Part 1: The Gates of Valenhold
Valenhold was a city of stone and secrets. Its walls rose like the fangs of a great beast, and its streets hummed with the clatter of armor and the murmur of ambition. Ethan stood at its gates, the sword at his back and Lira's warnings ringing in his ears. Above him, banners bearing the crest of the Swordmaster's Academy snapped in the wind—a silver blade crossed with a laurel wreath. A guard sneered at his mud-caked clothes. "Another gutter rat here to waste the masters' time? The entrance trials start at dawn. Try not to die before then." Ethan's jaw tightened. Fight dirty. Fight smart.
Part 2: The Arena of Broken Dreams
The academy's trials were held in the Iron Circlet, a sunken arena where hopefuls sparred before a jeering crowd of nobles. Ethan's name was called last, paired against Garrick, a hulking mercenary with a scarred face and a reputation for breaking bones. "First blood or surrender!" barked the referee. Garrick swung a spiked mace. Ethan dodged, but the weapon grazed his shoulder, tearing cloth and skin. The crowd roared. Move like the wind. Be nothing. Ethan feigned a stumble, luring Garrick in. As the mace arced downward, he pivoted, driving his sword hilt-first into Garrick's temple. The mercenary crumpled. Silence. Then, laughter. "A cheat's victory!" shouted a noble. But from the shadows of the arena's high balcony, a figure leaned forward—Master Varyn, an aging swordmaster with eyes like smoldering coals. "Interesting," he murmured.
Part 3: The Whisper of Aura
That night, Ethan was summoned to a dim-lit chamber beneath the arena. Master Varyn waited, a candle casting jagged shadows across his face. "You fight like a cornered rat," Varyn said. "But there's a spark in you. A flicker of… aura." "Aura?" Ethan frowned. "The energy that binds sword and soul. Most spend years learning to harness it. You?" Varyn snorted. "You're a candle in a hurricane. Weak. Uncontrolled. But there." He tossed Ethan a wooden practice sword. "Strike me." Ethan swung. Varyn deflected the blow with a finger. "Again." Ten strikes. Twenty. Each time, Varyn blocked effortlessly. "You're not using your body. You're using your fear," Varyn snapped. "Aura is born of clarity. Of purpose. What do you want, boy?" "To be the best," Ethan panted. "Then burn." Varyn's palm glowed faintly. He struck Ethan's chest, and the boy flew backward, his ribs screaming. But in that moment, Ethan felt it—a heat in his veins, a whisper of power.
Part 4: The Royal Gambit
The next morning, the trials resumed. Ethan faced Lady Selene, a noble prodigy with a blade like liquid ice. She disarmed him in three moves, her swordtip pricking his throat. "Yield," she said. The crowd chanted: "Mud! Mud! Mud!" But then, a horn blared. The arena gates parted, and a retinue of gold-clad knights marched in. At their center stood Princess Elara, her emerald gown shimmering, her crown a band of starlight. The crowd fell to their knees. All but Ethan. "You," she said, pointing at him. "You fight like a man who knows hunger. My father's court lacks such… passion." Her gaze lingered. "Win your next match, and you'll dine with royalty tonight." The crowd erupted. Lady Selene's face darkened with fury.
Part 5: The Storm Beneath the Spark
Ethan's final opponent was Draven, the academy's rising star and Lady Selene's betrothed. He fought with a cruel elegance, his blade carving the air like poetry. "You don't belong here, mudskin," Draven hissed. Ethan's aura flickered—a fragile flame. He remembered Varyn's words: Burn. Their swords clashed. Draven's strikes were relentless, but Ethan moved, letting instinct guide him. A cut to the arm. A parry. A spin—And then, it happened. A surge of heat. Ethan's blade glowed faintly, and he struck. Draven's sword shattered. The arena fell silent. "Aura…" Master Varyn whispered. "The boy ignited." Princess Elara rose, her eyes alight. "It seems we have our winner." But as the crowd cheered, Ethan locked eyes with Draven. The noble's smile was a promise of vengeance.
Part 6: The Catch
That night, Ethan sat at the royal table, his hands trembling beneath the fine linen. Princess Elara sipped her wine, her voice low. "Aura is rare. Dangerous. The nobles will call you a threat," she said. "But I see an opportunity. Serve me, and I'll protect you." "Serve you how?" Princess Elara's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Win the Grand Tournament. Become a swordmaster. And when the time comes… help me burn this rotten kingdom to the ground." Ethan hesitated. There was a hunger in her voice he didn't trust—a hunger that mirrored Jarek's when he cornered weaker boys in the slums. Before Ethan could answer, shouts erupted outside. A guard burst in, bloodied. "Bandits—in the city! They're heading for the academy!" Princess Elara's smile faded. "It seems your trials aren't over, Ethan Ardent." As Ethan sprinted toward the academy, he found the gates smashed—and Lira, bloodied and breathless, standing over the bodies of attackers. "Took you long enough," she spat. "They're here for you, boy. Someone doesn't want you to reach the tournament." Behind her, a figure melted from the shadows—a man clad in black, his face hidden, a sword dripping with venom. "Run," Lira said. "Or this night will be your last."