The dawn was gray and heavy, mist clinging to the stones of the Inner Ward. Kaelen was already there, sweat cooling on his neck, the twin blades resting in his grip. He and Deyric had been working in this pit of silence for weeks, hidden from the court's prying eyes.
The iron gate groaned.
It wasn't a servant. King Aldrick stood in the archway, his silhouette cutting a hard line against the morning fog. He didn't look at Kaelen; he looked at the Armsmaster.
"Open the main yard," the King said.
Deyric lowered his staff, his brow furrowing. "Majesty? The boy is still raw. The forms are… unconventional. The court will talk."
"Let them talk," Aldrick replied, his voice flat and final. "Rumors grow in the dark like fungus. If he is to wield two blades, he will do it in the sun."
Kaelen felt a spike of cold in his stomach. The main yard. That was Rhel's territory. Alaric's territory. The place where "Adequate" was whispered loudest.
"He is not ready for a live audience," Deyric warned, stepping between the King and the Prince. "If he fails publicly now, the style dies with his reputation."
Aldrick turned his gaze to Kaelen. It wasn't warm, but it wasn't dismissive. It was a challenge.
"Alaric fights in the open," the King said. "Shadows are for assassins, Kaelen. Are you an assassin, or a Prince of Veylor?"
Kaelen tightened his grip on the leather-wrapped hilts. The Ash. The Edge. They felt steady, even if his heart did not.
"I am your son," Kaelen said.
Aldrick nodded once. "Then bring your forks to the main table. Let us see if you can eat."
…..
The transition was jarring. They moved from the muffled quiet of the Inner Ward to the sprawling, noisy expanse of the Main Training Yard.
News traveled faster than light in Dawnhold. By the time Kaelen took his place at the center post, the fence was lined with squires, stable hands, and a few early-rising knights. They had come to see the "Adequate Prince" fumble.
Whispers buzzed like flies.
"Two blades? Is he mocking the form?" "Desperation. He can't hold a longsword, so he holds two knives." "Look at his stance. He's wide open."
Kaelen felt the heat rise in his neck. Tunnel vision, he reminded himself. Don't look at the faces. Feel the space.
Deyric circled him, cane tapping the hard-packed sand. The Armsmaster didn't shout today. He spoke low, for Kaelen's ears alone.
"They want a show, Prince. Give them a lesson." Deyric stopped. " Full speed. Begin."
Kaelen exploded into motion.
He didn't hack like a soldier. He flowed.
Step, Void, Cut.
The Ash hand (left) swept the air, blinding an invisible opponent, while the Edge hand (right) snapped into the wood of the post with a dull thud.
The rhythm was syncopated 'one-two, pause, one. It sounded wrong to ears trained on the steady clang-clang of longswords. It sounded like a drummer breaking the beat.
Kaelen spun, slipping past the post, his blades moving in fluid, overlapping arcs. He was faster than he had ever been, the fear of the crowd pushing adrenaline into his veins.
The whispering stopped.
It wasn't replaced by applause. It was replaced by a confused silence. They were watching a dance that ended in violence.
Kaelen finished the set, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his nose. He stood in the center, blades crossed low.
Deyric didn't smile. He looked at the crowd, challenging them to speak. No one did.
…..
The silence was fragile. Kaelen knew it. One slip, and the laughter would return, louder than before.
"Hold," Deyric said, stepping into the ring.
Kaelen straightened. "Master?"
"You move well," Deyric said, loud enough for the fence to hear. "But movement is easy. Control is hard."
Deyric raised his cane. "A river that cannot stop is just a flood. You have the flow, Kaelen. Now show me the dam."
He tossed a heavy wooden block 'cut from an old shield 'into the air.
"Strike," Deyric barked.
Kaelen lashed out with the right blade.
"Stop."
The command cracked like a whip while Kaelen's blade was mid-swing, inches from the wood.
Kaelen froze. His muscles screamed with the effort of arresting the momentum. The wooden swords hovered a hairsbreadth from the target, quivering but stationary.
Deyric watched the tip of the blade. It didn't touch the wood.
"Again."
Deyric threw another block. "Strike."
Kaelen swung the left.
"Stop."
Kaelen halted the blade instantly, the air hissing around the edge. He didn't stumble. His feet were rooted, his balance perfect.
Deyric nodded slowly. This was the true demonstration 'not that Kaelen could swing two swords, but that he had the unnatural strength required to stop them. It showed a terrifying degree of command.
"Good," Deyric grunted. "You may breathe."
"Fancy tricks," a voice jeered from the gate.
The crowd parted. Rhel, a senior squire with shoulders like a draft horse and a grin that showed too many teeth, vaulted the fence. He held a blunted longsword, resting it casually on his shoulder.
"Dancing is pretty, Highness," Rhel said, stepping onto the sand. "But wood doesn't hit back."
Deyric looked at Kaelen. He didn't intervene. This was the test Aldrick wanted. Can he eat?
"Do you wish to spar, Rhel?" Kaelen asked. His voice was steady, though his heart hammered against his ribs.
"I wish to help you, my Prince," Rhel mocked. "To show you why men use shields."
Deyric stepped back. "Live steel is forbidden. Wood only. To the yield."
Rhel swapped his steel for a heavy wooden waster. He took a high guard 'the Boar's Tooth. Aggressive. Heavy.
"Begin!"
Rhel charged. He didn't bother with finesse; he swung a massive, diagonal cut meant to crush Kaelen's guard.
Tunnel Vision would block, Kaelen thought. Radial Sight sees the opening.
Kaelen didn't block. He Voided.
He dropped his left shoulder, stepping into the danger zone. To the crowd, it looked like suicide. Rhel grinned, thinking he had him.
But Kaelen wasn't there.
