The Park: Twilight.
The sky was bruising into a deep purple as the adrenaline of the fight finally ebbed away.
"Tove, Thora... are you sure you're alright?"
Amery asked, her voice tight with lingering concern as she finished dabbing a damp cloth against Thora's split lip.
"Don't worry about me,"
Thora grunted, pushing himself up and striking a ridiculous bodybuilder pose despite the wince that followed. "I'm sturdier than I look!"
Tove, knowing his friend was just playing it cool to hide the pain, reached out and gave Thora's bruised shoulder a light, mischievous jab.
"OW! Tove, you idiot!"
Thora hollered, his bravado instantly collapsing.
"You want to have a go? Right now?"
"Oh, yeah? I'm ready when you are!"
Tove countered, bouncing on the balls of his feet.
SMACK…
SMACK…
"We just finished healing you, and now you want to bleed again?"
Amery's voice cracked like a whip as she delivered a sharp cuff to the back of both boys' heads.
While the two boys grumbled and nursed their new bumps, Rune stepped forward, his expression uncharacteristically dark.
"So, who was this Ivar guy? How did this even start?"
"Ivar is part of the Purist Faction here in Midgard,"
Tove explained, his playful tone vanishing.
"We were just minding our own business when he started making comments about us being 'half-breed punks.' He looked at Thora like he was something stuck to the bottom of his boot."
"Yeah," Amery added, crossing her arms.
"And you know Thora—he couldn't just sit there. He gave Ivar a piece of his mind."
"And that's when the punching started,"
Siggy whispered, clutching her shawl.
"Amery did her best to defend us, but Ivar... he was too fast."
"He only got the first strike!" Thora defended himself hotly.
"Yeah! What he said!"
Tove chimed in.
"Yeah, yeah. Now shut it before I ask Rune to shut your mouths for you,"
Amery snapped, though her eyes softened as she looked at Rune.
"Anyway, thanks for the save, Rune. It's getting late. Siggy and I will make sure these two idiots get home without tripping over their own feet."
Rune nodded, watching them go.
"Take care. And you two—try not to anger Amery anymore. You might actually not survive the walk home."
Tove and Thora gave a weary, synchronized salute, while Amery and Siggy waved him off into the night.
The Manor: Supper.
The dining hall was quiet, save for the soft clinking of silverware and the happy gurgles of Rorry as Ravina fed her.
"Why the long face, Rune?"
Ravina asked, glancing up.
"Is the food not to your liking?"
"The food is great, Mom,"
Rune answered, though his spoon was just idly circling his bowl. He couldn't stop seeing that golden ether—how effortless it had seemed for Ivar.
"Then what is bothering you?"
Rune set his spoon down.
"I lost today. To a kid named Ivar. He called himself a Purist. We're both Squires, but his ether... it felt deeper. Heavier. Do Purists just have more capacity than we do?"
Ravina paused, watching her son's sulking face with an amused, maternal smile.
"No, dear. The Squire class isn't a single step; it's a staircase with many sub-stages. It sounds like this Ivar has simply been a Squire far longer than you have. Did you happen to ask his age?"
Rune blinked, caught off guard.
"The fight was a bit sudden for introductions, but... he looked to be about ten."
Ravina chuckled.
"There is your answer. You've been a Squire for a month; he has likely been training for years. You're comparing a sapling to a young oak."
She reached over and ruffled his hair.
"Stop sulking. Finish your dinner, and tomorrow you can ask Erik to explain the different stages of the Squire realm. If you want to close the gap, you need to know exactly how high the wall is."
"Okay, Mom,"
Rune muttered, a spark of his usual determination finally returning to his eyes.