Fighting solves nothing—except for who gets the last word.
Breakfast was a somber affair. The usual noise of morning chatter was replaced by an oppressive silence that hung heavy over the table. I stared down at my untouched plate, feeling every bit of the tension in the room. Mose, looking utterly exhausted with dark circles under his eyes, sat beside me. Rolo was surrounded by an icy aura that practically screamed, 'Don't even think about talking to me.'
Gil and Iris exchanged worried glances but chose not to ask what was wrong. It was clear that they sensed something was off, but didn't want to pry.
I stood abruptly, leaving my meal behind. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on me as I walked over to Livius's table, where Jareth was seated, still bound and smirking with a defiant glint in his eyes.
I took a deep breath and spoke firmly, my voice slicing through the silence. "I officially challenge Jareth to a life-and-death battle."
Livius's face froze in shock. He looked like he'd just seen a ghost. I knew that if I'd wanted to kill Jareth last night, the diplomatic fallout would have been disastrous. A duel, however, was a cleaner solution that avoided direct conflict. Still, I saw that the prospect of losing one of his apprentices was weighing heavily on Livius's mind.
"No," Livius said abruptly, shaking his head. "I will not allow it."
My eyebrows shot up in surprise. "So you choose Jareth's life over our alliance?"
"I do not want Jareth to die," Livius said, his tone resolute. "And you would kill him if given the chance. It would be ridiculous to call it a duel under these circumstances; it would be a massacre."
I pursed my lips into a thin line. "Then how do you propose we resolve this?"
Livius's gaze turned steely. "The only way to have a proper duel is to have one of your subjects compete in your stead. Subject against subject. That is the right way."
Jareth's smirk widened as he savored the unfolding drama. His expression was a cruel mix of satisfaction and mockery.
I shot Jareth a cold look before turning my attention back to Livius. This is underhanded, even for him. Mose can barely control his magic, and Rolo has limits to his abilities. They wouldn't stand a chance against Jareth.
Rolo stepped forward, his face set in determination. "I'll do it."
"No, you won't," I hissed, my voice low and fierce. "We can't risk you against him."
Rolo's expression didn't waver. "It's the only way to resolve this mess. Mose can't control his magic."
I sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. "Then it won't be a life-and-death duel. We'll ensure that."
Livius's eyes narrowed with a mix of relief and curiosity. "If it's not to be a life-and-death duel, then what?"
I met his gaze with a steely resolve. "I'll set the terms. No one will die today. But Jareth will face consequences, and this issue will be resolved on our terms, not his or yours."
The room fell silent again, the weight of my words hanging heavily in the air. I turned my gaze back to Livius, my expression a mask of grim determination.
"If Jareth wins this duel," I said, my voice steady and resolute, "I will honor the outcome. He will live, and I will come up with another punishment. But if he loses, he will face the full extent of his punishment, and he will be dealt with accordingly."
I could see the flicker of surprise and concern in Livius's eyes. This was not the straightforward resolution he might have hoped for. His own apprentice's life would still be on the line, and he would be faced with a choice he might not have anticipated.
Jareth's eyes gleamed with a mix of arrogance and cold calculation. It was clear he was trying to gauge his chances and perhaps plot his next move.
Mose's face was pale, and Rolo's icy demeanor only intensified. The stakes were higher than ever, and the tension in the room could have been cut with a knife.
My voice was unyielding. "But remember, no matter the outcome, there will be consequences."
The weight of the decision was hanging in the air. The challenge was set.
(...)
The arena was packed, every seat filled with spectators eager to witness the dramatic turn of events. The air was thick with anticipation, a palpable buzz running through the crowd. The challenge had been set, and now it was time for Rolo to face Jareth in a duel that would determine not just that worm's fate but the resolution of this messy situation.
From where I stood, I could see the stark contrast between the two combatants. Rolo was well...scrawny and clearly younger, but he stood with an air of quiet determination. On the other side, Jareth loomed like a towering giant, his confident stance and cold smile reflecting his belief in an easy victory.
"Begin," Livius shouted.
As the duel began, Jareth hurled a storm of metal shards toward Rolo, each one glinting menacingly under the stadium lights.
For a moment, the arena fell into a breathless silence. The shards sliced through the air with deadly precision, and it seemed as though time itself had slowed. The crowd's anxious murmurs crescendoed into a chorus of concern. Eyes widened in fear as the metal projectiles closed in on Rolo, who remained eerily still.
Some spectators shielded their eyes, unable to watch, while others whispered in uneasy tones. "He's going to be torn apart!" someone near me gasped, their voice laced with dread.
Mose was practically on the edge of his seat, his face a mask of horror. His hands gripped the arms of his chair as if to hold himself together. "Rolo," he whispered, his voice trembling.
"It's okay, Mose," I said softly even though, my own heart pounded in my chest as I waited for the inevitable impact.
"Absolutio."
