Turning Point

The air slowly changed as the snow began to fade. Eel could feel the cold rush back of winter finally come to an end. The weather was warming up, and the ice had dripped away to the warm symphony of the spring season. He was happy; finally, the shirtless practice would be less of a bother. Oriòn had made him spend two hours every morning and every evening in the garden swinging his sword shirtless in the cold. This was apart from his normal daily training and patrol with the cadets, and the fight lessons with Æsà. He had spent the last four months training every bit of his body for combat.

"Okay, squad, let's do this," yells Ratchet, standing by the drill course.

It was time to race again, and Eel always wondered why they all kept such high expectations, knowing well by now that Æsà would win. They start the course at the command of Oriòn, running around the challenges one after another.

"Shit!!" Ratchet yells, "Donkey, horse, and leopard shit. Why can't we beat that girl's time?"

"I think we are just worse than her," replies Arti, panting as he drinks from his bottle. "Cause look at that," he says, pointing at the scoreboard they eat by the drill. "She's just a few moments off from catching up to the Captain's record."

Eel smiles as he stares at her. "She is perfect," he murmurs, walking to her as she finishes the course. "The other cadets still think they can beat you," he says.

"It's good to dream, don't you think, my lord?" She responds, laughing.

Her smile never seemed too dull. Everything about her made him feel warm.

"You are staring again," she says, running her hands through her locks.

"I can't help it," he replies. They smile at each other, he knows she knows she has his heart in a chokehold.

The doors to the training ground open. The whole floor pauses as his father walks into the grounds. Everyone, including the other squads and their captains, all stand in salute to the Regent. Eel could feel his heartbeat grow bolder as Destro walked amongst them. Jupiter walked behind him, the golden cowries on his broad shoulder glimmering under the steaming sun.

"At ease," Destro commands, walking to the center of the grounds without paying attention to Eel.

Jupiter smiled at him as they walked by. Eel could feel himself slip back into his shell. There was no way this would be good for him.

"I hear your graduation is in three days. You will all be graduated after fulfilling an assignment with your captains that I deem fit for royal guards," Destro says, his voice thundering across the grounds. His huge figure casts a shadow across the floor as he speaks to the cadets. "I have also decided to move your ceremony till the weekend so you can all be decorated by my brother King Cosmos himself."

The room shivers in excited silence. Eel could feel the excitement within everyone around him as Destro spoke. He would be excited, but his father's presence always meant something weird was about to happen to him.

"Your captains will receive your assignments tonight, but for now I congratulate you all for reaching this moment. Becoming royal guards is not an easy journey," Destro says as he walks towards Oriòn and places his hand on his shoulder. "Now, captain," he says, "I'd like to see the product of your time with the cadets."

Eel looks away as his father says this. Not like his father was looking at him, but he could sense this wasn't normal procedure and was therefore a test for him to presumably fail.

"Yes, Regent," Oriòn responds, clamping his hand on his chest as he salutes Eel's father.

Destro signals to one of the captains, "Set up a chair for me," he commands.

The captain scurries across the floor to get a seat for him. It always felt strange for Eel whenever his father was around. Apart from Jupiter, Destro moved around with an entourage of royal guards and officials. They all circle the training ground as the Regent sits across from the sparring circle.

"Let us show the Regent how we train," yells Oriòn. The cadets salute and get into positions as Oriòn pairs them all for one-on-one combat drills.

"Squad Oriòn vs. Squad Lèo," he says, pairing Eel's squad with the best squad in the training. "Pair up," he continues.

This wasn't the first time they had competed, and they all rotated fighting one another as much as possible. Except for Æsà and Qadær, they had fought eight more times since Æsà broke his arm. Each time both squads are paired, he tries his best against Æsà, one time, he even managed to hit her squarely across the jaw. Eel had thought it was over, but Æsà recovered almost immediately, slamming into his head with a perfect kick and knocking him out. Everyone loved it when they faced off against one another.

