The clang of swords rang out across the training courtyard, sharp as lightning splitting the dawn. Recruits shouted, sand kicked up, sweat and blood mingled beneath the red sky.
Steel met steel. One fell. Another rose.
It was chaos, and yet, within that chaos, there was a rhythm.
The Captain stood like an immovable statue in the center, scarred arms folded, calling out names with the weight of law.
"Next. Kael."
The murmur swept through the recruits like a sudden wind. Of course it would be him. After the Jiangshi, after his miracle strike, everyone wanted to see if the orphan would rise again—or fall flat.
Kael rose from the bench, sword in hand, face calm though his ribs still burned beneath the bandages. His body screamed at him to rest. But something deeper—something louder—urged him forward.
The Captain's gaze shifted. "And his opponent… Lysander."
---
Kael frowned, searching the crowd. A boy detached himself from the shadows, walking with unhurried steps toward the circle.
Lysander.
Unlike Draven with his gleaming armor, or Aeris with her sharp, disciplined stance, Lysander looked… unbothered. His dark hair fell messily into his eyes, his shirt loose at the collar. He carried his sword like it weighed nothing at all.
The recruits whispered.
"He hasn't fought once."
"Does he even care?"
"Why Kael? Why now?"
Kael studied him, wary. "Any reason you've been hiding until now?"
Lysander tilted his head, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. "Because none of them were worth moving for." His eyes gleamed, sharp beneath the calm. "But you… you're different. I want to see what you've got."
The Captain's hand fell. "Begin."
---
Kael moved first, lunging with a quick slash. Lysander parried easily, his movements smooth as water, and slid back without losing balance.
Kael pressed harder, faster—strike, parry, strike, thrust. But Lysander deflected each blow, calm and precise, as though the fight were a game he'd already solved.
The recruits leaned forward, gasping with each clash.
Kael gritted his teeth. He's fast. Too fast.
Lysander flicked his blade aside, forcing Kael back a step. "Not bad. Strong arms. Quick feet. But you leave your left side open when you pivot."
Kael narrowed his eyes. "You're talkative for someone dodging."
"Oh?" Lysander's grin widened. He feinted left, then swept right, nearly cutting Kael's shoulder. "Looks to me like you're the one struggling to keep up."
Kael blocked just in time, sparks flashing as their blades kissed. His arms trembled from the impact. He shoved back, heart hammering.
This wasn't like Draven's arrogance or the beast's fury. Lysander wasn't mocking him. He was… enjoying himself. Testing Kael, pushing him.
And Kael felt something stir inside. For the first time, he wasn't underestimated. He wasn't pitied. He was seen.
---
The duel raged on, longer than any before.
Kael darted low, sweeping Lysander's legs. Lysander vaulted over him with effortless grace, landing behind him. Kael spun, blade raised, catching the strike aimed at his back.
The crowd roared.
"You see that?!"
"They're equals!"
"No—Lysander's better."
"Kael's holding ground though!"
The Captain watched in silence, unreadable. But his eyes lingered.
---
Minutes dragged into eternity. Both boys dripped with sweat, their breaths sharp, blades flashing in a storm of strikes. Kael's ribs burned, but he refused to bend.
Finally, their swords locked. Kael pushed forward, muscles screaming. Lysander leaned close, eyes bright, a grin spreading across his face.
"You fight like someone with the world on his back," he said.
Kael growled, shoving harder. "And you fight like someone who doesn't care if he wins."
"Maybe." Lysander's grin softened. "But I like the way you swing. Like you'd rather break than bend."
Kael's eyes widened for a heartbeat. Then, with a roar, he shoved Lysander back. Their blades slipped apart—
"Enough."
The Captain's voice crashed like thunder. Both froze, blades raised.
He stepped forward, gaze sharp as steel. "Victory cannot be decided today. Both hold."
---
The courtyard erupted with noise.
"Impossible—they're evenly matched!"
"Kael's no fluke!"
"Lysander's been hiding this whole time!"
"Who are these two?"
Kael lowered his blade, chest heaving. Lysander slid his sword back into its sheath with the ease of a man finishing a dance.
As the recruits roared, Lysander walked to Kael, extending his hand.
"You've got fire," he said quietly. "And not just the reckless kind. Real fire. I like that."
Kael hesitated—then clasped it, firm.
"Kael."
"Lysander."
Their grips tightened, neither yielding. Then, slowly, they both laughed—an unexpected, unguarded sound that cut through the whispers.
From the edge of the courtyard, Aeris watched, arms folded. Her expression was hard, her eyes unreadable, but she did not look away.
And in the shadows, Draven's jaw clenched until blood slicked his lip.
---
That night, the barracks hummed with restless energy. The duel had spread like wildfire, whispered in corners, retold with exaggerated blows.
Kael sat on his cot, wincing as he tightened fresh bandages around his ribs. Lysander lounged nearby, tossing an apple from hand to hand.
"You fight like a starving wolf," Lysander said casually. "Like if you stop moving, everything you care about dies with you."
Kael smirked faintly, though his voice was low. "Maybe that's not far from the truth."
Lysander chuckled, biting into the apple. "Then that explains why you're interesting. Everyone else here fights for their father's shadow, or for glory, or for coin. You? You fight for something heavier. I can feel it."
Kael looked at him sharply. "…And you? What do you fight for?"
The grin faltered. For the first time, Lysander's eyes darkened with something unspoken. "Freedom."
The word lingered in the quiet, sharp as a blade.
---
Hours passed. The barracks settled into silence, save for the creak of beds and the occasional cough. But Kael and Lysander spoke in hushed tones, trading fragments of their pasts.
Lysander told stories of wandering from town to town, learning how to fight not from masters but from surviving brawls, thieves, mercenaries. Kael listened, intrigued.
Kael, in turn, spoke little, but when he mentioned his mother, his voice softened. He didn't explain everything, but Lysander didn't push. He only nodded, like he understood the weight Kael carried.
By dawn, the two were laughing quietly like brothers, bound not by blood, but by the clash of steel and the truths spoken in the dark.
---
But not all bonds forged that night were pure.
From the corner of the room, Aeris sat against the wall, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes half-shut. She wasn't listening—at least, she told herself she wasn't—but Kael's laughter with Lysander drew her attention more than she cared to admit.
And across the barracks, Draven lay awake, fists clenched beneath his blanket, teeth grinding.
The hatred that burned in his chest found a new shape that night. Not just for Kael.
But for whoever dared stand at his side.