The Isles of Gracidea | Pokémon Fanfiction

10 | The Red Desert

August led her apprentice away from the campfire and said, "In the real world, magicians die easy. You know why?"

"No, I do—"

"'Cause they only use their magic. It's easy to kill a morphing magician. When someone's close to you, you don't get to fight fancy. You have to fight with a real weapon."

"Oh, I see. What sort of weapon will I be wielding?" Cyryl asked excitedly.

"You have Combee fo' brains if you think I'm giving you a blade." August gestured to the sturdy, dense staff in zir hands. "That's your weapon."

Disappointment fell upon zir face. "But why?"

"'Cause your fighting style's gonna focus on buying time. Stun your enemy, back off, an' transform."

Metallic ringing sang out as August unsheathed Risk. The golden sunlight illuminated the blade's etched designs, casting images of hungry flames onto the sand.

Cyryl spluttered, "W-wait! Where are my instructions? You can't attack me outright without any kind of training."

"Pansy," she grumbled under her breath then explained, "Use your head, it's basic. Stand square. Put your stronger foot closer to your attacker. Your weaker hand holds your staff's base while your other's placed some ways above it. Get it?"

Cyryl blinked once, twice. Zie shifted zir stance and adjusted zir grip. "Is this correct?"

"Close enough."

Without further warning, August slashed at Cyryl's torso. Zie yelped and whacked the blade in a sloppy deflection.

Zie gasped. "You could've maimed me!"

"Aye."

August lunged again. Cyryl dodged. Zie twirled the staff and struck at August's head. She caught the wood with her blade, redirecting the swing in a wide arc. The staff flung from Cyryl's grip, straight into the sand.

"Don't do the obvious," August scolded. "Again. We ain't stopping 'til you hit me."

"Roger that," zie said, picking up the staff.

Determined, Cyryl lashed at August's legs. She leaped, quirking a brow. Cyryl huffed and dropped both of zir hands to one of the staff's edges. Akin to a club, zie batted at her full-force. August dropped to the ground. In one fluid movement, she swept her leg beneath Cyryl and knocked zir onto zir butt.

August's lips curled into an amused smirk. She much preferred being on the mentor's side of combat training. She repeated, "Again."

A series of clacks and thumps ensued. Again and again, Cyryl lost hold of zir staff only to bounce back to try once more. Their shadows yawned across the sand, gradually fading as the sunlight dimmed and the blue sky turned orange-and-violet.

Omar, who'd been busy cooking a meal with a bandana in his hair, halted their training. "The food is done!" he called.

August wiped her sweat with the back of her hand and managed between pants, "We're done. I want to eat."

She turned to leave, but Cyryl didn't budge. Her apprentice sunk to zir knees, breathing heavily and staring at zir staff.

"Kid, get up," she said. "The food's done."

Cyryl sniffled, and zir dejected voice wavered as zie murmured, "I apologize, Gold."

A horrible awkwardness crept over August. She cringed, watching on in discomfort as her apprentice cried. This was a problem—Cyryl showing weakness, that is.