War is just like love... it's all about the moments in between.

A keen general keeps their eyes peeled not for the moment of the shield clash, but the spaces between the clang of steel and clamour of voices. Those quiet moments where men decide if they hold firm or abandon all reason.

Likewise, pretty words don't make a lover. It is the silent spaces, where breath is all that disturbs the world and desires have room to be felt.

Master the gaps, those spaces between each moment where the world hangs on the edge of a thread, and you will fare well in love and war.

- High Marshall Arterion The Fell addressing concerns on his strategy against the Sarhail threat in the late 3rd age.

The closing ceremony of The Blending held many surprises in store for me.

My first shock was to see someone other than Sandent Varselli claim the title of First. The young genius was defeated by an older boy, though still in his teenage years, from Clan Green Bough.

He was rangy; long-limbs that seemed feeble but could apparently carry lethal momentum into his strikes. He had two small daggers strapped to his belt and was by all accounts a shockingly fast mage. Not enormously powerful, like Sandent had been, but Vera had drilled into my head often enough the lesson that you don't need much power if you can hit first.

The second surprise in store for me was both how much reverence was shown to the younger generation, and simultaneously how informal the ceremony was.

I had thought that the turnout would be low, assuming that most of the spectators were eager to see fighting and had little care for the personalities involved. But not so. There were thousands of people in attendance as the Council of Elders handed out praise and material rewards to the highly placed fighters.

Many of the younger ones – children, as I would have described them – received special feedback. They had obviously failed to place highly due to their low levels, but the clans had clearly decided it was good to get them exposed to the thrill of battle from a young age, and so I saw many teenagers, some even as young as ten, step forwards to be praised in front of the crowd.

Soon enough it was my turn to stand before the jostling mass of expectant faces, as thirteen men and women in fine garb addressed me from a raised plinth.

"Rise, Lamb. You fought well, and have earned your place as Second. Name your boon."

The usual praise and ritual was cut from my address, presumably a political move from some members of the council, but I was too ignorant to understand the ins and outs of it all. Or care. I knew what I wanted, and they would abide or deny me as they saw fit. Better to ask than to hope, after all.

"I wish for allies. My companions and I are heading over the Dragon-Spine mountains, bound for battle. Any fighting men and women who wish to join us would be welcomed."

It was a more formal style of speech than I was used to, but I figured the ceremony demanded a little gravitas. I doubted I would get many fighters lining up if I simply said 'Oi, who fancies a scrap?' Although… My eyes roamed the crowd, searching for a shock of red hair standing head and shoulders above others, but I saw no sign of Alker. Probably still sleeping off the hangover.

There was a drawn-out silence before a woman spoke. She was tall and built like a willow stalk. Stepping forwards, she seemed to bend in the gentle breeze.

"Are you urging the clans to war, young man? That is far beyond the scope of your boon," she hissed, disapproval lacing her quiet voice.

"No, of course not. I simply seek the council's permission to recruit any who are interested," I hurriedly reassured them. "If there are fighters among you who wish to see the world, I would ask that you grant them leave to do so."

Two of the men on the dais, who had leaned forwards in anger at my request, now settled back down. There was a quiet hum as the Council of Elders deliberated, and I was left to examine them.

They were an eclectic group, dressed in colours presumably representing the clans they hailed from but each with a style distinctly their own. The willowy woman clearly held a position of prominence, as did another man built like a hunting cat – all sleek muscle and graceful movement.

They didn't spend long discussing, and soon I had an answer.

"We are prepared to grant you leave to recruit, but only amongst the 2nd tier warriors that are currently consolidating their class. We will not risk our younger generation on an outsider's mission, and our more powerful warriors cannot be spared with the Southlands at war once more. We also do not give you leave to offer compensation. Too much of late have our people been tempted to their death by promises of gold. Any that join you should do so of their own volition, without bribery to sweeten any deal."

I inclined my head, trying to appear grateful. It was a bad deal, and I suspected I would have had more success if I'd just asked for something material. "Thank you, council," I said, and turned to leave.

