Sunlight filtered through the grand windows of the estate's dining hall, catching the polished silverware and the banners fluttering faintly in the morning breeze. Eryndor entered quietly, still feeling the soreness from yesterday's fight, though his recovery training had done wonders. The smell of cooked eggs and fresh bread did little to calm the tension in the room.
His father sat at the head of the table, expression stern as always. His brothers and cousins were already seated, casting him sidelong glances. The older cousins whispered among themselves, smirking.
"Morning, brother," one of them said, voice dripping with false friendliness. "Did the city teach you anything, or are you still as fragile as before?"
Eryndor only smiled faintly, letting his eyes drift to the table before answering. "Morning," he replied evenly, reaching for a piece of bread. "I'm just here to see who truly deserves the academy."
A murmur of surprise ran across the table. His cousin's smirk faltered.
His father's gaze swept the room, sharp as a blade. "Silence. Today will speak louder than words." He gestured toward the hall entrance. "Finish quickly. The competition begins at first light."
Breakfast passed with quiet tension, punctuated by the occasional jibe from a cousin or the subtle glare of his father. Eryndor ate methodically, tasting each bite but thinking far ahead—he replayed his fight with Kael in his mind, feeling the spark of lightning in his fingers, the subtle tug of wind at his feet. Every movement, every strike from yesterday's battle, was a lesson he could bring into the arena today.
By the time the meal ended, the hall seemed thick with anticipation. The competitors rose, moving toward the courtyard. Eryndor followed, walking calmly, letting the energy of the morning flow around him.
The courtyard was vast, encircled by stone walls and filled with the sons and daughters of neighboring families, all here to watch who would rise to the academy. Flags snapped in the breeze, and the sun glinted off the polished stones.
His father's voice rang out, commanding the attention of everyone present. "Today, you will compete—not only for skill, but for honor. Each of you will demonstrate your ability to wield your affinity, your martial skill, and your resolve. The one who excels will carry our family's name to the academy."
Eryndor's fingers tingled with the quiet hum of lightning, wind teasing his hair. He took a deep breath, stepping into the center of the courtyard, eyes scanning his opponents. His cousins approached with confidence, but Eryndor had learned something Kael had made clear: raw skill is one thing, adaptation in battle is another.
He glanced at the edge of the courtyard, imagining the faint crackle of sparks across his knuckles, the whisper of wind guiding his stance. Today, it wouldn't just be a test—it would be his first real stage outside the city alleys, a chance to show that the boy they underestimated was far from fragile.
The courtyard fell silent, and the first match was called. Eryndor's heart beat steadily. Lightning hummed faintly in his veins. Wind brushed against his movements like a loyal companion.
The trial had begun.