The training ground buzzed with excitement. Dust hung in the air, stirred by the boots of a hundred spectators—nobles in fine tunics, commoners in patched cloaks, all drawn by rumors of a duel that could spark legends. At the arena's center stood Crown Prince Solvane, his tall frame radiating the strength of a Golden Asper, his golden fur catching the twin suns' light through his loose tunic. His blue eyes gleamed with focus, a wooden sword gripped firmly in his hand. Beside him was Walden, the boy called "The God's Eye," his red curls bright, his shorter frame steady. His God's Eyes—starlit pupils unique in all of Avallah—shone calmly, his wooden sword held with quiet confidence. Both boys stood ready, their stances sharp and deliberate.
"Your Majesty," Walden said softly, his voice steady, almost gentle.
"Call me Solvane," the prince replied, his tone firm but warm, a faint smile on his lips.
"I refuse," Walden answered, calm and innocent, his eyes unwavering. "I'll stick with 'Your Majesty.'"
Solvane narrowed his eyes, his smile tightening, but he said nothing, letting the words hang. The crowd murmured, their voices a low hum, like bees circling a hive. Walden's tone shifted, now flat, indifferent. "Are you sure she can separate the fight?" he asked, glancing toward the arena's edge.
"Believe in my decision," Solvane said, his voice steady, a prince's command cutting through the noise. "I won't try convincing you again about her. Besides, you already signed the Binding Declaration."
The crowd's murmurs grew louder, whispers of the cursed parchment passing like a breeze. From the arena's edge, Filin, the prince's old butler, watched in silence. His weathered face showed nothing, but his sharp eyes held a flicker of worry. Walden was different—not just his calm, but something deeper, an aura that felt holy, like standing before a temple. It wasn't fear. It was reverence, the kind that made men whisper of gods.
Then, a battle cry rang out, sharp and clear.
Solvane and Walden charged, their wooden swords meeting in a loud crack. The crowd gasped as they moved so fast they blurred, their blades clashing and parting in a heartbeat. Solvane swung an upward strike, his arm strong, aiming to overpower. Walden dodged, his body light, moving like he floated on air while Solvane pushed through heavy water. The crowd roared, their cheers echoing off the arena's stone walls.
"Why are those idiots yelling?" Roxanne muttered, arms folded at the front. Her dark hair was pulled tight, her eyes annoyed. She didn't want to be here, but a favor to the prince left her no choice. "This better be worth my time."
"They'll be terrifying when they grow up," Filin said, appearing beside her, his voice low and calm.
Roxanne jumped, glaring. "Old man, it's you? Don't sneak up like that! And don't pull that 'blind' act again—you're not fooling me."
Filin chuckled, hands behind his back, his staff resting against his shoulder. "No tricks, Roxanne. Just watching the prince."
She rolled her eyes, her voice sharp. "Seriously, whose time are they wasting? When are they going to fight for real? This looks like a dance."
In the arena, the duel grew fiercer. Solvane struck with precision, his wooden sword a blur, testing Walden's guard. Each swing carried the weight of his training, honed in Avallah's courts. Walden parried with ease, his movements smooth, like brushing away a fly. His face stayed calm—no strain, no anger—just focus. But just before each clash, his sword snapped with sudden power, making it look effortless.
"He's holding back," Solvane muttered, his breath quick. "Why's he so calm?"
Walden's eyes stayed steady, his blade moving like a soft breeze but hitting like a storm. "You're strong, Your Majesty," he said, his voice even. "But strength isn't everything."
Solvane gritted his teeth, his golden fur prickling. He called on two battle arts, mastered through years of sweat: Golden Aegis, a style from the first Golden Asper, built on raw power, each strike like a lion's roar; and Golden Knight's Last Stand, a defensive art, tough and unyielding, letting him outlast any foe. With both, he felt unbeatable, his rapid healing ready to mend any bruise.
But Walden's calm rattled him. Their speeds matched, yet Walden showed no effort, his God's Eyes glowing softly, serene. "You're not even trying," Solvane said, his voice low, pushing harder with a quick strike.
"I'm trying enough," Walden replied, parrying smoothly, his blade meeting Solvane's with a sharp thwack. "No need to rush."
The crowd cheered louder, some shouting Solvane's name, others whispering about Walden's strange calm. "He's too relaxed," a noble muttered. "It's unnatural." A commoner nodded. "Those eyes—God's Eyes. They see something we don't."
Solvane pressed forward, mixing feints with heavy blows, his muscles straining but healing fast, a Golden Asper gift. Walden countered each move, his wooden sword dancing, never wasting energy. It was like he stored power, waiting for the right moment.
"You're good," Solvane said, panting slightly, his smile sharp. "But I'm not losing to someone who fights like he's napping."
Walden's lips twitched, almost a smile. "And I'm not losing to a prince who thinks strength wins everything," he said, his voice soft but firm, his blade snapping up to block a fierce strike.
The duel stretched on, their wooden swords clashing in a rhythm that held the crowd spellbound. Both boys paused, breathing hard, their eyes locked. Speed alone wouldn't win this—it was now about skill, instinct, and something deeper, hidden in Walden's calm and Solvane's fire.
Solvane gritted his teeth, his voice low. "Unbelievable… His speed matches mine. But he's not even trying."
Walden's God's Eyes remained tranquil, his blade steady, moving like a whisper, striking like thunder.
And somewhere in the crowd, Filin whispered to himself, his voice soft, almost lost in the cheers, "This boy… he's not just gifted. He's touched by something beyond us."