Runed - Eien's Origins

Rain soaked the outer training paths.

Wood struck wood — sharp, uneven. One misstep.

Eien hit the ground. His grip slipped, and the stick rolled from his hand.

He reached for it.

Too slow.

The instructor brought their weapon down across his back.

Eien’s body, seized. A broken breath tore from his throat.

The next strike came faster.

And the next.

“Weapons,” the instructor said, voice flat, almost bored.

Another hit.

“Don’t hesitate.”

Eien curled in on himself, arms tightening around his ribs.

The blows didn’t stop.

“They don’t think.”

A pause.

Then a kick drove into his side, flipping him onto his back.

Taking a pause, they stared down unblinkingly.

“Metal doesn’t sulk when it’s beaten into shape.”

Eien choked, trying to force words through the pain.

“S-stop… please… instructor—”

The instructor clicked their tongue.

Disappointed.

Their foot slammed into his stomach again.

“And it doesn’t beg.”

Eien’s vision blurred. His body folded inward, shaking.

The instructor looked down at him, expression unmoved.

“Swords chip. They break.”

A beat.

“They don’t shatter this easily.”

Their heel struck his head.

This death was only a forced rest.

With what felt only a little while later, he found himself resting on bedding.

Sitting up, feeling the sheets beneath his hands.

He glanced around the room.

Dry and empty, closed in.

No one in sight.

“Did she send me here after that?”

Eien thought to himself for a moment.

“I doubt someone else found me and brought me back.”

The silence ebbed away at him.

Pressing him to get up.

Still sore.

He moved to leave through the sliding door.

The hallway outside was cramped, lined with doors to rooms just like his.

He forgot just how many the infirmary could house.

Stumbling, limping.

Towards where the lining of doorways ended.

To his surprise, oddly enough.

There stood a person.

“Oh, you left your room?”

They paused, brows furrowing, tongue clicking.

“Returning to training already?”

Eien was slouched with tired eyes, did he appear eager to return?

“Uh, No—”

He straightened his posture.

“I still feel beat, I just wanted out.”

Sighing, their brow settled.

“Oh well— Don’t overstay. This isn’t a retreat, it’s an infirmary.”

The two shared a silence.

But in order to break it.

They wasted no more time, walking past.

Another sigh once they had gone two paces.

A weapon.

Many weapons.

Is that all we are?

But whose weapon am I?

With a moment of hesitation, Eien moved on.

Leaving through the front door.

The moment played on loop in his head.

Not the part of getting his stomach kicked in—

The pain that came with reminded him enough.

Rather what the instructor…

What she said.

Would it be wise to abandon thought and hesitation?

He couldn’t find it in himself to do so.

Outside the infirmary, the courtyard stretched open.

Someone was always training there.

Even now.

They didn’t stop for anything.

Eien wasn’t going to be joining them.

But it isn’t like he would have a choice sooner or later.

“Eien.”

A flat voice made itself known.

He turned to face the sound.

Upon seeing who it was, he hesitated in his speech.

“Instructor… What do you need?

Despite his grudge, respect to authority was a must.

Their gaze narrowed.

“Change your clothes—”

Right, he wasn’t wearing suitable clothing for training.

Their tone changed, distasteful.

“— And don’t get clever.”

Quickly, he bowed.

He would be training after all.

Arguing served no purpose.

He found the barracks quiet when he returned.

Eien had changed into the proper clothes.

Paying extra thought to each fold and wrinkle.

It wasn’t his choice to become a soldier.

He wasn’t given an option.

Every man was a sword for the homeland.

The instructor had a choice, they didn’t have to be here.

A life of comfort, leisure.

She gave it up.

For this.

Well, it wouldn’t be wise to keep the devil waiting.

Finished up, Eien departed his barrack.

A short walk to arrive back at the grounds.

She stood in front of him, tossing forward a stick.

“Fetch.”

It clattered against the turf, rolling to a stop at Eien’s feet.

Picking it up, he held it by his side.

Clicking her tongue, she readied her own.

“You were supposed to catch that.”

She glared unblinkingly.

The two remained at a standstill.

Growing impatient, she took the first step forward.

Tensing, he readies his mind and stance.

Her right foot jutted towards him.

Propelling her feint to his left shoulder.

He bites the fake.

Adjusting his guard and turning his body.

But she retracts.

Thrusting between his guard.

He tried to block.

But her stick jabs his sternum.

Driving his breath out of him.

It felt too fast to see coming.

But a swing strikes his chin.

“You’re lucky.”

He falls.

“Just barely, I stopped myself from hitting your temple.”

Curling in on himself.

She paused, taking a moment to stare down at him.

She plants her leg on his gut.

“Do you remember a word from last training?”

It was branded in his mind.

“Did you get hit too hard?”

She pressed more of her weight on him.

“Or not hard enough?”

He felt compelled to beg.

But he knew that’d only bring more pain.

Growing bored, she stepped off of him.

“Pick yourself up.”

She kicked some dirt onto him.

The dry dirt gave warmth.

It would’ve been easy to stay there.

“The longer you stay down, the longer you stay beneath me.”

She tossed her stick on top of him, turning away.

“Take them to the keep.”

Just like that, she walked off.

Relief overcame him at hearing the sounds of her leaving.

Not a person, not one.

Not a thought to come to his aid.

So he laid there.

Until the heat of the sun became too much to bear.