The crowd didn't erupt in cheers—it hushed.
Silence held for a breath too long, filled with wide eyes and leaned-in whispers. Many expected a brawl. What they got was sothing surgical, calm... and unnerving.
"That boy... he didn't even break a sweat," muttered an older swordsman in the stands, tightening his grip on a worn staff.
"Wasn't he just so drifter?" another asked, voice uncertain. "He fights like one of the border blades... no, sharper."
A robed figure seated near the royal box leaned forward, shadows dancing beneath his hood. "That wasn't just swordplay. Did you see the way the ground dimd under him?"
An elf noble scoffed. "Parlor tricks. Probably uses so night-cloaked charm. Still... he was composed."
Up in the guilds' reserved seats, a young Ironbrand apprentice nudged his superior. "That's the sa guy Kael tried to scare off, right?"
The superior said nothing, watching Adrien with calculating eyes. "Keep an eye on that one."
Back at the waiting zone beneath the arena, Adrien leaned against the cool stone wall, arms crossed, while Nyxaris lounged beside him in its mist-form, tail flicking lazily.
Damien rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. "Well, I see soone made an impression."
Adrien's eyes didn't move from the entrance to the arena. "I do my best."
"You also made a noble woman's spear explode out of her hand and into the judge's drink."
"I said gentle disappointnt. She misunderstood."
Damien barked a laugh and strode toward the gate as the announcer's voice echoed:
"Damien Hearthgrip of Hollowreach!"
The crowd perked up again. Damien wasn't unknown. Word of his destructive spellwork had trickled through the practice grounds like smoke under a door.
His opponent was a stone-skinned rcenary from the northern mountains—massive, armored, and wielding a hamr big enough to flatten a barn. The crowd favored the brute.
Until the first spell hit.
Damien raised his palm, fla swirling, then vanished—blinked—behind the rcenary and detonated a precision burst right beneath the man's boot.
The hamr crashed down uselessly on air.
The match turned theatrical—flas dancing along the arena walls, spells sparking off conjured sigils. Damien moved with a smile, relishing the flow, a sorcerer playing with rhythm and tempo. He wasn't just powerful—he was fun to watch.
By the end, the rcenary was scorched, exhausted, and flat on his back, groaning. Damien blew a stray lock of hair from his face and gave a small bow.
"Still got it," he muttered, walking back toward Adrien with his usual lopsided grin.
Adrien handed him a flask. "Not bad. You missed a spot, though."
Damien took a swig and smirked. "Please. I was saving that wall for soone else."
The crowd had thinned, the tournant grounds beginning to settle with the sun. Adrien and Damien exited the contestant tunnel, the stone beneath their boots still warm from the day's heat. Nyxaris prowled ahead lazily, ears perked.
"Drinks are in order," Damien said, stretching. "And not the watered-down stuff."
Adrien smirked, brushing soot off his coat. "You say that like you didn't almost roast yourself with your third spell."
"I ant to light the judge's quill on fire. He wasn't writing fast enough."
They turned a corner toward the Ironbrand camp when a quiet voice halted them.
"You two carry blades like n who've earned them."
A tall figure stepped from the shadow of a broken statue near the old tournant arch. Clad in a long, charcoal-gray cloak, the man bore a curved longsword sheathed in black lacquer, runes faintly glowing along the hilt. His face was weathered but calm, with sharp eyes like chipped obsidian.
Damien raised a brow. "Friend of yours?"
Adrien didn't answer imdiately, his eyes narrowing. There was sothing... familiar.
The man gave a polite nod. "No need for alarm. I've watched your matches. Impressive restraint. You're not from the usual schools."
"Is that your way of saying I fight dirty?" Adrien asked flatly.
A quiet chuckle. "On the contrary. You fight with precision... like soone who's trying to rember how they used to fight."
Adrien blinked, just once.
That struck too close.
The man stepped forward and inclined his head. "My na is Kaelen Veyr. A forr instructor of the Eclipse Watch... and a swordsman who once served under Ardonis, the Celestial of Shadows."
Adrien's eyes flicked to Nyxaris, who was already staring at Kaelen with ears alert.
Kaelen smiled faintly. "I believe you and I may share more than just a taste for shadowed steel."
Damien tilted his head, half-whispering to Adrien. "You make new friends way too easily. First a wolf-demon, now a sword ghost from the moon."
Adrien grinned sideways. "At least this one doesn't drool on my boots."
Kaelen chuckled again. "If you're both willing, I'd like to offer a sparring session. No fanfare. Just steel and silence."
Adrien t his eyes, the curiosity in him undeniable. "...Tomorrow. Training grounds, dawn."
Kaelen nodded once. "Good. Let's see what else lies buried in your reflexes."
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