The crowd's murmur grew into a collective gasp.
As Rolo spoke the incantation, the air around him seemed to quiver with a sudden, palpable shift. The word itself carried an almost tangible weight, and the green glow of his eyes intensified.
The wind in the arena picked up, swirling in a subtle but deliberate dance around him—it sent a shiver through the spectators as if nature itself was responding to the surge of magic. It was as if a veil had been lifted, revealing that Rolo was not the fragile figure everyone had presumed him to be.
The once hushed crowd now stirred with renewed excitement. The atmosphere was charged, and every heartbeat seemed to resonate with the unfolding drama.
Then, just as it seemed that the shards would impale Rolo, he raised his hands, his face set in a mask of calm determination.
"Rego."
His eyes flared with a brilliant green light, and in an instant, the shards were deflected. The projectiles veered off course, colliding harmlessly with the ground and the arena walls.
The crowd's reaction was a collective, astonished disbelief. Gasps of shock and surprise rippled through the stands. The murmurs of doubt began to shift toward a stunned respect as Rolo's true power was revealed. Those who had turned away in fear now found themselves drawn back by the spectacle.
The monster inside me began to stir again. It reacted to Rolo's intent. To Rolo's desire to control. Not in anger, nor hunger, but recognition. It growled low, like a beast sniffing the air before a hunt. But this time, it wasn't hunting. It was eager to see more. To see what the boy who cannot be controlled is capable of.
Everyone felt what this meant, even if they didn't fully understand it. This was intent, laid bare for all to see—an authority so innate that even foreign magic bent its knee to his will.
Mose, initially paralyzed by worry, let out a shaky breath. "He's actually doing it... he's really doing it," he said, his voice a blend of awe and relief. He watched, still tense but visibly comforted by Rolo's demonstration of skill.
Jareth was frozen.
His mouth parted slightly, but no words came. He didn't need anyone to explain it. He knew.
Rolo's magic hadn't just deflected his attack. It had overwritten his will. Like a god reaching down to rewrite a mortal's spell mid-air. The implications struck like cold iron.
And Jareth?
First in his sorry life, he must have felt totally powerless in front of a mage he deemed inferior before.
The crowd's awe didn't help. The way they leaned forward, hushed and wide-eyed.
That's when the shock cracked into fury. His face twisted, flushing red with humiliation as magic roared to life around him once more—violent and unrefined this time, a storm without elegance.
"You think that proves something?!" he snarled.
A new wave of attacks burst from his hands—brutal, fast, unrestrained. The air turned volatile, vibrating with the chaos of raw power.
But Rolo didn't flinch. He raised a single hand.
And before the magic could even touch him—He whispered, "Rego."
The word, soft as breath, echoed like a drumbeat.
Rolo's magic continued to deflect Jareth's relentless attacks.
Livius did not move. Where others gasped or leaned forward in wonder, he sat very still, his lips parted slightly, one gloved hand hovering just above his lap as if frozen mid-thought.
Because he understood.
Not the way the crowd understood, not the way Jareth's pride had been pierced—Livius understood what it meant beneath the surface, where the implications ran deeper than bruised egos and shattered spells.
His eyes were locked on Rolo, unblinking.
Livius had studied magic since before he could read. He knew the principles, the limits, the ancient boundaries between will and force, between caster and spell. Even a King, for all his power, could only cast magic—he didn't alter others' magic. But Rolo had done just that.
Rego. A simple word. But in his mouth, it became law.
He turned towards me, almost involuntarily. Because if Rolo had not chosen his King, if that boy had been unclaimed, if his loyalty had wavered for even a moment—Livius wouldn't have hesitated. He would have stepped forward, hand outstretched, voice smooth as honey and sharp as a dagger.
I smiled. Too kindly, as if oblivious to his thoughts. Did it hurt? Realizing he's already mine?
Livius's jaw clenched just enough to amuse me.
He knew better than anyone what kind of power could have been at his side. What it might've meant—for the court, for the war, for him.
But Rolo hadn't looked his way. He had never even glanced.
Livius had always been curious about Rolo. Rolo treated magic like something he could see when no one else could—like he understood its truth. As if the rest of them had been casting in the dark while he could see magic as clearly as the sun.
Livius had assumed it was talent, or perhaps a peculiar affinity. Impressive, yes. Intriguing, even. But not threatening.
Not until now.
Livius didn't speak, but the silence between us said enough. The way his knuckles whitened against the polished armrest. The flicker in his aura, a silent revolt beneath the stillness.
He was calculating again. Always calculating.
And as the crowd roared around us and the dust settled in the arena, but Livius's eyes remained on my face for a moment longer.
Measured. Distant. Burning with something.
I tilted my head. What? You jealous?
He seemed to guess my thoughts, he scoffed under his breath, his gaze flicking back to the arena. Livius sat spine straight, the weight of revelation thick on his chest.
Good. Be as jealous as you want.