Morning mist lingered low across the emerald training grounds just before the castle's artificial forest, curling like slow smoke around the boots of the people sitting on the benches.
The clearing, a sacred duelling field for royal heirs, pulsed with anticipation.
Whispers danced on the breeze, eager eyes fixed on the pair who stood at its centre.
Two princes. Both striking. Both dangerous. And both, for reasons known and unspoken, determined not to lose.
Prince Raymond, the second-oldest prince, stood with his back straight and shoulders loose. His gaze—piercing, patient—scanned the field, not his opponent.
Charcoal-black hair fell in disciplined waves, not a strand improper– tied at the nape, a flame-shaped birthmark just visible behind one ear.
The witch halfling fingers glowed faintly with threads of magic, tracing invisible glyphs into the air. A hum followed him like static.
Across from him, Prince Roland— first prince and child, heir of Queen Erica—Regal to the point he wore arrogance like a cloak.
Tall, lean, with silver-edged gauntlets and crimson eyes like still-hot embers, narrowed in amusement.
The vampire halfling exhaled once through his nose, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.
His long sword rested at ease against his shoulder, His stance was loose, almost lazy– yet coiled and ready.
The atmosphere shifted– charged with tension, but the brothers did not move a muscle.
A single red petal drifted from a blossoming rose overhead, settling to the ground.
Then—
"Tsh!"
Raymond moved first. Not a lunge—a glide.
His hands swept outward, and fire spun into being—six orbs, each rotating along an unseen orbit.
They crackled, flaring orange-gold, then surged toward Roland.
The vampire prince sidestepped elegantly.
One, two, three—slashes carved through the magic, dispersing flame into embers before they could bite.
He moved like flowing ink—smooth, deliberate, lethal.
But Raymond was already repositioning. With a whisper, the air around him dropped in temperature.
Crystals spiralled from his fingertips, forming a spinning wall of frost. Roland dove through it, sword flashing.
Metal shrieked against summoned ice. Sparks burst like fireworks. The crowd leaned in.
"You're getting slow, brother" Roland said, voice deep as their weapons clashed—steel against magic, grace against strategy.
"You're getting predictable," Raymond replied, voice calm, lips barely parting.
They circled.
Another barrage—this time Raymond conjured whips of flame, coiling serpents that snapped at Roland's heels.
Roland answered with unrelenting speed, his form blurring in bursts of vampire momentum.
He vaulted over one strike, spun through another, then swept in with a slash aimed at Raymond's ribs.
The witch halfling raised a glassy shield just in time. Blade met barrier with a crunch like shattering crystal.
Their eyes locked.
Then Raymond moved his hand—not forward, but down.
The ground beneath Roland ignited.
A dome of spiralling flame surged up, engulfing the vampire in a fiery prism.
Fearful gasps rippled through the audience.
"Got him," someone whispered.
But within the inferno, something moved.
Roland burst forth like a silver arrow through candlelight—cloak scorched, hair tousled, eyes burning fiercely–brighter than the flames themselves.
"You play with fire like a child with matches," he growled.
"And yet, somehow you're the one getting burned," Raymond replied coolly, arms behind his back.
His sword flared red in reflection.
He shot toward Raymond like vengeance.
The witch prince summoned a gust of wind just in time to pivot sideways—but not entirely.
The blade grazed his shoulder, nicking cloth and skin alike.
Raymond hissed under his breath.
Roland landed lightly, cocking his head–feeling pleased. "You're bleeding."
"You're out of surprises."
They smiled. Not warmly.
From the sidelines, Prince Rollins—shifted uncomfortably.
He glanced up at Captain Reed—an ex-knight with scars on both face and reputation— who stood tall with his arms crossed, unmoving.
"I really think we should stop them," Rollins said under his breath. "It's not… a duel any more."
"It's not sparring either," added Richard, tapping his boot restlessly.
"They're trying to win something they won't admit exists. Sparring, they said. Just a casual duel, they said. Who even conjures such things like fire in a 'friendly' match"?
Captain Reed didn't respond immediately. His jaw tightened. Then, finally—"Darcy. Rollins. Clean it up."
The younger witch siblings exchanged a glance. Darcy rolled her eyes. Rollins just sighed.
Together, they stood, palms already glowing.
Back in the clearing, Roland lunged again, fangs barely visible as tension pushed past play.
Raymond whispered another chant, faster, the ground beneath them warping as petals were replaced by scorching runes.
But before the spells landed, a burst of soft violet light split the battlefield.
BOOM.
Four fireballs—two from each witch—collided midair, creating a massive explosion that shoved both combatants backward.
Roland skidded across the grass and crashed shoulder– first into a practice dummy.
Raymond tumbled but landed kneeling, breathing hard, eyes wide.
A hush fell.
Then—groans.
"My boots," Richard murmured, inspecting the ash clinging to his cuffs. "Ugh. Disgraceful."
Darcy lowered her hands. "You're welcome," she muttered, then turned and sat back down without ceremony.
Captain Reed glanced once more at the princes, then toward the castle beyond the treeline.
The forest rustled softly. The air felt… disturbed. But only for a moment. That's weird.
Raymond rose first, brushing soot from his sleeves. "Well," he said, gaze flicking to Roland, "that was satisfying."
Roland smirked as he rolled his shoulder, rising from where he'd fallen. "Admit it. You nearly lost."
"You nearly got hit."
"You summoned fire again."
"Worked well, didn't it?"
"Just wait until you get burned as well, brother"
The audience chuckled. The danger had passed. For now.
But somewhere in the press of quiet smiles and casual laughter, the taste of raw magic lingered—sharp on the tongue, warm in the breath.
Captain Reed's eyes scanned the crowd– the royal children weren't just powerful. They were growing stronger.
And one day, when spells cracked foundations and swords turned brother against brother—not even peace would be able to stop it…
✌️ (✿^_^)