Ranvir stood opposite Esmund at what had become a stable of physical classes. King Stick. They didn’t always do it, in fact, there’d been quite a few weeks during winter where they hadn’t practiced the exercise at all, but now that the snowfall had petered out it made a heroic return.

Esmund shuffled in spot then lowered himself into a crouch ready to go while Ranvir got ready in a less dramatic fashion. All around them class mates were doing similarly.

“Begin!” Vigo exclaimed.

Ranvir stepped forward in a light run while Esmund lunged forwards, his feet slipping on the icy snow and face planting hard enough for his legs to rise above him in the form of a piercer. Ranvir hissed in a breath as he saw his friend’s spectacular fall. He still grabbed the first of his sticks.

“Shattered ice,” Esmund cursed getting to his feet and continuing the game.

Ranvir controlled his breath as he stood opposite Esmund, who was breathing just as hard. There was a slight pearl of sweat on both their foreheads, though, they’d both learned not to take their coats off in this cold.

Between them they’d set up another game after Esmund won the first one.

“I’m going to beat you,” Ranvir said as he readied himself. At this point he had a pretty good idea of what snow could take his weight and what couldn’t. He could cheat with his power but it didn’t feel right. He was going to win properly or not at all.

“Yeah, right,” Esmund replied between breaths, “you’re acting like I’m even going to let you close.”

They counted to three.

Ranvir inhaled deeply as he returned the last of his sticks to his part of the game. He jumped from foot to foot, starting to feel damp under his coat. On occasion, he could see steam rising from the collar of his uniform, which was kind of a cool effect. Made him feel like Dovar.

“You ready?” He asked grinning widely.

“Never been more ready,” Esmund replied, though he didn’t look at Ranvir. Sweat dripped from his forehead onto the snow and Ranvir could hear him breathing from across the field.

“Three.”

“Fuck me… two.”

Ranvir chuckled to himself, “One.”

“Go!”

Ranvir slapped Esmund on his chest, feeling his own undershirt and coat stick to his back, “You okay?”

His friend reminded Ranvir of that time they’d gone to river and seen Skuf and Iarl playing chess and fishing. They’d arrived just in time to see Iarl hauling out a fish from the stream. He watched as the mudweller gaped for breath on the land, squirming as if trying to get back in the water.

Obviously, Ranvir didn’t crack Esmund across the face with a stick, before cooking and eating him. The image just reminded him of that memory. However, that had been a hot summers day, not a sweaty winter morning.

“I’m…” Esmund replied pushing a hand through his sweat matted hair, “fine.”

“You sure about that?” Ranvir asked. He tried to show some concern, but he couldn’t hide the grin that had taken over his face. “You good to go again, another round?”

Esmund got a faraway look in his eyes, smacking his lips a few times, before turning his gaze to Ranvir, “You’re such an asshole.”

They both chuckled and Ranvir slapped his friend on the chest again, “That’s what two - one to you?”

Esmund raised his lips in a fake snarl, “You already knew that,” he took a few seconds to gather his breath before continuing, “I think you also know that I’m not good for much more.”

“Just take your break, I’ll be fine,” he straightened to look around and found Sansir in a similarly partner-less state. “You good for a game?”

Sansir raised an eyebrow, clearly examining Ranvir’s sweat stained uniform, “Are you?”

Two lost games later, Ranvir was staring down Sansir. The exhaustion was starting to settle in properly now. While he’d been developing a severely over-inflated stamina, this much running and effort was starting to become a drain on him. And to make it worse, Sansir had a far longer history of physical exercise and limbs long enough to reach halfway to the fucking moons. Sure, he couldn’t develop too much speed between the post, but he could basically stand in the middle and just grab Ranvir’s sticks and place them in front of his.

Not that Sansir’s games against Grevor had been given to him freely. Sweat was running from his scalp in rivulets and he was gasping for breath as well. Ranvir was seeing small signs of his developing exhaustion, he just wondered if they were showing slower than his own.

King Stick wasn’t an endurance game by default, it was a game to develop your ability to sprint and pull out the explosive energy you needed when you had to make a short, but important, run. Ranvir was on his fifth game in a row, and Sansir was on his third or fourth.

“Three,” Sansir called.

Goddess, he’s already going for it, Ranvir cursed, “Two.”

Ranvir paced behind his line of sticks, having just gone to retrieve them from Sansir. Out of seven games so far today, he’d only won one. A stitch was developing in his side as he forced himself to take in deep breaths. He wiped at his forehead, but it was a largely futile exercise as the more sweat simply pebbled up the moment he removed it, it felt like.

Before him, Sansir was similarly out of it. Hands on his knees, standing behind his line. Ranvir could see sweat dripping regularly from his chin, nose, and temples.