As the heavy longsword whistled through empty air, Kaelen spun. His Ash blade (left) hooked Rhel's wrist, pulling the bigger boy off balance, while his Edge blade (right) snapped forward.
Thack.
Kaelen's blade hit Rhel's ribs. Hard.
Rhel stumbled, gasping, turning red. Confusion warped his face. He roared and swung a backhand clearing strike.
Kaelen ducked under it 'fluid, like water pouring over a rock. He popped up behind Rhel.
Thack.
The flat of his blade smacked Rhel's thigh.
"Two," Kaelen whispered.
Rhel spun around, furious now, abandoning form for rage. He thrust at Kaelen's chest.
Kaelen caught the thrust between his two blades trapping the wood. With a sharp twist of his hips, he wrenched Rhel's weapon down, stepping inside the reach.
He placed the tip of his right blade gently against Rhel's throat.
The yard went dead silent.
Rhel stood frozen, his longsword pinned to the ground, a "knife" at his neck. He was panting, humiliated, beaten not by strength, but by a geometry he couldn't understand.
"Yield," Kaelen said softly.
Rhel glared, but the wood against his windpipe was undeniable. He dropped his sword. "I yield."
Kaelen stepped back, sheathing his blades in one smooth motion.
The squires along the fence were staring. The sneers were gone. In their place was something colder, sharper. Unease.
They had expected the Adequate Prince to trip. Instead, they had seen him dismantle the strongest squire in the yard without taking a single hit.
"Did you see the speed?" one whispered. "He didn't block. He just… wasn't there."
Kaelen walked to the rack. His hands were trembling now 'the adrenaline crash 'but he hid it by gripping his belt. He felt Deyric's eyes on him.
He looked up. The Armsmaster was leaning on his cane, face unreadable. But as their eyes met, Deyric dipped his chin. A fraction of an inch.
Soldier to soldier.
Kaelen took a breath. The air tasted different. It tasted like respect. Or perhaps, fear. Either would do.
….
The King sat in the upper gallery, nursing a goblet of wine he hadn't drunk. The torches flickered, casting long shadows against the tapestries.
"Well?" Aldrick asked as Deyric entered.
"He didn't break," Deyric said, his voice echoing in the stone chamber. "He baited Rhel into overextension three times. The boy has the instincts of a trap-door spider."
"And the crowd?"
"Quiet," Deyric said. "They don't know what to make of it. It looks… wrong to them. Dishonorable, perhaps. But effective."
Aldrick swirled the wine. "Effective is all that matters when the Marrow comes. They will bring champions who fight with honor. Kaelen will fight them with arithmetic."
"He is still green, Majesty," Deyric warned. "Rhel is a brawler. A true knight will not fall for the same trick twice."
"Then he must learn a third trick," Aldrick said, finally taking a sip. "Keep him in the main yard. Let them stare. Let him get used to the weight of their eyes. If he is to be a monster, let him be our monster."
The adrenaline faded, leaving only the ache. Kaelen sat in the gallery of the chapel, looking down at the empty altar. The Day of Stillness was approaching.
"You fought today."
Elyndra drifted out of the shadows. She didn't look like a Queen tonight; she looked like a mother who had heard too many swords clashing.
"I sparred," Kaelen corrected.
"Rhel has a bruise on his ribs the size of a melon," she said dryly. "That is a fight, Kaelen."
She sat beside him. "How did it feel?"
Kaelen looked at his hands. "Fast. It felt… inevitable. Like I knew where he would be before he got there."
"That is a dangerous gift," she said softly. "To be faster than thought. It leaves little room for mercy."
"I didn't hurt him badly," Kaelen said quickly. "I used the flat."
"I know." She covered his hand with hers. "That is why I am here. Mercy is not weakness, Kael. It is control. To have the power to break a man and choose not to 'that is the only sovereignty that matters."
She squeezed his hand. "The court will call this style savage. They will say you fight like an assassin. Do not let them convince you that you are one."
"What am I, then?"
"You are the one who holds the leash," she whispered. "Make sure you never let go."
..
Midnight. The yard was empty, save for the wind kicking up dust devils in the moonlight.
Kaelen was back. He couldn't sleep. The rhythm was still humming in his blood, demanding to be let out. He moved through the forms 'Ash, Edge, Void 'alone in the dark.
"Your left elbow drifts."
Kaelen spun. King Aldrick stood by the rack, cloakless, his own sword belt fastened.
"Father."
Aldrick walked onto the sand. He didn't offer praise for the fight with Rhel. He didn't mention the crowd. He walked up to Kaelen and physically grabbed his left arm, tucking the elbow tight to the ribs.
"When you tire, you open the gate," Aldrick said, his voice low. "A drifting elbow is a dead lung."
"Yes, Father."
Aldrick stepped back, scrutinizing him. "You fought Rhel. You won."
"I did."
"You humiliated him," Aldrick corrected. "You made him look foolish. Be careful with that. A defeated enemy may yield. A humiliated enemy waits for your back to turn."
Kaelen blinked. "I… I didn't mean to."
"Intent means nothing to the dead," Aldrick said. "But you are learning. Two blades. It is a hard path."
Aldrick reached out, his hand hovering for a moment before gripping Kaelen's shoulder. It was a heavy, solid weight.
"Folly becomes tradition only after one man survives long enough to prove it works," the King said, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. "Alaric has brilliance. He does not bleed for it. You do. That is your gift."
He squeezed, once, hard enough to bruise, then let go.
"Do not stop," Aldrick commanded, turning back to the darkness. "The Dominion remembers those who carve new paths. But only if they finish the road."
Kaelen watched him go, the ghost of his father's grip still burning on his shoulder. He turned back to the post, raised his twin blades, and began again.
One. Two. Always two.