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[Severed Divinity] 62. Archery
🕑 Added 2024-04-24 01:24:28 +0000 UTCIsen couldn’t find Freyan and Arthum when he left the cultivation cave after fifth evening bell, so he entered the dining area alone. He noticed the others in fourth clade gathering around a table. They must have arrived only a minute or two earlier.
He approached the group hesitantly, unsure what to say. Two facing his direction noticed him.
“Oh, Isen,” a slight half elf girl said. Isen recalled her name was Lona. “Hi.”
“Hi. Can I...?”
The half elves looked between themselves and nodded. “We’re all fourth clade.”
Isen gave a small smile, then went to grab food. An array of heated trays awaited him. Everything smelled incredible.
The elves here probably take this all for granted, he mused. Hot food, fresh each night. He almost thought of it as free, then remembered that technically, it did cost sect points to eat in the food hall. He wondered how the sect deducted them. Using magic, evidently.
His plate filled with unfamiliar but not-to-exotic-looking food, he returned to find fourth clade’s table embroiled in conversation.
“My mom said that most of the mages left last week.”
“The administrative mages are still around, at least.”
“Well, they never go anywhere, so...”
“Hey! My dad’s an admin mage, and he goes down to the primary level every rest day.”
An eye roll, then, “You know that’s not what I mean. They’ve been gone for a few days now. They’ve gone somewhere. And you know what my mom says? The cultivators are next. Soon the sect will be empty!”
The kids all fell quiet.
Lona bit her lip. “In all seriousness, have any of you heard if we’ll be coming along? My parents won’t say.”
The only response was a round of sullen shrugs.
“I heard that things are weird in some of the other clans, too. That it’s all because the queen died.”
An older boy sneered. “As if that would matter. The clans have been competing for a while. The only thing that’s changed is that there’s no one to keep them in check. That’s where everyone’s gone—to fight.”
Lona laughed. “Is that what your brother told you?”
“Yeah it is—before he also left.”
“If there’s really some kind of... clan war going on, then why are our strongest cultivators still here, and not with the mages?” Lona asked.
The boy seemed to deflate. “Maybe they’re doing something else to help the patriarch.”
“I saw Kelsina and Jorin coming back into the sect late last night,” another boy, Verniss, interjected. After being silent the entire meal, his statement stood out. Everyone stared at him.
“You what?” Lona said, jaw agape.
“I... couldn’t sleep. So I left my room.”
“We’re not supposed to walk around after dark,” Lona muttered.
Verniss ignored her. “I saw Kelsina and Jorin appearing as if from thin air right outside the patriarch’s residence.”
“Why were you by the patriarch’s residence late at night!?”
Verniss blushed. “Because...” The red in his cheeks deepened. His eyes flitted to another girl in their circle, who was already looking away.
Isen laughed inwardly from secondhand embarrassment. Couldn’t sleep was a bit of a euphemism. Still, he kept a straight face. This was honestly pretty juicy information. Kelsina and Jorin had been on a mission together for Welco?
Whatever the truth was, he wouldn’t be getting it from Verniss. The table devolved into purely social chatter.
It was comforting, in a way. But it also made Isen’s heart ache. He finished the rest of his food, then excused himself.
Since it was still light out, he went to his room, grabbed his bow, and headed to the archery range. It was a bit outside of the main grounds, but easily accessible by a paved path surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers. The area was actually still part of the clan proper since it was surrounded by tall walls that bore the sect’s black banners. It was different from where teacher Conrin had brought them, which had been outside the main gate, beyond the walls.
He’d never actually been, but signage on a small wooden post by the path’s ingress indicated that the archery range was halfway between the main training ring and Welco’s residence. Isen had been too busy to visit thus far, and he figured he could go there on the way to the patriarch’s place.
Isen once more found himself entranced by the casual beauty of the sect grounds. Why did anyone live in a dry waste like Goldbounty when a place like this existed? It wasn’t like things were too cramped. The lush Kingdom of Eldrassin did not suffer from overpopulation, given the sparsity of towns along the way to the capital.