"One more thing, lowlander," one of the Elders called.

Turning back, I saw him stand next to the lithe woman who seemed to command such respect. He was of medium height and build. Strong, without the excessive musculature of some of his peers, grey trimming his short-cropped hair, and dressed in flowing white robes of a surprisingly humble design.

"Your demand may have started bold, but its fruit is now humble. There are unlikely to be more than a few warriors eligible to join your expedition, let alone interested, and it is therefore unlikely that we," at this he gestured both arms to encompass the entire council, "will be granting much of a boon at all…"

"We cannot allow our reputation to suffer, since you did fight bravely and obtain a position of honour among our clans. It has also come to my attention, and that of the council's, that one of your opponents was using profane methods with which to enhance themselves. Although you defeated them anyway, your companion was injured unjustly before that. This is not acceptable."

I looked on in surprise, unsure how this would proceed. It felt as if the man was building to something.

"We cannot have our hospitality questioned or besmirched by your experiences, and I see only two ways to present this. If we are unwilling to execute you now–"

I blanched at that, and some of the horror must have shown on my face, for he hurried on with his decree a tad faster than before.

"Which I can assure you that we are," he said, with a quick hard glare at one of the men on the council before he turned back to address me once more. "Then we must remedy the situation. It would not be proper for us to grant a tangible reward in addition to your boon, but information is something we can share for free…"

I waited somewhat impatiently while the man held the crowd's anticipation at bay. Clearly, despite doing me a solid favour, this was mostly a way to curry favour with whatever factions within the clans were to be impressed with displays of generosity to outsiders. Perhaps it was simply important to show the younger generation, and their close relatives, that ample rewards were given for merit.

"The Titan's Crown is a sacred place. Its holy waters nourish the land, and places of power form in abundance around and beneath this blessed basin. To the west you will find the Lost Grove, and its bounty shall be yours if you are deemed worthy to claim it."

I was surprised by the abrupt turn back towards more ritualised language but had enough of my wits to bow appreciatively and give my thanks, before retreating back to my place among the crowd.

The ceremony continued on for another half an hour before I was disturbed by a shuffling in the crowd behind me. I turned around, by this point eager for any distraction from the monotony – there were only so many speeches I could take about 'surpassing talents' and 'those destined for greatness' in one day. There were a few disgruntled murmurs as people were softly pushed aside, and moments later a figure had moved to stand by my side.

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Sadrianna looked at me out of the corner of her eye, a small smile on her face. She was nominally watching the ceremony like the rest of us in the front few rows, but she leaned over slightly to whisper conspiratorially to me as the Council of Elders continued their aggrandising.

"Congratulations on your placing. Impressed with your prize?"

I sighed quietly before speaking. "Honestly, I have no fucking idea what that guy was on about."

She laughed then, and quickly snapped her mouth shut after a hard look from an older woman to her left. Doing her best to look contrite, she whispered back, "I thought as much. You looked confused as all hells, but don't worry. Father was playing up the drama for the crowd, but he's asked me to give you the rundown. It's a good boon, I promise."

I looked at her in surprise then, and she simply nodded, saying, "come", before beckoning me over. I followed her back through the crowd, and we strolled back towards Lake Vashtagara. She told me about the Grove in light detail – a small copse of trees within a sinkhole, brimming with mana and magic – and assured me that she would escort me to and from it whenever I was ready.

She refused to tell me more about what I would find there and why it counted as a reward, however. Jorge had determined that it would be better for me to discover on my own. Even this was just another plot masterminded by that annoying old man, apparently. I would suspect him to be in cahoots with literally every single person I would meet from now on, unless I had evidence to suggest otherwise.

We made pleasant small talk as we wandered, and I asked after the fallout from her botched scouting mission where we first met. She lost a bit of her cheeriness after that, so I decided to cheer her up by telling her all about last night. At the mention of Alfie, I noticed her curl her lip slightly, but when Alker entered the story, she grinned once more.

"He didn't!?" she laughed as I described my temporary employment as a doll in the big man's hands.

