Finn studied his opponent closely. The sharp features of the long-eared warrior betrayed no hint of emotion—only cold determination burned in his gaze. The dark battle kimono emphasized his statuesque figure, and in his hands he held a wooden sword, shaped like an ordinary katana.
Strangely, Finn felt no fear. After everything he had endured in the dungeons—after slaying hundreds of creatures—he wanted to test himself, to discover what he was truly capable of. His eyes darted across the weapon racks, searching for something resembling his familiar tulwar.
Finding nothing suitable, he moved toward the nearest rack, but stopped mid-step. Right at his feet, a new wooden stand sprouted from the floor. Resting upon it was a single blade carved from the tree itself—a perfect replica of his tulwar, only lacking its familiar glow and a little lighter in weight.
Finn picked it up, feeling its flawless balance. The tree seemed to know exactly what he needed. The boy shifted into his accustomed stance—turning sideways, left arm and leg back, right hand extending the wooden tulwar toward his opponent.
Eva raised a small bone horn to her lips. Its deep, resonant call echoed across the arena. In the same instant, Finn's opponent lunged. His speed was unnatural, almost inhuman—he crossed the distance between them faster than Finn could blink. Their wooden blades clashed with a dull crack, but the strike was so powerful that Finn's tulwar flew from his grasp, spinning through the air.
Before Finn even registered his defeat, the cold edge of a wooden blade pressed against his throat. One second—that was all it had taken.
"Too slow," said his opponent, and for the first time, a trace of emotion appeared on his face—a faint smirk. "Far too slow."
Finn stood frozen, feeling the wooden edge against his skin. His heart thundered, and a single thought hammered through his mind: How? How could he move so fast?
"Pick up your sword," Eva's voice rang out from the sidelines. "And try again."
Finn bent slowly to retrieve his weapon, never taking his eyes off his opponent. The warrior had already returned to his original stance, as still as a statue.
Now Finn noticed something he hadn't before—the number of spectators had grown. More than a hundred long-eared figures now watched the duel. But their eyes were not on their kin—they were fixed on Finn. In their gazes he read something strange—a mixture of expectation and hope.
Adam's words echoed in his memory: "They had lost hope. But then you appeared—the one who passed the trial."
Finn was their hope… but for what? What was a child supposed to achieve for them?
The horn blared again. Another lightning-fast assault—just as swift as before. Again, Finn failed to react in time. His tulwar flew from his hands, and once more the cold blade rested at his throat.
"Again," Eva ordered, her tone now edged with impatience.
This time, Finn decided to change his approach. He took the same stance, but focused on offense instead of defense. When the horn sounded and his opponent darted forward with that unnatural speed, Finn didn't brace for the strike. Instead, he lunged, aiming a thrust at the elf's torso.
It was a mistake. With effortless grace, the warrior shifted his weight and slipped past the attack. Finn's strike cut only air, leaving him off-balance and exposed.
The counterstrike landed squarely across his back. Pain exploded through his body, so sharp his vision darkened. The wooden tulwar slipped from his weakened fingers, and he collapsed to his knees, gasping desperately for breath. The ache radiated from the blow, spreading hot waves through every limb.
"Again!" Eva's voice was harsh now.
Through the ringing in his ears, Finn began to hear the whispers of the spectators. Their voices—soft, melodic—were laced with disappointment.
> "This is the one who passed the trial?"
"But his opponent is the weakest among us…"
"How could he have defeated the knight?"
"Perhaps we were mistaken…"
Clutching his fallen blade, Finn forced himself upright once more. A storm of emotions raged within him—resentment, fear, despair. Each feeling struck like a blow, battering his spirit, making his body tense and shrink in on itself.
When the horn sounded again, his opponent did not move. He simply stood, knees slightly bent, both hands gripping his short wooden sword, gaze as unyielding and impassive as ever. He was waiting—granting Finn the chance to attack.
Finn seized it. With a shout, he charged forward, holding his blade behind him in preparation for a strike. But the posture betrayed him. In that instant, a kick slammed into his side, catching him opposite his weapon arm.
The boy was flung several meters through the air, losing his sword mid-flight. When he crashed to the ground and tried to rise, he felt the wooden edge press once more against his neck.
He had lost. Again.
Gritting his teeth, Finn seethed with frustration. Had all those months in the caverns, all those cursed battles against the beasts, left nothing behind? Back then, he had at least his sword and knife. Now, he didn't even have his own clothes.
One by one, the long-eared onlookers began to leave the arena. Faces that had brimmed with hope and expectation moments earlier now showed only disappointment and doubt. Finn felt each departing gaze, each whispered word, as if they were fresh wounds.
Eva and Adam remained silent. Their expressions were unreadable, though in their eyes flickered something like… regret? Or was it just a trick of the dim arena light?
When Finn finally forced himself upright, pushing past the pain, the stands were empty. Only four figures remained—himself, his opponent, Eva, and Adam. The silence that followed the dispersal of the crowd was deafening.
"Enough for today," Eva said softly, her voice colored with disappointment. She had known Finn was weak—but perhaps not this weak.
Without a word, Finn's opponent turned and walked away. His movements were as smooth and silent as they had been in battle. Setting the wooden katana back on its rack, he disappeared into the settlement's shadowed corridors.
Eva cast one last look at Finn, then followed after him, leaving the boy alone with Adam. Their footsteps made no sound, and when they were gone, even their presence seemed to vanish. The arena sank into complete stillness.
Finn stood with his head bowed. The pain in his body was already fading, but a deeper agony grew in his chest—the sting of disappointment and shame. He felt as though he had failed them all. Failed those who had seen him as their hope, who had saved him from the knights, who had fed and sheltered him. All of it… for nothing.
"Do not blame yourself," Adam's voice was gentle. "They are not disappointed in you, but in their own hopes. Some envy you, others are pleased. But none of them were able to pass the trial. The trial you overcame—though weaker than all of them."
"What use… is this power?" Finn's voice was quiet, weary. "I don't even know how to wield it… I don't even know if I truly passed the trial—or if it was all just a lie…" He stumbled over his words, unable to hold them steady.
Adam gave no reply. He simply lifted his right hand in a beckoning gesture, calling the boy to follow.