The next morning, I arrived at Training Hall Seven to find Garrick waiting with an armful of wooden swords.

  "Morning," he said, setting them down against the wall with a clatter. "Pick one that feels right. We're starting sword work today."

  I stared at the practice weapons lined up like soldiers. Short swords, long swords, slightly curved blades. All of them sized for people bigger than me.

  "I'm not going to use a sword."

  Garrick paused mid-motion, turning to look at me. "What?"

  "For the tournament. I won't be using a sword."

  He straightened, crossing his arms. "Everyone uses a sword. Or a spear. Or an axe. You need a proper weapon."

  "I need a weapon that makes sense for me. A sword doesn't."

  "Why not?"

  I walked over to the rack and picked up one of the shorter practice blades. Even the smallest one felt awkward in my grip, the wide hilts not allowing me to properly wrap my fingers around. I held it out, demonstrating.

  "Look at my reach. I'm nine years old. Most of the first-years I'll be fighting are what, eleven? Twelve? Some of them thirteen?"

  "Some, yes."

  "They've got longer arms. Longer weapons. More mass behind their strikes." I set the sword down. "If I use a sword, I'm fighting at a disadvantage before the match even starts."

  Garrick frowned. "So you reinforce with aether. Make up the difference."

  "That only goes so far. If we're both reinforcing equally, they still have the reach advantage. Longer weapon means they can hit me before I can hit them. More body mass means they can put more force behind their blocks and strikes even if I match their aether output."

  I gestured at the swords. "A conventional weapon puts me at a disadvantage I can't compensate for. Last time I was working at full power output and I nearly killed myself, while making use of the fact no one expected me to charge like a cannonball. Those guys were mostly untrained ruffians and the range was low. In an arena the same strategy won't work and I'll be crippled after one round."

  He studied me for a long moment. "So what do you want to use?"

  "Something with range. Something flexible. Something they won't expect."

  "Like what?"

  "A bladed chain. Or maybe a rope dart. Something that extends my reach beyond what my arms can manage."

  He blinked. "You want to use a chain weapon?"

  "Why not?"

  "Because they're notoriously difficult to master. Most people spend years learning to use them without hitting themselves in the face."

  "Most people also spend years learning the sword. I have four months. Which one do you think I have a better chance with—learning a weapon where I'm fighting my own current physical limitations along with my enemy, or learning a weapon that compensates for them?"

  He opened his mouth, then closed it. His expression shifted. "That's... actually a fair point."

  "Besides," I continued, "nobody would use chain weapons in the first-year tournament. You just said why. That means nobody knows how to defend against it properly. I get range, I get flexibility, and I get the element of surprise."

  Garrick rubbed his chin, thinking. After a moment, he let out a short laugh. "You know what? You're right. I don't remember ever seeing a chain weapon in the hands of a student."

  "So it works in my favor."

  "In theory. But do you even know how to use one?"

  "No. But I don't know how to use a sword either. At least with this, I'm not fighting against my own body."

  "You're going to hit yourself," he warned. "A lot."

  "I know."

  "And you're going to look ridiculous for the first few weeks."

  "I don't care how I look. I care about winning and I'm making it, so it won't be the typical chained weapon."

  He studied me, then grinned. "Alright. A chain weapon it is. But we're going to need to get you something to practice with. And I'm telling you now—you're absolutely going to regret this the first dozen times you whip yourself in the back of the head."

  "I'll survive."

  "We'll see." He kicked one of the wooden swords back toward the rack. "Guess I hauled these out for nothing. I'll see if the academy has any practice chains in storage. In the meantime, we'll work on footwork and evasion. If you're using a weapon with reach, you need to know how to maintain distance."

  I nodded. That made sense.

  "One more thing," Garrick said. "You mentioned the tournament feels fishy to you. What do you mean?"

  I hesitated. It was more of a gut feeling than anything concrete. "The timing. The fact that it's being used to determine if the war even starts... I feel that whoever proposed it gets something we don't know about."

