Mastering the craft: Extra classes

The next morning, Hal arrived at Master Kestrel's swordsmanship hall before sunrise. The dojo was a coliseum of white stone arches, inscribed with runes that glowed dimly as Authority passed through them. Kestrel herself stood at the far end: tall, lithe, and clad in flowing white robes. Her silver hair gleamed like moonlight, and her blade hung at her hip.

"Hal Brenn," she said without turning. "I see you've chosen the blade. A wise choice, for the sword is the most honest weapon."

Hal bowed. "I intend to learn every facet of it."

She smiled—a hint of steel beneath warmth. "Good. Then draw."

What followed was an hour of staccato drills: slicing through projection-guarded sparring dummies, parrying blasts of raw Authority, and training footwork until every step felt like carving through silk. Each strike resonated through the arches, echoing off the stone like heartbeat drums. Hal's muscles protested, but his form grew sharper, his senses keener.

Afterward, he scarcely had time to catch his breath before Conceptual Understanding class. Lady Miren's chamber was a sanctum of violet light, with floating glyph-spirals twisting overhead. Miren sat cross-legged upon a lotus pedestal. Her lesson: "Authority is not power alone, but story—your story. Each declaration is a word, each Domain a sentence. Today, we write paragraphs."

Under her tutelage, Hal learned to link his past—street scrapes, scrawled graffiti, survival—with his present Authority. He sketched glyphs midair, each representing a memory. As he channeled Authority into them, they solidified into shimmering text that hovered around him: Resolve. Willing. Liberation.

Next came Meditation & Focus, where Ascendant Sera taught stillness. The chamber was silent, lit only by bioluminescent moss along the walls. Students sat in absolute quiet, their Authority-perception fading into a whisper. Hal struggled at first—the clamor of his own thoughts drowned the hush. But Sera guided him: "Focus not on emptiness, but on the space between your breaths. There lies your true core."

Five days later, Universal Principles awaited. Professor Delthos lectured in a vast amphitheater, diagrams of galaxies swirling on holo-screens. He spoke of energy conservation, cosmic harmonics, and the delicate weaves of the Balance of Existence. Hal absorbed each equation, each theoretical model—recognizing that every action of a Liberator had repercussions across reality itself.

Each class demanded something different from Hal: endurance in swordplay, introspection in concept, silence in meditation, and perspective in cosmic law. All of it taxed him, yet he felt himself growing—not just stronger, but wiser.

Between lessons, he practiced with Riven in the yard. She favored brute Authority strikes—flames roaring from her fists—while Hal wove around her, studying the gap between her power and her flaws. Kael trained alone, smothering every sound of his movements until he seemed to vanish. Hal admired that control.

By the end of the month, those extra classes felt like a part of his blood. He carried a practice blade everywhere, whispered glyphs when idle, sat quietly in empty rooms searching for stillness, and finally, when none looked, closed his eyes and envisioned the Balance itself—like a great tapestry he could touch.