The sky was dark, clouds swallowing the sun.
Deeper within the ancient forest, far from the fleet's roaring engines, the silence of the King's castle was broken. Inside, the stone walls of a spacious training hall echoed with the brutal impact of fists meeting flesh—the crack of knuckles on bone.
There were no windows.
No torches.
No fire.
Only one thing gave light.
Suspended above the center of the training hall, a single orb pulsed with quiet magic — faint, cold, untouched. It hovered motionless, casting pale light across the stone floor, illuminating dust motes dancing in the warm beams. The ground was stained with blood.
Draven moved with controlled strength, parrying a swift strike from Lyriana.
Beside her, Aldric was already in motion, swinging toward Draven's ribs.
But Draven twisted just in time, dodging the blow.
Without pause, he closed in on Lyriana.
She tried to retreat—
Whump!
Draven drove his fist into her stomach. Blood sprayed from her mouth through clenched teeth as she was launched backward, crashing hard.
Draven's gaze snapped to the side. He raised his hands—
Crack!
Aldric's leg smashed into his guard, sending him skidding backward.
But Aldric pressed on. He pushed off the ground with such force that it cracked beneath him, launching himself forward like a missile.
SKRRRRRT!
Draven slid back, his feet dragging across the floor—but he caught himself just as Aldric appeared in front of him, his fist already in motion.
Draven reacted instantly, tilting his head just enough to dodge the punch.
Aldric followed up, launching a flurry of blows.
Every strike was either blocked or dodged, but the pressure never let up.
Lyriana moved, wiping the blood from her lips.
She leapt into the air, twisting mid-spin and swinging her leg down toward Draven.
He raised both arms—
CRACK!
Her heel crashed into his guard.
The impact buckled his arms.
He gritted his teeth, struggling to hold his stance.
Suddenly, his hand shot toward her leg.
She yanked it back just in time.
His gaze narrowed—
He turned toward Aldric.
CRACK!
Aldric's fist slammed into Draven's ribs with a sickening thud.
The force jolted through muscle and bone, sending him flying across the room.
Lyriana, still airborne, twisted again and lashed out with another kick in one fluid motion.
CRACK!
The blow hit like a truck.
Aldric barely managed to raise his arms in time.
He blocked—but the sheer force shattered through his guard.
A sharp crack echoed as bone gave way.
He was pushed back, his feet dragging across the floor before he finally skidded to a stop.
Lyriana landed gently.
Now, they stood in a triangle—her in the center, the two on either side.
Draven drew in a slow, steady breath through his nose, as if gathering all the weight pressing on his chest. Then, with a quiet exhale, the air flowed from his lips—heavy, like it carried something unspoken.
He took a step forward.
His right hand began to move.
Fingers curled slowly, deliberately.
The joints shifted with a series of muted pops.
A slight flex—
Crack.
The knuckle popped sharp and clean.
Another shift—
Pop.
Tension hissed out like air escaping a valve.
Veins shifted beneath the skin.
Fingers relaxed, loose, ready.
Like something had just clicked into place.
His red eyes began to glow.
A small smile spread across his lips.
He launched forward.
Lyriana dropped into a stance, ready—but he slipped past her without a glance.
In an instant, he appeared in front of Aldric, his fist already in motion.
But Aldric didn't flinch. He stepped in, meeting the blow with one of his own.
Their fists collided.
Blow after blow followed—fast, furious, relentless.
The air cracked with each impact.
Their forms blurred, slamming into each other again and again, neither giving an inch.
They fought like that for hours.
---
Later, silence returned.
Draven sat submerged in still water, steam rising gently around him. His eyes were half-lidded, head tilted back. He exhaled slowly.
As if the fight had never happened.
Only the ripple of the water moved.