"I've wronged you, Nicos," the boy's teacher eventually admitted, as they winged their way across the desert. The cloud manta had shrunk in size over the past day, but its speed had not slowed a jot. The desert flowed past them like a river of sand.

The boy watched it with only the barest hint of interest, merely sitting in place and staring downward. His mind was elsewhere, ruminating on things he'd long been told were beyond his comprehension. It was jarring, to suddenly understand his place in the world. Especially when that place was so near the bottom.

"It's been centuries since I've taught someone beyond a few pointers," Eurya continued. "Millennia, perhaps, since that person was a novice. I'd forgotten how fragile mortals can be."

She sighed, falling into a crouch. Her eyes were level with his.

"We gain power through our experiences. The Memory of battles, great and small. Once you have come to terms with what you've seen, you'll be stronger for it." She scratched her scalp, and sheepishly admitted, "Still, I should have prepared you better."

That was an understatement. The boy barked out a laugh, and faced her. "How do you deal with it, teacher? Knowing that there are forces so far beyond us all?"

Eurya's eyes glittered. "Why, my little student, whenever did I say that those gods were beyond us?"

He didn't understand.

"Do you think just anyone could have witnessed that Memory?" she pressed. "It happens every year, on the anniversary of the battle, yet so few are willing to look upon it. Do you know why, Nicos?"

He shrugged. "The danger, I'd imagine."

"The danger, he says," his teacher scoffed. "We flew through the heart of that great war, boy. Tens of thousands have died, merely gazing upon it. The four of us emerged untouched. What does that tell you?"

His mouth opened, then clicked shut. His brow furrowed. "I don't know."

"It tells you that your teacher is strong," Eurya said, without pride or humility. It was a statement of irrefutable fact. A tenet of reality. "I showed you that battle, not to intimidate you, but to give you a destination towards which you should strive."

"You think I can..." the boy trailed off, as he thought back. The Keeper, who had stepped away to allow them this conversation, had claimed Eurya as his bodyguard. The Keeper, who had punched a hole in the sky with a single sentence and a gesture. Who had held back the ocean through means unknown, if only briefly.

How had the boy forgotten that? He had been so wrapped up in that last image, that physical manifestation of a god, reaching for the sky, that he'd ignored all else. The Keeper had brushed aside the wrath of a god. Eurya, the boy's teacher, was the Keeper's bodyguard. It wasn't the first time the boy had realized the strength of his two traveling companions, but it was the first time he could appreciate the scale of it.

He swallowed heavily. "Teacher, why did you choose me?" With her strength, she could have had any student she wanted. He was nothing in her eyes, in anyone's eyes. No accomplishments, no name. Just the son of a fallen Hero. A traitor.

"Why?" Eurya echoed. She looked at him. Her eyes were not gentle—Eurya did not do gentle—but they were as soft as he'd ever seen them. "If you're hoping for some great, profound reason, then you're going to be disappointed."

That stung more than the boy had expected. Still, "I have to know." Why him? What did she see, that was special?

"Hm." Eurya examined her nails absently. "If I had to pick a reason, I suppose it was your stubbornness."

The boy blinked. "What?"

His teacher shrugged. "It takes a special kind of brash self-confidence to get thrashed by somebody, then mouth off to them the very next moment. Within five minutes of me putting you into the dirt, you were arguing with me and making threats. You denied me—me!—and instead attempted to strike out on your own. I admire that kind of tenacity, stupid as it might be." She paused, looking at him. "I only hope I haven't destroyed that part of you."

His mouth flapped aimlessly. "You— I was under the impression that being brash was a bad thing. That my impatience, my," he swallowed, "my lack of control, was a defect, not something to be admired."

"Oh, it is very much a defect," Eurya acknowledged. "Discipline is the ultimate measure of self-control. But that confidence, that..." She paused, looking for a word. "Obstinate belief in your own power. The ability to spit in the face of reason, and declare 'So what if it's impossible? I'll do it anyway!' That is the foundation of strength. Memory is shaped by perception, Nicos. Your perception of yourself must be unassailable. Untouched by doubt, and able to brush away the Memory of your foes. You had that foundation, or the makings of one. I could feel it."

