The Weight of Living Volume 3: The Price of Wanting Part 2: A Reason To Fight

The Weight of Living

Volume 3: The Price of Wanting

Part 2: A Reason to Fight

Written by HollowVow

Ren Kurose’s Perspective

I had always thought winning was simply another way of making certain someone else lost. It became a considerably more complicated matter once I started caring which side won.

The trouble began with the banners.

They appeared overnight, hanging from the academy’s towers, the balconies overlooking the central courtyard, and the tall iron lampposts lining the main road toward Asterwyn’s western district. Vaelcrest’s golden insignia had been embroidered against dark blue fabric, while the visiting academy’s silver fortress stood beneath a pair of crossed swords on crimson. By morning, even the smaller buildings had been decorated, their windows displaying ribbons that fluttered in the cool autumn breeze. Someone had gone to the trouble of fastening flowers along the entrance steps, although I suspected the flowers would regret their involvement once several hundred students began trampling over them.

Darian thought the whole arrangement was magnificent.

I thought it was an impressive amount of fabric.

“You’re missing the point,” he informed me as we crossed the courtyard.

“I wasn’t aware there was one.”

“It’s tradition. Pride. Competition. Two great institutions gathering to demonstrate the highest achievements of their students.”

“Sounds expensive.”

“Everything sounds expensive when you describe it like that.”

“Most things are.”

He sighed, apparently disappointed by my inability to appreciate the occasion, and adjusted the collar of his uniform. Unlike me, he’d taken considerable care with his appearance that morning. His sandy hair had been combed into something resembling order, his boots were polished, and the Frog Class insignia on his chest had been cleaned until its embroidered edges were almost respectable.

I glanced at him.

“Are you expecting to meet someone important?”

“We’re receiving an entire royal delegation, Ren.”

“So?”

“So I’d rather not look like someone who slept in his uniform.”

I looked down at my jacket.

It was clean.

Mostly.

Darian followed my gaze.

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

We reached the steps outside the eastern academic building, where Cassia and Sabine were waiting beneath the overhang. Cassia wore her Gryphon uniform with her usual copper-auburn braid resting over one shoulder, while Sabine had tied her dark hair back with a narrow strip of cloth. Both carried small bags, though neither seemed particularly interested in attending lessons.

That was understandable. The academy had suspended most of the morning schedule in preparation for Keldran’s arrival.

An unusual display of generosity.

“Morning,” Cassia said as we approached. “Did you hear when they’re expected?”

Darian brightened immediately. “Before the second bell. Their advance escort entered Asterwyn about an hour ago.”

“How do you know that?”

“The southern watch informed the academy’s administrative office.”

Cassia raised an eyebrow.

“And how do you know what the southern watch told the administrative office?”

Darian hesitated.

“People talk.”

“People?”

“Several reliable people.”

I looked toward Sabine.

“How many?”

“Probably one,” she said.

Darian appeared offended. “You have remarkably little faith in me.”

“Experience,” Cassia replied.

She turned toward me before he could defend himself. “Nyra said she’d meet us near the gates. Apparently, Professor Vaust dismissed her class early.”

“Good.”

Cassia smiled faintly.

I wasn’t sure why.

We started toward the western entrance, joining a steady flow of students moving in the same direction. Conversations filled the walkways, accompanied by the tapping of shoes against stone and the rustling of embroidered banners overhead. Some students carried notebooks, apparently intending to record details of the visiting delegation. Others wore scarves or ribbons bearing Vaelcrest’s colors. A group of Phoenix students passed us discussing the reputations of Keldran’s strongest fighters with the grim seriousness of military officers preparing for a siege.

Darian listened with obvious interest.

I wondered how many of them had actually seen a Keldran student before.

Probably fewer than were willing to admit.

Vaelcrest’s western gates opened onto a broad avenue connecting the academy to Asterwyn’s central districts. The road was paved with pale stone, bordered by low walls and carefully maintained trees whose leaves had begun turning yellow and red. Beyond them rose the buildings of the City of Scholars, a mixture of slender towers, old stone residences, and workshops distinguished by their elaborate signs and unusually large windows.

The crowd had already gathered when we arrived.

Students occupied both sides of the avenue, with professors and academy guards maintaining a clear passage through the center. Merchants had taken advantage of the occasion, setting up temporary stalls beyond the gates, and the smell of roasted chestnuts drifted across the road from somewhere near the public square.

Nyra stood beneath one of the trees, looking distinctly unimpressed.

Her black ears were pressed back against her hair, and her tail moved in short, irritated motions behind her.

I approached.

“Enjoying yourself?”

She turned.

“There’s too many people.”

“An unfortunate consequence of an event being popular.”

“Very funny.”

