Naomi walked through the halls of the Villtur Keep, brow furrowed as she followed the servant Emma had called for. She wasn't sure what to believe as word was passed around the Keep in hushed whispers and rumors. She only hoped that at least some of it was true. At the same time, the implications worried her greatly. One did not just get over grief and trauma in the span of a week. Naomi knew this very well from her own experiences. She knew that the pain never went away. It never truly faded.

So it surprised her greatly when she found out that James Holter had risen from his slump and was currently practicing on the grounds behind the Keep, where men trained and sparred. At least when it wasn't covered in blankets of snow. The only explanation she had managed to get was that James had cleared it out himself.

'What the hell is he doing? And why the sudden change?' Naomi thought to herself as she turned a corner and saw a crowd of servants and guardsmen around the Keep's rear exit. She pushed past them, regardless of their protests and calls.

"Out of the way!" Naomi growled as she shoved past a line of persistent bystanders. "And get back to your duties before Jarl Villtur sees you all standing about."

While some dispersed at her prodding, others just watched on. Naomi turned to their focus and saw him.

There was a young man in the middle of the snowy training ground, hands holding a blunted greatsword. He swung and stabbed with it, footwork straight as he did so. His blond hair was short and mopped with sweat as it flung around with his movements. He had no beard, and his lack of facial hair highlighted his strong and sharp features. Naomi stared at the sight of this person, who grunted as he maneuvered his sword to a new position.

It was only then that she realized this was James. He had cut his hair short and even shaved off that mess of a beard. He looked like an entirely different person now, the only pertaining feature being those tired eyes and disgruntled scowl. Naomi watched as he practiced his swings, arms shaking as he failed time after time.

After a minute of this, she shooed off the rest of the bystanders before stepping up to the cleared ring. James was already growing slower, body clearly lethargic. He even faltered a little toward the end of his practice swings, sword nearly slipping out of his grasp as he rested its tip in the dirt.

"What are you doing?" Naomi asked as she approached.

"Practicing," James said bluntly. He caught his breath slowly, head bowed as he rested his arms on the longsword's guard.

"Are you… okay?" Naomi said, a little softer this time. She wasn't sure how else to phrase the question. The last time she had seen James, the man had been contemplating death. He had teetered on the line of sanity and had not seemed all in one sound mind. To see him here practicing of all things was something that both confused and worried her.

"I'm alive," James said, breathing steady as he picked his sword back up. "So that's something. Either I can see it as a curse or a blessing."

He took his stance, sword pointed forth.

"And which of those did you decide on?" Naomi asked.

"I'm not sure yet," James admitted with a grunt. He swung his weapon. "I'll figure it out later when Yorktown is safe."

Naomi blinked at that. "So you're considering Lukas' offer."

"No," James breathed as he hit a break in his practice. "I already accepted it. I talked to him this morning."

Naomi just stared at him, unsure of how to process his answer. Something clearly changed within the other Outlander, something unnerving. Before she could prod further, Lukas arrived on the grounds, fur cloak wavering as he stepped toward the cleared circle. He gave Naomi a knowing look and she clenched her jaw. She dismissed herself and walked over to the other Jarl, who stood watching James.

"What did you say to him?" Naomi whispered as she approached Lukas.

"Nothing," Lukas muttered with a neutral look. "Earlier this morning, he called for me. I came to his room to find him shaving his face and stating that he'd accept my help to break Yorktown's siege. He then asked me to clear the training field so he could practice."

"Did he explain why he changed his mind?" Naomi asked.

"No," Lukas said. "He just acted as if nothing happened."

"You didn't ask?" Naomi prodded. Lukas just grunted. She furrowed her brow. "Pardon my questioning, but someone in his state of mind doesn't just get up one day feeling all better! Something's not right about him. At least, not in the head."

"What do you suppose we do then?" Lukas growled. "Let him drown in his own misery? I swear, sometimes I feel as if you are doing your damndest to obstruct me."

Naomi didn't answer that. In some ways, she was guilty of that. She still didn't fully trust the Jarl, despite his insistence that he wasn't vying to take control of the south or north like Deimos was trying to do. Naomi had been betrayed and lied to before. She had met more than her fair share of 'ambitious' leaders.

'Damn you, Hanabi,' Naomi thought with disdain. Almost like it had prodded, her left eye twitched underneath the bandages. She winced, feeling its barbs wiggle deep inside her skull. While it didn't have control over her anymore, the cursed thing always tried to find cracks within her psyche. It always tried whenever negative thoughts crossed her mind.

'I control you now,' Naomi thought. 'I won't ever let you take over. Not like last time.'

She half expected a voice, a disturbingly human one. Yet none came. Naomi almost sighed in relief. Xenithu hadn't spoken with her since their last clash. She hoped it would stay that way.

"What's the plan now?" she asked quietly.

"We prepare," Lukas muttered. "I need to gather the crews of my ships for a raid on Ivan's Keep. The journey itself shouldn't take us longer than a day or two, depending on the winds."

