The next day came too soon.
Alaric dragged his feet into the training yard, yawning so wide his jaw cracked. His messy snow-white hair stuck up in every direction, golden eyes half-lidded as if the world was already asking too much of him. The staff he carried dragged in the dirt, leaving a wobbly trail behind him.
"This," he muttered to no one in particular, "is cruel and unusual punishment."
Ryn was already there, swinging his wooden sword in neat arcs. Sweat gleamed on his forehead, his green eyes sharp with focus. When he noticed Alaric, he smirked. "What's the matter, rabbit? Too tired to keep up?"
Alaric squinted at him, unimpressed. "You do realize you lost to me twice, right? That makes you the rabbit."
"That was luck." Ryn's smirk turned sharp. "Today, you won't get away with it."
Alaric snorted, finally lifting his staff off the ground. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that. Whatever helps you sleep at night."
Before Ryn could shoot back, Kael stepped between them, his scarred face unreadable as always. His presence alone was enough to quiet the muttering kids who had gathered around to watch.
"Enough talk. From now on, the two of you will train together."
Both boys blinked.
"…What?" Alaric asked flatly.
Kael's gaze was steady, voice firm. "You'll push each other. Alone, you're weak. Together, you'll sharpen one another."
Alaric groaned. "You mean I'm stuck with him? I didn't sign up for a buddy system."
Ryn scowled. "I don't want to babysit a lazy brat."
Kael ignored them both. He pointed toward the center of the yard. "Pair drills. Staff against sword. Fifty exchanges without breaking stance."
"Fifty?!" Alaric yelped.
"Fifty," Kael repeated.
Ryn's smirk widened. "Try not to collapse halfway, rabbit."
Alaric gripped his staff tighter, glaring. "I'm going to wipe that smirk off your face."
The crowd buzzed with excitement. Even the other kids, who had been cautious around Alaric before, leaned closer, eager to see the cursed boy and the villager prodigy clash again.
Kael's hand dropped. "Begin."
Ryn struck first, sword flashing in a clean arc. Alaric blocked, the impact rattling through his small arms. He hissed but pushed back, twisting his staff to knock the sword aside.
Clack. Crack. Whack.
The rhythm built fast—strike, block, parry, counter. Ryn's strikes were sharp, precise, but Alaric's unorthodox style kept him unpredictable. He ducked when he should've stepped back, jabbed when he should've retreated, laughed even as his arms shook.
"Is that all you've got?" Alaric panted, grin wide.
Ryn growled. "Don't get cocky!" He swung harder, forcing Alaric back.
The staff wobbled under the pressure, but Alaric twisted, letting the sword slide past before jabbing forward. Ryn staggered a step, eyes widening.
Gasps rose from the watching children.
Kael's scarred face remained impassive, but his sharp gaze never left them.
Back and forth they went, neither backing down. Sweat dripped, dirt kicked up under their feet, breaths came ragged. But neither yielded.
By the time they hit the thirtieth exchange, Alaric's arms felt like lead. His thin frame trembled, white hair plastered to his face. His golden eyes, though, burned hotter than ever.
Ryn wasn't much better. His swings slowed, his grip tightened, and his breathing came heavy. But his pride pushed him forward, refusing to lose to the boy who had beaten him twice.
He's stronger… but I can't quit now, Alaric thought, teeth gritted. Not when he's looking at me like that.
The clash of wood echoed through the yard, each strike sharper than the last, until it was impossible to tell who was pushing who harder.
And for the first time, the crowd wasn't laughing, mocking, or whispering about curses.
They were watching. Really watching.
The thirty-first strike came down like thunder.
Alaric caught it with his staff, arms shaking violently. His whole body wobbled, thin legs digging into the dirt. Sweat rolled down his cheek, stinging his eyes.
Ryn pressed harder, green eyes blazing. "Fall already!"
Alaric bared his teeth in something between a grin and a grimace. "You first!"
With a yell, he twisted, shoving the sword aside. The staff swung up in a sharp arc—clack!—forcing Ryn to stumble back.
The children watching gasped, their cheers now split between the two fighters.
Clack. Crack. Whack.
The sound of wood against wood echoed again and again, counting up their struggle.
Thirty-five.
Thirty-eight.
Forty.
By then, Alaric's arms were on fire. His chest heaved, golden eyes half-lidded from exhaustion. His messy white hair clung to his face, dripping sweat. His grip slipped, nearly losing the staff entirely, but he clenched harder, refusing to let go.
Ryn wasn't any better. His swings had lost their clean rhythm, now fueled more by stubborn will than skill. His breath came ragged, sweat running down his temple. His jaw was tight, his green eyes locked on Alaric like he was the only thing in the world.
"You're… not bad," Ryn admitted through gritted teeth.
Alaric barked a breathless laugh. "You're… finally… catching on."
Forty-five.