Seize the advantage, Ranvir thought, though he struggled to figure what said advantage could be. “Three,” He said his throat feeling rough from the breathing.

“Two,” Sansir coughed after speaking but straightened.

“One.”

Ranvir swayed falling to one knee, before he caught himself, What happened?

“Oh shit, Ranvir,” Grevor knelt next to him. “Deep breaths, take it in slowly.”

Oh… he tried to take in a breath, but his side stung aggressively hitching his progress.

“That’s it keep going.”

Ranvir did and this time he managed a full breath, over the next few seconds his gaze cleared and his balance returned. “Was I about to pass out?” he wondered out loud.

“Just remember to breathe.”

Ranvir nodded and gave Grev a thumbs up before he straightened, his leg quivering as he forced himself to stand tall. He noticed other students had gathered around them, though, only a few. Master Vigo was among them, however, and he was looking mighty interested.

Deep breaths, Ranvir thought locking eyes with Sansir across from him. His bald friend was standing tall, as straight as he could, making a clear effort of breathing deeply. A few students emerged from the group, instead of first-year accents they had the marks of fourth-years. In fact, Ranvir recognized one of them.

“You’re the leader, our leader,” he said, “Yngvar, from the clinics.”

He smiled at Ranvir, “I am, now we’re just going to be performing a few tests on you before you continue. The academy doesn’t mind that you push yourself, we just want you to be careful that you don’t go too far.”

Ranvir nodded at that.

He was given about half a cup of water to sip on as Yngvar performed his tests. After a few minutes he stepped away from Ranvir to briefly confer with a classmate. They separated and nodded to Master Vigo, “It’s not a heat stroke, though they are slightly dehydrated. It’s just symptoms from pushing themselves. They’ll be fine with rest, though, this should be their last game.”

The last game… the thought struck Ranvir like a brick-house, I’ve got to win this one, then.

He rolled his neck and stepped forwards, stopping just behind his line of sticks. Opposite him, Sansir did the same. Ranvir could see the determination in Sansir’s eyes, he could read the desire to win in them. He wanted a flawless victory, no defeats. Too bad he was up against Ranvir. He wasn’t the fastest, he wasn’t the strongest, the most talented, or even the smartest, but Ranvir persisted. He would hammer away, never stopping, never ending. He would keep going until it broke.

He just had to have enough patience.

“Three,” Master Vigo called out, causing both Ranvir and Sansir to tense. The sudden excitement in Ranvir’s muscles caused his vision to swim and he nearly passed out before he started to relax. He caught himself, leaning down on the snow and resting on one arm. “One… Go!”

Sansir took off, taking advantage of Ranvir’s momentary weakness, his long strides devouring distance and snatched the first stick. Ranvir didn’t waste breath cursing, instead he simply focused on the job at hand. Sansir’s reach and speed was his advantage, but Ranvir had the endurance. He just needed to drag this out long enough, then he could easily make it.

He would take this victory from Sansir. Step by step. Every time Ranvir returned one of his sticks he prolonged the game a little, siphoning a bit of Sansir’s strength. Ranvir was inevitable, he was the oncoming snowstorm. If you couldn’t get to a shelter, he would wear down your defense and break all attempts to stop him.

Tether-space felt odd to Ranvir. At first, he couldn’t figure out why, but after a time he realized it was calm, peaceful. To his senses, his tether extended forth into a massive loop carrying power all the way through the space. It symbolized in its path, the path the power would travel through the Discipline of Body.

Ranvir sighed, grinning slightly. The tether spun slowly, only by picking a distant marker and keeping track of it, could he even tell that it was turning at all. He basked in the peace of the space, barely any power was churning through at the moment, like he’d forcibly turned it down low.

Ranvir turned his gaze, retreating into the less personal overview.

A pair of red eyes stared into the space, a three fingered hand pressed against the wall. Those eyes weren’t lingering on the tether, however, they were Ranvir.

He startled out of the space, jerking to a seated position. People had crowded around him from all over, more than a few were also looking curiously at the box next to him.

He blinked, looking at it, my chest…

“What happened?”

“It looked like you passed out,” Esmund replied from where he was sitting on the chest.

Ranvir blinked, “So I didn’t win?”

Chuckles scattered through the crowd, “No, you just sort of fell over. It might’ve been air deprivation,” Yngvar said, then gesturing for everyone to back off, “I would like some space please.”

“That’s a good one,” Esmund said chuckling but Yngvar just looking uncomprehendingly at him before shooing him off.

“Fuck, I lost…” Ranvir muttered, but in a way that only mature grown up people did, it was a very non-pouting way of behaving. Not a pout in sight, in fact.