Elwin was the first to strike. He dashed around Lucian, gathering a sizable jet of water from the downpouring sky, circling it around his body with rhythm to pool it, and launched it hard at Lucian as one would loosen stone from a sling; Lucian caught first of the riverine blast and was knocked back, but before all of the stream hit, he managed to control it and redirect its force sideways, letting it crash on the bench behind him. Without a second to spare, Elwin continued on the offensive, attempting to offer no rest for Lucian to think of his trickery; weaving and ducking around Lucian’s own swirling jets of water, Elwin froze the raindrops into hails of ice as big as an apple, and flung them towards Lucian, who shielded himself with a small wall of water that protected his torso and face, melting the balls of icy hail as they passed through them. But this was the perfect chance – Lucian wasted energy in making that water-shield, and he’d have to think of what to do with it next – so Elwin rushed at him with a fist which was sure to hit. But Lucian had a trick up his sleeve; in an instant, he froze the thin layer of water on the stone ground to ice as Elwin unknowingly took his rushed steps; Elwin slipped and tumbled hard sideways, almost hitting his head upon the stone. Lucian did not waste a moment of this vulnerable opening, freezing the water around his own clenched fists into an icy gauntlet, and punched Elwin hard in the stomach as he tried to stand, punching again, and for a third time. All wind was knocked out of Elwin, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe properly – but he had experience with this sort of thing, so he rushed backwards, gasping for air, regathering his strength. He dodged the sharp pellets of ice that came from Lucian’s gauntlet, and was almost ready to think of something to do. Lucian was about 10 feet away now, very close, and Elwin was poised to move again, but the water around his feet and calves turned suddenly to ice; he found himself stuck, and prepared to melt it, but Lucian was a mere inches away from him with his own ice fist. He tried to duck his free torso sideways, but it was too late; the punch met true on Elwin’s head, the ice on Lucian’s gauntlets shattering like crystals as it met Elwin’s nose and chin. Elwin fell backwards into the cold puddle of water; for a moment, all was momentarily black, and he saw his vision blurred; but not giving up, he lunged at Lucian’s feet, almost toppling him over. But Lucian, like the expert he was, shifted sideways to slip out of Elwin’s coming grapple, and, freezing water onto his uniformed shins into ice yet again, kicked Elwin hard while he was still on the ground, making a crunch upon flesh.
Lucian hadn’t even broken a sweat.
“You satisfied?” he declared to Elwin at his feet. Elwin didn’t reply but instead grabbed Lucian’s knees and twisted them; Lucian kicked him away, and forming a long lasso of water, grabbed Elwin up by the torso and then pummeled him to the ground. Elwin tried to stand, but Lucian used the lasso to grab his foot, and flung him over; Elwin tried to break free, but Lucian pulled Elwin in front of him in an instant, and kicked him hard in the chest, followed by a precise punch to his nose, to his neck, and to his shoulder. The arena swam in Elwin’s dimming vision as he tried to get a hold onto Lucian for the last time, to scratch him if possible; and Lucian let Elwin do what he wished, just standing there, letting himself get scratched in the face and hand. Then Lucian, frowning, froze the falling mass of raindrops into a hammer of ice and struck Elwin in the chest; he pummeled him, grabbed his arm and pummeled him again like a ragdoll, dragging Elwin by the shoulder around the arena for everyone to see. Then, lifting him on his back, and grabbing onto his torso and shoulders, Lucian launched Elwin towards the moat; Elwin smashed onto the boundary stones and tumbled down, falling face-first into the muddy water.
“In your dreams, you said?” chided Lucian.
The duel was over, if it could be called a duel at all, rather a slaughter;
Elwin had lost;
And Lucian had won.
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The entertained crowd, many a Lucian’s friends, broke into cheers for Lucian and boos for Elwin; the neutral parties who’d been watching witnessed Lucian’s blessing with his Maht without a doubt, and shook their heads at Elwin’s giftless demonstration in contrast. Before the duel, they could dismiss what Lucian had said about Elwin’s admission to Aeternitas as a personal feud from long past; but as they so clearly observed during that duel, Elwin had not much of the skill or blessing of Maht required to be an Arten of Aeternitas. In fact, Elwin was so far from the standard that all of them were convinced that Lucian was speaking the truth: Elwin had entered Aeternitas unjustly and at the expense of others.
Katherine and Isaac grimaced, and rushed to help Elwin out of the moat and downpour. Elwin was barely conscious, his uniform fraught with mud and grime; half-opening his eye, Elwin saw his two friends helping to his injuries, and the reality of his loss reeled his head. He felt faint. He wanted to say something, but finding no word coming from his throat, he turned his body away from them deeply ashamed, finding it painful to turn his neck. It was an ultimate disgrace to lose a duel to another boy, to another man, particularly a challenge which he so enthusiastically accepted in the view of everyone else. He was glad of the pouring rain, otherwise his friends would’ve been certain that the water in his eye were tears.
Lucian, who was barely hurt in the entire exchange, motioned his friends to follow him. He passed by Elwin, and uttered a single line:
“Good luck – looks like you’ll need it here.”
* * *
Elwin rolled in his bed restlessly that night, all his body sore and bruised, clutching his head as if from a nightmare. But unlike nightmares that disappeared once he awoke, this one was very real, and he had no way to escape it. What’s more was that he had time alone to reflect on the events of that disastrous day, and finally deduced what Mirai must have felt from the expression she gave him: had he not impetuously rushed and argued with Lucian, they could have easily lost interest, and no one would have been the wiser of the fact that she wrote the poem-book. Literally none of this would have happened if he kept his mouth shut and instead asked Mirai for what she wanted to do. Now all of Aeternitas likely knows about her poem-book, and the fact that she is a ‘traitor’ of some sort as written in her poems, not to mention all her personal thoughts and secrets.
Elwin pounded his fist into the pillow in anger at himself, not aware of the machinations which had ensnared him. In truth, Lucian would have goaded him using the poem-book, or through whichever method he devised.
Assailing Elwin’s thoughts to an even greater degree was the fact that he so confidently accepted Lucian’s challenge and lost in front of everyone; he’d played right into Lucian’s schemes, and now all the academy probably believed that Elwin was a fraud, pretending to be a defender of the people with some sort of skill while he had none. He could sigh with relief at a silver lining, at least – that Mirai wasn’t there to see him lose. Had she been there, Elwin would have wanted to turn into a rat and crawl into a corner.
Elwin couldn’t decide which of the problems were worse. Both dug into his heart like daggers, and it confounded him as to how quickly his world could turn upside down.
It was all too easy to stroll into the gates of the Nine Naraks, but to free himself from his mistakes, even just to find his way back, seemed insurmountable.
From this moment on, Elwin had to prove himself for real. And just as the question as to how he possibly could filled his head with dread, the image of the entrance ceremony came clear as the sky into his vision – of Sandora, Maximus, Leonardo, and Hina. They won the tournament and chose their Houses first; they received their exclusive staves and garnered the universal respect and cheer of everyone in the Academy. Only through this way could he show the world that he was not a liar, not a golden-boy; only through this way could he dispel the rumors behind his back, and beat Lucian at his own game.
Yes, this was the way. He’d need to win that first-year tournament. Through victory, he could recover his paradise lost – and he’d get there no matter what.
But just how? That was the question to solve. Then the revelation struck his head, a revelation so clear and resonant that it filled in him a new hope: a Quan could elevate his skill and control over the Arts beyond his wildest imaginations. A Quan could allow him to perform feats that would rival his father’s.
And he could forge his own at Aeternitas.