The sound of steel meeting summoned force echoed across the Velarion courtyard.
Auren's silver hair flicked as he pivoted, his fingers flicking forward in a sharp command. "Rook."
From a glowing glyph, a white-armored soldier erupted into form—taller and broader than the pawns, wielding a massive tower shield. It braced itself just as Caelan's sword, now fused with glowing earth materials, came crashing down.
The impact shook the tiled ground beneath their feet.
"Impressive reinforcement," Auren noted, voice calm but eyes focused.
Caelan landed lightly, golden-blonde hair swaying. His blue eyes gleamed with excitement. "And yet your rook still caught it. Tch, how irritating."
"You're adapting faster," Auren replied. "The infusement—"
"Extended from my blade to the floor beneath us," Caelan interrupted, holding up his sword. "I've been practicing anchoring my strikes to the terrain. Adds force. And flair."
Auren allowed himself the ghost of a smirk. "Still relying on dramatic effects."
"Of course. A prince must look good even while losing."
They reset, circling. Rook repositioned beside Auren, shielding him, while Caelan drew his sword back again, the metal shifting faintly under his grip.
Auren glanced up at the pale sky above the ruined city. "It's been quite some time since we've been pushed to train like this, hasn't it?"
"Indeed..." Caelan raised a brow, smiling as he stepped forward with noble grace. "Not like I'm pressured by it though."
The next exchange was fast—Rook advancing with a shield bash while Caelan weaved, letting his blade arc with elemental infusement. Auren summoned a Knight next, letting the swift unit dash in from behind.
Their tempo—one calculated and commanding, the other direct and elegant—blended in perfect symmetry.
Until a voice sliced through the air, smooth and mocking.
"Don't tell me you two plan to enter the Tournament of Decree with that form of yours... You'll die in the first round."
Both froze.
On the rooftop above them, a figure crouched—lean, agile, draped in feathers and dark leathers. His hair was a messy cascade of deep violet, eyes glinting with playful disdain beneath the shadow of his raven-like mask.
Audric, the Shadow of the Blackwings.
He dropped down, landing with barely a sound, hands in his pockets.
Auren raised a brow. "Eavesdropping again?"
Audric stretched. "I call it observation."
Caelan chuckled, sheathing his blade. "Thank you for the privacy."
"You're welcome." Audric stepped forward, his grin lazy. "But really... that spar? You two were moving like a broken doll. Not to mention, that form of yours was hideous."
Auren's eyes narrowed. "Then perhaps you'd like to demonstrate your form."
"Gladly," Audric said, cracking his knuckles. "Two versus one. You'll probably still lose, but you'll learn a thing or two."
Caelan looked to Auren. "I'm in."
"Same," Auren replied flatly. "Try not to let him talk too much."
Audric bowed dramatically. "Oh, please. I'm about to do more than just talk."
The moment began like lightning.
Audric vanished, his form blending into shadow. A split second later, Caelan's coat fluttered—slashed along the hem.
He hadn't even seen the strike.
"Be more aware of your blind point," Audric murmured, Auren's already commanding, "Knight, behind him. Rook, left flank."
The soldiers blinked into place and rushed forward.
Audric toyed around them, his form flickering unnaturally fast. He slid across the Rook's path, sliced at its shadow—and the summon faltered, staggered by pain before vanishing in digital light.
"His attacks ignore your physical form," Caelan muttered. "He targets the shadow—then it cuts reality. That's a total cheat."
"I call it skill," Audric sang, appearing behind them with a wink.
Auren reacted instantly. "Bishop. Cast—now!"
A blast of magic surged toward Audric, but the assassin was already gone, slipping through a wall of darkness. A second later, Auren grunted—a light cut across his shoulder, shallow but stinging.
Caelan darted forward, blade glowing bright silver. "Not so fast—!"
Audric caught his blade with two fingers, the Void-infused steel halted mid-swing.
"You're too front, Blondie. You telegraph everything."
With a flick, he sent Caelan tumbling back, though gently enough not to injure.
Auren narrowed his gaze, already recalculating.
They lasted another minute before Audric tapped the floor with his boot, casting a shadow-wide glyph beneath them—and both Auren and Caelan froze.
Every shadow on the ground trembled.
Audric stood between them, hands behind his head. "Boom. Dead."
Silence.
Then he sighed, letting the shadow vanish.
"You both are growing," he said with a hint of approval. "But you're too focused on winning against each other. You need to fight like it's your last breath—because in the Tournament, it will be."
Auren straightened, wiping his brow. "And that's why you're here."
"Exactly." Audric turned. "I'm ten times stronger. But I'm holding back ten times as much. Learn to think on that scale as a comparison."
Caelan exhaled, brushing dirt from his shoulder. "And what made you such a generous mentor?"
Audric's grin faded.
For a moment, his gaze turned distant. How could he forgotten.
He saw it again—rain against stone. Blood on cobblestones. The Blackwing Hall burning in violet light.
He had no name when they found him. Just a child with nothing but himself.
The Blackwings took him in. Trained him. Molded him.
They gave him a mask. A role. A purpose.
Now, he is the Velarion's shadow.
"...Someone has to keep you brats alive," Audric muttered, flicking his hair back. "Consider it a good deeds of mine."
Auren tilted his head. "For what?"
"Your own honor," Audric said simply, before vanishing again—into feathers and shadow.
Only silence remained.
Caelan finally spoke. "He's... dramatic."
"And dangerous," Auren added. "Also very..irritating"
The two stood side by side, facing the empty courtyard.
their training had just begun.