The short trek from the northern tower left Max mentally cataloging escape routes. He needed to reach the seal with Violet, avoid Archdeacon Martel, and somehow convince their father of the impending attack. Atlas's distant roars grew more frequent, a countdown to disaster.
"Brother! There you are."
Max tensed at the familiar voice. Ervan Drakhalis stood in the corridor intersection ahead, arms crossed over his broad chest. At seventeen, the middle brother already possessed the imposing build that made him formidable in battle. Górn, his stone basilisk-hound, sat beside him, granite scales glinting in the torchlight.
"Ervan." Max kept his voice neutral. "I'm occupied with Violet at present."
Ervan's gaze shifted between them, calculating as always. "Occupied with what, exactly? Father asked where you disappeared to after council."
Violet stepped forward. "We're investigating something in the archives."
"Archives?" Ervan's eyebrow arched. "Since when does our weakest blade concern himself with research?"
The mockery in his tone stabbed at old wounds. In his previous life, Max had endured years of similar derision before earning Ervan's respect through battlefield prowess. This younger version of his brother saw only the runt of the family.
"Perhaps I wished to compensate for physical limitations with knowledge," Max replied evenly.
Ervan snorted. "Knowledge without strength means nothing in our family." He gestured toward the nearby training alcove. "Fifteen minutes in the ring. Show me if your morning practice yielded any improvement."
Max glanced at Violet, noting her subtle head shake. Time was precious, the seal vulnerable. Yet refusing would only delay them further, Ervan wouldn't yield easily.
"Five minutes," Max countered. "We have matters requiring attention."
Ervan's smile held no warmth. "Five minutes is more than sufficient."
The training alcove featured a circular sparring ring outlined in chalk. Weapons racks lined the walls, though Max knew Ervan preferred hand-to-hand combat when asserting dominance over him.
Górn settled at the edge, stone tail thumping against the floor. The basilisk-hound's amber eyes tracked Max's movements with predatory interest.
Careful... he's stronger...
Cinder's presence flickered with concern as Max removed his outer tunic. His body remembered countless sparring matches with Ervan, but this younger vessel lacked the muscle memory and conditioning of his future self.
Violet leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "Make this quick, Ervan. We don't have time for your games."
"This isn't a game." Ervan rolled his shoulders. "This is tradition. The strong lead, the weak follow. Max needs reminding of his place."
They squared off in the center of the ring. Ervan's stance betrayed his training, weight balanced on the balls of his feet, hands raised to protect his core, elbows tucked to shield his ribs. A disciplined fighter with exceptional power.
Max mirrored the stance but kept his weight distributed differently, preparing for defense rather than offense. He had no illusions about winning this match. His goal was observation and survival.
"Begin," Ervan said, and immediately launched forward.
Max sidestepped the initial jab, analyzing the sequence. Right straight, left hook, right uppercut. Ervan's opening combination hadn't changed in either timeline. The predictability offered small advantages.
The middle brother's next attack connected with Max's shoulder, sending him staggering back. Pain bloomed, but Max maintained his footing.
"You're faster than usual," Ervan noted, circling. "But still weak, though."
Max didn't waste breath on replies. He watched Ervan's footwork, the subtle tells before each strike. Knowledge from years of future sparring sessions filled gaps in his defense.
When Ervan lunged again, Max deflected the blow rather than attempting to block it directly. The force still rattled his bones, but he remained standing.
"Fighting defensively won't impress Father," Ervan taunted, pressing forward with a flurry of strikes.
Max absorbed what he couldn't avoid, minimizing damage while studying his brother's rhythm. Three-strike combinations. Weight shift before roundhouse kicks. Slight head tilt before feinting.
A heavy blow caught Max's ribs, driving air from his lungs. He staggered, vision blurring momentarily.
Breathe... focus...
Cinder's presence steadied him, the faint golden spark within his consciousness offering clarity amid the throbbing pain. The tiny sovereign dragon's essence resonated through their bond, lending Max a measure of focus he desperately needed.
Max regained his stance with deliberate control, noting the flicker of surprise that crossed Ervan's features at his continued resilience.
"You've improved," Ervan admitted grudgingly, circling with measured steps. His eyes narrowed, assessing Max with newfound caution. "Not enough, though. Still weak. Too weak for what's coming."
The next exchange happened in a blur of movement.
Ervan feinted high, struck low, then followed with a lightning-quick combination. Max avoided the first two blows but caught the third squarely across his face. The impact split his lip with a sharp burst of pain. Blood trickled down his chin in a warm rivulet as he pivoted away from Ervan's follow-up strike, his reflexes keeping him from worse damage.
