The Silver Dawn

The morning sun had barely begun to rise when Ariel stepped onto the training field, his breath visible in the crisp air. The scent of damp earth and sweat lingered as initiates filed into their respective formations.

The past few weeks had been gruelling, yet something had changed.

He could feel it.

The awkward clumsiness in his footwork had lessened. His movements, once stiff and unnatural, now flowed with purpose. The sword no longer felt like an unfamiliar weight in his hands—it felt like an extension of himself.

He was learning.

And for the first time, he wasn't failing.

That didn't mean it would be easy.

Not today.

Sparring Match

The training field was silent, save for the faint whisper of wind as Ariel and Arthur stood across from each other, their wooden swords raised.

A circle of initiates had gathered, eager to watch the match unfold. Arthur's usual smirk remained, but there was an edge to his stance—his relaxed exterior masking razor-sharp readiness.

Ariel tightened his grip.

He had improved. He could feel it.

But this would be the real test.

The knight instructor's voice rang out. "Begin."

Arthur moved instantly.

A blur of motion—a step, a pivot, a strike.

Ariel barely had time to react before Arthur's blade was upon him. He brought up his sword to block, but the moment their weapons clashed, Ariel's footing faltered.

Arthur didn't stop.

His strikes came in a fluid, endless assault.

One strike, two, three—relentless, adaptable, overwhelming.

Ariel gritted his teeth, parrying desperately. He tried to push back, but every time he moved to attack, Arthur shifted effortlessly, turning his momentum against him.

"He's not overpowering me," Ariel realized. "He's controlling the fight."

Arthur's sword lashed out toward Ariel's side. He dodged, barely, but his stance wavered.

That's when Arthur struck low, sweeping his leg out from under him.

Ariel felt the ground vanish beneath him.

The next thing he knew, his back hit the dirt, Arthur's wooden sword pressing against his chest.

It was over.

The initiates murmured among themselves. Some snickered. Others simply watched.

Arthur tilted his head, lowering his blade. "You're getting better."

Ariel exhaled sharply, pushing himself up. "Didn't feel like it."

Arthur grinned. "That's because you still don't get it."

Ariel stared at him. "Then tell me what I'm doing wrong."

Arthur rolled his shoulders, then raised his practice sword again.

"You're forcing every movement," he said. "Trying to control the flow of battle instead of moving with it."

Ariel frowned, gripping his sword. "What does that even mean?"

Arthur stepped closer, tapping Ariel's shoulder with the wooden blade.

"You must find balance through adaptation." His expression was uncharacteristically serious. "That is the essence of the Lightbound foundation style."

Ariel's breath stilled.

Balance through adaptation.

Arthur grinned again. "You'll get there."

Ariel nodded slowly. 

"I hope so" 

Summoned by Isolde

Training ended sooner than expected. Just as Ariel was about to return to his quarters, a knight approached him.

"Master Isolde has summoned you."

Ariel stiffened.

Arthur whistled. "Big boss wants to see you? Must be important."

Ariel gave him a flat look before following the knight through the winding corridors of the Citadel.

He had only seen Master Isolde a handful of times since his arrival. She was an enigma—a woman of few words, yet every decision she made held weight.

And now, she wanted to see him.

The doors to her chamber opened silently, revealing a room filled with towering bookshelves and ancient scrolls. The air smelled of parchment and ink.

Master Isolde sat behind a massive wooden desk, her piercing silver eyes fixed on him the moment he entered.

"Sit."

Ariel obeyed without hesitation.

She studied him in silence for a moment before speaking. "Your progress has been… noteworthy."

Ariel remained quiet. He wasn't sure if that was meant as praise or a warning.

Her expression did not change. "You are no longer just an initiate. You are the Lightbound Order's Chosen One—whether you accept it or not."

Ariel's jaw tightened.

She continued. "Your strength will be tested soon. Six months from now, the Clash of Legacies will begin."

Ariel's fingers twitched.

"The Clash of Legacies?"

Master Isolde nodded. "It is the grand tournament held every ten years. The Lightbound Order, the Shadow Veil, and the Astral Vanguard will each send their finest initiates to compete. It is not merely a competition—it is a measure of dominance, a battleground where the future of the factions is shaped."

Ariel swallowed hard. Six months.

Six months to go from barely holding his own in a sparring match to standing among the strongest initiates in Avren.

Master Isolde's voice remained cold, unwavering. "A week before the tournament, there will be The Gathering. It is a formal event where the participants and the higher-ups of each faction meet. You will be there."

Ariel exhaled slowly. "I see."

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze sharp. "Train diligently. Do not disappoint me."

Ariel met her eyes, his chest tight with unspoken pressure.

"I won't."

She nodded once, then dismissed him with a flick of her wrist.

Ariel stood, turning toward the door.

As he stepped out into the hallway, the weight of expectation settled over him once again.

But this time, instead of crushing him…

It fueled him.

The path forward was clear.

He would train. He would grow.

And he would win.