Chapter 6: The Hawk Spreads Its Wings
The sun rose blood-red over Delsar Manor, its light spilling across banners that fluttered in the morning wind. The courtyard had been cleared, training dummies dragged aside to make space for what everyone whispered would be a match worth watching.
Aric awoke before dawn, his body already thrumming with restless energy. Each breath felt deeper, each step lighter, each clench of his fist stronger than the day before. He pressed a hand to the oak beam above his bed; wood creaked under the pressure.
There was no denying it anymore. This power was not chance, nor was it training. It was something else, something that made his blood sing.
A servant knocked. "Young master, your father requests your presence in the courtyard. The spar will be held at first light."
Aric nodded, his expression unreadable. Inside, however, his thoughts were sharp as blades.
---
The courtyard was alive with voices. Guards leaned on their spears, servants whispered in clusters, and even a few village youths had snuck close enough to peek through the gates. Word of the Veylan threat had already spread; everyone knew this spar carried more weight than mere sibling rivalry.
Lord Arion sat upon a raised chair at the edge of the yard, his expression carved from stone. Beside him stood Lady Serenya, serene as always, though her eyes never left her eldest son. Lyra was already in the courtyard, dressed in a fitted training uniform, her hair tied back in a warrior's braid. A wooden sword rested easily in her hands, but her stance radiated steel.
Kael bounced on his heels near the edge, whispering to a squire, "This time Aric will lose, you'll see. Lyra never lets anyone win twice!"
Aric entered. Conversation stilled.
He moved with a quiet confidence, his steps deliberate, his gaze steady. He did not bow or fidget; he simply picked up his training sword and met Lyra's eyes.
"You're early," she said, narrowing her gaze.
"I didn't want to keep you waiting," Aric replied. His voice was calm, almost too calm.
Lyra smirked. "Yesterday, you surprised me. Today, I won't be so kind."
Arion raised his hand. "Begin."
---
Lyra struck first, swift as a hawk diving from the sky. Her blade whistled, aiming straight for Aric's shoulder. He did not flinch. He raised his sword, parried with a sharp crack, and flowed seamlessly into a counter.
Gasps echoed.
She pressed harder, her strikes a blur. Aric met them all, his arms moving as though guided by instinct rather than conscious thought. Each block sent jolts up her arm; each counter carried weight she hadn't felt before.
The crowd murmured.
"Is it me, or… is the young master moving like a seasoned knight?"
"He was struggling only yesterday!"
Even the captains frowned, watching closely.
Aric, however, barely heard them. His focus narrowed to the rhythm of the fight—the swing of her blade, the shift of her feet, the subtle twitch before a strike. It was as if the world had slowed, allowing him to read her every move.
He stepped in, his blade snapping past her guard. The wooden sword stopped a hair's breadth from her throat.
Lyra froze.
"You're open," Aric said quietly.
Arion's brows lifted. Serenya's eyes softened, a shadow of worry passing through them. Kael's mouth fell open.
But Lyra's pride blazed hotter than her shock. She jerked back, resetting her stance. "Again!"
Arion nodded. "Continue."
---
This time she unleashed the true Hawk style—flowing strikes that mimicked the dive and rise of the predator from which their house took its name. Her footwork was impeccable, her movements sharp enough to humble knights twice her age.
And yet…
Aric adapted. Each clash rang louder, each exchange shorter. He no longer reacted—he anticipated. His counters weren't just defense; they were dominance.
Lyra snarled, sweat beading her brow. She feinted left, spun right, and aimed for his ribs with all the speed she could muster. Aric stepped inside the arc of her blade, his wooden sword hooking hers aside. His free hand pushed against her chest, sending her sprawling back across the courtyard stones.
The watching guards erupted in disbelief.
"He—he disarmed her!"
"No, more than that! He read her like a book!"
Lyra lay on the ground, breathless, her pride stung deeper than her bruises.
Aric did not gloat. He simply lowered his sword, eyes calm. "Do you yield?"
Her jaw clenched. For a heartbeat, her pride screamed to keep fighting. But her body knew the truth.
"I… yield."
The yard fell into stunned silence.
---
Lord Arion rose slowly, his cloak trailing behind him. He studied his son for a long, unreadable moment. Then he spoke, voice carrying across the yard.
"You have grown, Aric. Perhaps more than I expected."
Aric bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, Father."
Arion's gaze sharpened. "But remember this: strength without discipline is no blessing. Power without control is a blade that cuts its master."
"Yes, Father."
Lyra stood, her pride burning hotter than the ache in her body. She met Aric's eyes, and though she managed a tight smile, her thoughts were a storm.
Kael rushed to Aric's side, eyes wide with admiration. "That was amazing! You moved like one of the captains!"
Aric only offered a faint smile. Inside, however, his blood was alight.
---
The moment held—until the gates burst open. A rider stumbled in, cloak torn, mud splattering the stones.
He fell to one knee before Lord Arion, voice ragged. "My lord—Veylan banners! Thousands! Less than a day's march!"
The courtyard erupted into chaos.
And Aric, his sword still warm in his hand, felt his heart thunder not with fear… but with anticipation.