The walk to the training pits felt shorter than ever. Crispin moved with a rhythmic, heavy certainty, his boots striking the stone with resonance. On his shoulder, Regulus was a silent, reflective weight. His liquid-silver surface rippled as he adjusted his density to match Crispin's stride.
The village center teemed with people. The air was heavy with the restless energy of bonded beasts. As Crispin approached the sunken stone circle of the pits, the murmurs of the villagers trailed off into a tense silence.
Lucien stood in the center of the pit. He looked at the high-born knight. His armor was a masterpiece of polished plate steel, etched with the golden heraldry of his house. A heavy heater shield rested on his left arm, while his right hand gripped a long sword of exceptional quality.
The blade shimmered with a keen, magical edge. Ebony, his black dragon whelp, paced beside him. The creature was larger than it had been at the ceremony; its scales smoked with acrid heat. Lucien looked up as Crispin reached the edge of the circle. A sneer twisted his features.
"I heard you failed your last assessment, Thorneborn," Lucien called out. His voice echoed off the stone walls for the crowd. "I would not question my uncles for keeping you and your scavenger jelly, but maybe I should do what they haven't seen fit?"
Crispin unslung the Sî'Nareus Soul-Reaper from his back. The scythe's bone-clad shaft groaned as he gripped it, the silver-indigo light of the blade reflecting in his cold, blue eyes. He looked up at the high terrace where the Elder sat in his petrified root chair.
The scythe shifted in his hand, and the blade retracted. It became a staff of solid black dragon bone. He looked at Lucien. Yes, today would be the right time to pummel some respect into the high lord. Enough of the boastful digs and slights. He didn't have to spill his noble blood to batter and bruise him.
Xereniti leaned forward, sharp, pale eyes fixed on Crispin's frame. The old man's gaze drifted from the liquid-silver shine of Regulus. A small, knowing smile touched the Elder's lips.
"Lucien Vale of the High Terraces against Crispin of the Smithy. Let the validation begin."
Lucien barked a command. Ebony lunged—a blur of dark scales and soot, its jaw opening to reveal a throat glowing with embers. The chrome of Regulus' aethereal long form dimmed, becoming a dying glow of light.
Ebony's maw radiated with heat. As the dragon squared himself to unleash an inferno, Regulus appeared and slapped the dragon's lower jaw upward with a mighty tail slap. Ebony swayed as he tried to recover.
Regulus acted with predatory autonomy. He engaged the Abyssal Strike. He reappeared behind Ebony, delivering a heavy, metallic Tail Lash to the dragon's flank. The impact sounded like a hammer hitting a drum. Ebony shrieked, spinning to find a target that was no longer there. Regulus flickered through the aether again, appearing above the dragon to strike another concussive blow.
Ebony let out a roar of fury and inhaled. A stream of soot-heavy flame erupted toward the shifting chrome serpent. Regulus did not dodge. He expanded into a wide, translucent silver pane that absorbed the heat.
His golden-ringed eyes narrowed, focusing on the internal structure of the dragon's fire. He leaned into the heat, his quicksilver surface glowing a dull, resonant orange. The silver shield vibrated. A flicker of that same dark, soot-heavy flame danced across his metallic surface.
[Blueprint Acquired]
Dragon's Fire .001%
"Time to learn a lesson, Lord Vale. There are things I've learned about myself, and maybe you should learn too. I don't have to kill you to thrash some common sense into your foolish skull!"
Crispin dashed forward and slammed his staff against Lucien's shield. Lucien moved with the disciplined footwork of a trained knight. His sword darted out in precise, lethal thrusts. Crispin parried with his staff and cracked the end of his weapon against Lucien's helm.
The crowd gasped, and Lucien rocked on his feet. Crispin disappeared like a shadow. The staff turned into Void Lash, and the whip slithered through the air. It coiled around Lucien's blade, and Crispin pulled it free of the knight's grasp.
