[Sandshark]

Act III Scene I - His Solemn Duty

In one year's time I've every intent to return to the village - with, or without my sisters.
I do not doubt they will support the idea of going, to uncovering the truth. But. . .
I need to prepare everyone as best I can.
Moa . . . . Moa . . . . you saw how she fought. Or rather, didn't.
I need combat capable individuals. I would not deny my sister's place there, but . .
But the last thing I want to do is endanger her.
I will propose to my sisters each to name a companion they wish to travel with, a champion.
I can only assume Mao would turn to Borna. . .and in turn, that Moa would to you.
In that event, Lucas, would you be willing to travel with us? To face foe?

Without question.

It was a promise he'd made without thinking. A pledge he'd made without counting the price. Now he had to be sure it was one he could pay.

He had become close enough to the sisters to know that what Amo was asking of him wasn't just one journey. His duty didn't end when they returned to their village, enemies or no. Seeing Moa's weakness, Amo surely expected him to defend her as long as she lived. Whatever happened there was the beginning of his solemn duty. And if he wished to be her husband, he must be able to fulfill it.

So he had come to that lonesome glade in the mountains; the same place where he had unlocked his potential so long ago. The trees had grown since then. The bark had scarred to cover the marks of his spear-thrusts and the barrage of his holy orbs. The Springtime thaw had brought soft grass to the well-trod clearing where he once practiced his footwork so tirelessly. It had been too long since he was here.

Lucas took a deep breath. One in, once out. He drew that halo of golden light out from himself, holding it close around his body until it suffused his whole being with faith. This would not be easy. It would hurt. But he would take the pain a hundred times today if it prevented even one injury to his beloved.

His boot slammed down, sending a blast of mana into the earth below. Clods of dirt and loose stones shot into the air, propelled by gouts of golden light that burst forth from the cracked ground. They sailed up, vanishing into the glare of the midday sun.

Soon they would be upon him.

One breath in, one breath out. Extend your aura. Form your will into a shield.

He reached up, and the aura rushed out into his hands, wavering above him like smoke as gold-flecked mana whorled into the heavens.

Shield. Shield.

WHACK!

A stone no bigger than a walnut struck his head, sending a searing pain through him. He felt blood well up from the cut it left behind, matting his messy golden hair. He buckled, covering himself with his arms as he hunched over against the hail of missiles.

Thump-thump... Thump-thump...

The stones rained down. Some struck him, many fell around him.

He stood up, wiped the blood from his brow, and send the stones up again.

Again, and again, and again. Every time the number of stones that landed nearby shrank. One more chance was all he needed. He could do this.

Again he sent the stones high into the air.

Again he drew out his will.

In his mind's eye he placed Moa down beside him. He could almost feel her arms around him, and, far above, the slings and arrows of the enemy.

CRACK!

A stone struck the golden glow that surrounded him and clattered off onto the ground beside.

CRACK-CRACK!

Another, and another. He breathed in and out slowly, filled with the resolute calm of faith. The will to protect. His barrier was no bigger than two people, perhaps three if they squeezed close. Barely a foot and a half away from him on all sides. And as the stones rained down upon him they sent ripples out through the golden shield that surrounded him.

Thump-thump... Thump-thump...

When the hail ended he stood within that guardian globe, peering up at the work that he had wrought. A spiderweb of tiny cracks gleamed in the sunlight; weaknesses in his shield of faith. And yet it had held. This first step was enough to give him strength. Bruised, bloodied, but proud. His skills were growing. Slowly, but they were growing.

All he had to do now was hone this strength, and test it against another Mage. This shield of faith could become the lynchpin of his fighting style if he perfected it. A way to fulfill his ambitions: to keep Moa safe, to provide a haven for those who had lost loved-ones to the war, to stand in defense of his ideals.