The Unkind and Less Unkind Memories (4)

Hope did say the past was the past…But he could make an exception for this...circumstance. 

He first began with the basics in training, moving his arm in smooth, deliberate arcs as the shield sliced through the air.

Swoosh!

Swish!

Light. It was very light.

Hope had held a sword before, especially when training with one of his commanding officers. So, he supposed he could imagine the same with his shield. Just. Smaller. 

Much much smaller.

But after he did that for some time, as his hot breath blew like a pale cloud in front of him, he decided to merge himself into the memories from his training days. He would first catch them in his memory's sea, imagining specific moments in his past. He either replayed it or moved on to the next memory to train with.

But the sounds would always come first.

As Hope moved on to the next memory, there it was, the clash of steel ringing in his ear. The stifled grunts and barked words from his commanding officers followed after. And the current night which cloaked him and the city in its embrace was now fading as fluorescent lights started to split through the air. After came a high ceiling and a wide expanded room, shadowed figures being traced in the distance.

The process was just like how it was in the wasteland.

How the images would flash sporadically at first before piecing themselves together.

A faint figure began appearing in front of him. Fighting him. Before they became concrete, the memory gripped each of his nerves and muscles and pulled him into the scene.

Immediately, Hope was submerged. 

He felt his own breath coming in ragged bursts, and his muscles burned with exertion as he squared off against his commanding officer: Captain Doran. Although he could faintly feel himself gripping onto his shield as he followed through the movements during the present, his mind replaced it with a sword. Becoming one with the past.

Sweat dripped down Hope's brow.

Eyes stinging—

—but he didn't dare blink.

Hope could feel the eyes of the other soldiers around him at the edge of the mat, but all that mattered was him and his opponent.

Kwang! Kwang! Kwang!

"Again!" Doran's voice shouted.

!!!

The captain lunged forward, his sword flashing in a blur of motion.

Instinctively, Hope brought his blade up just in time to deflect the strike. But the force rattled up his arms as he held his ground, pushing back with all his strength.

Of course, Doran didn't give him a moment to recover. 

He pivoted smoothly, coming at Hope from the side as the sword arced towards his ribs.

Hope's eyes flicked towards him in that split instant.

He spun on his heel, his blade catching Doran's at the last second.

Kwangangg—

The clash of metal rang out like a bell.

His body strained with exhaustion and his heart pounded. Harsh gasps blew past his lips as he kept this up for…ten minutes?

"Too slow, solider!" Doran barked as he pressed into his attack, forcing Hope to retreat step by step across the matted floor.

Relentless.

Kwang! Kwang—

Each one faster and more precise than the last.

Hope's mind raced. Forcing his limbs to swing to block, parry, and counter what he could with everything he had.

Wooosh!

Hope ducked.

The near miss sent a jolt of adrenaline through his veins.

His fingers twitched as he pulled himself forward for a counterattack, his sword slashing upward in a wide arc.

Too wide Hope had thought.

His captain was already ready.

Doran sidestepped effortlessly, bringing his own blade down with a force that sent Hope's sword clattering to the ground.

Another distant clattering rang in his ear. But before Hope could register it, the tip of Doran's sword poked against his shoulder.

Hope forced himself to stand, his chest heaving, feeling the heat stuffily hug around him and the sticky sweat lathering on his skin. Even a salty taste touched his tongue. His eyes remained calm as he glanced back at his commanding officer. Murmurs then swept across the room from the soldiers as they watched from the sidelines.

Doran paused, some emotion shifted in his eyes before he sheathed his sword. A slight chuckle escaped him but quickly disappeared as if he was almost embarrassed by it.

He extended a hand to Hope. "You're improving."

Hope blinked.

He stared at his hand before reaching out reluctantly and shaking it. The contact feeling strange and foreign against his palm.

"But in battle, there won't be room for mistakes."

Usually this was the moment Hope would hear one of the soldiers voice 'I'll do better' or 'I'll give it my best' or 'I won't let you down.' But Hope remained silent. He just took a duly note of his words. Logically, anyone could die when they walk out into the battlefield. And Hope was not spared from those numbers.

So, he simply nodded in acknowledgment.

Doran then turned away and began heading towards another commanding officer behind the sidelines, a Master in fact. Ah. It was her. The one who liked drinking coffee and had an opinion on almost any subject. Hope would train against her as well.

And that was hell.

However, she was not dressed in the usual tunic attire. She looked like an extravagant civilian with her white blazer and wide flimsy black hat that covered her hair and face, spare for the smile that was glossed with black lipstick.

"Take deep breaths, soldier." She said.

Hope held back a frown as he took in a deep breath. 

Counted to ten. 

Then breathed out.

He couldn't deny that it did help but he didn't need reminding for it.

Doran smiled at her. "Ah wife. Giving advice to one of my students rather than greeting me–"

"That 'advice' is something I tell myself everyday when I come home to you, y'know."

Hope blinked.

He wondered what that meant. Not that he was too curious to even ask.

Before he turned away, her voice called out to him.

"Hope!"

Hope paused and looked back.

"Don't forget." She said. "Report to my office at 1400 hours tomorrow for a briefing."

Majority of the soldiers tilted their heads and murmured in confusion. Although only a few from the crowd remained indifferent about it. In fact, Hope noticed that she wasn't only talking to him but to them as well.

Doran seemed to have missed that small communication.

"Stealing my students as well?"

She let out an annoyed sigh. "Why don't you-"

And they continued their bickering.

Hope turned and started to reach for his dropped sword—

"Erk!"

Krrr!

Hope tripped over his shield.

He kicked it, the metal scratched against the floor as it slid across the roof. Hope caught himself as he leaned against the ledge, the cold surface meeting his palm. He was so absorbed into his memory that he didn't realize he had also dropped his shield at the same time he dropped his sword.

"Sigh….."

'How many memories was that?'

Ten different memories. And some, again, he replayed at least four times. He took breaks in between, recreating them without being absorbed instead.

It felt like forever since he last trained. But the ritual to practice brought some...normalcy back.

"Meet at 1400 hours..." Hope muttered, echoing from his recent memory as their voices still lingered in his mind.

"That should be enough training then." Hope said as leaned on his knees, taking in deep breaths to calm his heart.

Slowly but surely, the memory melted away from his nerves. The ache that rattled his arms had faded as he counted the seconds. Although he was still sweating himself as he went through this memory process for some time. He tried to make it a rule that he wasn't going to be absorbed into one longer than thirty minutes.

'Must've been hours…' Hope thought as he looked up.

East.

At that moment, the dark ambience in the city drained as a new glow started to appear. The thick blanket of clouds had returned, the moon now long gone down the horizon. But in the far distance was a piercing light.

This time he could see the sun rising.

Dawn had finally approached.