CHAPTER 33: A BOY AGAINST A MAGE

The courtyard fell silent as Soren stepped forward, his sword steady in his grip.

The world narrowed to this moment, this challenge. He felt the weight of every eye upon him, the recruits lining the edges of the training yard, their whispers dying on the winter air. They expected to see him burned to ash before he could even raise his blade.

Kaelen Veyth stood opposite him, gray robes settling around his tall frame, silver embroidery catching the pale sunlight at his cuffs.

The House Velrane mage lifted one eyebrow, his mouth curving into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"S you’ve never crossed a mage before?" His tone was teasing, but Soren caught the edge beneath it, the hint of something sharper. "This should be educational for everyone."

Soren didn’t answer. He simply set his stance, feet planted firmly on the packed earth, blade angled low. The shard against his chest pulsed once, warm through his shirt.

’No flourish. No hesitation. Just survive the first strike,’ Valenna whispered in his mind, her voice cool and certain.

The mage’s fingers twitched, a subtle movement that Soren might have missed if he hadn’t been watching so intently. A spark ignited in the air between them, bright as a star fallen to earth. In the space of a heartbeat, it expanded, stretching into a whip of flame that lashed across the space between them.

Soren slipped aside, blade kept low, feeling the heat sear past his cheek as he narrowly escaped the burn. The smell of singed hair filled his nostrils.

’Fire is breath,’ Valenna’s voice came again, steady as stone. ’Cut its rhythm, and you cut the mage.’

Without hesitation, Soren rushed forward, closing the distance before Kaelen could prepare another strike. His blade hummed through the air, stopping just short of the mage’s ribs, only to slice through empty space as the figure wavered and vanished like smoke.

An afterimage. A trick.

"Quick," Kaelen’s voice drifted from behind him, amusement mingling with something like genuine surprise. "Too quick for a commoner."

Soren spun, finding not one but three Kaelens circling him, each identical down to the last silver thread at their cuffs. Their movements mirrored each other perfectly, faces wearing the same calculating smile.

His pulse quickened, but he forced himself to breathe evenly, listening to Valenna’s guidance.

’The real one breathes. Steel answers breath, not shadow.’

He stilled, watching the three figures, ignoring their identical appearances and focusing instead on what lay beneath. There, a slight rise and fall of the chest, the faintest cloud of breath in the winter air from only one of the three.

Soren lunged without warning, his blade carving through the first illusion as if it were mist. He pivoted, ignoring the second phantom, and drove straight for the third, the one that breathed. His steel stopped precisely at Kaelen’s arm, the tip pressing against cloth and skin with just enough force to draw a thin line of blood.

Gasps erupted from the watching recruits. Someone swore loudly in disbelief.

Kaelen’s grin sharpened, surprise giving way to something more dangerous. With a flick of his palm, a shield of flame roared up between them, forcing Soren back.

The heat was overwhelming, searing the ground and sending the nearest recruits staggering away with shouts of alarm.

Sweat rolled down Soren’s face, his skin tight from the proximity of the flames. Still, he held his ground, refusing to retreat further. The fire cast Kaelen’s face in dancing shadows, making him look more demon than man.

’I can’t match that,’ Soren thought, gripping his sword tighter. ’But I can show him I’m not afraid.’

He slashed forward, blade cutting into the wall of fire. The metal glowed red-hot almost instantly, but he pushed through, feeling the heat blister his knuckles as he forced the point forward until it emerged from the other side of the flames, coming to rest mere inches from Kaelen’s throat.

The courtyard froze.

Soren’s sword hovered near Kaelen’s neck, the blade still glowing from the heat. At the same time, Kaelen’s other hand was raised, palm filled with crackling energy aimed directly at Soren’s chest. Both could strike. Both stopped.

Silence reigned, broken only by the soft hiss of cooling metal.

The recruits stood dumbstruck, mouths agape. Some who had been lounging against the walls now stood rigid, eyes wide with disbelief that a lowborn boy had lasted more than a heartbeat against a House mage, let alone stood equal in this moment of mutual threat.

Kaelen chuckled softly, not insulted but intrigued. The deadly energy in his palm dissipated like morning mist, and he lowered his hand with deliberate slowness.

"Well now," he said with a sly smile. "Not bad."