The ice was thawing, and the snow that once blanketed the courtyard was now just a distant memory. Crisp morning air filled Gabriel's lungs as wisps of breath escaped his mouth, dissipating like smoke against the pale blue sky.
"Need a little more time, old man?" Gabriel teased, watching as Tunklard’s chest heaved with exertion. Despite the cold, sweat glistened on his brow.
Tunklard shot him a withering look, though a hint of amusement tugged at the corners of his mouth. “No respect for your elders,” he replied, rolling his shoulders before settling back into a defensive stance.
They moved in tandem, circling each other on the damp cobblestones that had been hidden beneath the snow just weeks before. Gabriel felt the weight of a sword in each hand, both extensions of himself now after moon cycles of relentless practice. He remembered the frustration of his earlier injury—the dislocated shoulder that had forced him to adapt. What had once been a setback had transformed into an opportunity, pushing him to develop ambidexterity that few swordsmen could boast.
With a swift step forward, Gabriel slashed with his right sword, aiming for Tunklard's flank. Tunk parried smoothly, the clash of wood ringing out in the quiet courtyard. Without missing a beat, Gabriel followed with a thrust from his left, forcing Tunklard to pivot and dodge, his movements fluid despite his years.
"You've gained speed," Tunklard remarked between strikes, his voice steady even as their blades danced between them.
"And lost some power," Gabriel admitted, launching into a flurry of attacks that had Tunklard backing up, boots skidding slightly on the slick ground. "But I'm working on balancing both."
Tunklard deflected another blow, his eyes never leaving Gabriel's. "Power comes with precision. Let your movements flow—each strike should set up the next."
Gabriel nodded, adjusting his footing as he absorbed the advice. He initiated a feint with his left sword, drawing Tunklard's defense, then swiftly brought his right blade in a sweeping arc toward his mentor's exposed side. Tunklard reacted just in time, blocking the attack but grunting with exertion.
They continued their dance, a series of strikes and parries that echoed across the courtyard. Sweat beaded on Gabriel's forehead, but he felt invigorated, his body moving with a newfound harmony. He pressed forward, attempting a complex maneuver—crossing his blades to trap Tunklard's sword and create an opening.
Tunklard recognized the tactic instantly and disengaged with a deft twist, stepping back and raising a hand to signal a pause. Both stood still for a moment, catching their breaths as the cool air filled their lungs.
"You're learning quickly," Tunklard said, a note of pride evident in his voice.
"I have to," Gabriel replied, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "There's a lot riding on this."
Tunklard sheathed his sword and approached. "Wielding two swords is no simple feat. Few attempt it, and even fewer master it. It requires not just strength and speed, but balance and coordination. Each hand must be independent yet connected, each movement deliberate."
Gabriel looked down at the swords in his hands, feeling their weight and significance. "Sometimes I struggle to make my strikes flow together. I can see the moves in my mind, but executing them is... challenging."
"That's natural," Tunklard reassured him. "Your mind and body are still learning to speak the same language. Practice will bridge that gap. Focus on synchronizing your movements—let one blade complement the other. Think of it as a conversation between your hands, each responding to and supporting the other."
Gabriel's eyes lit up at the analogy. "A conversation. I like that."
"One more thing," Tunklard added, his tone becoming more serious. "This skill of yours, this dual-wielding—don’t show it to the academy students just yet. Train with the legion, or by yourself, but keep it hidden from your rivals. When the tournament comes, you’ll have an advantage no one expects. Strength alone isn’t enough to become Prime—you need to be clever. Use every edge you have."
"I’ll train hard. I’ll master it," Gabriel said, a determined edge in his voice.
He turned to glance around the courtyard, his expression shifting to one of contemplation. "Have you used your magic since our last talk?"
Gabriel’s gaze dropped to the ground as he shook his head. "No. I feel better now, stronger. I haven’t felt this good in a long time. I don’t want to use that power again. I know it was corrupting me."