They stared each other down once more, both equally spiteful of one another. Eel looks across at him and sees Andòr. He enjoyed sparring with Andòr, they were evenly matched, and like the other cadets, he didn't try to mess Eel up while they fought.

"Not this time, Eel," Oriòn commands, pointing at the circle. "You go against Qadær today," he says out loud so Æsà could hear.

"What?" Eel asks.

Oriòn glares at him like Nymèŕa about to pounce. Eel turns away. "I'm sorry, captain," he whispers, walking to the center of the circle.

Qadær walks towards him slowly. "Oh, I am going to enjoy this," he says, punching into his fist as he smiles at Æsà.

Eel looks at his father; his eyes always felt so cold to Eel. He looked at him and could feel his feet shaking like the ground would give way and the world would gobble him up into its core.

"Let's do this," Qadær yells across him.

Oriòn walks to the center of the mat. He stood between them, staring coldly at Eel as he whispered, "Show them all who you are."

Qadær looks at Eel with amusement all over his face. "Yes, little lord. Show me who you are, other than a coward who doesn't even deserve to be here," he says as he walks away from the center and to the other side. "Let's do this, captain," he yells from across Eel.

Eel stares at Oriòn, he clenches his fists and walks to his side of the circle.

Oriòn gives Eel a slight nod before walking out of the circle. "Fight!," he commands as the hall falls into a burning silence.

Eel looks to Æsà, who stands just outside the circle. He takes a deep breath. "Kick his butt," she whispers to him as he stamps his foot and takes his fighting stance.

Qadær also stood across him, ready to go. He wobbled gently towards Eel with both hands up, throwing subtle feints. Eel moves backward, following the edge of the circle. "Take your time and evade," he thinks to himself, watching Qadær with all the focus he could muster. He knew it would be death to go blow for blow with him. Qadær had years on him in hand-to-hand combat, and only Æsà had beaten him throughout the training.

Eel circled Qadær, who followed him squarely, his eyes searching for an opening to pounce. He takes his time to assess and knows he has only one shot at getting out of this victorious. He changes his stance, also mimicking Qadær with a subtle feint to the air. Qadær smiles as he begins to throw punches across to Eel. He strikes the air with great precision but is surprised as Eel dodges away from them and tackles him to the mat.

Eel knew Qadær liked to fight on his feet; he had always wondered why he never tried to grab Æsa when they fought. Ever since Oriòn started to incorporate grappling and wrestling into Eel's training, Eel had begun to understand fighting had many shapes and forms, and the warrior who survives is the one with more cards to play.

"It's important for a warrior to be able to fight in all scenarios," Oriòn said. "You'd be surprised how many people get killed because they think all fighting is done on their feet."

Qadær falls flat against the mat, he punches into Eel's back groaning and cursing, "You bastard," he whispers. Eel pushes up against Qadær's body, swinging and hitting with his elbows and fists. He felt the crunch of Qadær's face against his blows. The rule of sparring was simple: any form, stance, or technique was allowed but no weapons. Qadær pushes away from Eel. He hurries to his feet, angry and ready to charge.

"Never, not you," Qadær yells out. He stands across from Eel, ready to go again as he lunges forward with a punch. Eel dodges, grabbing him by his fist and flipping him to the ground. Eel could see the face of Oriòn sparkle with excitement, but this was the moment he had been waiting for. He could not afford to be distracted. He held Qadær down with his legs and pulled against his hand as he felt Qadær tap rapidly against his legs. "I yield," he yelled out loud, "I yield."

Eel stands up, he can feel the air shake as the room gasps in surprise. He turns to Oriòn, who smiles and nods at him with content.

"Next," he commands, pointing to the next pair of fighters.

Eel looks across at his father; his cold eyes feel distant in his fluffy beard. He never knew his father to laugh or cheer publicly. But he could feel a subtle pride oozing out of his demeanor as he watched the other cadets spar in the circle.