Five minutes into his walk, he could hear the twangs of bowstrings. Coming around a copse of trees, he saw the full range. It was enormous, probably at least two hundred meters, far larger than the ranges he’d seen the soldiers practice with in Goldbounty. Twenty-one half elves stood in individually sectioned areas at various distances from the targets, shooting at their own pace. More than half the shooting sections were still open, so Isen went to claim one. There wasn’t a door, just a thin drape of cloth that parted around him.
Inside, he saw the different targets. There were three targets for every three sections, though the targets were all at different distances. One was near the back of the range, so small Isen could barely see it. The second target was about halfway down the range—not too far, but still much further than the trees Isen had practiced on. The final target Isen estimated to be around fifty meters away.
He’d shot a few trees at that distance.
He pulled the bow from his back and removed the quiver. He hadn’t been sure if he’d need to bring his own arrows, but the square bin packed to the brim with arrow shafts put that concern to rest. He pulled one of the public arrows free and inspected it. It was made from simple wood and feather fletching. Cheap. Sufficient for practice.
Isen strung the arrow on his bow and lined up the shot, then released. It hit the closest target, but only just, nailing the outer ring.
He frowned and cocked his head, adjusting his grip slightly. He let loose the arrow again and it hit in almost the same spot, just on the other side of the target.
Unacceptable.
He drilled for twenty minutes before he heard movement from behind. An unfamiliar half elf with short silver hair and an ageless face set with a single honey-colored eye, the other obscured by a black eyepatch. He didn’t look old—the unusual hair color must’ve just been natural or dyed.
“I was wondering who was shooting so poorly,” he said, his words spoken without malice.
Isen lowered his bow and pivoted to face the newcomer. “Hello—who are you?”
“Julra Femera.” His gaze caught Isen’s gold-ringed eye.
“I’m Isen. Um. Do you have any advice for me?”
Julra crossed his arms. “Let me observe you for a few shots.”
Isen tried to pretend the newcomer wasn’t present as he nocked arrows and fired them off into the closest target. He was doing better than tagging the outer rim but was nowhere close to consistently hitting the bullseye. The few arrows sprouting from the target’s center were lucky shots.
As Isen reached for another arrow, Julra handed him one. “I’m going to make manual adjustments to your movements. Is that alright?”
Isen nodded. As he brought the arrow to the bow, Julra’s arms reached around his own. With the arrow pressed to the bowstring, Isen pulled back.
“Let it go slack and try again, but this time, breathe with me,” Julra instructed.
Isen could feel the rise and fall of Julra’s chest on his back, and timed his own breathing accordingly. It was slow, deliberate. He took several breaths before Julra nudged Isen’s hand to draw the arrow back.
Julra took in one long, slow breath—then held it. A thin puff of air whistled through his teeth. He tapped Isen’s finger, and the teen released the shot.
The arrow landed on the ring just outside the bullseye.
The next time, Isen hit the same ring. The time after that, he hit the bullseye—the first time he’d done so that didn’t feel like dumb luck.
Exhaling out the rest of his air from the last shot, he turned to face his helper. “You have my thanks.”
Julra gave him a half grin. “Most younger cultivators don’t find archery particularly interesting. It’s less flashy than shadow fist.”
Isen held up an arrow. “Can’t you imbue shadow energy into a weapon, too?”
“You can, though once the arrow leaves the cultivator’s hand, the energy dissipates. It’s more limited than striking with an actual technique in close quarters.”
Isen supposed that made sense. He wondered how the shadow bolt technique worked; he hadn’t seen anyone invoke it yet. Now that he thought about it, since it was a cultivation technique, it probably didn’t have a very long range. It was likely similar to his energy ball. Distant magical bombardments were the clear domain of mages, not cultivators.
“Is there a better way for a cultivator to hit faraway targets?” Isen asked, genuinely curious.
“Not if you ask me,” Julra replied, “though cultivators with a clever bent can make less conventional options work.” He rubbed his chin. “I like your pragmatism, Isen. You’re the new tier two kid that was brought in?”
“That’s me.”
“How long have you been learning the bow?”
“Less than two weeks.”
That elicited a pause. “How long were you planning to be at the range this evening?”
Isen couldn’t help a grin from spreading across his face. “I’m free until half past the seventh evening bell.”
“Then let’s go again. But this time, we’re aiming for the hundred meter target.”
