The two boys stood at the center of the training hall, wooden blades in hand. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, catching on polished armor displays and racks of weapons. The air seemed to tighten around them, the silence holding its breath.
Aelric grinned as he rolled his shoulders and raised his sword. "Ready?"Rowan gave a small nod. His grip tightened around the wooden blade until his knuckles whitened. His heart drummed against his ribs, a strange blend of nerves and excitement.
The prince lunged first. His strike came fast, sharper and more precise than anything Rowan had faced against beasts. The wooden swords cracked together, the force jolting up Rowan's arms. He staggered back, barely keeping his footing.
Aelric pressed forward without pause. His blows came in quick succession: low sweeps toward Rowan's legs, sudden thrusts aimed at his chest, overhead cuts that stung when they connected with his guard. Rowan blocked clumsily, his wrists aching with each shock. His arms felt heavy already. He tried to push back once with a counter, but Aelric brushed it aside as if swatting away a fly, forcing Rowan into retreat again.
He's reading me too easily…! Rowan thought, panic and frustration tugging at his chest. Against beasts, instinct had been enough: dodge, strike, retreat. But Aelric wasn't some wild creature lashing out. Every swing carried intent, every feint an attempt to pull Rowan into a mistake. It was like trying to dance to a rhythm he had never heard before.
"You've got good instincts," Aelric said between strikes, the grin never leaving his face. His eyes, however, gleamed with sharp focus. "But you're stiff. Too defensive."
Rowan gritted his teeth, catching another downward cut with his aching arms. Sweat stung his eyes, his shirt clinging to his skin. If I keep this up, I'll lose outright, he realized. His body screamed at him to keep retreating, but some stubborn fire inside refused.
He forced his breathing steady, slower, trying to see beyond the blur of strikes. He watched not just the sword but Aelric himself: the shift of his shoulders, the angle of his hips, the placement of his feet. When the prince feinted high again, Rowan's body reacted differently. Instead of flinching, he stepped to the side, letting the blow whistle past. His own blade lashed out, a short arc aimed toward Aelric's ribs.
The prince twisted just in time, his blade snapping into place to block. His grin widened, approval flashing in his eyes. "Oh? That's better."
Rowan's pulse thundered in his ears. The next clash of wood rang louder, sharper, and this time his counter didn't feel clumsy. His muscles seemed to remember faster than his mind. The rhythm of the fight shifted; each exchange smoothed his movements, honed his guard, sharpened his reactions.
They pushed apart, then came together once more. The sound of wood striking wood echoed through the wide hall, each impact carrying a sense of momentum. Rowan no longer looked like prey scrambling from a predator. He was starting to answer each strike with one of his own, his stance firming, his arms moving in rhythm with the duel. He wasn't winning, not yet, but he was no longer being swept away.
And the prince, watching the change unfold, found himself smiling wider than before.
Still, Rowan's inexperience caught up with him. His breathing grew heavy, every muscle burning as the spar dragged on. His shirt clung damp to his back, his grip beginning to weaken. Aelric, though also sweating, moved with practiced energy, his strikes sharp and precise. Every time Rowan adjusted, the prince was already one step ahead, his footwork quicker, his timing cleaner.
The end came swiftly. Aelric's blade swept low, forcing Rowan to drop his guard. He barely managed to parry, but his balance broke. The follow-up strike tapped firmly against his chest with a decisive thwack.
Rowan froze, chest heaving. The fight was over.
Aelric let his blade drop, breathing hard but smiling. "Point to me."
Frustration warred with exhilaration inside Rowan. He had lost, decisively. Yet he felt no bitterness. Instead, there was a strange lightness, a spark that hadn't been there before, as if some door had opened.
"You are good. You lasted longer than I thought," Aelric said, brushing sweat from his brow.
Rowan blinked, surprised by the praise. A faint smile tugged at his lips. "So this is what it feels like… sparring someone."
The prince tilted his head, surprise flashing in his eyes. "Wait. First time?"
Rowan nodded without thinking. "Yeah. Back in Vexlaar, I never got to spar or train against anyone. The only fights I had were against beasts in the woods."
Aelric stared at him for a moment, then let out a low whistle. "You're telling me that was your first real spar with a person? No wonder your style felt… different. But to pick things up that quickly…" His grin widened. "Unbelievable."
Rowan gave an awkward smile, unsure how to respond to such praise.
"Then it's settled," Aelric declared suddenly, planting his sword back onto the rack with a thud. "Why don't you train with me under my teacher? He's the best instructor you'll find in all of Nirathal."
Rowan hesitated, wiping sweat from his brow. "But… His Majesty said he would assign me a trainer himself in a few days."
Aelric waved the concern off with a laugh, brimming with confidence. "That's fine. I'll talk to him. He'll be more than happy to hear my suggestion. Just be ready tomorrow morning—I'll send someone to fetch you."
Before Rowan could reply, Aelric flashed him another bright smile, gave a quick wave, and strode out of the hall with the same energy he had carried into the fight. Rowan stood there for a long moment, wooden sword still in hand, his chest heaving.
He looked down at the blade, fingers tightening around the worn grip. His arms were sore, his body tired, but there was fire in his chest that hadn't been there before. He had lost, yes, but for the first time, he had stood in a real match, not as prey, not as an outcast, but as someone who could grow.
Tomorrow, he thought, heart racing, tomorrow will be the start of something new.
Outside Rowan's residence, the courtyard was quiet, bathed in the golden hues of the setting sun. The hedges stood neat and orderly, and the stone path glowed faintly under the soft light. Aelric walked a few steps before stopping, tilting his head back toward the sky. His chest still rose and fell from the fight, though his grin lingered.
"That was his first time fighting someone," he murmured to himself, a little stunned. He let out a breath, shaking his head. "Looks like I've been slacking off. I need to train harder."
"True," a voice answered from behind.
Aelric spun, eyes narrowing as the air shimmered. The faint outline of a figure solidified into a young woman in a crimson cloak, her presence carrying a heat like smoldering coals. The fabric rippled as if stirred by unseen flames.
"Ember?" he groaned. "What are you doing here?"
"Big sister Ember to you, kid," she corrected, a sly grin tugging at her lips.
Aelric scowled. "Were you spying on me again with that creepy concealment spell of yours?"
She folded her arms, feigning indignation. "I've come home after so many days, and instead of being happy to see me, everyone keeps complaining about my spells."
"Maybe try meeting people normally," Aelric muttered, rubbing his temples. "Also, why are you here?"
"Well," Ember said lightly, twirling a strand of her dark hair, "I went to find you earlier but was told you were at Rowan's place. So I came here under concealment, just in case you did something stupid. But then I saw you sparring…" She chuckled softly, her eyes gleaming. "It was entertaining, so I kept watching. Didn't want to show up and make things awkward, so here we are now."
"Watching kids fight with your creepy concealment spell…" Aelric grumbled under his breath.
A sharp smack landed on the back of his head.
"Hey!"
"Apologize," Ember ordered, her expression stern though her eyes sparkled with amusement.
Aelric sighed, rubbing the sore spot. "…Sorry."
"Good." She smirked, satisfied.
For a moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves in the courtyard garden. Finally, Aelric asked, "So? What did you think of the fight?"
Ember tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "He could've beaten you."
Aelric blinked. "…What?"
She hesitated, her voice quieter now. "If he had more experience fighting people."
"…Or?" Aelric pressed, unease stirring.
Her eyes flickered, as though she debated keeping the rest to herself. "Or… if it had been a death match."
The words sank like stones into Aelric's chest, heavy and unshakable.