Solvane staggered backward before he even realized he'd moved. His boots scraped across the marble floor, echoing in the silence of the grand hall. The hooded man didn't advance, not yet, but the pressure rolling off him was suffocating—like a predator savoring the moment before striking.
At first, the man's face had been hidden in shadow. Now, as he stepped into the half-light of the braziers, Solvane wished it had stayed hidden. One eye was nothing but an empty socket, a hollow pit of darkness. A jagged scar ran across his lips, carving so deep it seemed the wound had never healed, as though the flesh itself had rejected the idea of mending. When he grinned, it twisted his whole face into something monstrous.
"Okay, boy," the man growled, his voice like gravel dragged across steel. "Let's try that again, shall we?"
Solvane's hands trembled. His body was already battered from the match, his chest screaming with every breath. His vision blurred at the edges, blood pounding in his ears. He tried to summon strength, any scrap left in him, but all he could do was stand there, swaying, knowing that if the man struck again, it would be the end.
Then it happened.
A thunderous slam tore through the chamber. The sound was so violent it rattled the high table, sent dust cascading from the vaulted ceiling, and cracked the gilded walls. The shockwave shook the ground beneath Solvane's feet.
But he wasn't the one who had been hit.
Blinking through the haze of pain, Solvane saw a figure standing before him, tall and immovable as stone.
A hand gripped the hooded man's fist, fingers locked around it with unshakable strength. The other hand was folded calmly behind his back, as if he was not in the middle of a duel but conducting a royal inspection.
Solvane's breath caught. There was no mistaking that posture, that presence.
It was his father.
King Aubrean.
The hooded man's remaining eye blazed with fury. "Aubrean!" he roared, straining against the king's grip, but the fist would not budge an inch. "How dare you go against Elder Vox!"
King Aubrean's lips curved, but not into warmth. His laugh was low, deliberate, and cold, reverberating through the chamber like a death knell. His gaze locked on the hooded man, sharp as a blade.
"We all saw it," Aubrean said, his voice steady, commanding. "The boy has awakened."
The words hung heavy in the air. Murmurs rippled through the hall, nobles and soldiers alike shifting uneasily.
"You knew it too Xander," the king continued, voice rising, "and yet you tried to kill him."
The hooded man snarled but said nothing.
"That goes against everything the match was meant for." Aubrean took a step forward, dragging the man backward like a disobedient hound. "Trying to kill the prince… is treason."
The word cracked like lightning, silencing the hall.
The king's tone shifted, sharp and mocking at once, his smile now dangerous. "Don't test the power of the king."
For a moment, Solvane thought the hooded man might break, might lash out again, but then a voice rang out from above—calm, measured, and absolute.
"That's enough."
Every head turned.
At the highest point of the high table, Elder Vox had risen from his seat. His robes spilled across the marble like a river of shadow. His eyes, ancient and unreadable, regarded the scene below with the weight of centuries.
"I have seen what needed to be seen," he said, voice carrying effortlessly, though it was no louder than a whisper.
The words froze both combatants in place.
King Aubrean's expression hardened, but he released the man's fist. The hooded figure staggered back, clutching his hand and glaring, though he dared not move again under Vox's gaze.
The king turned, his sternness melting into something gentler as his eyes fell upon Solvane.
"You did good," Aubrean said, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
Solvane blinked through the haze. His legs felt like stone. His chest burned with every breath. But at those words, a warmth stirred in him, brief but real. He managed a weak smile in return.
And then the strength left him.
The willpower that had been holding his broken body together shattered like glass.
Agony surged through him—pure, merciless, overwhelming. It was as though a thousand knives tore into his flesh, piercing every nerve at once. His knees buckled. His vision went white. He knew only pain, unbearable and absolute.
He collapsed, unconscious before his body struck the marble.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then King Aubrean's smile faded. His eyes widened as he knelt beside his son, his composure shattering into something raw and unguarded.
"Oh no…" he whispered, his voice almost breaking. "This is bad."
The hall, so recently filled with combat and noise, now seemed impossibly still.