The trio touched down just outside the Holy Kingdom of Kovaria, where warm sunlight poured across towering marble spires and rooftops plated in gold. The kingdom hummed with motion—merchants haggling, guards patrolling in crisp formations, and winged messengers zipping between towers bearing scrolls and orders.
Yet beneath the bustle was something deeper—an unmistakable reverence that pulsed in the stones themselves. Every movement, every shout, every step on the polished streets carried weight. Here, divine order wasn't just enforced—it was breathed in.
"Welcome to Kovaria," Gabriella said, stepping forward with a soft smile. "One of the most important kingdoms under Velari protection."
Indra's eyes drifted upward, tracing the sweeping arc of a crystal bridge connecting twin towers. The skyline shimmered, bathed in morning light, as if the city had been sculpted directly from sunlight.
"Enjoy the quiet," Iris muttered ahead of them, her hands laced behind her head. Her tone was casual, but her eyes flicked toward the horizon. "It doesn't last."
Gabriella pointed toward a large domed structure down the promenade—a temple-like facility carved from white stone and wrapped in radiant runes that pulsed with heavenly breath.
"Come on. Before we visit the Sanctuary, there's someone I want you to meet. He's the one who'll help shape your foundation as a Velari."
Indra nodded and followed without question.
Inside, the training hall was vast and still—quiet in the way that ancient cathedrals are quiet. Sunlight streamed through high celestial panels, painting golden trails across the floor. Murals of epic battles loomed on every wall, alive with detail. Beneath their feet, runes glowed gently beneath transparent marble, pulsing in rhythm with something eternal.
At the center of the space stood a single man.
His back was to them, broad and unmoving. He wore resplendent golden armor, flawless in design, forged not for decoration but for war. An azure cloak hung behind him, caught in an invisible wind.
His blonde hair shimmered in the light like woven flame.
But his aura—cold, absolute—froze the room around him.
Then he turned.
Eyes like frozen flame met theirs—piercing, unblinking, void of warmth or welcome. There was no greeting. No nod. Just silence. Pure, surgical focus.
Gabriella's voice dropped to a near whisper, reverent and steady.
"Indra… meet the 3rd Seat. Michael, The Throne of Authority."
Indra took a slight bow, hands at his sides. "It's nice to meet you."
Michael didn't respond right away. His gaze never broke. He studied Indra in complete stillness, not like a man observing another—but like a weapon measuring its own edge. The moment stretched, heavy and silent.
Finally, he spoke.
"I've heard your name…" His voice was quiet, but sharp—like glass cracking in slow motion. Each word carried weight, as if spoken from somewhere far colder than the room they stood in. "But strength is pointless without potential. And potential means nothing without strength. Do you understand that?"
Indra's posture straightened instinctively, something in him rising to the challenge embedded in the words.
"Yes sir."
Michael's expression didn't shift. Not a blink. Not a twitch.
"We'll see."
Iris leaned toward Gabriella, whispering low. "That's Michael for you… definitely not the friendly type."
Michael turned his back to them now. He walked toward the center of the chamber with a slow, deliberate gait. Every step seemed to carry gravity. The light in the room shifted—bending faintly around him, as if recognizing the hierarchy of presence.
"Draw your blades," he said, his voice calm, without even a glance behind him. "Both of them. Show me how much of a Velari you've become."
Indra hesitated with confusion. How did he know I had two swords? he wondered.
He exhaled once and stepped forward, the air tightening around him as he moved. His stance was steady. His breath controlled. His mind focused.
He extended both hands.
The air shimmered.
Twin golden circles unfurled on either side of him—pulsing with radiant energy. Their light twisted outward like waves bending through water. From their centers, two blades began to emerge, forged not from metal, but from condensed, divine force. Their edges glowed, etched in flowing script that flickered in time with his heartbeat.
The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilts, the energy snapped into shape.
Heat swelled. The floor beneath him rippled with light.
Indra held the blades steady.
Michael stopped walking.
He lifted one hand into the air. Slowly.
Above it, a spiral of golden energy coiled into being—tight, brilliant, blinding. The light compressed into a single point, then detonated outward in a wave of divine pressure.
A sword appeared in his grasp.
It wasn't summoned—it was manifested. Carved directly from pure celestial energy, its blade gleamed with unrelenting purpose. Runes glowed down its length, pulsing in perfect time with his heart. The moment it settled in his palm, the floor beneath him cracked. Thin, spidering fractures spread outward in all directions.
Iris stepped back, her lips parting in silent awe. Her arms lowered to her sides without realizing.
Gabriella didn't speak. Her eyes locked onto Michael's sword. Her posture shifted subtly, legs braced, shoulders tight.
The tension was no longer atmospheric.
It was pressure. Measured and direct.
Michael's eyes returned to Indra, icy and focused.
"Eliminate the threat," he said softly. "That will be your start."
The training field shifted. Glowing runes surged to life, and divine dummies activated—each one brandishing a celestial weapon: swords, spears, axes. They stood silent and majestic, like fallen warriors raised for war.
