The first ti could be dismissed as an error, a slip born from Aydin's lack of preparation, or perhaps more accurately attributed to a mont of careless oversight.
Label it however one wished, but the truth remained: Aydin had faltered. Even the finest mystics were not immune to the occasional stumble.
So, if he chose to call that initial blunder a mistake, then a mistake it would be.
But then... what of the second ti? The third? The fourth and fifth? The instances multiplied until counting them beca a chore, yet each one added another crack to Aydin's composure.
Accepting the first lapse as an unfortunate anomaly was easy enough, but what happens when that sa mistake keeps replaying itself, again and again?
"Let's try this again," Aydin muttered under his breath, frustration threading into his voice, curling into the tightening lines of his face.
He rose stiffly, bending down to retrieve his fallen sword. Aldrich had effortlessly knocked it from his grasp during their friendly sparring match, the weapon clattering onto the ground in a manner unbecoming of soone of Aydin's renown. His reputation as an expert among mystics, born and molded by the traditions of their world, chosen to ignite the change their realm so desperately needed. It all felt heavier than the blade he lifted.
The sha seared him.
"Aydin, we can stop now if you want," Aldrich offered gently, sensing the tension thickening around them, a friendly duel now straying into dangerous emotional territory.
"He's right. No sha in knowing when you've been bested," Dante added with a smirk, his words a casual tease ant to lighten the mood, yet only succeeding in fanning the flas of Aydin's mortification.
Ridiculous. The suggestion sounded utterly absurd to Aydin Astravon's ears.
To tell him. To tell Aydin Astravon to admit defeat? To concede before Aldrich Aldaman, a civilian-born mystic with no grand lineage or destiny carved into his bloodline?
The idea was preposterous. Dante Pendragon's words, whether intended as jest or kindness, struck like insults to his pride.
"I am fine. We can continue for as long as necessary," Aydin responded coolly.
Translation: Until I win, none of us is leaving.
Aldrich offered a mild nod. He hadn't even broken a sweat; frankly, Aydin's efforts barely constituted a warm-up.
Gripping his shield tighter in his left hand and his sword in the right, Aydin launched forward with renewed determination. Despite wielding a long-range weapon, Aldrich remained stationary, bow in hand but string yet to be drawn. His calmness was infuriating.
As Aydin closed the distance, Aldrich finally moved. With a fluid draw, he nocked an arrow and loosed it, the projectile slicing through the air toward Aydin.
Steel rang against steel as Aydin deflected the arrow with his sword, refusing to halt his advance. He needed to reach Aldrich before the next arrow could be drawn.
"Gone!" Aydin hissed, skidding to a halt.
The spot where Aldrich should have stood was empty.
But Aydin was no novice. His instincts scread, pulling his gaze upward as he spun his blade high, ready to intercept the inevitable.
Sure enough, descending from above was Aldrich, bowstring drawn back, five arrows aid straight down.
The sight of it? Five arrows at once seed absurd. It looked clumsy, wasteful, questionable even. Yet Aydin knew better than to underestimate the tactic, no matter how unorthodox it appeared.
This ti, failure was not an option.
With four feet left before hitting Aydin's head, Aldrich released his arrows. Five shafts rained down with precision, a storm of gleaming tips converging on Aydin's position.
Aydin's focus sharpened, refusing distraction. But he had miscalculated, subtly, fatally.
The arrows, though a threat, weren't ant to strike him. Their true purpose was sothing far more cunning: A distraction.
With his head tilted upward, his line of sight flooded by descending projectiles, Aydin couldn't help but lose sight, however montarily of his opponent.
In that fractional heartbeat, Aldrich disappeared from view.
From Aydin's vantage point, the falling arrows beca a wall, each trying to pull his attention, fragnting his focus no matter how he fought to resist it. He could parry, he could evade, but he couldn't unsee them.
And that mont, barely a blink was all Aldrich needed.
"And once again... it's my win."
A sharp sensation pricked against the side of Aydin's neck.
Aldrich stood behind him, relaxed, calm, his fingers loosely gripping an arrow, the pointed tip resting against Aydin's vulnerable throat.
Shock froze Aydin's muscles.
"H-How...?" he stamred, his mind scrambling for answers.
"Simple," Dante called out as he approached, a lopsided grin on his face. "He used the distraction from the arrows to slip behind you with that insane speed of his."
Aydin shook his head, unwilling to accept it. "But I—I never lost sight of him!"
Dante chuckled, now standing beside them. "No buddy, you did. Maybe not in the way you'd think, but you did. With those five arrows in your face, even a master like you would lose clear sight for a mont. And with Aldrich moving as fast as he does, that was all he needed."
The sting of realization sank deeper than the blade ever could. Aydin had been outmanoeuvred, outthought, even.
"Impressive, Aldrich Aldaman," Dante said sincerely, clapping Aldrich on the shoulder. "Truly impressive."
There was admiration in his voice, unfeigned and undeniable.
"And now," Dante continued with a sly grin, "you have believing that the Aldaman bloodline is sothing extraordinary after all. Like Dwayne, you're less man and more monster."
His words were ant as praise, but for Aydin, they were a blade twisted into an already gaping wound.
"And one more thing you've made clear today," Dante added with a teasing laugh, unaware of the storm his remark might awaken. "The Aldaman bloodline stands taller than the Astravon blood."
He chuckled again, blissfully ignorant of the fury brewing beneath Aydin's silent facade.
Aydin stood frozen, his defeat heavier than the sword he still clutched and the shield he had let go of.
Today wasn't just a simple sparring match.
It was a lesson, a harsh undeniable truth crashing down harder than any physical blow could.
And Aydin Astravon would not forget it.
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