Once Upon A Time

10 cycles ago.

The First Equinox

Tharul 1001

My bow sunk to my side in expected disappointment. My arrow had struck the torso of a tree, completely missing my target that had run off and dissolved into a whoosh of swirling leaves.

I freed a built-up sigh; frustration straining the corners of my face.

"You will get better," my master consoled.

I snorted wryly. "You have been saying that for cycles."

I moved forward, trampling over the undergrowth as I made my way. A brown leather vambrace fortified on my dominant arm, its leashes hooked around my index finger, middle and thumb. The bow was crafted of flexible, slender yew wood, and the wound around the grip was dyed a red rawhide.

"And with every cycle, I have seen you improve greatly compared to where you began," he said to my back. "An inevitability when perseverance and a commendable work ethic are the weapons in your arsenal."

Today was my archery lesson. Whilst I sought to strike mammals in the woods for my own skill-honing benefit. Seliah was up in the Regnum enduring a music lesson by my mother's demand. The one thing she tolerated about Seliah was her melodic gifting. She played the qualem instrument like an angel, an instrument found among the native populace. Autherines. As Seliah's appearance could attest to it, Autherines are beautiful beings with also a penchant for creating beautiful things. Harmonious sounds included.

I yanked the arrow from the trunk and slid it rearwards to return it to the quiver strapped to my back.

"Come now, I'll only conclude today's lesson when you eventually make a shot. The length of the period depends solely on your concentration. If it be that we are here until the eventide, then so be it."

A frown rumpled my forehead as I stared back into those two emerald gems, the white looted from his eyes. The same emerald hue crawled up the sides of his neck, patterned markings that infringed his jawline, eddying vines that reached for his temples. He wordlessly motioned me forward, and I fell into step with him. Together we trudged through the woods on the quest to scout for my next failure. My master, Leon, was a retired Sergeant of king Arma's northern army before he took the position of one of my mentors.

Distracted, I looked up. The sun above us was blazing like a fiery ball in the sky. It was a-dazzle with splendour. Between the gaps in the forest's canopy, lances of its molten-gold beams splashed onto the forest floor.

Leon halted—his protruding ears erected—he jabbed a fist beside his head and the signal yanked me to a standstill. My master was a meta, with heightened physical abilities and acute senses, which I'm sure served him well in combat. Metas have animalistic attributes that they're more attuned with, and his is superior hearing. When a creature produced a sound, he could listen for the echoes reflected from surfaces—anywhere in the environment—even at great distances. From the information contained in these echoes, he can perceive the animal and their spatial relations.

"Three ringerds flying southeast," he informed and turned his gaze skywards to not where they were but where they would be.

Ringerds, horned-faced birds with elliptical wings and feathered coats, and they often travelled in packs of four or three. In preparation, I split my fingers, and located the index finger above the nock of the arrow. I positioned my other two fingers below. My grip of the bow rested right on the pad of my thumb. This placement ensures that I don't squeeze the bow too tightly, which would cause it to torque inwards.

The dissonant squalls of incoming ringerds finally alerted me of their presence. They flew into my field of view, wings flapping calmly as they rode the noontide thermals. I stood with my shoulders perpendicular to my target, my feet shoulder-width apart.

I pulled the string into a full draw, muscles bunching in my back, achieving my anchoring point.

"Remember," Leon whispered his counsel into my ear. "You need to follow through with your arrow's release. After you've let the bowstring go, your draw hand should continue moving backwards. Do not aim for the shot, but focus on the target."

My chest inflated with a ready breath. Preparing for the follow-through that ensures that all the energy in the bow would be transferred cleanly to the arrow. My eyes dead-set on the third ringerd, with the tip of the arrow aimed high. I released it. The wooden bolt struck the bird in the heart. It plummeted to the ground, landing with a hard thud.