For all but a moment, Zarxe didn't hear anything being said. A single uttered word grabbed his attention and for that moment, it was the only thing he could think about. [i]Knighthood[/i]. That word, something about it seemed so... familiar to Zarxe. And for another brief moment, a vivid picture filled his mind - and it was something he remembered...

[b]Primus ~ The Past[/b]

"Come on, now, you won't win by pulling your punches." Prince Lyon spoke in a taunting tone. He stood across from his sparring partner, each gripped a training sword in their hand. The swords were real, save for the blades being dulled to avoid serious injury. It was only a training exercise, and so obviously real swords were not necessary.

Lyon was a Prince, one of several actually. The continent of Arvell had been torn by war and rivalries once upon a time. The Kingdoms of Arvell vied for land and resources, their bold and brave knights fighting bloody battles in the name of their kings. Then the Horrors appeared. Creatures of darkness, black as the midnight sky emerged from shadows and all manner of places. They preyed upon the innocent and guilty alike, their Hearts devoured and adding to the numbers of the Horrors. So great was this invasion, that all the Kingdoms nearly fell within the year. But Arvell was not lost, a young knight named Mithos called to his hand a mighty weapon said to be forged from the very Light of heaven itself. With this key-shaped blade Mithos vanquished the Horrors and saved Arvell from its destruction. With the Horrors defeated, all the kingdoms of Arvell were indebted to Mithos the Hero, who only asked that the wars between the Kingdoms be put to an end and peace be allowed to reign over Arvell. His wish was granted, and the Kingdoms came together and formed the Imperium Of Nations. Each Kingdom retained their autonomy but in times of crisis they would come together as the Imperium. That story had long since faded into Legend, in recent times in unknown where Mithos even hailed from - though many of the Imperium's nations claim to the Hero's homeland.

Lyon's nation, the Kingdom of Ashwall, was such a nation. Lyon's father even took it a step further and claimed to be a direct descendant of Mithos. But none of that mattered at the moment, for this day was not about Lyon, but the friend he was sparring with. A squire who later that afternoon was set to take on the final trial to prove his worthiness of knighthood. Different kingdoms approached knighthood in different ways, but in Ashwall one could only be called a knight if they pass the Trials of Knighthood. The trials involved completing a quest given by their sire, spending their teenage and young adult years training under an experienced knight. Then, if their Knight Master finds them ready, the Squire is to participate in an almost ritualistic dual against the very Knight who trained them, finally being awarded knighthood upon their victory. Lyon's friend had finished all the other trials, and only the dual against Sir Ardeth Balmung remained.

"Set the formalities aside for once, and let me see what you can [i]really[/i] do!" taunted Lyon, awaiting an attack from his sparring partner. Nearby, Lyon's sister Rana watched the sparring with mild interest that became more serious when her brother started goading his opponent to go all out. She could only sigh and hope no one got seriously hurt. Once those two got going it was always impossible to stop them.

Lyon's opponent, meanwhile, tightened his grip on his sword. He then slowly rotated the blade into a wide circle before quickly twisting the sword around his grip. This action signaled an almost radiant glow in the blade as he lunged for an attack. The light the blade gave off almost seemed to extend the size and reach of the sword. Lyon managed to duck out of the way, and as a result the attack struck a nearby boulder. At first nothing happened, then cracks started forming and eventually the boulder cleanly split into two halves.

"What the - you could have [i]killed me[/i] just now!" Lyon shouted, exasperated. He stuck the blade of his weapon into the ground and glared at his opponent with an annoyed look on his face. His opponent did the same with their weapon. Instead of talking back he dropped to a single knee, preparing to offer his deepest apologizes.

"Oh stop." it was Rana. She was stomping up to Lyon with an annoyed look of her own, "[i]You[/i] told him to stop holding back, Brother. You have no one to blame but yourself." she said, putting her hands on her hips and giving her brother an accusatory point of her finger.

Then, suddenly, and without warning, all three burst out in laughter. Apparently this little argument - if it could even be called that - was just one of many examples of this trio mercilessly teasing each other.

"A fine attack." said Lyon, examining his opponent's handiwork and whistling with awe, "Looks like Master Balmung's been training you hard, alright. But... then again, Master Balmung is reputed to have felled fifty opponents with a single stroke. You might still be in trouble yet."

"Oh, please... probably just more knightly boasting. Don't listen to Lyon. Master Balmung wouldn't be dueling you if he didn't think you were ready."

"Hey, I never said I didn't believe in him. You'll do great, I'm sure of it. You're definitely ready. Right? Ez-"

[b]Renovation[/b]

And just like that, Zarxe snapped out of it. He filed the memory away and put his attention back on the here and now. But it was a good sign, it meant that the Leader was telling the truth and Zarxe's memories would indeed piece themselves back together over time.