary’s hood. With each flash, the boy paid the cost of becoming wind.

First, his uncle. A man who’d dedicated his life to learning the secrets of the world, while still finding the time to raise an impoverished orphan. Lightning.

Then Kass. Her gentle eyes were unmistakable, twinkling just the same as when they tended their pear tree. He knew he’d never see them again. Lightning.

And with the final flash came the face of a young man. One taught by rivers, mountains, and flames. One whose eyes carried one last dream. Lightning.

The wind sang.