Tunklard studied him for a moment before speaking softly. “I understand. Believe me, I do. But there may come a time when you must rely on it, regardless of the consequences. Power, in all its forms, is a tool. It's how you wield it that defines you. Remember, Gabriel, true strength lies not just in power, but in mastery over oneself.”
Gabriel hesitated, his gut twisting at the thought. But as always, Tunklard was right. It was naïve to think he could ignore the power within him forever. He had to be ready for whatever came.
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The boys each held a single rose, their task to nurture it throughout the day in honor of Victra on the first day of spring. Gabriel carefully placed his rose on the table beside him, setting his plate down gently next to it. The smell of hearty venison and roasted vegetables wafted up from his plate, matching the full plates of the others around him.
It had been a mooncycle since Gabriel had heeded Tunklard’s advice and used his magic again. He had carefully monitored the hunger and flashes of anger that followed, noting that the effects were less severe this time. Tunklard had theorized that this was due to the low frequency that Gabriel used his power, advising that he continue to train it sparingly—only once or twice a mooncycle—to better control the consequences.
His thoughts were interrupted as he noticed Master Darrel approaching from across the table. The tactics and strategy instructor nodded to both Ryn and Gabriel. “Ryn, Orion,” he greeted them. “Well done today. I wanted to congratulate you both on your performance in Luminae.”
Ryn was the first to respond, eager as always. He absorbed every word Master Darrel spoke during lessons, often reciting them late into the night as they both studied in the library. “Thank you, Master.”
Gabriel nodded respectfully in acknowledgment.
“What will you both do differently next time to win, rather than draw against each other?” Master Darrel asked, his gaze shifting between the two boys.
Ryn considered the question for a moment before replying, “I need to be less conventional when facing Orion—more aggressive and less predictable.”
The master then turned to Gabriel, awaiting his answer.
“I should have incorporated a longer-term strategy,” Gabriel admitted. “I was too focused on immediate moves. I need to anticipate Ryn’s strategy from the outset and counter it before he fully reveals his plan.”
“Good. Very good,” Master Darrel said, nodding in approval. “Keep thinking about how you would face each other. That’s how you’ll continue to improve.” With that, he moved on, leaving the boys to their thoughts.
Gabriel turned to Ryn, and they locked eyes in mock competition before both burst into laughter.
“You’re going down next time!” Ryn teased, grinning.
“In your dreams,” Gabriel shot back with a smirk.
On the other side of the table, Jonan groaned theatrically and dropped his head against the wooden surface. “Please, just end me now. Why am I friends with the most boring people here?”
“You could learn a thing or two from the masters of strategy,” Ryn quipped, not missing a beat.
Jonan lifted his head just enough to glare at Lakan. “Are you going to stay quiet, or are you on my side?”
Lakan held up his hands defensively. “Leave me out of this.”
“Jonan, my friend, Ryn and I are always happy to give you pointers,” Gabriel offered, his tone playful.
Jonan’s expression turned sly. “I’ll give you some pointers after I win all your coins at cards tonight,” he said with a mischievous grin.
The group erupted in laughter, the camaraderie between them clear as they continued their meal. Before long, Lexon, Elias, and a few other students joined them at the table. Gabriel noticed Lexon seemed nervous, glancing around as if uncertain.
Finally, as if unable to hold back any longer, Lexon turned to Lakan and blurted. “Can we join you in your morning training?”
Gabriel saw Elias wince slightly. Lexon really didn’t have a subtle bone in his oversized body.
Lakan looked to Gabriel for the answer, a silent acknowledgment that Gabriel hadn’t fully registered before. It wasn’t the first time Lakan had deferred to him, and Gabriel mentally filed that realization away. He realized that Jonan, Ryn, and Lakan had become more than just friends—they were a brotherhood, forged through shared trials and early morning training sessions. Their hard work was paying off, evident in their recent successes in the bouts, pulling them ahead of most of their peers.
Gabriel turned to Lexon and the others. “We set a grueling pace, and we won’t slow down for anyone.”
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Elias quickly spoke up, his voice steady. “We wouldn’t want you to.”