He did. He remembered how easily he had disregarded her words. But his experiences since then had only proven how little he knew. And the fact that he'd been chosen for his ignorance, of all things, galled him. It was nothing more than chance. How many people had this woman passed by, before he took her fancy? How many worthier students had she crossed over the millennia.

His thoughts slammed to a halt.

Millennia?

"Millennia?" he asked.

Eurya looked amused. "Excuse me?"

"You said, earlier, you said millennia. Since you've last taught a novice."

She nodded. "That's right. My best guess, at least. We don't keep track of passing years so exactly." She gestured to the Keeper, who was also, apparently, ancient. Because of course he was.

"Millennia?" the boy repeated dumbly. "You are eternal? Like the All-Kings?"

The Keeper snorted, from his place off to the side. He'd been listening, clearly.

"Fate has decreed all things to die," the Keeper said. "The two of us and the All-Kings of Athun, we cheat her in different ways, but nothing is eternal."

The boy shook his head, choosing not to engage on the subject. He wanted no more life-changing revelations today.

"Age is its own form of power," Eurya added. "Life has a certain inertia intrinsic to it. The longer you live, the stronger your Memory of living."

"I suppose this explains your confidence," the boy said with a sigh. "I know we go to face a titan, a creature said to rival gods, but I'd always assumed that was hyperbole. I did not believe the two of you actually had such ability."

Eurya hesitated. "Titans are their own mess entirely. We'll speak of that, eventually. For now, however, you must focus on your training." Her eyebrow raised. "Or have you given up on your ambitions?"

He thought of his father. Dead, dishonored.

The man who replaced him.

And the All-King, judging from on high.

Grow into something more than a traitor's legacy, and perhaps I will entertain your challenge.

The boy gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles going white.

"No," he growled.

"Good," his teacher hissed approvingly. "Anger is good. Even misguided anger. Nothing clears the mind like raw hatred and a worthy target."

His doubts had not abated, merely settled. They lingered in the back of his mind, swept to the side by the sudden reminder of his mission. Of his goals. He couldn't afford to falter. His weakness would have to wait its turn.

He glanced at his teacher, and said, "You told me once that the world wouldn't wait. You were right. I want to be strong, teacher. What must I do?"

She nodded, amusement shining in her eyes. "Confidence comes from experience. You must face harsh adversity and emerge with unshaken will. Only through vicious trials can you gain strength beyond measure."

"What must I do?" he repeated.

She gestured downwards, to the endless sand dunes. "This desert is vast, but not impassable. There is a city to the east, where the sand ends. That is our destination. Tomorrow, we'll set down. The Keeper and I will teach you one last lesson, then you will cross this desert alone, and meet us there."

That sounded almost suicidal. The boy hesitated. "Am I ready for such a trial?"

She grinned, her fangs glinting sharply in light. "None of us are ever ready for what life throws our way. The trick is, not to care. So what if you aren't ready? This is what you must do."

It was a philosophy the boy could get behind. He nodded firmly. "Yes, teacher. I will not fail."

"If you fail, you'll probably die," she commented. "So, yes. Don't do that."

"Inspiring," the Keeper commented drolly, his voice acting like a pail of cold water, thrown over the boy's head. "Nicos."

The boy turned to face the blind man.

"The world is vast, and you've seen only a small part of it," the Keeper said solemnly. "It's right for you to feel uncertain. Remember this: hubris and humility are both useless. Make peace with your place in the world. Come to terms with it. Know yourself and your capabilities. Know where you are weak and where you are strong. Do not fear asking for help from others. There is no shame in it. Do these things, and you will never find yourself lacking."

It was a lot to take in. He nodded, resolving to ponder the blind man's words like they were his own father's. There was wisdom there, waiting to be unpacked.

"And finally," the Keeper smiled, genuine and fond, "allow me to echo Eurya by saying, try not to die."

And some wisdom that was perfectly straightforward.