Across the field, Michael remained motionless with his wings folded neatly behind him. His armor glowed faintly, but the arena belonged to his cold, analytical gaze.
There was no delay.
"Begin."
Indra dashed forward, his blades flashing. He slammed into the first dummy's shield, and sparks flew while metal screamed. The dummy countered instantly, swinging a halberd at his chest. Indra twisted aside, feeling the wind as the weapon grazed his shoulder.
From the sidelines Gabriella watched with folded arms. "He's quick."
Iris leaned forward. "Yes, and that quickness had better save him."
Indra drove both swords into the dummy's core. The construct burst into radiant shards that scattered like crystal snow.
"Continue," Michael commanded, his voice firm and absolute.
Two more dummies advanced with weapons humming. One lunged low with a spear while the other slashed wide with a curved blade. Indra wove between them—blocking, sidestepping, spinning—then cut them down in a single, fluid motion. Both shattered into light.
Landing in a crouch, he raised his gleaming blades. "I'm ready for more."
Michael still did not move. "Then step into the ring."
The floor rumbled, and a massive circular platform rose from beneath the field. Glowing sigils pulsed along its edges like a god's heartbeat, and the air grew dense.
Iris blinked. "Wait, he's actually sparring with him?"
Gabriella said nothing, jaw tight as she watched the arena reshape itself.
Michael stepped up onto the platform with the commanding presence of a king approaching judgment. His blade was already drawn, steady in a hand forged by centuries of discipline. Gravity seemed to adjust for him; each deliberate step parted the air in reverence. Facing Indra, he spoke in an unreadable tone.
"Land a hit. That is your goal. If you cannot strike me, you are not ready for what lies beyond."
Indra narrowed his eyes but remained silent. Heat shimmered around his body, and his aura flared as golden energy traced the edges of his swords. "All right."
They moved at the same instant, swift as a storm. Indra lunged, twin slashes cutting the charged air. Michael intercepted with a single effortless sweep. Sparks erupted, yet Michael did not flinch.
"Too obvious," he observed.
He followed with a wide arc. Indra ducked and unleashed a rapid flurry that blurred into silver streaks. Michael blocked with perfect efficiency, expending only the motion required. He remained untouched.
Gabriella's brow creased as she folded her arms tighter.
Iris tilted her head, eyes narrowed. "He's getting dissected."
Suddenly Michael struck. His blade descended like lightning, and the resulting boom cracked the platform, sending tremors across the sigils. Indra skidded, carving twin trails in the glowing stone, but he stayed upright. Chest heaving, he shouted, "You're not even trying!"
"You have not made me," Michael answered with steady, icy calm.
Indra clenched his jaw. He recognized the bait and charged again. This time he feinted low and switched direction at the last instant. Michael's blade moved to intercept, but Indra twisted mid-step, bringing his second sword upward toward Michael's side. The blade passed so close that Michael shifted a foot. His face did not change, yet the adjustment proved he had reacted. With the flat of his sword, Michael knocked the attack aside, sending Indra stumbling. The point was made.
Gabriella's eyes widened; surprise parted her lips.
Iris released a quiet whistle. "He actually made him move."
Michael advanced, and the platform seemed to pulse beneath him. His presence weighed on the arena, dropping the temperature further. The air grew so heavy it felt as if the very sky pressed downward.
Indra stood his ground. Divine energy flared around his twin blades as silver and gold collided against Michael's weapon in rhythmic violence. Michael raised his sword high and brought it down with the force of judgment. A deafening crack split the ring. Runes burst with light. The floor under Indra gave way, and he dropped to one knee, arms quaking under the crushing weight.
Silence spread across the arena. Gabriella stepped forward, concern flashing in her eyes, but Michael lifted one hand.
"He can endure it."
When the dust cleared, Indra still knelt, his blades locked against Michael's. His entire body trembled, yet his gaze burned with resolve rather than fear.
Michael regarded him in silence, then lowered his sword and stepped back. "That is enough."
Indra rose slowly, chest laboring for each breath. "But I did not land a hit."
"You adapted during the fight," Michael replied while turning away. "You forced me to adjust. That matters more than striking blindly."
Understanding dawned on Indra. Michael had not tested his strength; he had tested his growth.
Gabriella stepped in and touched Indra's arm. Warm golden light flowed from her hand, easing the strain in his muscles. "You did great," she said with gentle confidence.
Iris clapped once—mocking in tone yet not unkind. "You managed to avoid getting pancaked. Not bad."
Indra smirked and wiped sweat from his brow. "You were cheering for me. Admit it."
Iris shrugged. "Define cheering."
Their shared laughter eased the tension as they left the platform, though it did not banish it entirely. Indra glanced back. Michael remained at the center, sword lowered, silent and watchful.
For the first time since reaching the heavens, Indra felt more than expectation on his shoulders. He sensed the vast, unshakable weight of destiny.
This was only the beginning.