The wildcat leapt at him, and Nicos dove to the side. His new ashthrower dug painfully against his ribs as he landed and rolled, dodging past sharp claws attached to a paw the size of his head. Nicos came up, sword in his off-hand, as his instincts roared in his ear to parry. He barely managed to bring up his blade to intercept his enemy's whip-like tail, but the limb simply bent around his strike. The tip landed on Nicos chest, barely brushing against him, really, but it felt like he'd been kicked by a mule. The sudden impact knocked the breath out of his lungs and sent him sprawling.

"Careful of the tail!" Eurya called belatedly, her good cheer evident in her voice. "It only needs a tap to break something important!"

Nicos wheezed out an acknowledgement, and scrambled back to his feet. His new weapon was more cumbersome than he had expected, and he clumsily swapped hands. His right hand gripped comfortably on his sword, while his left awkwardly held the ashthrower. His finger managed to find the secondary trigger, but the sudden switch had thrown him out of sorts. It was enough time for the massive feline to pounce once again.

The creature was nothing more than a black blur, claws stretched wide and jaws agape. Nicos caught a glance of sharp, gleaming fangs and a whole lot more serrated teeth than he had ever wanted to be acquainted with, before reflex took over. He swept his sword forward and up, stepping into the pounce. His blade bit into the creature's paw, almost severing it, and he grunted at the impact. At the same time, the boy cast his Memory of the desert sand into the ground. The force of the intercepted swipe sent the boy sliding across the clearing, but it kept him clear of the lashing tail.

The wildcat landed with a yowl and a spray of blood. It thrashed on the ground, attempting to find its feet even while nursing a nearly amputated limb. Nicos, having bought time and distance, brought up his ashthrower. He slid his sword sideways beneath the barrel, giving himself some much needed stability. The trigger was pressed, the spring fired, and sparks scattered across his wrist. The burning pain triggered his Memory—heat, open flames, a fireball the size of a house—and he cast that into the ash within his weapon.

The ashthrower bucked in his hand, and what emerged was less a fireball than a long gout of flames. He barely managed to keep it on target, hosing the wildcat, several trees, and a good chunk of meadow. The flames were less, he could tell that immediately, as the trees and grass merely ignited rather than immediately turning to ash. His enemy, however, fared far worse. Its angry caterwauling cut off almost immediately, as its body was put the torch. Nicos rushed forward nonetheless, decapitating the feebly twitching creature both to ensure the kill, and to spare it some pain.

Eurya clapped her hands together, as he finished the act. "Well done! That was an excellent use of casting to substitute for footwork. The desert taught you well."

Nicos glanced at the ground where he had once stood. The dirt there was wiped smooth, almost a smeared streak of fine powder. His hasty casting had turned its texture into sand. He would have struggled much harder against the creature without using that particular trick. Nicos gave a silent prayer of thanks to Nemuba, and his fallen friend.

"The Naru taught me," he corrected quietly. He stabbed his sword into the dirt, and took a seat. He kept his ashthrower cradled against his legs, as he reloaded it.

Eurya shrugged as she approached him. "They are one and the same." She flicked a glance over her shoulder to the Keeper, and pointed to the smoldering corpse of the boy's kill. "Won't you be a dear and prepare dinner for us? I have to speak with my student." She pulled her dagger out of her belt, and tossed it to him.

The Keeper snorted, but caught the weapon, and went about the bloody task of cleaning the kill. Eurya plopped down onto the flattened grass beside Nicos.

"So," she said, "that went well."

Nicos shrugged.

"It will be a while before I can use this proficiently in combat," he lamented, hefting his new weapon. It was almost too large to use with a single hand. It wasn't heavy, so much as cumbersome. He would have to get used to its shape, to maneuvering with it and aiming it.

He glanced down at the ashthrower with a frown. A strap wouldn't hurt. Some way to carry it. It was a bit too large to simply hang off his belt. Maybe a strip of leather...

Something else occurred to him. "Is the ashthrower meant to be wielded in one hand?" he asked. The Keeper had mentioned warcasters. Surely they had some standard form of practice with the weapon that he could imitate?

"It can be, but it's rare," the Keeper admitted in between cuts. He was working quickly to skin the wildcat, making long, deep cuts with Eurya's odd knife. "Most warcasters focus exclusively on their art. Martial pursuits are not frowned upon, but are generally seen as unnecessary, or inefficient. Past the most basic proficiency, at least. They usually carry a short sword, or dagger of some variety, for emergencies."