"He did! Threw me around like a baby. Told her to keep her grubby little mittens off of my innocent face, or something of the like" I said, smiling at the memory.

"Ha! He's right too, you don't want to get tangled up with Alfie. She's got a sharp tongue, that one. How's your friend holding up? The one with the knee?" she asked.

I filled her in on Nathlan's progress and we made it back to the camp shortly afterwards.

It had been a pleasant morning spent with Jorge, Vera, Nathlan and Sadrianna in our shared tent. We'd eaten and chatted, and I had attempted to introduce Sadrianna formally to everyone, but she'd actually spent a decent amount of time with both Vera and Jorge, and Nathlan was relatively closed-off to those he didn't know well. I imagined the pain wasn't helping in that regard, either.

It was good to see Nathlan up and around again. He was still being careful – Vera watched him like a hawk and anytime he tried to move too fast or without support, she was there to glare him back into submission, but he was moving under his own weight again, at least.

The physical damage had been mostly repaired, but the muscles around the joint, and more worryingly the tendons and ligaments, needed time to strengthen once again before he could be said to be anywhere approaching healed.

The food was fresh and plentiful, something I greatly appreciated after the exertion of the day prior – training might be hard, but there was nothing that could compare to the bone-deep exhaustion that set in after a real fight – and the conversation was easy.

Vera and Sadrianna quickly took to discussing their thoughts on the various combatants from the day prior, and then moved on to guessing at the chances of the 2nd tiers in tomorrow's event. That sounded like a much more dramatic and interesting tournament, in my opinion, but I would be sadly indisposed on my hunt for The Lost Grove, and so would have to miss it.

While the two women discussed the surprising success of prospects that relied heavily on magic rather than pure physicality at this year's Blending, I was cornered by Jorge.

"So what lesson did you learn from the loser's bracket, my young and unimaginative friend?" The old ma asked, a teasing smile playing at his lips.

"Oh, only one lesson for me, is it?" I replied. "Who's to say I didn't learn a hundred?"

"I think we're all of the mind to say that, honestly lad."

I narrowed my eyes at him but had to concede the point. I had done some stupid things in my time, even I could admit that. It also helped that he was clearly joking around, as was often his way.

I sighed, thinking back to yesterday and my last three fights. My loss to Sandent had drilled home an important lesson – power wasn't everything. Her skill was well beyond mine, and so she had beaten me soundly.

But then defeating Jacyntha had taken the screw right back out of the metaphorical wooden beam. Power did seem to be everything, in that fight at least. Sure, Skills and expertise and talent played a role, as did tactical acumen – I nearly defeated her based on those advantages, after all – but when it came down to it, all the skill in the world couldn't make up for raw power.

I'd been winning until Jacyntha used whatever profane methods she employed to boost herself, but from that comment onwards I'd had no chance. The reverse was true once I broke the artifact link and regained my full attributes – I was simply too powerful for her. Although, there was room for some nuance there, since Jacyntha seemed to be a fighter that relied on overwhelming power herself. If I had put my superior attributes up against Sandent's talent, I might still have lost.

I looked up at Jorge. "I learned that power is everything in a fight," I replied.

He shook his head slightly. "Go deeper. What do you mean by power?"

"Overwhelming strength. The ability to impose your will upon another."

"Well, that's just too vague," he said with a chuckle. "Is it only physical strength? Attributes? Does skill not play a role as well?

"Alright, fair enough. Okay, so a combination of strength and skill and all the other stuff is important in a fight." I blew out my cheeks. "Doesn't really sound like I'm saying anything at all there, does it?"

"No, not as such," he agreed. "So simplify it. Stop trying to come up with a pithy sentence that explains everything, and just tell me straight what you think you know."

I shook my head, gathering my thoughts for a moment before speaking hesitantly. "I did better than I had any right to do in this tournament. Skill's nice, but it's hard to overcome a big gap in attributes."

"And…?" Jorge asked leadingly.

"… And that makes me think that some of these talented geniuses are wasting their time."

He smiled after I said that and looked at me with something akin to pride. "There we go, lad. Now we're getting somewhere."

