Eldric froze. "A spar?"
Draven nodded, a strange determination flickering in his eyes. "Yeah. It's like a practice fight. We stop before anyone gets hurt."
Eldric scratched the back of his head. 'What's gotten into this kid?'
"Well—uh… why?"
Draven blinked. "Why? I just want to see how far I've gotten, that's all."
Eldric could tell there was more behind those words. Children weren't very good at lying, after all. He hesitated, then decided to humor him.
Eldric chuckled. "Sure, why not?"
Draven didn't smile. He simply picked up the smaller of the two swords and handed it to his brother.
Eldric raised a brow. "What about you?"
Draven looked at the larger blade. "I'll use that one. You've never held a sword before. It's the knightly thing to do."
Eldric laughed and pushed the weapon back. "Thanks, but I'll be fine."
He walked off toward a cluster of trees beside the inn. After a minute of searching, he emerged from the bushes holding a crooked brown stick, about half a meter long. It had no branches and only a slight bend to its form. He turned it in his hand, weighing it carefully. "This'll do just fine."
Draven eyed it skeptically. "That thing'll break the moment we start."
Eldric smiled. "It'll be fine. Now, are we doing this or not?"
Draven scratched the back of his head, looking uneasy. "Sure. I just… don't want to hurt you by accident."
His tone was sincere, completely free of arrogance. He genuinely didn't want to hurt his little brother. Eldric laughed anyway. "You just worry about yourself."
They took their places opposite one another. Draven held his sword firmly, adopting a stance he'd practiced countless times in that very same spot. Eldric simply stood with the stick resting loosely at his side. He'd never trained with a sword in this life, true, but that didn't mean he was unfamiliar with armed combat. Knives, bats, pipes—he'd used them all once upon a time.
The sun had slipped behind the horizon, draping the slums in dim twilight. Sickle had no bright lanterns or bustling streetlights, just the soft, relentless glow of moonlight cutting through the dark.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them grew still, thick with anticipation. Eldric tapped his foot impatiently. 'Are we just going to stare at each other? I was going to let him start, but if he's not going to…'
Just as he shifted his stance, Draven spoke. "A knight never strikes first. Go ahead."
Eldric smirked. "Right."
He began walking forward, gripping the worn piece of oak in his hand. Draven was absolutely right, it was a pathetic excuse for a stick—thin, dry, even hollow in some spots—but that didn't matter.
Anything that lives, or once lived, could be infused with Ether. Eldric had learned this through painfully extensive trial and error. He could imbue both the living and the dead, though the effect on living beings was still unclear. Non-living things, however, always responded the same, being strengthened and reinforced by the mystical energy.
The stick in his hand thrummed faintly with his Ether, now far sturdier than any training sword.
He closed in, swinging at Draven's chest in a quick horizontal motion.
---
Draven steadied himself. 'Alright, he's still my little brother, so I'll go easy—'
His thoughts cut off as the stick met his blade with shocking force.
A flash of pain shot through his wrists. His sword flew from his grip, clattering to the dirt. The next instant, he was on his back staring at the sky.
"Huh?"
Eldric calmly picked up the fallen blade and tossed it back. "Come on. Again."
Draven blinked, baffled, but got back to his feet. 'That must've been a fluke… I wasn't focused.'
They squared off again. Eldric advanced, this time swinging from above. Draven raised his sword with both hands, determined to block.
The weapons met. The stick didn't break. Instead, the impact rattled Draven to the bone. His grip faltered, his arms went numb, and the sword slipped from his hands once more.
"Huh?"
Eldric returned it again, wordlessly.
They went again. And again. And again. Every exchange ended the same, with Draven flat on the ground after a single strike.
He couldn't understand it. Eldric didn't have form to speak of, didn't even seem to try. He just swung his stick like a child playing around—yet every blow shattered his defense completely.
And that damn twig… how was it still intact?
Eventually, Draven abandoned his "knightly" restraint and struck first, but it didn't change the outcome.
By the end, he was sprawled in the dirt, drenched in sweat and dust. Eldric stood a few paces away, untouched, calm, his pale face faintly illuminated by moonlight. The red beneath his eyes made it seem as if he had been crying—though Draven knew that was just how he looked.
Draven lifted his head weakly. "Why?"
