There have been many that have professed to be my betters. They were crushed by the weight of their false pride and my iron fist.

  - Gilgamesh of Uruk.

  Meditation, what useless nonsense. Clear your mind of extraneous thoughts? What use was there in pretending to be a rock? It was all mysticism and mumbo-jumbo.

  Instead of doing that, I delved deeply into the nature of my magic. My recollection of scattered bits and pieces of knowledge was clearer here, perhaps due to the very nature of this pce—this was, after all, a realm of the subconscious.

  Where there were gaps, I could infer. Where there was nothing, I could theorize. Like the philosophers of old, I applied rational thought to my current circumstances. This led me to the conclusion that I had been lied to. In this pce, Fen was not, and could not be, the sole master. If it was a creation of the mind and soul, then I had as much control as anyone.

  With this realization, I struggled against the constraints of this dream world, calling upon my magic again and again. At first, it was just a trickle, the tiniest of echoes, but over time, the connection grew stronger. There was a strain, a mental strain that I could not keep for too long, one that left me mentally exhausted as I fought the limits of the pce. Days, weeks, months, or years - the flow of time was fluid here - passed between attempts. Practice with Fen was an exhausting proposition on its own, and this added much strain to my already fraught mind. But it had become a project, a great work, and a mark of my rebellion. I had no choice but to divert whatever mental resource I had after contesting with Fen to its progress.

  So, in time, not only could I use the dark energies, intrinsic yet alien to my being, but I’ve also discovered new avenues for their application.

  As with all things, it was a matter of time and meaningful practice.

  Fen wanted me to forget a part of who I was, but I could not tolerate that btant attempt at deception. She wasn’t going to find me so helpless for her next, and final, test.

  “It is time,” came Fen’s voice, cutting me away from my deeper thoughts.

  With deliberate slowness, I opened my eyes, taking in the raw reality of the dreamscape. How long had I been lost in thought? It could have been moments; it could have been years.

  “It is time,” she repeated, gncing worriedly at the sky.

  My eyes followed hers, looking upwards toward the heavens. The sky was cracking like winter ice kissed by spring’s first thaw, small rents running across the blue ceiling.

  It seemed that, in this at least, she was telling the truth. I knew my time here was coming to a close. An ending was approaching. About time, too, I thought bitterly.

  I replied to Fen with nothing, for words could not have improved upon the silence.

  “Go into the house, picture what it is that you will need, and meet me outside,” the Weaponmaster stated in a voice heavy with ceremoniousness. “You will need to choose wisely, if you are to succeed.”

  Out of deference to my teacher, I gave her a quick bow before I entered the house for the first time. Why did I never think of entering it before? More mystical trickery, no doubt. Wait, had I stepped in before? But as soon as these inconsequential questions raised their heads, they soon fled from me.

  Opening the wooden door, I crossed the threshold of the small dwelling, mentally envisioning the tools that were going to give me the best chance against the formidable Fen. There was a feeling of dislocation as I entered, and my perception was shaken to its core.

  Everything was off, as if reality was slightly off-center and misaligned. Most different from all of my previous visits.

  It was a shifting. Once my senses had settled, I was greeted by a familiar sight of the rustic, almost spartan, interior of my teacher’s abode. The earthen walls were unadorned, the furniture wooden and of pin making. In contrast to the simple aesthetic of the room, there was a desk in the corner upon which y a fine feathered quill and quality parchment.

  The ‘realness’ of this pce was now a paradox. It felt, perhaps, even more solid than the created world outside, yet at the same time I sensed that the flow of time here was different. There was a contrary duality of fast and slow.

  As I was shaking my head, my eyes were drawn to a rge, heavy iron-banded chest at the foot of a straw bed. On the floor in front of the chest was a halberd, a weapon that I had thought of as a counter to Fen’s superior skill.

  It was a versatile weapon that was suitable for sshing, thrusting, tearing, and cutting. The halberd also had a considerable reach, and, though I was not much taller than Fen, I had to leverage what advantage I could.

  Normally, it being a two-handed weapon would mean that I would have to forgo the use of a shield. However, I had prepared a cunning surprise for Weaponmaster Fen Vaigorus. Deception and trickery were not solely within her purview. In this dance of steel and strategy, I intended to show her that she had no monopoly on guile.

  With a grin forming on my face, I tried to rush forward, but was limited to a sedate walk. Reality, for ck of better words, seemed thicker here. Kneeling by the weapon, I solemnly ran my fingers across its promised lethality, searching for fws in its craftsmanship and finding none. It possessed enough weight and heft to smash an opponent down, whether they were armored or not. Satisfied, I set it aside momentarily to examine the contents of the rge chest.

  It opened with an ominous squeak of unoiled hinges, revealing items both familiar and unknown. My pte harness y within, as did the battle spoils of the Grass Sea, and the wolfhead helm was a most welcome sight indeed.

  Beside my armor was a practical, double-edged short sword sheathed in a bck cquered scabbard, as well as a slender dagger. As an afterthought, a brace of banced throwing knives in a tough leather baldric completed the assortment of chosen weaponry.

  The sword’s bde was straight and tapered to a triangur tip. It was, at a gnce, forty centimeters in length, and had a wide crossguard for catching blows. I tested its weight and bance, going through a few series of flourishes, and found that it was of a type that was both suitable for the cut and thrust of combat.

  The dagger was a more simple affair. It had a very narrow bde, made for piercing mail and snaking through the weak points of armor. Added to this was a circur guard and pommel that was going to allow for a greater grip, letting me hammer the point with greater force in close combat. The rondel made for a nice backup weapon.

  However, a crossbow and a quiver full of iron bolts were conspicuously absent. I shrugged, accepting that their absence was simply part of the test's nature.

  Thinking about it, a ranged weapon would have probably been cssified as cheating.

  At least now I had an answer to one of my earlier riddles. I knew now how Fen had produced our practice gear.