"Will we have enough time?" Naomi wondered aloud, more to herself. "Do you think Yorktown can hold out that long?"

"I don't know," Lukas said with some hesitance. "But this is our best chance."

Naomi didn't say anything more. She only watched James, who swung his sword with a vigor that was familiar to her. It didn't take an empath to know that the young Jarl wanted vengeance. He had been robbed and left for dead, his crew either dead or seriously injured. Naomi could understand the anger that festered from such a situation. She was intimate with such a rage.

In response, her eye twitched again. She scowled and forced away the wave of glee that came from the barbs. That thing loved misery and fed on negativity like a suckling child. Naomi was careful to be reserved with her emotions these past two years, but every now and then failed to keep them in check.

'It's getting harder every month,' she thought to herself. Was the eye getting stronger? Or was she slipping again? Perhaps coming here on this quest was a bad idea. Naomi had already reopened some old wounds just from the past month alone. It was becoming clear to her that she hadn't fully moved on from Kasan.

Without saying anything, Naomi turned and headed back into the Keep, hand clutching the left side of her head. She had to try her hardest not to grit her teeth in pain as the Beholder eye's barbs did their job. Which was, for the past four years, to make sure she didn't die a painful death.

James grunted as his sword struck hard dirt, the blunt tip bouncing a little. He took in a breath of the frosty air, lungs burning in response. His arms were sore, and his legs shook a little as he kept his stance. Regardless of all this, he had fuck all in terms of progress. While it was a little cathartic to swing around the long iron blade, James failed to properly replicate the motions Harald had shown him the first time he picked up the weapon.

The old veteran had been a master with the sword, his movements graceful and his swings properly executed. Even when he had trained James with sticks, Harald had moved like a tempest. Just the memory of it pained James greatly, his chest tightening as the image of Harald's corpse appeared in his mind.

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'Focus. No time for pain. No time for grief.'

James forced down the pain and pulled the greatsword into position. Helen was his most recent teacher, as hesitant as she was. She was still a decent fighter, and while she wasn't an expert in swords, she knew enough to show him the proper ways to use them.

With a grunt, he swung forth wide, sword whooshing in the air. His muscles burned with exertion, legs stiffening as he steadied his stance. He tried to swing another attack, one to follow up his initial swing. Yet once he tried, his knees buckled, and his hands slipped a little. In response, the second swing failed magnificently. His sword nearly flew out of his grip, and his feet slid on the hard ground. He nearly fell over as a result.

"Dammit!" he hissed with gritted teeth. He dropped the sword in frustration, his wrists sore from the constant movements. With a heavy breath, James sat on the ground in a plop. He took a minute to regain his composure, his chest heaving as he tried to figure out what he was doing wrong.

'Rest for a moment longer,' Faust said deep inside his head. 'Your body needs time.'

Almost as if on cue, James could feel something burn deep within him. He held back a surprised noise as his muscles relaxed, the pain within them evaporating away. His wrists stopped throbbing at the same time as well as his feet.

"What… What was that?" James asked softly, his lungs no longer out of breath. Ever since the spirit returned to his headspace, things had been… different. James had no idea how to explain it, only that something had changed. He recalled the spirit doing something similar during their fight on the longship.

Back then, Faust strengthened him during his faceoff against Kira, the Beholder user. Those invisible cuts she dealt should have killed him from the first few slashes, let alone the massive amount of blood he lost during the short exchange.

James had tried to ask Faust what had changed, but the spirit himself did not know. All he could say was that he could help now in more ways than he could have before. James wondered at first if it had something to do with the Blessing that….

He stopped himself, the name eluding him. Blessing… who had given it to him?

'James?' Faust asked.

'It's nothing,' the young Jarl muttered internally. 'Were you saying something?'

'I was saying that I can restore your vigor,' Faust said. 'This feeling. It's… new to me as well.'

James slowly nodded, his fingers clenching as he felt his body pulse with newfound stamina. They would have to test this new power. Figure out its limits. That's what Dahlia would have recommended had she been here with him.

He winced and willed those hurting thoughts away from his mind. He needed to be focused.

"Any idea what my Blessing does?" James asked as he closed his left eye, leaving his brand new right one to see clearly. There was nothing different about his newly restored vision, nothing he could notice anyway. It felt just like… a normal eye. He wasn't really sure if there was anything special about it.

'No,' Faust responded. 'I can't really sense anything different within you. At least anything other than that.'

James shivered at the spirit's emphasized mention. He didn't need to search within himself to sense it as well. Ever since his revival, the pulses deep within his body only got stronger, almost like a heartbeat.

"Whatever it is, we need to talk to Malik about it," James muttered under his breath, reopening his left eye. "Lukas told me that he's still alive. Injured, but alive."

'Agreed,' Faust said. 'He did something to us, James. I felt it when I was reawakened within my memories. Someone spoke to me during those visions. I need answers as to who and why.'

James nodded, his head turning as he picked out someone approaching the training grounds.

