A fragile hush hung over the townsfolk's murmurs, their semicircle a tide of anxious anticipation—some drawn by curiosity, others by the Gale-Warden name's promise.

  Robert stood among them, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his face a mask of careful detachment. "Do not underestimate them. It will cost you your life", he had warned Aiden and now he waited, lips pressed in a thin line, to see whether his words had been heeded.

  At the forefront, the instructors of the academy stood in a huddle, their expressions ranging from barely restrained contempt to outright malice. Master Raleigh, an austere man with hawkish features, scoffed under his breath. "Those whelps have no business being here," he muttered to Mistress Helia, who stood beside him, arms crossed in disapproval. "If our entire class couldn't land a single hit, what chance do those two have?

  "They'll learn their place," Helia muttered, glaring at the brothers.\

  Aiden Gale-Warden stood at the arena's heart, words drifting past him like wind over fields. He raised a steady hand. "The match commences the moment this hand descends," he declared, his voice carrying effortlessly over the restless crowd. "You may bring to bear whatever means are at your disposal to strike me."

  Michael's fingers twitched over his sword hilt, his shoulders squared with unrelenting determination. Beside him, Leon removed the contraception from his back and placed it in front of him, its polished metal catching the sun in a dazzling display of mechanical brilliance.

  Aiden's hand fell. "Begin."

  Like a loosed arrow, Michael surged forward, his boots hammering the stone, a collective gasp rippling through the crowd. Aiden, eyes narrowing, observed his approach with clinical detachment. Average speed. Adequate form. Yet there was no subtlety to it—no guile, no deviation from the expected. Ten paces away, Michael leapt, blade arcing high, seeking to cleave Aiden where he stood.

  Aiden might have stepped aside with an insouciance befitting a man evading a falling leaf, but a flicker of movement behind Michael as he flew into the air arrested his attention.

  Leon's bowcoil sprang alive—gears clicking, coils tightening, steel limbs snapping out like a spider's legs. Jointed appendages unfurled, etched with arcane symbols, The machine's exoskeletal frame expanded, rising above Leon like a great metallic carapace, bristling with potential energy, as if the beast it mimicked had just awakened to strike.

  Clever, Aiden conceded. A feint. A distraction.

  Robert and the entire crowd seemed to collectively lean forward as Michael's sword continued to fall straight for Aiden's head.

  But with effortless grace, he pivoted, evading Michael's relentless barrage of strikes. "Too slow," he observed, slipping past a horizontal cut. "You're holding your sword too tightly."

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  A deft flick of his wrist struck Michael's sword arm, sending the blade clattering to the ground.

  "Now too lightly."

  A well-placed kick sent Michael sprawling, drawing a roar of laughter from the instructors and a few jeers from the watching crowd. But Robert remained silent, his gaze locked on the fight, expression unreadable.

  With that, Aiden turned his attention to Leon.

  Already, the coils of the device thrummed with gathered power, its barrel-like mechanism shifting forward with lethal intent. The boy's hands flew over levers and switches, his face a mask of fierce concentration. But Aiden would not grant him the time to complete whatever devilry he had wrought.

  This time it was Aiden who launched forward but to the crowd's surprise, Leon did not recoil. He did not startle. His fingers, steady as a master craftsman's, simply continued to twist adjustments into place. A low hum began to emanate from the device as the coil reached maximum tension. But it wouldn't be ready in time, Aiden would see to that.

  What is he doing? The crowd roared, what an idiot! He should run away while he can! But Leon held, fingers steady.

  And then—

  A burst of golden phosphorescent light erupted between them. Aiden's strike, meant for the machine's fragile heart, met an impenetrable force. He skidded back, his eyes flicking to the side—to Michael, still kneeling upon the cobblestones, his left hand raised and glowing faintly with divine energy.

  Michael staggered, his right hand gripping his searing left wrist, his breath ragged, yet his eyes burned in defiance, as fierce as the pain that ravaged his hand.

  "Divinity."

  Aiden's smirk returned. "So Robert's son is not a disappointment after all.

  "DON'T TOUCH HIM!" Michael roared as his left hand sizzled.

  Aiden moved in a blur, pressing forward, testing the boy's resolve. Blow after blow he rained down, his strikes landing with unerring precision, forcing Michael onto the back foot. Yet the lad did not yield. The townspeople gasped as he absorbed each strike, battered but unbroken.

  "He's like striking an anvil," Aiden mused, slipping past a desperate counterattack.

  Bloodied and gasping, Michael swung once more. Aiden sidestepped, kicked his feet from under him, and seized him by the front of his shirt, fist poised to strike.

  A clang, like the bell of a war god, split the air.

  Aiden whirled—Leon's bowcoil loomed, a monstrous bolt loaded, spring drawn tight, steel glinting like a predators fang.

  For the first time in the duel, Aiden hesitated.

  "You were careless", Leon commented now sitting comfortable on a stool within his contraception.

  "Too impressive," Aiden thought.

  Michael seized his chance. With a desperate cry, he heaved himself up, kicking out with all his strength. Aiden caught the strike, but the force sent him weightless into the air.

  "NOW!" Michael roared.

  Leon slammed the trigger. The bolt screamed, crowd echoing it. Robert roared, "ALRIGHT!"

  All eyes fell on Aiden who for all his training, for all his prowess, had never seen anything like this. Even he could not twist aside in midair, nor could he counter a weapon of such terrible velocity.

  So he did the only thing left to him.

  He stopped falling.

  Hovering impossibly, he exhaled slowly as the bolt howled past, shattering an ancient oak and embedding itself deep in the courtyard wall.

  Silence fell.

  Leon slumped over his controls. "He... he can fly?"

  Aiden descended smoothly, his boots touching cobblestone as if he had merely stepped down from an invisible stair. He brushed the dust from his sleeves, then turned his gaze upon the two battered figures before him.

  "This ends now."

  He drew in a deep breath, his chest expanding impossibly wide. Then, with the force of a storm given voice, he exhaled.

  The shockwave erupted, sending Michael sprawling, tearing Leon's machine apart in a cacophony of rending metal. The crowd staggered back, their gasps swallowed by the wind's roar.

  When the dust settled, Aiden surveyed his fallen opponents with something almost like respect. He turned, walking past Robert, past the stunned crowd, past the grim-faced instructors, and back into the keep, leaving only silence in his wake.