He sighed and leaned back. "This is something I could have told you months ago, but it's a hard thing for most to grasp. You need to experience it to truly understand it, I reckon.

"Now", he began, leaning forwards once more. "Perfection doesn't matter. The pursuit of it can drive you to new heights, but it can also trap you into a narrow perspective that does more harm than good. A warrior who spends his life studying to become the greatest swordsman might achieve his goal, only to get pricked by a mediocre spearman standing just out of range."

I chuckled at the analogy, unable to disagree. How long had the woman with the large shield trained? More than six months, I would wager.

"All else being equal, a savant will win against a brawler, nine times out of ten. But all things aren't equal in life, and the brawler will be far higher in level than the genius savant if they go out and fight for a living, instead of practicing behind walls perfecting their technique."

"Either that, or they die before ever reaching the battle with the genius to begin with," I pointed out with a smirk.

"Aye, that's a fair concern, lad, I'll grant you that. But listen; A rose doesn't bloom true in a greenhouse, and neither is a powerhouse born from perfection. Every step you take closer to the peak is heavier and each will take longer. If you spend a decade learning the ins and outs of your Skills, experimenting with them and levelling them to the highest possible point in the 1st tier, then you will be a terror to any 1st tier that tries to face you…

"But if someone else has spent that same decade growing stronger, levelling their class and working at new challenges? Well, suffice it to say that no 1st tier in this world is defeating a man at the peak of the 2nd tier."

"I did," I said quietly. "I beat Francis."

"Aye, but it wasn't really you, was it?" he replied gently. "It was your cunning, your quick-thinking and your sheer audacity and desperation that caused it, but Francis' death was dealt by a creature far above the both of you."

He looked at me fondly, and I felt warmth bloom in my chest. This man had given me everything. He had ulterior motives, for sure, and I was half-convinced I knew what they were by now, but that didn't undo what he had given me. Shelter, training, support. A direction in this new world, and a glimpse of a future that I might one day be able to reach.

Perhaps it could have been better if I had been picked up by a different person, but it could have been a lot worse, as well. I'd take what I'd been given, and be thankful for it. Friends, companions, people to hold tight to when the world got messy.

"You get it," he said after a few moments. "I can see in your eyes. You're just being an obstinate little shit for the fun of it, ain't that right?"

I couldn't help but laugh. He had me there. "I think I understand," I said. "I should focus my energy on getting stronger. Obviously, I should balance sustainability and speed against one another, but there's no point getting bogged down in the minutia of elemental manipulation vs runic scripture as a means of long range attacks when I can just lob a fucking spear at them."

He chuckled at my analogy, but nodded all the same. Lesson learned - get stronger.

We moved on after that, Jorge now satisfied that I had understood the lesson he wanted me to learn. When I asked for details of how I could actually get stronger, he stopped being so helpful. It quickly turned into me begging Jorge to tell me how to ascend from the 1st to the 2nd tier and what the Lost Grove was, and Jorge refusing to answer in anything but asinine riddles and nonsense truisms.

"Please?"

"If one must ask the question, are they truly ready for the answer?"

"I hate you."

Eventually he relented though, as do all when faced with my assault of childlike enthusiasm. The Lost Grove was the key to answering the first question, as it turned out. To reach the 2nd tier, I needed to fight a few more enemies, gain some more experience and level up to the peak of the 1st tier – level 50. A trek through wilderness with a destination in mind was a sure-fire way to facilitate all of the above.

More importantly though, once I reached the peak of 1st tier, I would need to achieve a feat of sufficient renown that The System recognised my worthiness and granted me access to 2nd tier classes. There were many types of feat; crafting a powerful item, defeating a powerful enemy, achieving a high rank within a storied organisation. All had one thing in common though – they had to ring with significance and be tied, however loosely, to your class.

I would find the means of achieving such a feat within the Lost Grove, according to Jorge at least, and I was about to find out how.

"So Lamb," he said, leaning forwards. "I believe I promised you a piece of a weapon, aye?"

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