“I thought so.”

She glanced toward the crowd.

“Someone stepped on my tail.”

I looked at her.

“On purpose?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did you tell them?”

“Obviously.”

“Did they apologize?”

She hesitated.

“...Yes.”

“Then perhaps it was an accident.”

“I know it was an accident. It still hurt.”

I considered that.

“Fair.”

She folded her arms, but her ears gradually returned to their usual position. When Cassia and Sabine joined us, Nyra shifted closer to the low wall, where there was more room to stand without having anyone directly behind her.

I leaned beside it.

From there, we had a clear view of the avenue.

The second bell rang.

A moment later, the crowd stirred.

Far down the road, beyond a row of old merchant buildings, a procession appeared.

The first riders wore dark crimson cloaks over fitted armor, their horses moving in measured formation beneath long pennants bearing Keldran’s silver insignia. Behind them came several enclosed carriages, followed by groups of students traveling on foot with their instructors. Supply wagons and additional escorts completed the procession.

Darian leaned forward.

“There they are.”

I watched the approaching delegation.

The difference between the academies was immediately apparent, though not quite in the way I’d expected.

Keldran’s students wore uniforms cut for movement rather than decoration. Most consisted of dark coats with crimson linings, reinforced boots, and narrow belts designed to accommodate training equipment. Some carried swords in plain scabbards, while others wore heavier protective garments associated with particular martial disciplines.

But they weren’t all grim-faced warriors.

Several were laughing.

One young man was attempting to balance a small traveling case on his shoulder while another tried to knock it off. A girl with closely cropped hair was arguing with a companion over something written in a notebook. Farther back, two students appeared thoroughly exhausted by the journey and were looking at the academy buildings with the weary appreciation of people who had spent too long on the road.

They looked like students.

That was reassuring.

I had been beginning to suspect Keldran trained soldiers from birth.

The procession halted before the gates.

Vaelcrest’s senior faculty stepped forward to greet the visiting instructors, and the surrounding conversations gradually quieted.

Principal Orien Valcairn stood at the center of the reception party, his ash-silver hair tied neatly behind his head. He wore the same understated dark robes I’d seen him in before, apparently uninterested in the elaborate garments several professors had chosen for the occasion.

An older Keldran instructor approached him.

The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with a short gray beard and a narrow scar crossing one eyebrow. His crimson coat was fastened with a polished silver clasp, and a longsword rested at his hip.

The two men clasped hands.

Their conversation was too distant to hear.

Then Valcairn laughed.

Whatever the instructor had said, it appeared they’d met before.

Several students began emerging from the procession and assembling beneath their academy’s banners.

I recognized one of them immediately.

Not from personal experience.

From Darian’s records.

A young woman with dark auburn hair stood near the front of the group, examining the academy gates with an expression of calm assessment. She was slightly taller than Sabine, broad through the shoulders, and moved with the easy balance of someone accustomed to carrying a sword. Her uniform bore Keldran’s senior combat insignia, and the practice blade secured along her back appeared well maintained.

“Rhea Calder,” Sabine murmured beside me.

I glanced toward her.

“You recognize her?”

“From the tournament reports.”

I examined the young woman again.

She was listening to another student without looking directly at him, her attention drifting occasionally toward the training grounds visible beyond the walls.

Sabine followed my gaze.

“She’s supposed to be very good.”

“Most of them probably are.”

“I know.”

She sounded more interested than concerned.

That seemed appropriate.

A little farther down the procession, another Keldran student was speaking with two companions while examining a folded diagram. He had dark hair, narrow features, and an expression of intense concentration that reminded me of Cassia whenever she discovered an error in an inscription.

Darian noticed him too.

“That’s Tavian Ors.”

Cassia looked up.

“The tactical specialist?”

“Apparently.”

She examined the student.

Tavian gestured toward the academy buildings, saying something to his companions before returning to the diagram.

Cassia smiled slightly.

“I’d like to see how he designs his formations.”

Darian glanced toward her.

“Preferably from somewhere that isn’t the receiving end?”

“Preferably.”

I returned my attention to the delegation.

Several more students emerged.

Then the conversations around us changed.

Not abruptly.

At first, it was merely a shift in attention, a collective movement of heads toward a figure stepping down from one of the carriages near the center of the procession.

A tall young man descended onto the road.

He wore Keldran’s crimson-and-black uniform without unnecessary ornamentation, though the quality of the material and the silver detailing along its collar were difficult to overlook. His light-gold hair had been tied loosely at the back, leaving several shorter strands around his face, and his expression was relaxed as he turned to assist an older instructor descending behind him.

He exchanged a few words with the man.

Then smiled.

I recognized the resemblance before anyone spoke his name.

The shape of his eyes.