'I saw something too,' James thought, continuing the conversation inside his mind. 'When I first woke up, I was… confused about who I was. I felt like I was three different people.'

'I vaguely remember this…' Faust murmured. 'It was like that day, back when Dahlia forced me into your body.'

'Three people,' James repeated. 'Outlander, Centurion…'

'Scholar,' Faust finished. 'Why Scholar? A Lumen one at that.'

'You think Malik forced another soul into me?' James asked, his hands clenched into fists.

'Unlikely, but possible,' Faust admitted. 'We must speak to him about this as soon as possible.'

James nodded in agreement just as the stranger reached him. He looked up at the man, who bent over to pick up the dropped sword. James blinked and stood back up, opening his mouth to speak.

Before he could get a word out, the stranger took his stance and performed a couple practice swings. He did them perfectly, his feet absolutely still and his hands moving with dexterity. He went on for half a minute before finishing with a quick flourish. With a shake of his head, he set the blade point down to the dirt.

"Weight seems fine, and the grip is quite well-wrapped," he said with a surprised grunt. He looked at James with a raised eyebrow. The stranger was shorter than him by a few inches, his brown hair swept back to reveal a pale face with dark brown eyes. His beard was little more than a stubble around the edges of his square jaw, a prominent mustache curling above his lips. "So why were you swinging it around like a troubled toddler?"

His accent was… weird. He sounded both familiar and strange at the same time. James stared at the stranger, who was clearly foreign. From where, he couldn't place it.

"I… Well, it's been some time…"

"I am jostling you," the man said, his tongue clicking as he tested the sword's weight. "You obviously have an experience with this weapon, judging from your basic stances and swings. Still, you're horribly dunn when it comes to training."

James blinked, confused as he tried to process the words. "Dunn? What are you…?"

"You're attempting a maneuver that's several skill gaps above you, my good man," the stranger said. "And call me Ranor. Dunn is an insult where I'm from. Then again, I suppose it's also one here…"

"I'm sorry," James interrupted, hand raised to stop Ranor from speaking. "Who exactly are you?"

"My swordmaster," a voice sounded out from behind. James turned to see Lukas walking up to them both, hands behind his back as he approached. "Ranor is responsible for training my officers and making sure my skills stay sharp."

"And I make sure that barbarians such as yourself don't start swinging weapons aimlessly around these grounds," Ranor commented. "It's a safety hazard, you know."

"I wasn't swinging aimlessly," James said sharply. "I was trying to—"

"Perform a billhook maneuver, followed by a guard strike and downward chop," Ranor said. He raised the longsword in a particularly regal way. His body was posed almost like he was preparing to dance, feet even tilted in anticipation. "The Carapace Breaker. A popular tactic for senior officers in Lumen City. Goes by a different name there, but the movements are the same."

Without allowing James to get another word in, Ranor rushed forth into the training ground, sword swinging at the empty breeze. Despite having no opponent, the swordmaster struck his weapon with precision and tact, body swiftly moving like a ribbon in the wind. James watched, starstrucked, as Ranor performed the maneuver with ease. It was like watching Harald all those months ago, back when the veteran had demonstrated his skill.

Yet even back then, Harald moved slower to allow James to watch every precise movement. Ranor, on the other hand, did not show that courtesy. He moved at a speed that was comparable to Seamus' own, his sword a blur as he repeated the swings and slashes.

Ranor eventually finished after the third repeat, blade resting on his shoulder as he let out a breath. "Now, I suppose you want to be able to do what I do, correct?"

James nodded slowly, confused and slightly awed.

Ranor scratched at his jaw. "It's not impossible to teach you. It could be done. With the same difficulty as teaching a batblin to read, of course, but very possible."

"Teaching a… what?"

"Allegory," Ranor said as he turned to James. "I can help sharpen your skills and even teach you a few tricks. Of course, I can't turn you into a master in only two days. Not even in fairy tales is such a thing possible." He handed the sword to James, who grabbed it with hesitance.

James furrowed his brow and looked at the swordmaster, who looked back with a pensive look. He was studying James with an expression of curiosity, his eyebrow raised. After a moment, his frown turned into a smile and he turned away.

"Now, do a hundred downward swings," he ordered.

"What?" James responded with confusion. "Aren't you going to actually train me?"

"Not exactly," Ranor admitted. "Today, I want to gauge your overall ability. Tomorrow, we'll train for real."

"We don't have the time for this," James argued before feeling a hand on his shoulder. Lukas loomed over him, eyes like hardened emeralds.

"Time might not be on our side, but Ranor knows what he teaches," the Jarl murmured. "You will be wise to listen to his instruction."

James tugged his shoulder away from Lukas, a scowl on his face as he locked gazes with him. He wanted to say something biting to the man but held back his scorn. This man did save his life. And he was willing to help James rescue Yorktown, even though it was clearly for his own gain.

He didn't say anything as he stepped away from Lukas, hands gripping the sword tightly. With little hesitation, he began to swing downwards, muscles still sore. Despite this, he continued on, performing his hundred swings without complaint.

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