Gabriel nodded in approval. “Tomorrow, at dawn, meet us in the courtyard. We’ll see what you’re made of.”
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As the days grew warmer and the trees fully leafed out, Gabriel’s routine intensified. He sat beneath a blooming tree, its dark green leaves filtering the midmorning sun as it cast dappled light across his face. The sun’s rays struck his green eyes, giving them a deeper hue.
“You did good, lad. Real good,” Atlas said, settling down beside him with a grunt.
Olof, seated on Gabriel’s other side, gave a low harrumph, a sound Gabriel had come to recognize as his way of agreeing with Atlas.
Gabriel nodded, though his mind was elsewhere. His gaze wandered to the commander, who was barking orders with Avis by his side. The young soldier had lost his edge in combat, but the army was his life. The commander had found a place for him on his staff, where he could still contribute.
“You’re turning into a right menace with those two swords,” Atlas continued, his tone half-admiring, half-mocking. “Those babes they call students won’t stand a chance.”
Gabriel offered a faint smile, appreciating the compliment, but his thoughts weren’t centered on himself today. “How are the preparations going?” he asked, steering the conversation.
“We’ll be off swingin’ swords in a moon cycle,” Atlas replied casually.
“To the northern borders?”
“Aye, someone’s got to teach those piss-ant Accamanians a lesson,” Atlas said with a shrug.
Gabriel winced—he’d heard that sentiment too many times. This time, he couldn’t stay silent. He needed to understand where Atlas’s heart truly lay. “They are just like us, you know. The soldiers—they are just following orders.”
Atlas let out a long breath, his gaze steady. “Lad, don’t go tryin’ to figure out the heart of an enemy. That way lies madness. If my orders say they’re the enemy, then that’s what they are. Nothin’ more, nothin’ less.”
Gabriel’s chest tightened. He couldn’t agree with Atlas, not when his own blood was Accamanian. If only Atlas knew.
“Accamanians, Galatians, Eldorians—we are all Valandorians. We’re of the same stock. Yes, we’ve got our differences, but our focus should be on the Paresh. They’re the real threat, the ones we need to hunt.”
Atlas chuckled softly, a deep, weathered sound. “You might be right, lad, but we deal with what’s in front of us. And right now, the Accamanians are kickin’ up dust. They need to learn their place.”
Gabriel nodded as if in agreement, but understanding eluded him. He could never truly grasp this mindset. Why are we fighting with each other when a greater threat looms? The image of fire leaping from a sorcerer’s hands flickered in his mind, and he quickly pushed it away.
“I’ll miss you both,” Gabriel said, looking first at Atlas, then Olof.
“We ain’t gone yet, lad,” Atlas replied with a grin.
“I just wish I could be there with you.”
Gabriel’s heart was heavy. He loved these men, and the thought of any harm coming to them tore at him. He believed he could fight alongside them against anyone. But could he fight against his own people? The thought chilled him. He wanted to be Prime, to lead the other students, but what if that meant leading them against his own kin? The idea sickened him. He wanted his throne back, wanted revenge—but not at the cost of his people’s lives. They didn’t deserve another tyrant.
“You’ll be too busy dancin’ with princesses at the ball,” Atlas teased, trying to lighten the mood. “Hear the Queen of Eldoria’s a beauty—maybe her daughter’s the same.”
“I’ve had enough of royal families,” Gabriel replied, shaking his head. “I don’t need any more.”
Atlas chuckled, a sound full of hard-earned wisdom. “Lad, since when have us soldiers ever gotten what we want?”
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The warmth of late spring was already beginning to creep into the Castle’s dining hall, making the air inside feel heavy despite the late hour. Gabriel sat next to Casena, her voice a cheerful melody as she chattered on about her new horse, which she had named Sally. Her excitement was contagious, and Gabriel found himself smiling at her enthusiasm.