The confident posture.

The faintly aristocratic features that became more pronounced when he turned toward the watching crowd.

Lucien Valthorne.

Prince of Thalmyr.

And, apparently, one of the few people capable of making several hundred students forget how to speak at once.

Darian whistled softly.

“Well.”

I watched Lucien greet another Keldran competitor, resting a hand briefly on the student’s shoulder while listening to something he said.

He didn’t appear particularly concerned with the attention.

In fact, he seemed almost accustomed to it.

Which was probably an unfortunate consequence of being royalty.

Princess Aurelia emerged from Vaelcrest’s reception party a few moments later.

She wore her formal Phoenix Class uniform, her hair carefully arranged and her expression composed as she approached the visiting prince.

For a moment, I expected the sort of elaborate greeting that royal families apparently enjoyed.

A formal bow.

Perhaps several titles.

Possibly a speech.

Instead, Lucien smiled.

“Aurelia.”

She stopped before him.

“Brother.”

He examined her.

Then raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve grown.”

Her expression immediately tightened.

“It’s been four months.”

“An eventful four months, apparently.”

“I’m seventeen, Lucien. I don’t think growing is particularly surprising.”

“You’re right. Perhaps I’m simply getting older.”

“That would explain several things.”

Lucien laughed.

It was a warm, unguarded sound.

Then he stepped forward and embraced her.

Aurelia hesitated only briefly before returning the gesture.

I watched with mild surprise.

I’d never seen her look quite so comfortable.

When they separated, Lucien rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Father sends his regards. Mother would have written, but she decided a letter was unnecessary when she could send me with seventeen separate instructions.”

Aurelia sighed.

“Seventeen?”

“I counted.”

“Did she ask whether I was eating properly?”

“Twice.”

“Studying?”

“Four times.”

“Sleeping?”

Lucien smiled.

“She seemed less concerned about that.”

Aurelia closed her eyes.

“Naturally.”

He laughed again.

For several moments, they continued speaking, their conversation too quiet to follow from where we stood.

I glanced toward Darian.

He was smiling.

Cassia looked pleased.

Sabine seemed particularly interested in the familiarity between the siblings.

Nyra leaned closer.

“She’s different around him.”

I nodded.

“Apparently.”

“Less terrifying.”

“Somewhat.”

Aurelia said something that made Lucien laugh again.

I considered the sight.

It was strange seeing someone who usually approached me as though I were an unsolved administrative problem behave like an ordinary younger sister.

Not unpleasant.

Just unexpected.

The formal reception continued for another half hour.

Professors exchanged greetings, students were directed toward their assigned accommodations, and several academy officials began distributing schedules for the coming days. The Keldran delegation had apparently been given temporary residence in the western guest halls, close enough to the tournament arenas that the competitors wouldn’t need to cross the entire campus before each event.

Darian was already talking about visiting the guest facilities.

Cassia informed him that wandering into another academy’s accommodations without permission would probably be frowned upon.

He seemed disappointed.

Eventually, the crowd began dispersing.

Sabine and Cassia were preparing to leave when someone called from behind us.

“Miss Rook?”

We turned.

Rhea Calder stood several paces away.

Up close, she appeared even more physically capable than the records had suggested. There was nothing particularly intimidating about her expression, but the way she carried herself indicated a familiarity with balance and distance that I recognized immediately.

Sabine straightened.

“Yes?”

Rhea smiled.

“I recognized your name from the published roster. You’re Garrick Rook’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Sabine blinked.

“Yes.”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Really?”

“My instructor studied several of his recorded techniques. Apparently, he has an interesting approach to defensive swordsmanship.”

Sabine smiled.

“He does.”

Rhea glanced toward the practice sword at her side.

“I was hoping we’d have an opportunity to compete.”

Sabine considered her.

Then returned the smile.

“So was I.”

For a moment, they simply looked at one another.

There was no hostility.

No exaggerated challenge.

Just two swordswomen recognizing that the other might be worth testing themselves against.

Rhea nodded.

“Then I’ll look forward to it.”

“Likewise.”

She returned toward the Keldran delegation.

Sabine watched her leave.

Darian leaned forward.

“Well. That was ominous.”

Sabine laughed.

“I thought she seemed nice.”

“She also looked like she could break most of us in half.”

“That doesn’t make her unpleasant.”

I considered Rhea’s footwork.

“No.”

Sabine glanced toward me.

“What?”

“Nothing. She just moves well.”

Her expression brightened.

“You noticed?”

“Hard not to.”

Sabine looked toward the departing student again.

“I’d like to see her fight.”

I nodded.

“So would I.”

We were preparing to leave when Lucien approached.

He wasn’t alone.

