The clang of steel and the dull thud of impact echoed through the training courtyard long before dawn had surrendered to morning. Lucas wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist, chest heaving, muscles trembling beneath the strain of relentless drills. Across from him, Lylan stood composed yet glistening with effort, his breathing steady, his eyes sharp.
Rael's absence lingered like a shadow over every strike they threw.
"Again," Lucas muttered.
Lylan nodded. No complaint. No hesitation.
They moved in unison—Lucas charging with explosive force, Lylan pivoting with fluid precision. Blows met blocks, blocks turned to counters. What had once been two boys struggling to keep pace were now soldiers sculpted by hardship and grief.
Before either could call the next sequence, a royal horn sliced through the air.
Both men froze.
A messenger clad in Zephyr's colors strode forward. "By order of His Majesty, you are summoned to the castle. Immediately."
Lucas and Lylan exchanged a glance. Summons from the king were rare—and never trivial.
The great dining hall shimmered with candlelight, gold-lined pillars stretching toward a ceiling painted with victories of old. The king sat at the head of the long table, posture regal, expression unreadable. Princess Aeloria sat beside him, her presence radiant yet tense.
Lucas and Lylan knelt.
"Rise," the king commanded.
They obeyed.
"You've grown," he said, eyes scanning them like a general assessing weapons. "Grief has not softened you."
"No, Your Majesty," Lylan replied calmly.
Dinner was served. The atmosphere, however, was anything but warm.
"I have heard much about Rael's training methods," the king began, swirling wine idly in his goblet. "Grueling. Merciless. Excessive, some would say."
Lucas stiffened. Lylan remained still.
"He believed weakness was a sin," Lylan answered.
"And did you suffer greatly under this belief?"
Lucas spoke before restraint could silence him. "We endured what was necessary."
The king's brow lifted slightly. "Endured. A polite word for agony."
Aeloria shifted uneasily. "Father—"
He raised a hand, silencing her without a glance.
"Stories travel faster than armies," the king continued. "Two young soldiers defeating seasoned men. Surviving giants. Wizards. Slaughterfields."
His gaze sharpened.
"Tell me," he said, voice cool, "are these tales exaggerated?"
Silence fell.
Lucas's jaw tightened. "No, Your Majesty."
The king leaned back, unimpressed.
"Confidence," he murmured. "Often mistaken for truth."
Aeloria's eyes widened. "Father, they have proven themselves—"
"Have they?" he cut in sharply. "To soldiers, perhaps. To gossiping taverns. But not to me."
Lucas's hands curled into fists beneath the table.
"I will not have my kingdom dazzled by myth," the king declared. "Legends must withstand scrutiny."
He stood.
"I wish to see what you can truly do."
The courtyard ring was assembled swiftly. Soldiers gathered in hushed anticipation. Word spread like wildfire: the king himself would witness a test.
Lucas and Lylan stood at one side of the circle, stripped of weapons and armor. Bare hands. Bare resolve.
From the opposite end emerged two towering figures.
Argus—broad as a fortress gate, shoulders like carved stone.
Shamus—leaner, quicker, eyes burning with predatory focus.
"My finest hand-to-hand fighters," the king announced. "No blades. No shields. Only skill."
Aeloria stepped forward urgently. "Father, this is unnecessary. They are wounded from past battles—"
"All the more reason," he replied coldly. "If they are legends, they will endure."
Lucas's temper flared.
Lylan placed a subtle hand on his arm.
"Control," Lylan whispered.
Lucas exhaled sharply.
The king's voice rang out.
"Begin."
Argus charged first.
The ground itself seemed to tremble beneath his weight. He swung a massive fist toward Lylan's head—a blow meant to end contests.
Lylan slipped sideways.
The punch tore through empty air.
Before Argus could recover, Lylan's elbow snapped into his ribs. A precise, brutal strike. The giant of a man grunted, staggered—
Lucas moved.
Shamus darted forward like lightning, delivering a rapid combination of strikes. Lucas absorbed the first hit to his shoulder, deflected the second, then answered with a crushing knee to Shamus's midsection.
Air burst from Shamus's lungs.
Argus roared and turned toward Lucas, fury ignited.
Too slow.
Lucas pivoted, driving a palm strike into Argus's jaw. The impact cracked like thunder. Argus stumbled backward, vision blurred.
Shamus recovered with astonishing speed, launching into a spinning kick.
Lucas ducked.
Lylan stepped in.
His fist collided with Shamus's chest, followed instantly by a sweeping leg that sent the fighter crashing onto his back.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Argus lunged wildly, attempting to seize Lylan in a bone-crushing grip.
Lylan twisted beneath the grasp, locked onto Argus's arm, and wrenched.
A sickening snap of leverage.
Argus collapsed to one knee, face contorted in pain.
Lucas seized the opening.
He locked Shamus into a chokehold, muscles coiled like iron cables. Shamus thrashed, struggling, fading—
Across the ring, Lylan tightened his hold on Argus's arm, pressure building relentlessly.
Seconds stretched.
Strain.
Resistance.
Then—
"TAP!"
Shamus slammed his hand against Lucas's forearm.
Almost simultaneously—
"TAP!"
Argus pounded the ground.
The entire fight had lasted scarcely two minutes.
Silence consumed the courtyard.
Then the eruption came.
The king stared, stunned yet masking it beneath hardened dignity.
Lucas released Shamus and stepped back, chest rising and falling.
Lylan let go of Argus, offering him a steadying hand.
Argus hesitated—then accepted.
Respect replaced humiliation in his eyes.
Aeloria exhaled, relief washing over her features.
The king descended slowly into the ring.
For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then:
"So," he murmured, voice quieter, edged with reluctant acknowledgment, "the legends breathe truth after all."
Lucas held his gaze.
Lylan bowed his head slightly.
The king turned away, cloak sweeping behind him.
"See that your strength remains loyal," he said. "Zephyr has great need of it."
But the soldiers already knew.
Legends were no longer whispers.
They were standing before them.