Eldric scratched his neck, thinking. "Well… you kind of suck."
Draven gave a short, breathless laugh. "That much is obvious."
Eldric picked up Draven's sword and gave it a lazy swing. "See—this thing's useless to you."
Draven blinked. "What?"
"You're wasting your time," Eldric said flatly. "Doing all that fancy sword stuff when you can't even fight in the first place."
Draven frowned, confusion crossing his face. "What do you mean? Isn't that what training's for?"
Eldric sighed and folded his arms. "Let me ask you something." He looked straight at him. "If you didn't have that sword... would this have ended differently?"
Draven hesitated. "…No. Probably not."
Eldric nodded. "And why do you think that is?"
"I don't know," Draven muttered, he was starting to get frustrated with Eldric's tone. "You're more talented than I am?"
Eldric blinked. "What? No—I mean, maybe, but that's not the point." He took a step closer. "You can't fight, Draven. Not with a sword, and not without one. You've never even been hit before, have you?"
Draven lowered his gaze. "…No. I haven't."
Eldric opened his mouth to speak again, but Draven cut him off. "Then tell me, Eldric—when have you ever been hit?"
Eldric froze. "Huh?"
"You haven't either," Draven said quietly. "But you still know all of this."
A bitter laugh escaped him. "You can already read and write. You can do arithmetic. You're smarter than everyone in this damned district."
He clenched his fists. 'Stop. Just stop talking.'
But the words spilled out anyway. "So if you're so smart... if you're so strong! And it all just comes easy to you…"
His voice broke, evolving into a shout.
"Then why am I the one who has to listen to her cry every night?! Why am I the one who has to work the inn?!"
He sucked in a shaky breath.
"Why am I the one who gets ridiculed? Who gets laughed at?"
Tears blurred his vision. They fell freely now, dotting the dirt between them.
"Why… It's not fair..."
---
Eldric stared at his crying brother, stunned. 'So that's why he wanted this dumb spar…'
It all made sense now. Draven hadn't wanted a fight, he wanted to vent. To pour out his anger on someone who seemed so capable, yet so utterly detached.
Eldric knew what their mother did. He knew Aurel was a prostitute. He knew firsthand what that kind of life did to people—though he quickly pushed the thought away. 'Let's not go there...'
He knew she cried every night when she came home. He knew Elaine was blissfully unaware, while Draven had quietly taken all the burden on himself. Eldric had admired him for that—a real champ, he thought.
But through all this he failed to realize that... they were all just kids. Even Aurel herself was barely twenty-five. She'd had her first child at fifteen—with no father in sight. What did something like that do to a person?
What did watching your mother break down every night do to a child? What did being mocked for chasing your dream do to you? And what would it do to Elaine when she finally learned what her world really was?
They seemed like a family, but in truth, they were living in a house made of glass. One crack, and everything would come crashing down.
Eldric—no, Ethan knew all of this, yet he'd done nothing. He never truly saw these people as family. Even if he did, all his focus was elsewhere, he had to get home. His nose buried in books, his mind circling endlessly, always circulating his Ether.
Even his current plan—infiltrating the Garrison—was nothing but betrayal. He'd likely die or be imprisoned, and that alone would shatter Aurel completely.
And knowing this... he still wouldn't stop. This world wasn't his home. These people weren't his family. And worst of all, he didn't feel an ounce of guilt.
He had to get back to Alex, no matter what.
...But would she even look at him the same? If she saw the people he left behind to rot? He had power—and one day, he might have far more. He could help them. Would she still meet his eyes if he turned his back on that?
Eldric frowned. 'No… I don't think she would.'
He sighed, whispering under his breath, "The things I do for love…"
He stepped toward Draven and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Tell you what. We'll practice here. Every night. I'll teach you how to fight, and you can... teach me how to use a sword."
Draven looked up at him, eyes swollen and red. Eldric wanted to say that the sight made him feel better about his decision, but it didn't.
He managed a crooked smile. "I'll even help out at the inn. Take a few shifts off your hands." His expression hardened slightly. "Not tomorrow though—I'm busy."
Draven let out a weak chuckle, the redness fading from his face though his cheeks were still streaked with tears. "Of course you are."
Eldric smiled back — this time, a little more genuine. "Come on. Mother'll have our heads if we stay out here any longer."