The sun began to rise, its golden light spreading across the land in a serene hue of amber
Kael stood parallel to Sylas, wooden swords gripped in their hands—not real weapons, just crude copies carved from timber.
Kael rested his blade on his shoulder.
"You always do that," he said, a grin plastered on his face. "Thinking in the middle of a fight. You're just stalling. Brains can't beat muscle—face it."
Sylas crouched low, the tip of his wooden sword resting on the dirt.
"Yet here you are," he replied calmly, "talking more than striking. Maybe you're trying to distract me from the fact—you're about to lose."
Kael's smirk widened.
"Defeat? That's cute. But Bold of you to assume I wasn't ready."
Sylas adjusted his stance.
"I guess I'll have to show you, why I'm better than your cheap muscle."
Kael moved first.
His movement a blur of force.
From his blade, strikes fell like judgment.
The wind it carved howled before impact.
Sylas stepped aside.
Not rushed—but precise.
Like fog slipping between the seams of mindless strength.
Kael spun. Another strike—wide and wild.
A cleave meant to break bone.
Sylas dipped low.
The blade swept overhead, humming its disappointment.
He rose with a counter—Right on the ribs.
Kael answered with wrath.
Strike after strike, the ground seemed to tremble.
His movements were a storm's tantrum—heavy and relentless.
But Sylas—he didn't resist.
He danced with power.
Like a lighthouse standing against the crashing storm.
Each blow redirected. Every step deliberate.
On the forearm.
On the thigh.
Bruises, not wounds.
Warnings, not injuries.
Kael roared, the sound cracking the air as he surged again.
This time—wood met wood.
A raw, scraping note that echoed through their bones.
Kael pressed forward, power in every breath.
Sylas gave ground. Calm. Controlled.
Not fleeing—but inviting.
A twist. A slip beneath the storm.
Then—
Crack. A strike across Kael's back.
Not from cruelty.
Nor from kindness.
But from finality.
Kael staggered, his breath ragged.
Dust curled around his knees.
He turned—slower now. Eyes narrow. Chest heaving.
Sylas waited. Stillness wrapped around him like a cloak.
Kael lunged—
One last charge.
Heart behind it. Fury behind it.
But Sylas was already dancing.
A feint dodged aside. A sweep tripped over.
Then came the rhythm:
One. The shoulder.
Two. The ribs.
Three. The leg.
Precision.
Mastery.
Punishment.
Kael sank to a knee.
Sylas lowered his blade.
"Match?"
Kael looked up, breath caught between pride and disbelief.
"You knew every move I'd make."
Sylas offered his hand.
Not really.
"I just left you none worth making."
He yawned, turning away.
"I'll go back first. I'm really tired."
Kael walked to a nearby bench and sat, eyes lifting to the sun.
From the side, a voice said,
"You looked cool."
Startled, Kael turned.
Alice sat beside him, hugging her knees.
She looked vulnerable, fragile.
Kael studied her quietly.
"You look beautiful today, Alice."
A pause.
"Actually… I'm sorry. That was too sudden."
Alice glanced at him, a faint blush blooming on her cheeks.
"Thank you. The way you said that... it reminds me of how Mother used to."
Her voice softened. Her bangs fell over her eyes.
Kael looked away, then up at dawn.
"Alice… if you want—tell me.
If something's on your mind, tell me.
If you feel safe with me… please, let me know what's bothering you."
Alice rested her head against the wall.
"Thank you. If it's not a burden… I want you to know."
Her voice trembled with sorrow.
"before I came here, I lived in a village.
The world starts to blur as memory takes a hold of reality.
A massive field.
Endless trees stretching like arms into the sky.
It felt like the village was the only world that existed.
The streets bustled with life.
Everyone greeted each other like old friends.
It was a lawless place—but a kind one.
A village built on trust, not politics.
A woman walked through those streets, holding a small girl's hand—young Alice.
Her eyes wandered curiously.
People called her a nickname: Beautiful.
Tears filled Alice's eyes.
As she recalled.
Her mother knelt down, gently patting her head.
"Beautiful, stay here. I'll go get some vegetables."
Tears streamed down Alice's cheeks.
She spoke again, voice cracking.
"Horns began to bleed from the sky.
Beyond the clouds… sirens blared."
Everyone looked up.
A figure descended.
Its body a blurred shadow.
A crown of mist sat upon its head.
With a mere wave of its hand, it erased a row of stalls.
Screams erupted.
Panic flooded the village.
People melted into pools of black flesh.
Children were pulled into the sky by unseen hands.
"Mother held me.
She was scared… but she smiled. Her voice shook.
'It's gonna be alright,' she said."
She ran with Alice in her arms.
The screams.
Friends, family—
Everyone they loved, swallowed by horror.
"We didn't make it far.
It chased us.
Mother stopped, set me down.
I thought we were safe… I couldn't have been more wrong."
Alice's breath hitched.
"She whispered, 'I'm sorry.'
Then she pushed me.
Screamed—run!
She never screamed like that before.
It was raw. Desperate."
"I ran.
What else could I do?
"I smelled blood.
I stopped.
Beside me…
Was her head."
Kael's eyes widened.
Alice's voice grew quiet, barely a whisper.
Then she broke.
She looked at him—crying, soulfully, helplessly.
"I miss Mom."
Kael pulled her close, pressing her into his chest.
"Cry it out, Alice.
You don't have to hold the pain. Not alone."
Outside, the sky darkened.
Rain began to fall softly—
as if the world itself wept with them.