The dull clang of swords echoed through the empty hall, fading into breathless silence as Denwen and Roy collapsed onto the training mats, both soaked in sweat and gasping for air. Their latest sparring session had pushed them hard, especially Denwen, whose grip on swordplay was still embarrassingly juvenile.
"Come on, bro…" Denwen exhaled between pants, sprawled on his back. "Just because I asked you to show me the ropes with a sword doesn't mean you should take out your pent-up rage on me."
Roy let out a soft laugh, sitting up and brushing a hand through his damp blond hair. "Trust me," he said with a tired smirk, "that wasn't even scratching the surface of my frustrations. But honestly—how are you this bad with a sword?"
Denwen rolled onto his side, groaning. "Hey, hey… I'm better with heavier stuff. Give me a hammer, I can crush bones. A sword? It's too… elegant. Too precise."
Roy stood up slowly, flexing his sore shoulders. "Exactly. You can't swing it like a club and expect it to work. With a hammer, hitting too hard won't hurt you—but with a sword, every swing demands control. One wrong move and it's either ineffective or just stupid."
Denwen sat up, mimicking a wide swing. "I wish there was something between the two, you know? Like… the sharpness of a sword but with the oomph of a hammer. Maybe an axe?"
Roy scoffed, shaking his head like a disappointed father. "Do you even know how heavy a proper axe is? You want to be hauling that around in battle while trying to block and dodge?"
"At least it wouldn't break if I swung it hard," Denwen grumbled. "Unlike your precious sword needing all that finesse."
"Yeah, well let's see your skull survive a clean sword slash to the neck," Roy countered.
"And let's see yours take a hammer to the face," Denwen fired back.
They both laughed, the tension diffusing as Roy offered him a hand. Denwen clasped it, letting Roy pull him to his feet with a grunt.
"I think I'll just stick to my gauntlets for now," Denwen said, brushing dust off his trousers. "No point mastering a weapon I barely connect with. I haven't even unboxed the ones Varek left for me at the front desk."
"That's right," Roy said, rubbing his neck. "My old man dropped something off too, but… honestly, I doubt it matters."
Denwen paused. "It's a dungeon, Roy. Even if it's just rank one—and sure, we'll have teachers with us—you don't want to underestimate it. I've been in enough close calls to know: the unexpected always finds a way."
Roy sighed. "Spoken like someone cursed with dungeon misfortune."
"Fair enough," Denwen chuckled. "Let's go pick up mine. Maybe I'll finally feel that 'connection' Vorden keeps harping about."
The two boys left the hall, walking at a relaxed pace. But their casual stride was soon interrupted by the murmurs growing louder down the corridor leading toward the medical section of the Academy.
A student with a Room C badge rushed past them.
"Hey—what's going on?" Denwen asked, grabbing the boy's sleeve.
"There's a commotion," the student said breathlessly. "A few students are ganging up on some kid—again. Something about a bedspace. It's been happening all week, but I think today they're trying to make an example out of him."
The boy hurried off, leaving Denwen and Roy frozen for a heartbeat.
Roy's expression darkened. "Let me guess—Angus or his goons?"
"Does he ever take a day off?" Denwen muttered. "Let's go. We can't just stand by."
The pair quickened their pace, slipping past confused students as they headed toward the scene. But as they rounded the final corner, they stopped short.
The hallway was already dispersing. Students were murmuring, walking away in small groups. Denwen caught snippets of their conversations.
"He actually helped…"
"Never thought I'd see him step in like that."
"I was terrified when I saw him come—but he stopped them…"
"...he even looked cool doing it."
The two boys looked at each other, more confused than ever.
Pushing forward, they found the last remnants of the scene—at the center of it, Angus, standing with his hands in his pockets, talking calmly with Kara. She was laughing. Laughing.
Roy leaned in with mock gravity. "Wow… now he's going after your girl. That's low. Even for him."
Kara's eyes flicked up and locked with Denwen's. Her laughter stopped instantly, the air between them thickening like mist before a storm.
Angus, ever observant, noticed the shift. He glanced at the two boys and gave a half-wave. "Hey, bro."
Some students who had remained paused in anticipation, sensing the tension crackling in the air. Something was about to happen. They could feel it.
Denwen's expression was unreadable as he stepped forward. "What's going on here?" he asked, voice calm—too calm.
Kara moved quickly to intercept him. "Den, wait—this isn't what it looks like."
He barely looked at her, gently placing his hands on her shoulders and moving her aside. It wasn't aggressive—but it was firm.
Kara's breath caught. She had never seen Denwen like this before.
He marched up to Angus until only inches separated them.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked quietly, his eyes locked onto Angus's with a burning intensity.
Angus's expression remained neutral. "I was just talking to Kara. Can't a guy have a decent conversation with the class healer?"
Denwen didn't flinch.
Then, without warning, he grabbed Angus by the collar and slammed him against the wall with enough force to make the entire hallway go silent.
Gasps echoed around them.
Angus didn't resist—his hands rose calmly, but his body remained relaxed.
Denwen's voice was low, trembling with restrained fury. "I don't know what you're playing at. I don't care how many people you fool with this new 'nice guy' act. But I trust my gut now—and it's screaming."
He leaned in closer. "I can tolerate you. I can tolerate your mouth, your ego, even your history. But what I won't tolerate is you slithering near the people I care about."
Angus remained pinned, his silver hair falling into his eyes as he slowly turned his head toward Kara.
She stepped forward, placing a hand on Denwen's arm.
"Den, stop it," she said softly. "This isn't you. You're never the aggressor. What's gotten into you?"
Denwen froze.
Kara's voice had always had a grounding effect on him, but this time, it struck deeper—through his anger, through the storm of his instincts. His aura, which had begun to leak and ripple around him, faded.
He stepped back, releasing Angus.
Angus straightened himself slowly, brushing his uniform. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. I didn't mean to cross a line."
He ran a hand through his hair, rearranging it calmly. "I'll respect your boundaries. That much I can promise."
And then, without another word, he turned and walked away—hands in his pockets, head held high, leaving behind a hallway filled with shocked silence.
People stared—not at Angus, but at Denwen.
He had been the aggressor.
And Angus had shown restraint.
What world were they living in?
Denwen turned back to Kara. His anger had drained, replaced by confusion. "I just… I didn't want you to get hurt," he said quietly, reaching a hand toward her.
She slapped it away without hesitation.
"No. He didn't hurt me," she snapped. "But you did."
She walked past him, not looking back.
Stunned, Denwen turned to Roy, searching for clarity. For a reason. For anything.
But Roy just stood there, arms crossed, shaking his head slightly. "That… was something else."