Forty-seven.
Their movements grew sloppy, but the fire in their eyes only burned brighter. Each strike was weaker than the last, but each refusal to yield screamed louder than words.
"Two more," Kael's voice cut through the yard. "Don't stop now."
Alaric's vision blurred. His tiny arms trembled like twigs in a storm. But he raised the staff anyway, biting down on a groan.
Ryn's sword came down—Alaric swung up—CRACK!
Forty-nine.
Both staggered, nearly collapsing. The crowd held its breath.
Ryn lunged, one last strike in him. Alaric pulled every shred of will he had left, twisting his body, swinging from the hip with everything he had.
WHAM!
Staff and sword clashed one final time.
The force knocked both boys off balance. Ryn stumbled forward, Alaric fell back onto the dirt, and their weapons clattered loose from their hands.
Silence.
Then Kael's voice, steady and sharp: "Fifty."
The yard erupted in cheers.
Some shouted Ryn's name, others Alaric's, but most just screamed in awe. No one had expected the cursed boy and the village's pride to go all the way.
Flat on his back, Alaric laughed breathlessly. His chest heaved, golden eyes glittering even through exhaustion. "Ha… ha… still standing… well, kind of…"
Ryn dropped onto his knees, clutching his side, panting hard. He glanced at Alaric, green eyes narrowed. Then, slowly, a smirk tugged at his lips.
"…You're insane."
Alaric grinned back, cheeks flushed, hair a sweaty mess. "Takes one to know one."
The two boys locked eyes. Their chests heaved, their arms shook, but neither looked away.
It wasn't victory or defeat anymore. It was something sharper.
Recognition.
Kael's boots crunched against the dirt as he stepped into the yard. The cheers and shouts fell away immediately, the children shrinking back under his scarred gaze.
He looked down at the two boys—one sprawled in the dirt, the other on his knees, both of them drenched in sweat, arms shaking from exhaustion.
"You did not fight like warriors," he said bluntly.
Alaric groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Oh great. Here we go."
Ryn scowled, green eyes flicking up. "We finished the fifty like you said."
Kael crouched, sharp eyes glinting. "Barely. You pushed each other, yes—but with no discipline. No awareness. You fought as though victory was all that mattered."
"Uh, yeah," Alaric muttered, peeking out from under his arm. "That's the point of a duel."
Kael's scar twitched, and for a moment, Alaric thought he was about to get whacked over the head. But instead, the man exhaled slowly, shaking his head.
"Victory without control is nothing. Both of you would've been dead ten times over against a real enemy."
The words hung heavy in the air. Even the watching children grew quiet, the weight of Kael's voice pressing down on them.
Ryn's lips pressed into a thin line. He hated the truth in those words, but he didn't argue.
Alaric rolled onto his side, groaning. "Dead ten times… sure feels like it…"
A few kids snickered, breaking the tension.
Kael stood tall again, his voice carrying. "But… you didn't give up. Either of you. That has value."
Alaric blinked, lifting his head. "…Wait. Was that a compliment?"
"Don't let it get to your head."
Too late. A smug grin spread across Alaric's flushed face. "Ha! You heard him, everyone! I've got value!"
The crowd of kids groaned in unison, though some were laughing too.
Kael's mouth twitched again, but he didn't let it linger. "Enough for today. Rest. Tomorrow, we continue."
The children scattered, some chattering about the duel, others sneaking glances at Alaric like they weren't quite sure what to make of him anymore. The whispers of cursed boy still lingered—but they were softer now, muddled with awe and curiosity.
Ryn pushed himself to his feet, wobbling slightly. He glanced at Alaric, who was still sprawled on the ground. "…Don't think this means I'll go easy on you tomorrow."
Alaric smirked weakly, eyes half-shut. "You couldn't go easy if you tried."
For a heartbeat, Ryn looked like he might snap back—but instead, he snorted, shaking his head as he turned away.
Ashen moved at last. He had stood silently at the yard's edge the entire time, unmoving as stone. But now he crossed the dirt with smooth, measured steps. His pale butler's coat caught the light, silver-gray eyes steady as ever.
Without a word, he bent and scooped Alaric up, the boy's small, trembling body fitting easily in his cold arms.
Alaric blinked up at him, too tired to protest. "…What, no lecture from you too?"
Ashen didn't answer. But his gaze lingered on Alaric a moment longer than usual, and his hold was just a fraction tighter—protective, careful.
Alaric's smirk softened. He let his head fall against Ashen's shoulder, eyelids drooping. "…Fine. But you better carry me the whole way. My legs are on strike."
Ashen's silence said everything.
The training yard emptied, the noise of the village carrying faintly through the trees. And in the quiet that followed, a shift had begun—small, but certain.
For the first time, Alaric wasn't just the cursed boy. He was a rival, a fighter, a comrade.
And he wasn't alone.