Road to Mehmoura

Training in footwork while marching was grueling. My legs felt like lead, every step a battle against the exhaustion that clung to my body. Eldran kept a close eye on me, correcting my stance and guiding my movements with an unrelenting intensity. His corrections were sharp and precise, his instructions demanding.

"Not like that, brat. Shift your weight more to the front. Your balance is off," he would say, his voice a mixture of frustration and determination. I could feel his eyes boring into me, analyzing every misstep, every slight imbalance.

One day, as we set camp, Eldran and I sat by the fire, the warmth a small comfort against the chill of the desert night. He looked at me with an intensity I hadn't seen before. "Why do you want power so much?" he asked, his voice low and thoughtful.

I hesitated, the memories rushing back with a painful clarity. "I had everything taken from me," I began, my voice trembling slightly. "My family, my home...everything. I want the strength to take everything from them, just like they did to me." My face twisted in fury, but I remained calm, my eyes burning with the intensity of my resolve.

Eldran listened quietly, his expression unreadable. "I went through something similar," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of hidden pain. Before I could press him for more, he cut me off. "Enough. Get some sleep. Your next test awaits at our destination."

His words hung in the air, a mix of comfort and mystery. I felt a strange connection to him, a shared understanding of loss and the relentless pursuit of strength. But Eldran's past remained shrouded in shadows, his pain a secret he kept close.

The next morning, Eldran woke me early, the cold desert air biting at my skin. "Show me everything I've taught you," he instructed, his eyes sharp. "We're close to our destination. But first, there's a camp of seven sinners ahead. Use the techniques i showed you. Make it quick."

My heart pounded in my chest as we approached the camp. The sinners, rough and menacing, stared at me with cruel eyes. One of them, a burly man with a scar running down his face, sneered at me. "The fuck you think you're doing, brat?"

I forced a mocking smile. "Your camp looked interesting. Thought I'd visit."

"Interesting, huh?" he growled, lunging at me with a blade. "We'll show you what's interesting when we skin you alive."

Fear gripped me, but I remembered my training. As the blade swung towards me, I dodged, my footwork swift and precise. I countered with a punch to his jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. The others charged at me, but their attacks were clumsy, their movements predictable. I ducked and weaved, dodging their blows and striking back with quick, powerful punches. A fist to the gut here, a punch to the jaw there. They fell one by one, their bodies hitting the sand with dull thuds.

"Huff...Huff...Huff.." When it was over, I stood panting, my chest heaving with exertion. I had done it. I had faced them and won. I walked back to Eldran, my body trembling with a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration.

Eldran nodded approvingly. "Good," he said. "Through your lack of talent, you are making steady progress. As a reward, I'll explain the concept of Sutra in more depth."

He summoned ancient runes, their glow casting intricate patterns of light across the dark desert sand. "These runes are part of the ancient language of this land," Eldran began, his voice taking on a reverent tone. "A tongue whose origins remain shrouded in mystery. Some say it's the language of the gods themselves."

He let the runes hover in the air, their luminescence mesmerizing. "You know that mana is the fuel for magic, allowing its user to bend reality through incantations. But Sutra is different. Sutra is channeled through the heart, driven by a strong desire, a powerful will."

I listened intently, absorbing every word. Eldran's explanations were always profound, but this felt different, almost sacred. "Sutra is neutral," he continued. "It doesn't recognize good or evil. It's an expression of one's innermost self. Each person's Sutra is unique, shaped by their desires, their experiences. However, certain skills can be learned and mastered through rigorous training."

He paused, letting the significance of his words sink in. "You don't need to know the ancient language to use Sutra. It's not something that can be learned from books or teachers. Sutra chooses its bearer. There are two types of people who can wield Sutra: those who are born with it and those who force it through sheer willpower. The first group, the naturally gifted, were often seen as potential threats and many were eradicated to prevent disaster. The second group, those who force Sutra, are incredibly rare. It's been decades since someone channeled it by force, driven purely by the strength of their desire."

He looked at me, his gaze piercing. "Sutra manifests in response to the heart's deepest call. It's not about incantations or rituals. It's about raw, unfiltered emotion. That's why it's so powerful and so dangerous."

The runes flickered, their glow pulsing with Eldran's words. "Understand this, Su. Sutra is not just a tool or a weapon. It's a part of you. It reflects your soul, your deepest aspirations and fears. To master Sutra, you must first understand yourself. You must confront your inner demons and embrace your true self."

I felt a pang of doubt. "Do you think I can do it?"

Eldran's voice softened. "Don't doubt yourself, Kid. You may lack the talent, but your survival in the abyss and against the Leyths shows that you have the potential. Maybe, just maybe, you can harness Sutra and make it your own."

The march continued, my training relentless. Each day brought us closer to our destination, and each step was a new lesson in footwork. One evening, after a particularly grueling session, Eldran paused and looked at me with a hint of approval. "You're getting better," he remarked. "This should be enough for now."

As we neared our destination, the anticipation grew. Finally, we arrived. Eldran stopped, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "We're here," he said, pointing to a town in the desert.

The city sprawled out before us, a bustling oasis amidst the barren sands. Narrow streets wound through rows of adobe buildings, their walls adorned with vibrant murals and banners. The air was filled with the hum of activity—vendors shouting out their wares, children playing in the alleys, and travelers haggling over goods.

At the heart of the city stood a massive arena, its imposing walls towering against the sky. The structure was ancient, its stonework etched with symbols and scenes from long-forgotten battles. People constantly moved in and out, eager for the next spectacle. The sound of cheers and roars from the crowd echoed through the streets, adding to the city's vibrant and chaotic atmosphere.

Eldran's eyes were fixed on the arena. "Welcome to Mehmoura," he said, his voice filled with a mix of nostalgia and anticipation. The sight of the city and the looming arena sent a shiver of excitement down my spine. This was a place of trials and tribulations, where warriors were tested and legends were born.