Ezra

Ezra hit the ground hard. "Damn, I really thought I had you that time." He groaned, sitting up and rubbing at his back.

Zafir looked serious as always. "Get up. Let's go again." A hint of a grin cracked the corner of his stoic facade. "You'll have to be better than this if you expect to fight against the god-like bastards in the Council of Abhorrence. They won't let you walk away from a confrontation."

Ezra nodded as he got to his feet. He loved to train with Zafir. It was grueling, and he always hurt like hell the next morning, but that's how you make progress. Zafir never held back, either. If Ezra wasn't on his toes, Zafir wouldn't hesitate to make him pay for it. Ezra didn't mind though, a few bruised ribs was a small price to pay to survive a real battle later on.

Ezra had watched Zafir with admiration since he joined the Anointed. His passion and prowess convinced Ezra that this was a cause worth fighting for, and that they could prevail. He hadn't ever had anything to work for before the Anointed found him. He'd take odd jobs or do some salvaging in the ruins around Elenia, but that was just to get by. Now, he lived for something greater than himself.

He had found his meaning.

Zafir seemed to sense this about him, and had agreed to train with him personally, teaching him combat and survival skills. Zafir had lived much longer than Ezra, who was quite young by Middara's standards, and Ezra took great pleasure in hearing about Zafir's life and adventures.

Ezra went on the attack again, throwing a feint jab and following it up with a swift strike that caught Zafir in the stomach. In response, Zafir dropped into a roll, sweeping a leg out from under Ezra. It seemed that each time Ezra got a small victory over him, Zafir would quickly even the score.

He smiled.

It looked like he'd just have to work that much harder.