The moment Elarion's foot hit the stone floor, Bour rushed in.
Fast.
Elarion dodged—not by shifting weight, but by tilting just enough for the fist to slice air past his cheek. His eyes never blinked.
Bon moved too—his movement a mirror, an echo, perfectly timed with his brother's. They were trying to flank.
> "No aura," Bon noted aloud. "He's not using it."
> "Maybe he can't, guess the rumours of him being the youngest aura user was false."
> "Or maybe…" Bour grinned wider, "he's showing off."
They attacked together now—one low, one high.
Perfect rhythm.
But Elarion didn't block. He didn't parry.
He flowed.
Dropped low beneath the kick. Slipped sideways past the punch. Raised an arm just enough to catch Bon's wrist and twist—not to break, but to unbalance.
Then—
He struck Bour in the gut.
A single sharp jab.
Bour stumbled, breath gone.
Bon moved in instantly, without anger—but Elarion stepped forward before the attack landed, getting too close, too fast—
—and whispered.
> "You're better than your brother."
Bon froze. A misstep.
That's all it took.
Elarion brought a heel down on Bon's knee—not hard enough to cripple, just enough to end it.
Both boys collapsed.
Neither were bleeding. Not broken.
But defeated.
Silence.
Wind stirred the dust.
Elarion didn't say anything. Just turned.
And walked out of the ring.
Bon sat up, wiping sweat from his brow. His gaze followed the boy's retreating figure.
> "He's not normal," he said.
> "Tch… I know," Bour muttered, half-laughing despite himself. "What is he?"
Bon didn't answer.
---
Later — That Night
The twins sat on the edge of the sleeping quarters roof, legs swinging off the side.
Bon was still staring into the dark.
> "He knew our rhythm. First time seeing it, and he read it."
> "He didn't even get angry," Bour muttered. "Like… not even a thrill. Like we were homework."
> "I want to fight him again."
> "We will. But next time…"
Bon finally smiled—just a flicker.
> "Next time, we'll follow him."
------
After fight:-
From the high walkway overlooking the central ring, Instructor Holst stood, arms behind his back.
He hadn't announced himself.
He rarely did.
He simply watched.
The twins sat in the dust below, breathless but not humiliated. They had fought like wolves—but the boy had moved like water. No waste. No noise. No thrill.
Holst's eyes narrowed as Elarion walked away, not even glancing back once.
He had seen something terrifying in the boy today.
Not the strength.
Not the technique.
But the discipline. The distance.
He murmured low, voice lost in the wind:
> "A killer's mind… in a child's body. Controlled. Precise. Untouched by victory."
He closed his eyes for a moment—just one.
> "He's learning restraint."
A pause.
> "Too fast."
--