  "You think it's rigged?"

  "I think it's more important than they're letting on. Perhaps people are going to fight harder, dirtier, more desperately than a normal tournament." I met his eyes. "I need every advantage I can get."

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  He nodded slowly. "Fair. Then we'd better make sure you know how to use that chain. Come on. Footwork drills."

  We spent the next hour on movement. Garrick had me circling, retreating, advancing at angles. The goal was to maintain optimal distance—close enough that my weapon could reach, far enough that theirs couldn't.

  "You're going to be dancing around your opponents," he explained. "A chain weapon is about controlling space. You can't trade blows like you would with a sword. You hit and move. Hit and move. Never stay in one place."

  It was exhausting. By the end of the session, my legs burned and I was drenched in sweat.

  "Tomorrow I'll have a practice chain for you," Garrick said. "And then the real fun begins."

  The afternoon session with Torin was more tempering work. We started with both arms again, holding the inflation for as long as I could manage. Three minutes now, up from two and a half.

  "Good," Torin said. "Now legs."

  Leg tempering was harder. There was more muscle mass, more resistance. I managed to inflate my right leg for about a minute before the effort made me collapse.

  "You're progressing faster than expected," Torin said as I lay on the floor, breathing hard. "Most students take weeks to even attempt leg tempering."

  "Is that good or bad?"

  "Good for your flexibility. Bad for your recovery time. You're going to be extremely sore tomorrow."

  He wasn't wrong. By the time I left Training Hall Seven, my entire body felt like it had been wrung out and beaten. My legs trembled with each step, and my arms hung like dead weight at my sides.

  I made it back to the tower and immediately collapsed onto my bed. Just for a minute. Just to rest my eyes.

  I woke up three hours later to someone knocking on my door.

  Groaning, I dragged myself upright and stumbled down the stairs. Every muscle in my body protested. When I opened the door, Magnar was standing there with Cassia beside him.

  "You look terrible," Magnar said.

  "Thanks."

  "We came to check on you," Cassia added. "You missed evening meditation."

  I'd completely forgotten. "Sorry. Training ran long and I passed out."

  "Garrick's working you that hard already?"

  "Garrick and Torin both." I stepped aside to let them in. "It's fine. I'll be ready tomorrow."

  Cassia glanced around the tower, her eyes landing on the workbench covered in sketches. "Still working on that weapon?"

  "Yeah."

  She walked over, picking up one of the drawings. This one showed the outer casing design—sleek, cylindrical, with the chain coiled inside. "This really doesn't look like anything I've seen before."

  "That's the idea."

  Magnar joined her, squinting at the sketch. "Is this... a tube?"

  "Part of it."

  "What does it do?"

  "It's a delivery mechanism."

  "For what?"

  "For the blade."

  They both looked at me like I was speaking another language.

  "You know what," Magnar said slowly, "I'm just going to trust that you know what you're doing."

  "Probably for the best."

  Cassia set the sketch down. "Garrick told me you're not using a sword. He said you're going with a chain weapon."

  Word traveled fast. "He's right, but why'd he tell you that?"

  "We went to ask about you. Also, that's a bold choice."

  "It's practical. I can't win with reach disadvantages."

  "And you think you can learn to use a chain weapon in four months?"

  "I think I have a better chance than learning to overcome a physical limitation that can't be fixed."

  She considered that, then nodded. "Fair enough. Just don't hit yourself too many times."

  "I'll try."

  Magnar was still studying the sketches, his brow furrowed. "These circles here... are they supposed to be coils?"

  I tensed slightly. "Maybe."

  "Coils for what?"

  "For the mechanism."

  "What mechanism?"

  "The one that makes it work."

  He gave me a flat look. "You're not going to tell me, are you?"

  "Not yet."

  "Why not?"

  "Because if I explain it and it doesn't work, I'll look stupid. If I show you when it's finished, at least it'll be impressive."

  Cassia snorted. "He's got a point."

