Opening Verse:
Every rhythm forgets itself,
When a forgotten blade
Sings a name it never learned.
I. Echo of the First Cut
Valis Drenn moved like a storm trapped inside human form—each step deliberate, each breath tuned to the Crown's perfect meter. Twin sabres flashed in arcs too clean to be real, too fast to follow. The trees bent away in fear, their bark slashed by the force of his precision.
Rin, the youngest of the thirty-one remaining conscripts, didn't move with skill.
He moved with defiance.
The broken blade in his hand was no match in length, no match in polish. But it hummed—not in fear, but in resonance. Like it had found its enemy. Like it had waited years to clash with this rhythm.
The first strike had ended with sparks.
The second with silence.
And now came the third.
Valis lunged again.
Rin ducked low. The sabres tore air above his head. His blade, jagged and uneven, caught a glancing blow—but instead of shattering, it sang. A sharp, stinging sound that made Valis pause for just a breath.
Rin didn't waste it.
He stepped inside the Champion's guard and slashed upward. The broken steel left a thin, glowing line across the man's armored coat.
A scratch.
A breath.
A challenge.
II. The Beat Falters
In the woods above the glade, Velza and the others watched. They couldn't see clearly—but they could hear.
Steel. Sparks. And something strange.
"Is that… singing?" Brann whispered.
"No," said Kael grimly. "That's Rin."
Sera closed her eyes. "His blade. It's… doing something."
Kael crouched, eyes narrowed. "I don't know what that sword is, but if it can scratch a Champion, we might have a chance."
Velza shook her head. "A chance isn't enough. We need an opening."
Below, the rhythm staggered.
Valis Drenn stepped back.
Just half a pace.
Just enough.
For the first time in years, his tempo faltered.
III. A Memory Buried in Iron
Rin's arms shook.
The blade vibrated so fiercely now he had to grip it with both hands. Sparks danced along its jagged edge. But it wasn't breaking.
It was waking.
As Valis circled, Rin's mind filled with sound. Not words. Not memory. Sound. The ringing of a thousand blades. The beat of marching feet. The soft sob of a lullaby sung on a battlefield long buried.
Then—clearer than anything else—came a name.
He didn't know it.
But the blade did.
"Elion…" Rin whispered.
Valis froze.
His eyes—sharp and dark—narrowed.
"You shouldn't know that name," he said.
Rin blinked. "I don't."
The Champion's voice dropped low. "Then your blade remembers what your body never lived."
IV. Ghost in the Metal
Valis's next strike was different.
No tempo. No rhythm. Just fury.
He slashed with both sabres in wild, overlapping patterns, pushing Rin back step by step. Trees cracked. Ground split. The air became a cage of light.
Rin staggered, barely parrying.
The blade in his hand stopped humming—and started singing. Not melody. But force.
The next parry released a shockwave that pushed both fighters apart.
Valis landed hard, digging in his heels. He looked at Rin again—not as a child or rebel.
But as a question.
"Who gave you that blade?"
"No one," Rin said, panting. "I found it in the ruins. Near the old barracks."
Valis's mouth twitched.
"Of course. The North Barracks."
Velza's voice crackled through the trees. "We should pull him out."
"No," Kael said. "Look."
Because Rin wasn't falling back anymore.
He was holding ground.
V. When Rhythm Breaks
The moon broke through the cloud cover.
Light fell across the glade.
Valis Drenn charged for the final strike—sabres raised, rhythm restored.
But the ground pulsed.
Not to his beat.
To Rin's.
The broken blade flashed.
And for a single, impossible moment—
The Champion's tempo cracked.
Valis flinched.
Rin stepped in.
Steel met steel.
The Champion's right sabre snapped in half.
Silence fell so hard it hurt.
Closing Verse:
A blade, once broken,
Remembers not its master—
But its promise.