As Casena continued to talk, Gabriel reached into his pocket and discreetly placed a small horse figurine on the table. Casena’s eyes lit up as she recognized the gift, her fingers curling around it with delight. She loved horses and gifts too, and Gabriel enjoyed spoiling her whenever he could. She reminded him so much of Sarah, his younger sister. The memory of her brought a pang to his heart. The latest report from the Spider had mentioned that Sarah was in good health and spirits, seen walking the city with the new royal family. The thought both comforted and angered him—at least his sister was safe, but the idea of her having to blend in and hide her true feelings stirred a deep, simmering rage within him.
Before Gabriel could dwell too long on his thoughts, Aluban joined the table, and the servers promptly began bringing out their dinner. The rich aroma of roasted meats and fresh bread filled the air, momentarily distracting Gabriel from his worries.
As they settled into the meal, the king’s voice broke the silence, his tone light but curious. "So, how did the sparring match go today?"
Aluban was quick to answer, a note of pride in his voice. "Gabriel has developed a unique technique. He’ll be tough to beat in the years to come—unpredictable, precise, but measured."
Gabriel inclined his head in acknowledgment, a small smile playing on his lips. "Aluban’s speed is incredible. Half the time, I can barely register his moves."
The king nodded, satisfied with their responses. The conversation then shifted to the upcoming Eldorian delegation, the preparations for which were well underway. Aluban, however, seemed less interested in the diplomatic event and more focused on his own ambitions.
"Father, I’ve been thinking. It’s time I joined the army on a campaign—maybe even lead a battalion," Aluban said, his voice carrying the eagerness of youth.
King Saxton’s gaze was steady as he responded, "Patience, Aluban. Your time will come."
"But we need someone in the family to show strength against the Accamanians," Aluban pressed, his determination evident.
The king’s expression softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. "It was a minor skirmish, Aluban. It doesn’t warrant a strong military presence."
Gabriel, listening intently, felt his emotions begin to surface. He couldn’t help but let a flicker of concern show on his face. The queen, seated across from him, noticed and her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than usual. She, along with the king, knew who he truly was, after all.
Aluban glanced down at his hands, his voice softer than before. “I need to lead, Father.”
"Your time will come. Your duty is here, Aluban," the queen said gently. "Especially when the Eldorian delegation arrives."
Aluban’s response was immediate, his frustration slipping through. "I don’t want to be here."
Gabriel saw Adriella’s smile falter, her fingers tightening around the stem of her goblet. Adriella, who had been quietly observing the conversation, interjected. "If he doesn’t want to marry the Eldorian princess, why does he need to be here?” She paused as she looked down at the table. “You both speak of duty, but sometimes, I wonder if there’s room for anything else in our lives.”
The queen’s tone sharpened slightly as she addressed her daughter. "We aren’t marrying Aluban off. And think before you speak, Adriella."
Turning back to his son, the king’s voice took on a more authoritative tone. "You need to be here, Aluban. Meeting the Eldorian family may serve you well one day—especially if you ever seek to assume the throne."
Aluban’s frustration was evident, though he kept his voice respectful. "I don’t care for the Eldorians, Father. It’s the Accamanians that have my attention. I’m telling you, I need to be there."
King Saxton’s eyes hardened, his patience wearing thin. "You will be where I tell you to be, and that’s final. You will join the next campaign, but not now."
Aluban’s jaw tightened, but he managed to keep his composure. "Of course, King Saxton," he replied. His use of the formal title clearly was a pointed reminder of his obedience, but also a subtle rebuke.
Gabriel watched the exchange silently, his thoughts drifting. Aluban was lucky to have a father who was both a king and a parent—someone who cared for his son’s well-being, even in the midst of royal duties. Gabriel couldn’t help but wonder how different his life might have been if his own father had been the same.
Gabriel hadn’t yet questioned the king about the true intentions behind the Eldorians' visit. Initially, his instincts had warned him of hidden motives, but the more time he spent with the royal family, the less convinced he was that there was any threat. Perhaps, after all, this visit was simply a step toward stability—something they all desperately needed.
As the meal continued, Gabriel pushed his concerns to the back of his mind, though the undercurrents of tension at the table remained. Times were changing, and Gabriel knew that the choices they made in the coming days would shape the future of not just the kingdom, but his own path as well.