Lucien slammed his shield forward, pinning Crispin against the stone. His fist found Crispin's midsection, where his leather armor was slight, and pummeled him. Crispin engaged the Reaper. He did not step back; he ceased to exist.
In a blur of crimson energy, he reappeared behind Lucien. He swung the scythe with brutal, clinical precision. The bone blade struck Lucien between the chest plates, catching the gap near the ribs. The force of the blow, reinforced by his increased strength, drove the high lord to his knees.
Crispin hooked the blade of the Soul-Reaper around Lucien's throat. He pulled back just enough to draw the knight's head up. "We've both proven our points, Lord Vale. You will keep your mouth shut, or I will crack common sense into your bones. I, however, will always remember which of us is the high lord. Yield," Crispin rasped.
Lucien's face was a mask of disbelief and rage. He balled his fist with white-knuckled intensity. "Never," he hissed. "I am a Lord of the High Terraces. I will not bow to a blacksmith's whelp."
Nearby, the duel between the tames had reached a terrifying climax. Regulus had used the Coil of the Abyss to entwine himself around Ebony's neck. His chrome body was no longer liquid; it had hardened into a constricting lattice of matte iron.
Ebony was frantic and screaming, the dragon's wings beating against the air as Regulus tightened his grip. The slime-wyvern opened his jaws, its teeth glowing with a lethal, silver-indigo energy.
"Yield, fool!" Crispin demanded. "You would let your bonded die for your own pride?"
Lucien looked at his screaming dragon, his eyes wide with a manic, desperate light. "If we die, then we die together. I will not yield!"
Crispin looked at the knight, then at the dying dragon. The coldness in his chest wavered. He thought of his father's words at the forge. The weight of the Sî'Nareus name and the true meaning of the bond came to his mind. He realized that taking Ebony's life would be a stain on the very legacy he sought to reclaim.
"I yield," Crispin said.
The crowd gasped. The silence that followed was absolute. Crispin engaged the Aethereal Strike, reappearing beside Regulus. He reached out and placed a hand on the chrome serpent's scales.
"Regy, this isn't the way," Crispin whispered. "This isn't us. We will not take another bonded's life regardless of how foolish his tamer is."
Regulus hesitated, his surface vibrating with a low-frequency hum of frustration. He looked at the gasping dragon, then at Crispin. With a soft, almost regretful ripple, the constriction receded. The chrome serpent pulled his mass back into a compact coil and returned to Crispin's shoulder.
Lucien scrambled to his feet, his breath coming in ragged hitches. He looked at his dragon, then at the crowd.
The Elder stood. His carved cane clicked once against the stone. "Winner, Lucien," he announced. His voice held a flat, official quality.
Sera rushed forward from the edge of the pit. "No! Crispin is the winner. We saw it! He cared more about another's bonded than he did the win. That's what we do. We honor the bond. He honored one that wasn't his own."
Lucien turned on her, his sword still drawn. "Shut up, Sera, or you'll be next."
Dario stepped into the circle, his massive primate tame, Hulk, standing in a low, defensive stance beside him. "Put Hulk and I on that list as well, Lucien," Dario said. He shook his head in disgust. "You would lose your bond just to save your pride? To think I once respected you. No, Crispin won, and I side with him and Regulus."
Lucien's face paled. "Dario—"
Therone cut off the high lord. "Lucien, we are friends, but you lost, mate. Relax." The half-elf boy smoothed the serpentine scales of his own dragon.
"Silence, all of you!" the Elder's voice rang out, cutting through the rising arguments. He looked down at the two young men in the pit. "Crispin, report to the guildmaster. Lucien, you're with me… great-nephew."
Crispin did not look back. He settled the Soul-Reaper into its back-sheath and walked toward the exit of the pits. The villagers watched him pass, their expressions shifting from fear to a profound, quiet respect. He had lost the duel, but he had claimed something far more valuable.