Chapter 15 – The First Challenge
The Luther Clan's Hall of Judgment had not seen blood in decades.
Today, that silence would end.
Jean stood at the center of the circular arena, white cloak drifting behind her. The Radiant Fang rested in her hand like it belonged there—because it did.
Surrounding her were the elders of the Clan, representatives of the lesser bloodlines, and her siblings.
Some watched with reverence. Others with quiet hate.
At the opposite end stood Darien Luther.
First son.
A Grand Master.
Proud, disciplined, and utterly loyal—to himself.
His silver armor gleamed, and his crimson cape marked him as a formal contender in the Succession War.
"This is not personal," Darien said, drawing his longsword. "But the Radiant Fang changes everything. And if you wish to wield it, you must earn it the old way."
"I never asked for the blade," Jean replied calmly.
"But you were chosen. That makes you dangerous."
The Arbiter of the Clan, an elder named Mordas, raised a hand.
"By ancient law," he intoned, "Jean Luther has accepted the Emissary's trial. Darien Luther now issues a Rite of First Blood. A duel of honor, not death. The match ends when one submits or is incapacitated."
Mordas paused.
"Begin."
Darien charged immediately, his aura flaring sharp and metallic—like a blade unsheathed. His sword came down with crushing weight.
Jean met it.
Light met steel.
The Radiant Fang sang as it clashed with Darien's blade, and the impact sent shockwaves through the arena floor.
They moved like lightning. Jean's aura was faster, purer. Darien's was heavier, refined by years of battlefield command.
But Jean had something more.
Divine instinct.
As Darien swept low, Jean leapt—spun midair—and struck his gauntlet. Sparks flew. He staggered.
"Impressive," he said, panting. "But you're still just a novice."
Jean's aura surged in answer.
"Not anymore."
She darted forward, aura condensing into a spear of light. She feinted left, then struck right, her blade grazing Darien's shoulder—severing a part of his breastplate.
He dropped to one knee.
Mordas stepped forward.
"First blood drawn. Duel is over. Victory to Jean Luther."
The hall erupted—some gasping, others whispering. Some bowed their heads in respect.
Darien stood slowly, pride wounded but dignity intact.
He looked at Jean for a long moment.
Then offered a nod. "You've proven your right to wield it."
Jean gave him a nod in return. "And I'll prove it again if I must."
As the crowd dispersed, Whitney padded beside her.
"One duel down. The war within has begun."
Jean stared up at the high banners of the Hall—each one embroidered with the name of a past Patriarch.
"I'll carve a new path," she said. "Not just for me… but for all who follow."
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