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Summer arrived in full force, the sun now blazing overhead, its heat soaking through Gabriel’s tunic and causing sweat to bead on his brow. The moon cycles of grueling training had forged him into a formidable opponent, ready to prove his worth under the unrelenting heat.
The coarse sand beneath his feet radiated warmth, shifting slightly as he balanced on the balls of his feet, poised and focused. His grip tightened around the hilt of the wooden sword in his hand, and he could hear the distinct sound it made as he twirled it through the air, the sharp whoosh a testament to the speed and precision he had honed over countless hours.
Gabriel wasn’t just here to win this bout—he was here to send a message. Not just to the other students, but to the Grandmaster, to Soltis, to anyone who might still doubt his resolve. Today wasn’t about simply passing; it was about establishing himself as a force to be reckoned with.
His opponent, Borax, stood across the sandy arena. Borax was Velar’s shadow, a boy who clung tightly to Velar’s every word and action, always ready to echo his insults or back him in any confrontation. Gabriel had exchanged only a few words with Borax in all their time at the academy, but that didn’t matter. The fact that Borax had sided with Velar, had supported him in his taunts and jibes, was enough for Gabriel. Today, there would be no holding back.
Borax was known for his aggressive fighting style. He was quick to strike, often without thinking, relying on instinct rather than strategy. But today, Gabriel could see the hesitation in Borax’s stance, the way his weight shifted slightly backward, the way his eyes darted nervously. The boy’s instincts were telling him to be cautious, to be defensive. And they were right—because Gabriel was coming for him.
Without warning, Gabriel launched himself forward, his sword slicing through the air with speed and precision. The first strike was hard and fast, and Borax barely managed to parry it in time. But Gabriel didn’t relent. He pushed Borax’s sword to the side with a quick, calculated motion and closed the distance between them. With a fluid roll, Gabriel maneuvered behind his opponent and swung his sword at Borax’s unprotected back. The force of the blow was enough to knock Borax off his feet, sending him sprawling into the sand.
Gabriel’s face remained impassive, cold as ice, as he watched Borax wince and struggle to get back up. He could have ended the fight then and there, could have taken the victory, but that wasn’t the point. He needed to make a statement.
Borax’s movements were slow and labored, the pain in his back evident in the way he staggered. Gabriel moved in quickly, pretending to aim for a high strike. Borax instinctively raised his sword to block, but Gabriel had already shifted his weight, sliding down onto his knees and bending backward. The blade missed him by a hair’s breadth as he continued his forward momentum, smoothly transitioning back to his feet. He was right behind Borax now, and with a swift, calculated strike, he aimed once more at the same spot on Borax’s back.
The boy fell again, his cries echoing around the arena, but still, he stood. His knees shook as he raised his sword, his face pale with effort and pain. Gabriel knew it was time to finish this.
Their swords clashed once more, Gabriel’s weight pressing against Borax’s failing strength. He could feel the tremor in Borax’s arms, the boy’s grip weakening with each passing second. Gabriel took advantage, delivering a sharp punch to the outside of Borax’s arm, right between the shoulder and the elbow. He felt the muscle give way, knew the boy’s arm was going numb. In that moment, Gabriel flicked his wrist and disarmed Borax, the sword flying through the air.
Before Borax could recover, Gabriel yanked him forward, using his momentum against him. As Borax struggled to regain his balance, Gabriel stepped aside, leaving the boy’s back exposed once more. Without hesitation, Gabriel struck again, punishing his back yet again.
Borax collapsed to the ground, and this time, he didn’t try to get back up. The fight was over.
Gabriel stood over him for a moment, his chest rising and falling steadily as he caught his breath. Then, with deliberate calm, he walked over to the rack and placed the wooden sword back in its place. This victory had done more than just earn him a higher rank, more than just qualifying for the tournament and ensuring his place at the academy for another year. It was a warning to everyone who had doubted him, who had underestimated him.
Gabriel was no longer the boy they could push around. He was an adversary to fear, a force to reckon with. And he would not be angered lightly.