Physical Training

Ah, the Kurung… With a bundle over my shoulder, I make my way through the throngs of recruits as they train. A few cadets are circling the inner courtyard, jogging in their sweat-drenched tunics. Other soldiers are training on the central lawn, hitting straw dummies or wooden targets. I greet an instructor with a discreet nod, while a cohort of kids runs past just beside me. I can't help but smile. I, too, was once a part of this bunch—one pupil among so many others, whose barracks became my home. Looking toward the orphanage, I watch for Nanshe's silhouette with a tinge of nostalgia. But I don't see the Eidolon anywhere, not even one of her pelicans. I'll have time to go see her once I'm settled in my dorm.

As I stroll past the administrative buildings in the Small Court, I spot an instructor in a courtyard correcting one of his students' posture. The student seems to take umbrage, fuming at his mentor with the wounded pride of the young. I raise my eyebrows as I notice his coach's expression and the cold fury on his face. If this kid gets too stubborn about it, he's sure to get a beating and an extra round of chores. But who am I to judge? I was surly and recalcitrant too. I, too, was reprimanded at least three times a day. With the tip of his sword, the instructor points over to the dueling circle. Time for a little tough love, it would seem. He's right to not let himself be walked all over. The little foot soldier deserved a good hiding. Even now, I'm surprised at how patient my teachers were. In truth, I was far worse then, and they made me what I am today…

Basira

368 AC