He tasted copper in his mouth, the metallic flavor familiar and strangely grounding, a sensory anchor in the chaotic exchange.
"End this, Ervan," Violet stood with arms crossed, disapproval evident in her stance. "You've made your point. There's nothing more to gain here."
Ervan ignored her, eyes locked on Max. "You spoke well in council today. Almost believed you understood strategy." His fist connected with Max's shoulder again. "But strategy without strength is meaningless."
Max saw the opening. Ervan's guard dropped slightly after completing combinations. In his previous life, he'd exploited this weakness countless times. His current body lacked the necessary speed and power, but knowledge remained valuable.
He feinted left, drawing Ervan's predictable counter, then slipped inside his brother's guard. Max landed a precise strike to Ervan's sternum, not powerful enough to cause damage but perfectly placed to momentarily disrupt breathing.
Ervan's eyes widened in shock. For one heartbeat, Max glimpsed something besides contempt in his brother's expression.
The reprieve lasted seconds before Ervan recovered, fury replacing surprise. His next attack sent Max sprawling, taste of blood stronger now.
"Enough!"
The booming voice filled the alcove. Hazel Drakhalis strode into the ring, his golden wyvern Zyke perched on his shoulder. At sixteen, the youngest legitimate son already stood taller than Ervan, though leaner in build.
"Beating our little brother proves nothing," Hazel said, positioning himself between them. "Save your strength for real enemies."
Ervan stepped back, chest heaving. "He challenged me in council. Words require backing."
"And what did his words suggest?" Hazel gestured toward the windows where darkness gathered. "That danger approaches. Atlas roars more frequently with each passing hour."
Max rose slowly, cataloging injuries. Bruised ribs, split lip, probable shoulder strain. It really is painful but manageable. Nothing compared to battlefield wounds he'd survived in his previous life.
Ervan studied Max with narrowed eyes. "You took those hits differently today. Controlled the damage." Something calculating flickered in his gaze. "Where did you learn that?"
"Observation," Max replied simply, wiping blood from his chin. "You telegraph your strongest strikes."
Górn growled softly, sensing the tension between them. Zyke responded with a high chirp, wings fluttering.
"Five minutes have passed," Violet stepped forward, eyeing Max's injuries. "We need to continue our research."
Hazel glanced between them curiously. "What research?"
"Nothing that concerns either of you," Violet replied firmly. "Max, let me check that wound."
Max touched his split lip, feeling the torn flesh beneath his fingertips. The pain clarified his thoughts, focused his resolve. This injury represented merely the first of many sacrifices his younger body would endure.
"It's minor," he assured her. "We should proceed immediately."
Ervan gathered his tunic, nodding toward Max. "Next time, I won't hold back."
"I expect nothing less," Max replied, meeting his brother's gaze steadily.
Something unspoken passed between them. Not respect, not yet, but recognition. For perhaps the first time, Ervan looked at Max without dismissal.
Hazel clapped a hand on Max's uninjured shoulder. "You lasted longer than expected. It's a real progress!"
The casual praise carried no mockery. Hazel had never truly participated in the bullying Max endured from Darius and Ervan, preferring battle with worthy opponents rather than dominating the weak.
"We're leaving," Violet announced, already moving toward the exit. "Father will hear about this interruption, Ervan."
Max followed, feeling Ervan's eyes tracking him. The middle brother had always been observant, quick to identify changes in patterns. Max would need to be careful around him.
He sees difference... watches now...
Cinder's warning resonated with Max's own assessment. The sparring match had revealed too much too quickly. His movements, while hampered by his body's limitations, betrayed knowledge he shouldn't possess.
"Your lip needs attention," Violet muttered as they left the alcove. "And possibly your ribs."
"Later," Max replied. "The seal takes priority."
She studied him with narrowed eyes. "You fought differently. Almost like you anticipated his moves."
Max touched his split lip again, feeling the sting. "Pain is an excellent teacher."
The blood on his fingertips reminded him of battles yet to come, of wounds far worse than these. Each scar earned would build the foundation for the respect he needed from his siblings. Words alone wouldn't convince them of coming dangers, only action would prove his worth.
Atlas roared again, louder than before. Max quickened his pace toward the archives, Violet following close behind. Time dwindled with each passing minute, but something fundamental had shifted during the brief confrontation.
Ervan had seen him. Really seen him, if only for a moment. The first step toward changing their future had begun with blood and bruises, the currency of respect in their family.
'The pain was worth it. It always would be.' Max said with determined gaze.