The night in "our" guest room was, in reality, a cell elegantly disguised. The walls were carved from living wood, the bed soft, and the view of Lytheria's hanging gardens breathtaking. But the door was locked from the outside, and two impassive elven guards stood watch. The beauty of the place was as oppressive as a dark dungeon.
I couldn't sleep. The weight of the coming duel dulled my limbs and dried my mouth. Kaelen. An ambassador, yes, but also an elven warrior trained for centuries. I, Takumi, had a few weeks of clumsy sword training and a collection of epic failures as my main combat experience. The prospect was so laughable it would have been comical—if it weren't so terribly deadly.
The fragments in my backpack, placed in a corner of the room, whispered endlessly. Their mental voices were like scratches on the surface of my mind. "Fear…" one hissed. "Anger…" whispered another, sharper one. "Use us… Let us flow… He is weak… You can be strong…"
I ignored them, clenching my fists. Trusting them was like making a pact with a hurricane—momentary power followed by certain destruction.
The dawn light began to filter through the leaves of the Silver Tree, painting the sky with shades of pink and orange. It was ironically beautiful.
The door opened. Sylva and Gorr entered, their faces grim. They had been confined separately.
"Are you mentally prepared, mortal?" Gorr growled bluntly.
"Prepared to die? More or less," I replied, my voice steadier than I expected.
Sylva tossed a small leather pouch onto the bed. "This is all we could get. Gorr distracted a guard, I searched Kaelen's quarters. He's not just a politician. He's a master of short blades and illusion magic. His style is fast, dirty, and designed to end fights quickly."
Inside the pouch was a small glass vial containing a murky liquid. "Paralysis Oil," she explained. "Extracted from a rare flower. It's not lethal, but it numbs the muscles for a few seconds. A hunter's tool. Use it wisely. And don't expect fair play."
Fair play. The idea was absurd. This wasn't a tournament. It was an execution in disguise.
Elara and Vespera were brought in soon after. Elara ran to me, her eyes red with worry. "Takumi, you can't do this! It's a death sentence!"
Vespera, on the other hand, looked almost euphoric. "A duel to the death! That's amazing! I can be your second! Or your… fourth? Whatever! I can yell insults at him!"
Liriel was the last to enter, escorted by two guards. She looked notably subdued, her pride replaced by a thoughtful expression.
"Mortals and their brutal domination rituals," she murmured, gazing out the window. Then she turned to me. "Listen, Takumi. I… acknowledge that my earlier actions may have… contributed to this precarious situation."
That was the closest thing to an apology I'd ever heard from her.
"Do you have a plan?" she asked seriously.
"Does dying quickly count as a plan?" I replied dryly.
She didn't laugh. Instead, she stepped closer and placed her hand on my forehead. Her fingers were surprisingly warm. "A blessing, then. Not of power, for that would violate their foolish rules and I… well, my power is somewhat… unavailable. But of clarity. So you can see the strings that pull the puppet."
A gentle, calming warmth flowed from her hand into my mind. For a moment, the fog of panic receded. My senses felt sharper. I could hear the rustle of leaves outside with crystal clarity, feel the faint air currents in the room. A tiny advantage—but it was something.
"Thank you, Liriel."
She nodded, withdrawing her hand. "Don't thank me yet. Survive first."
The Grand Hall of Dawn was a natural amphitheater formed by the gigantic roots of the Silver Tree, with steps that could seat hundreds of elves. The royal family sat on an elevated platform, their expressions impenetrable. The air was heavy with silent, deadly expectation.
In the center of the atrium, Kaelen was already waiting. He wore light armor made of reinforced leather with silver filigree, and in each hand he held a short, curved blade—a pair of elven shamshirs. He moved with fluid grace, warming up with lethal dance-like passes. His smile was a flick of a blade.
I was led into the arena, wearing my worn travel clothes. I felt out of place and unprepared. A dwarf, apparently the Master of Arms, approached and offered a selection of swords. I chose a simple, well-balanced longsword—the closest thing to what I was used to. It felt heavy and lifeless in my hand compared to Kaelen's living blades.
King Elandor rose. "Let this duel resolve the dispute between our guests and the crown of Lytheria. May the champions fight with honor. Until first blood… or death."
Surrender. I looked at Kaelen. His eyes promised only the latter.
The horn sounded.
Kaelen moved like lightning. There was no hesitation, no testing of the waters. He closed the distance in the blink of an eye, his blades slicing the air in a silver whirlwind. I raised my sword instinctively, blocking the first strike. The impact numbed my arm up to the shoulder. He was incredibly strong.
