Lucia

Nulla III

Nulla III. He Who Sought Power

“Focus, Ezekiel!”

The previously white tunic I sported has turned gray from the hours of training. 

The wooden sword I held embodied the hundreds of failures I had met. A few hours back, no graze could be seen even in meticulous observation. But its current appearance opposed its previous description.

With a shaky grasp on the scratched sword, I tried to regain energy to stand. I could not control the heavy breaths that moved to and from my parted lips, and the energy whose muster I had anticipated, did not come about with ease. 

It was pitiful, the state I was in, but the Miss has always seen me in such a condition at the end of each spar...in all hundreds of them. Thus, it naturally came as a surprise when she spoke of her observations with an unfiltered bluntness for the first time.

“Your admirable strength is no more. You have gotten weak,” partly in an attempt of provocation, she spoke. She had never spoken of my tiredness before. She already knew of my awareness of it. 

Did I appear so frail as to urge the Miss to speak of it?

“Indeed, you…” she continued. I have been sitting on the floor for a good minute, back slouched, as I pulled my right knee towards my chest to serve as a resting top for my arm. I used it in a rushed defense against the Miss’ previous attack. 

“The entertainment you bring me is no more,” firmly, she uttered in sincerity.

Even with faint perplexity, there was a dominating clarity of what she meant. Undoubtedly, I must have appeared inadequate in the eyes of the Miss. And with the way I am acting, surely, I must have always been.  

With an exasperated grunt, I pushed myself from the dusty ground. 

I cannot let its occurrence come about further.  

I must not worsen the impression I have on the Miss by idly sitting by.

“One more,” with an unconscious glare, slightly provoked, I demanded. 

The Miss granted my demand after a second of thought. 

And so with a newfound energy, I ran to attack once more.

But I apparently was easy to read when fatigued. 

Sitting on the floor, enervated, my eyes rested at the sight of the still dark sky, hues of blue and orange greeting each other as part of their roles in the early hours of today. The sun had started to rise. 

My chest rose along the heavy breaths I desperately took, strength leaving in a rapid pace.

The miss has remained standing, looking down at my form and knowing I could fight no more.

Immediately after the accomplishment of my duties yesterday noon, I had requested a spar. For commoners, it was quite the itinerary. Rest would have been placed in between activities, but I knew of time’s pace. 

An excuse for my poor performance could have been the presence of my successive activities, but using such an excuse to the Miss would be futile. 

She spoke of her observations, noting the improvement of my stamina, even despite my performance. However, its execution has been done with evident ignorance. My attacks, as I have expected, remain easy to read. And finally, my constant attempt to add power to my attacks is defective. To her, stiffness is all there is. The power I have can easily be beaten in combat against an opponent of stealth. 

As always. Strictness remains, but so is her quality of observance. 

I am still too far from what is ideal. 

“I see. I shall improve more, Miss,” I replied.

Reflecting from the Miss’ remarks, I continued to look at the sky, wondering the time it will take for me to reach a power necessary to fit the ideal. 

I know it would not come with ease. I know it would not take only a short span of time, but if wondering is all there is to carry out, change would be nothing but a mere goal. A dream is unobjectionable, for a goal stems from a dream, but if fulfillment does not proceed, then all effort spent becomes pointless. 

Reflection was all I did, and distraction accompanied.

“You follow me so easily,” staring at the rising sun, the Miss suddenly spoke. 

I remained gazing at the sky, capturing the picturesque I often cannot encounter. 

Truly, easily I follow, but all this not without a reason. 

“I seek improvement. Thus, haste I shall make,” I answered, “Your time is not unending. I do not intend to make a waste of it.” 

I restated what already is given. She knows partly of my intentions, surely. Even partly...

“Your belief in my reliability, truth, and strength can alter the future you are destined to meet.” 

Is the Miss pertaining to an alteration of the fate I intend to take upon myself? 

“What might be the Miss' implication?” 

I supported my weak body as I sat and looked at the Miss. 

The sun rose in a warm tone, extending its light to those both near and far in proximity. It shone, appealing to the ancient trees surrounding the vicinity, the flowers of the near garden, and the small animals in need of warmth. 

She spoke for the last time, as a dismissal for our meeting.

“You trust me too much.”

Despite the light, the darkness of her hair overcame the bright rays of the sun as she turned away from the sight. Her hair flowed down her back as she walked towards the castle, without a single scratch, without any signs of amusement.

I looked back at the rising sun, but its warmth temporarily appeared to have vanished. I had refuted to her statement, but was only left with silence.

“You trust me the same.” 

We are...pathetically the same, Miss.