AFTER LUNCH, Maze followed Miss Olivia to the northeast. Fortunately, the transition was merely brief, as the Chamber of Refinement, serving as the Tower's training hall, lay just beside the northern sanctuary. Alas, practice was at his grip.
As the heavy doors groaned open, Maze found himself within a vast, pillarless expanse. The hall was a cold shell of cobblestones that lined the ceiling, the floor, and the walls in a grey pattern. At the very center stood a figure forged of silver. It was a statue of an anthropomorphic frog. Who would have thought that its two legs was braced firmly, while its hands was spread forward, to grip a silver parchment holder, with a hollowed center? Maze also noted the thin slits in its eyes, and the array of small yet deep holes peppering its back, like pores in silver skin.
What purpose does this statue hold? The intrigued Maze was bespectacled, his creased brows evident.
Miss Olivia noticed his curiosity.
"If you look closely, it is a sheer statue, Maze. However, it is not as shallow as that — it has its own importance." Miss Olivia touched the head of the frog. "It is called the Statue of the Divine Frog, a relic capable of observation and illusion." She pointed the parchment holder. "Its parchment holder is where you shall place this scroll." She handed him the rolled vellum, which she was holding even before they were inside. "This statue, I assume you have seen this," then she traced the holes on its back with her fingers, "these emit mists from its back. Even the mists have names." She stared at the listening Orphan. "The Watchful Mists." She, then, paused for a bit. "Somehow, they will observe your practice and create the illusions you must face. What is even more divine is that . . . this statue itself will come to life. You can see it record and name your abilities upon that very scroll."
Maze looked at the silver sentinel, then back at her. "So, it means that I can cease the practice at once, whenever I want, and if I am overwhelmed?"
Miss Olivia nodded. "However, you must know that the practice has no end until you deactivate it by rubbing the parchment holder," she explained. "Though you will see it yourself later on, the mists create shadows of faceless men who hold weapons. It depends on whatever they manifest: swords, bows and arrows, spears, and so on. Know that they cannot kill you, for they are but illusions, though their strikes will sting like a sharp prickle." Miss Olivia patted his shoulder. "Since you carry no weapon, you must determine how to steal one from them."
Did I hear it right? Maze asked inwardly.
"I have no way of defeating them, then, if not steal," Maze whispered, his fingers tightening on the scroll.
"Indeed." Miss Olivia proceeded to walk past him. "The rest is for you to refine."
With that, Miss Olivia departed, leaving the doors to seal Maze within the chamber.
Maze reached out and slid the scroll into the hollow of the silver holder.
Immediately, there was a slight tremble everywhere.
The silver limbs of the frog shifted with a metallic rasp, coming to life as its slit-eyes flickered. Creak, creak! It reached for the parchment holder, as it retrieved a quill and the scroll. With a fluid motion, it slung the holder over its shoulder by a silver strap, while the nib poised against the vellum.
From the holes across the statue's back, a thick, grey vapor exhaled, spiraling across the floor and soon occupied the entire space. Maze watched as the air curdled. Within the swirling fog, dark, translucent shapes began to coalesce. For this first wave, they were all holding swords that were as dark and double-edged, their forms woven from the damp vapor.
Maze recalled the sensation of his first awakening. It was his Blessedness. He possessed this "drift" ability.
As a former shepherd, he had never known nor learned the art of self-defense. In this moment, he had no way — as in any way — to parry the shadow figures with his bare fists. At least, if he were stricken by a sword, it was only a prickling sensation and not death, like what he had experienced days ago.
The first enemy swung its sword toward his chest. Maze turned sideways and prepared a punch. For him, these things were still quite new. He had never engaged in a physical fight before, let alone true combat.
Yet, as if his body were attentive and much more responsive, he was swift. His heart leapt from interest and satisfaction. He had just avoided a fatal blow!
Maze prepared his fist, and the enemy seemed taken aback. However, it was not yet vanquished. He tried to kick his leg into its stomach, but another enemy stabbed his back.
He felt the prickle.
He had just died by logic.
Too slow!
For an hour, that was the rhythm of his struggle. He threw punches but failed to eliminate a single foe. Therefore, he could not even take their weapon. He was so weak.
Such a disappointment.
But if there was one thing he figured out —
He elbowed an enemy sideways and kicked another in front of him. He punched a third on the opposite side to create a slight opening. Maze was in a deadlock.
As the one in front almost stabbed his chest, he tried to shield his arm. A sharp pain stung him. With sweat trickling, he possessed a grin and swiftly drifted behind.
His former body faded, and a copy was made.
A drift!
But the only way to activate it was for him to be in pain.
He had been doing so for about half an hour now.
Clearly, he merely got the gist of it, and so, the enemies had only grown in number.
He had not killed even one.
However, that would change now.
Maze lunged from behind and tried to get hold of a shadow figure. He made it a shield so the others would strike their own kind.
Finally, his first kill!
His noon went on as he transitioned from sword to bow and arrow, and then to a staff that created a dark flame.
When it was almost dusk, Maze dashed toward the statue and rubbed the parchment holder. All the figures stopped moving; the writing statue placed the quill on the holder; and the scroll was rolled and put inside. After that, the figures vanished one by one, as the mist retreated, and everything went back to how it was before practice began.
Maze took the scroll from the parchment holder.
He opened it and finally saw the gift he had.
His eyes widened.
⠀
HIS REMAINING DAYS at the Tower was like that for a while. Practice, after practice, after practice. It was never-ending practice, and never-ending dedication of a life he promised to fulfill for his master, and without fail, he tried living every second of them.
From the fourth day, he remained occupied throughout the daylight hours without the guidance of lecturers. By the fifth, not a single mentor remained within the Tower, save for the great cook. Mistletoe continued to bolster him with food and brief, urgent conversations. "You know, Maze, you really are something," the cook remarked with his characteristic charm. "I should like to witness you in a fray some day. Who knows, we may team up. But for now, let me be of service and provide the fare that can restore your Essence!"
Indeed, Maze did not fall behind in his cogitation. With Vaelstrom, Miss Olivia, and Sir Azaniel absent, he was forced to refine his path in solitude. Not a single blink was squandered. If he rested, he did so while cogitating in the Chamber of Sanctum; if he sought to test his wits and abilities, he returned to the training hall.
He lost track of the days until the sixth passed, giving way to the seventh. It was his final day.
After his final practice, Vaelstrom approached him outside the hall. With his arms crossed, the man spoke in a sunken tone. "Prepare yourself."
"For what?" Maze asked, his voice raspy from exertion.
"Well," Vaelstrom yawned slightly, "it is not merely your last day. You are about to be fully accepted as an Orphan."
I have assumed I was officially an Orphan, Maze wondered as he brushed back his soaked hair.
"Your name shall be inscribed in the book."
"What book?"
The albino man stared at him sullenly.
"The Book of the Orphans." He ceased for a short period. "It marks you as a member of the denomination, the sect, and the faction — each of which possesses its own purpose."
Maze absorbed the gravity of the statement and retreated to his bedchamber to compose himself. Vaelstrom awaited him outside, and together they descended toward an area Maze had only peered at from a distance.
It was the tavern, a chamber situated at the southwest of the Tower, neighboring the dining hall.