Aurelia walked beside him, carrying several documents from the reception, and her expression suggested she’d been explaining something at considerable length.

She noticed us first.

“Kurose.”

I turned.

“Your Highness.”

Lucien’s gaze moved toward me.

Then toward my uniform.

His expression remained friendly.

“You’re one of Aurelia’s classmates?”

“Unfortunately,” I said.

Aurelia closed her eyes.

Lucien laughed.

“Unfortunately?”

“She seems to find my academic performance personally offensive.”

“Because you insist on approaching every assignment as though the instructions were optional,” Aurelia replied.

“I usually read them.”

“Usually.”

Lucien looked between us.

His smile widened.

“I see you’ve become acquainted.”

“Regrettably,” Aurelia said.

I nodded.

“That seems fair.”

He laughed again.

Then extended his hand.

“Lucien Valthorne.”

I looked at it.

A perfectly ordinary gesture.

Despite the fact that the man offering it was apparently capable of making a small army of students lose their composure by stepping out of a carriage.

I shook his hand with my right.

“Ren.”

His grip was firm but not excessive.

“Ren Kurose?”

I raised an eyebrow.

“You know me?”

“Aurelia mentioned you.”

I looked toward her.

Her expression changed.

“Only in passing.”

Lucien smiled.

“Several times.”

“Lucien.”

“Usually while discussing the academy’s standards.”

I considered that.

“That sounds familiar.”

Aurelia looked deeply displeased.

Lucien chuckled.

Then his attention returned to me.

“Well, Ren, it’s a pleasure. I hope you’re enjoying your studies.”

“Mostly.”

“Only mostly?”

“Some professors assign a lot of reading.”

He nodded solemnly.

“A terrible burden.”

“Truly.”

His smile became almost conspiratorial.

“Don’t tell Aurelia, but I occasionally neglected my written assignments when I was younger.”

Aurelia stared at him.

“You did not.”

“Once or twice.”

“You finished every assignment before the deadline.”

“That doesn’t mean I enjoyed it.”

I laughed.

Aurelia looked between us, apparently disappointed by the conversation’s direction.

Lucien glanced toward the others and offered a greeting.

Sabine introduced herself, followed by Cassia, Darian, and Nyra.

He spoke to each of them with the same easy warmth, asking Sabine whether Garrick was well and expressing interest when Cassia mentioned her Sigil specialization. He didn’t make a spectacle of Nyra’s ears or tail, merely acknowledging her introduction before continuing the conversation.

She appeared to appreciate that.

Then Lucien looked toward me again.

“Will you be competing?”

I glanced down at the green insignia on my uniform.

“Not in the main tournament.”

“I see.”

He didn’t sound disappointed or dismissive.

Merely curious.

“Then perhaps you’ll join one of the open-class events.”

I blinked.

“The what?”

Lucien smiled.

“Your academy hasn’t explained those yet?”

Darian immediately leaned forward.

“Open-class events?”

“Yes. They’re part of the exchange program. The main tournament has its eligibility requirements, but the open divisions allow students from any class to participate in smaller competitive exercises.”

I looked toward Aurelia.

She sighed.

“They’re auxiliary events. They don’t contribute to the championship score.”

“Ah.”

Lucien nodded.

“But they’re taken seriously. Some of the most interesting competitors I’ve met began in open divisions.”

I considered that.

Darian was already looking excited.

A dangerous development.

Lucien glanced toward the academy towers.

“Well, I’d best return to the others. We’ve still got a considerable amount of unpacking to do.”

He inclined his head toward our group.

“Enjoy the afternoon.”

We returned the gesture.

Then he turned toward Aurelia.

“Dinner later?”

“Of course.”

“Try not to bring your assignments.”

She frowned.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Naturally.”

He smiled and continued toward the guest halls.

Aurelia watched him leave.

Then she turned toward me.

“Don’t let him encourage you.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“To do what?”

“Anything reckless.”

“That seems oddly specific.”

She sighed.

“Just remember that the open divisions are still supervised competitions. They’re not opportunities to embarrass yourself for entertainment.”

I considered that.

“Then I’ll avoid embarrassing myself.”

She looked unconvinced.

Then she followed her brother.

Darian waited until she was out of earshot.

“Ren.”

“No.”

“I haven’t asked anything.”

“I know what you’re going to ask.”

“Then you’re clearly interested.”

I sighed.

Sabine smiled.

Cassia began laughing.

Nyra looked toward the guest halls.

Then toward me.

“Open-class events sound interesting.”

I glanced at her.

“Don’t encourage him.”

She smiled.

“Maybe I wasn’t talking about Darian.”

That was unfortunate.

Apparently, the entire academy had decided I needed something to do.

And the tournament hadn’t even begun.