  Magnar sighed but didn't push further. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But when this thing inevitably breaks during a test, don't come crying to me."

  "I won't."

  "Good." He looked at me more closely. "You really do look awful though. Are you sure you're up for meditation training tonight?"

  "I'm fine."

  "You can barely stand."

  "I'm. Fine. Besides, meditation doesn't require me to be standing." I straightened, ignoring the protest from my legs. "Come on. Let's go upstairs."

  They exchanged a glance but followed me up to my room. We settled into our usual positions—them sitting cross-legged facing me, me across from them.

  "Before we start," I said, "how's your progress been?"

  Magnar answered first. "I can hold my focus on the lower dan tian for about ten minutes now without losing it. The image is getting clearer. It's like... I'm getting used to opening my eyes in the water, if that makes sense."

  "Good. That means your shen is developing. Keep pushing deeper. Cassia?"

  She hesitated. "Still seeing the wheel mostly. But I tried what you said—making it spin faster, controlling the light. Sometimes I catch glimpses of something underneath. Like... a small seed or a round drop of something? But it's hard to hold onto."

  "That's the actual structure starting to show through. The drop is closer to reality than the wheel. The wheel is just your mind's interpretation. Keep working on stripping away that interpretation."

  She nodded, though she still looked frustrated.

  "How long can you maintain focus now?" I asked.

  "Maybe five minutes before the images start changing too much and I lose track."

  "That's progress. A month ago you couldn't hold it for even a minute."

  "It doesn't feel like enough."

  "It never does. But you're improving. That's what matters."

  Magnar shifted. "So, what are we working on tonight?"

  "Split focus. We'll start small. It will be useful later, but it's good to start working on it now."

  "So what do we do?" Cassia asked.

  I raised my hands and smirked. With trembly hands I drew in the air with an extended finger, a triangle with my left and a square with my right.

  "Do this."

  They looked questioningly at each other. Over the next hour they both made several attempts.

  "You focus too much. Let it be and observe. Split focus is more about letting the body handle actions and sensing while you yourself command and observe the information."

  I let them keep at it and went back to my workbench, but my hands were shaking too much to draw properly. Instead, I just stared at the sketches, my mind working through the design problems.

  The coil configuration needed adjustment. The power distribution had to be perfect or the whole thing would fail. The blade attachment mechanism needed to be secure but allow for quick release if necessary.

  Four months to build it.

  Four months to learn to use it.

  Four months to make sure I was ready for whatever the tournament threw at me.

  I picked up my pen, waited for my hand to steady, and kept drawing.

  The next morning, I dragged myself to Training Hall Seven feeling like I'd been run over by a cart. Every muscle ached. Walking was an effort.

  Garrick took one look at me and grinned. "Torin worked you over, huh?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. You'll adapt." He gestured to the floor where a long practice rope lay coiled. "Your new best friend."

  I stared at it. The rope was longer than I'd expected, with a weighted ball attached on a chain tied at one end instead of a blade. Safer for practice, I supposed.

  "Go ahead," Garrick said. "Give it a try."

  I picked up the rope, feeling the weight at the end. The chain links clinked as I lifted it.

  "Swing it," Garrick instructed.

  I did. The rope whipped out—

  —and immediately wrapped around my leg.

  I stumbled, nearly falling.

  Garrick laughed. "Told you. You're going to hit yourself a lot."

  I unwrapped the rope and tried again. This time it spun wild, the weighted end coming back toward my head. I ducked just in time, feeling it whistle past my ear.

  "Footwork," Garrick called out. "You need to move with it, not against it. The rope has momentum. You guide it, you don't fight it."

  I tried again. And again. Each attempt was slightly less disastrous than the last, but only slightly.

  By the tenth attempt, I managed to get the rope to extend without immediately hitting myself. Small victories. I probably wasn't going to use half of what I was learning here with my design, but the basics would be the same.

  "Better," Garrick said. "Now do it a hundred more times."

  I groaned but kept going.

  This was going to be a very long four months.