He danced around me, his feet barely touching the ground. Blows came from every angle—high, low, from the sides. I retreated, parrying and dodging desperately. My sword felt like a heavy log compared to his agility. A quick slash slipped past my guard and cut my arm. Another tore into my leg. The pain was sharp, but the panic was worse. He was circling me, marking me, wearing me down.
Liriel's blessing, however, kept my mind focused. I could see his patterns. His attacks weren't random. He was driving me toward a specific spot—near a particularly large, gnarled root.
He struck high, an obvious feint. I knew that. But I also knew that if I didn't react, he would simply change tactics. Instead of blocking, I rolled to the side—straight into the path of his true attack, a low slash meant to sever my tendons.
His blade hissed through the air where my leg had been a second earlier. The commitment of his movement left him slightly off balance for a fraction of a second.
That was my opening.
Not to strike with the sword—I wasn't fast enough for that. Instead, my left hand, which had remained clenched at my side, opened. The small vial of paralysis oil flew—not toward him, but to the ground at his feet.
The vial shattered. The murky liquid splashed onto his boots and leg armor.
Kaelen hesitated, confusion flickering across his face. He had expected a counterattack, not this. Then the effect began. His right foot, where most of the oil had hit, seemed to stick to the ground. His muscles refused to obey. He stumbled, his fluid balance broken.
A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd. This wasn't an elven move. It was a dirty trick. A hunter's trick.
I didn't wait. I lunged forward, my heavy sword cutting through the air in a wide arc. Kaelen, fighting against the paralysis, raised one of his shamshirs to block. The clash of blades rang through the arena. For the first time, he staggered back.
Anger replaced the confusion in his eyes. "Cheater!" he spat.
"Strategy!" I shouted back, striking again.
The paralysis was fading fast, but I had gained a precious moment of initiative. I attacked with brute strength—heavy blows he was forced to absorb. His speed advantage was temporarily neutralized.
Then he turned to his own magic. He whispered a word, and an illusion of himself split from the original, charging at me. It was perfect—indistinguishable.
Liriel's blessing pulsed in my mind. "See…"
And I did. Not with my eyes, but with the sharpened perception she had given me. The illusion didn't displace the air the same way. The fallen leaves on the ground didn't shift beneath its feet. I ignored the fake and kept my attack on the real Kaelen.
His eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't expected me to see through his magic so easily. My sword struck his guard, forcing him back another step. He was close to the twisted root now.
The fragments in my mind screamed. "NOW! KILL! USE US!" The temptation was overwhelming—a surge of power to end everything. I felt a sinister warmth crawl up my arm, rising toward my sword.
No. I fought it, forcing the energy down. I wouldn't give in.
Instead, I used his moment of surprise. I stepped boldly forward, inside his guard, and struck him with the pommel of my sword under his chin.
It was a crude blow, not lethal—but enough. His head snapped back, and he stumbled, his heel catching on the large root behind him. He fell hard, one of his shamshirs flying from his hand.
In an instant, I was on top of him, the tip of my sword pressed against his throat.
The arena fell silent.
He looked up at me—shock, rage, and a hint of something like respect in his eyes. He was at my mercy.
I breathed heavily, blood running from my wounds. The warmth of the fragment receded, replaced by the cold adrenaline of victory.
"Surrender," I said, my voice hoarse but steady.
He spat blood onto the ground. "Kill me, human. That's what a true warrior would do."
I looked to the fragments in my mind, to the darkness they offered. Then I looked to my group in the stands—Elara with her hands over her mouth, Vespera jumping with excitement, Liriel with a rare smile of approval.
"I'm not a warrior," I said, lowering my sword. "I'm an adventurer. And adventurers… we survive."
I stepped back, giving him space to rise.
The silence in the arena was broken by a single, slow clap. It came from King Elandor. He stood, his face still impassive, but his eyes calculating.
"An unexpected victory," he announced. "And a… merciful one. Your safe passage will be honored. You may leave in peace."
Kaelen rose, picking up his blade. He stared at me for a long moment, then inclined his head in a brief, almost imperceptible nod. It was the most gratitude I would receive.
As we gathered, relieved and dazed, Elandor spoke again, his voice carrying through the entire arena.
"But know this, bearers of the fragments. The threat you carry will not be forgotten by Lytheria. You may have earned your freedom today… but the war for the fate of these relics has only just begun."
His words hung in the air, colder than the blade at Kaelen's throat. We had survived the duel, but a much greater storm was coming. And the fragments in my backpack laughed, knowing that sooner or later, I would have no choice but to heed them.