"Warcasters are sometimes seeded in with the infantry," Eurya commented. "Just three or four, those that are capable enough with a blade to not stab themselves. Its amazing how well four ashthrowers can blunt a cavalry charge." She chuckled. "Nothing ruins your day quite like a fireball to the face. Horses enjoy it about as much as people do."

"I bet," Nicos replied neutrally. Once again, he glanced over his weapon, puzzling at how he could properly wield it.

"Don't think on it overmuch," his teacher advised. She flicked a strand of hair out of her face. "Your instincts have served you well thus far. Do what feels right."

"I'll need practice," he replied absently, running a hand across his new weapon.

"You'll get it," Eurya promised. She met his eyes. "Now, pay attention. Its time for you to learn about Talents."

Nicos straightened his back, crossing his legs beneath himself. This was a topic his father had scarcely begun to scratch. He knew little of the subject, only that he had been expected to earn a Talent of his own, some day. Now, perhaps, that was no longer likely.

"Recall the story I told you, about the beginnings of the world," Eurya ordered. Nicos did so, closing his eyes and dreaming of titans. "In those early days, when the first titans walked the world, change was a new concept. New, in those days, was powerful. Memory is measured, after all, by impact. And something unseen in all of time before, was most impactful indeed. Change came easy." She leaned forward, smiling grimly. "That didn't last long, of course. I couldn't give you a range of time—time was barely even a recognized concept, then, and thus flowed oddly—but eventually the world settled into the state that it exists in today. Change can come from our actions, as we interact with the physical world, but change through Memory is much more difficult than simply a bit of imagination."

"I'm not sure I understand how this relates," Nicos admitted.

"The point, Nicos, is that the rules are set. The world has been the way it is for over fifty millennia. The Memory of that brief period of rapid change is now weak, so very weak." She held up a finger. "But still present. Still active, if only barely. Nothing is truly forgotten."

"Like the Gravel Sea," Nicos said breathlessly. "Memory reasserts itself."

"Quite so." Eurya nodded. "And thus, you have Talents. A changing of the rules. Or an exception, I should say, for a single person. A talent, at its core, is a fact that contradicts the world. It is something impossible, and thus can only be gained by doing the impossible. Or rather, what people perceive as impossible."

Nicos couldn't help but grin. Every single one of his ancestors had earned a Talent, his father included. Pride burned in his chest like a merry ember. Eurya drowned it without remorse.

"Don't go getting a big head," she stated blandly. "Achieving something thought impossible is not nearly as difficult as you might think. It depends entirely on who you are, and what you are attempting to accomplish."

Nicos deflated. His voice was almost a whine. "How can that be?"

"The first Hero of your family gained his Talent by cutting down an evertree, on the order of the All-King. Such was his devotion"—she spoke the world like it was poison—"that he managed to accomplish this feat, considered by most to be impossible." She turned to Nicos. "He started the tradition of planting a birth-tree for his son, in the hopes that the boy would gain a Talent as he did."

Nicos' brow furrowed at the implications. Eurya had cut down his birth-tree, had stolen the opportunity for him to earn his Talent. She'd replaced that source of power with something arguably greater, but the loss still ached. More so, now, from his own ignorance. Maybe if he'd been more devoted, or just a little bit more talented, he could have accomplished the feat earlier. Then, perhaps, he would have the best of both worlds. A Talent, and a teacher.

"None of that now," Eurya chided, reading the boy's emotions on his face with ease. "That first Hero's plan worked, but only for a single generation." Nicos' eyes widened, and Eurya nodded. "Oh yes. The world cannot be fooled so easily. You see, when your ancestor planted an evertree for his son, it was merely out of a small hope for success. But once he succeeded, once the next generation arrived, and that act became a tradition, success became expected. Something expected, by defintion, cannot be impossible."

"Then... my own task?" Nicos asked hesitantly.

"Your father altered it, ever-so-slightly," Eurya confided. "Every one of your forebears used your family's sword; your father's sword. It carried with it the echo of the deed, and made things vastly more simple. Your father elected to give you that." She pointed to his training blade. "It was his thought, his suspicion, that accomplishing the deed with that blade would earn you a Talent similar to your first ancestor. The ability to cut anything, without exception or qualification. Something your later ancestors lacked."

"My father's blade could not be stopped," Nicos protested. It seemed to be nearly the same thing.

Eurya shook her head. "In the service of a higher cause." She sighed, propping an elbow against her knee, and leaning her chin against her fist. "Your father's sword had to be wielded with purpose, boy. In his eyes, that meant against the enemies of the All-King." Her voice was fond. "He was loyal like that. He saw his Talent as his purpose. He gave his all to destroying those who he was told were enemies. Even when that list included himself."