The days passed.
There was still no official announcement or exact date, but everyone could feel it drawing closer.
The air inside the fortress had changed. Training rhythms became harsher. Instructors now punished even the smallest mistake with calculated severity.
For Aren, time had stopped mattering.
He had become trapped in Sir Kaelreth's training routine.
Waking before the horn. Training until his muscles stopped responding, serving in daily duties, training again, collapsing from exhaustion, and repeating.
The knight gave him no room to breathe.
If anything, he made it more demanding with each passing day.
"Again," Kaelreth ordered, striking Aren's training sword at an impossible angle. "You reacted too late."
Aren stepped back half a pace, corrected his guard, and moved forward again.
"I didn't react late," he said through clenched teeth. "I waited until the last moment to increase my chances of blocking."
Kaelreth twisted his wrist and forced Aren to block from below, making him tilt his body.
"Excuses arrive late too," he replied. "And poorly executed reactions are just as deadly as the attacks they try to stop."
The impact rattled Aren's arms. Sweat ran down his back, soaking his shirt.
Kaelreth observed him in silence for several more exchanges.
"That was better," he finally conceded. "But you still think too much about every move."
Aren took a deep breath.
"Is that bad?"
"In real combat," Kaelreth replied, lowering his sword, "thinking is a luxury you can only afford if you have room to fail."
Aren clenched his teeth.
The knight turned away.
"Take a short break. Then report back for internal patrol," he ordered. "Go. Move."
—
That afternoon, Aren noticed that it wasn't just the training that had changed.
Assignments had become more specific and selective.
Hal and Lysander still spent most of their time together, always talking too much and trying to project confidence they didn't really have. Bromir remained steady, focused on improving his defense every day. Aveline trained with fierce intensity, as if every day were a personal countdown.
And Eryndor…
Eryndor was drifting away.
He didn't announce it or give explanations.
He simply stopped coming back with them.
Aren first noticed it on the third day of the new training cycle, after the incident with Hal.
At first, he thought it was coincidence, but as the days passed, it became clear it wasn't.
The elf trained alone, far from the main yard, using forgotten corners or the earliest hours of dawn. He no longer shared observations or corrected the group's stances. He no longer stayed after training to discuss strategies or analyze mistakes.
It was as if the group had stopped mattering.
And Aren couldn't help feeling guilty about it.
He found Eryndor at dusk, practicing footwork with a worn training sword. His movements were precise, almost cold, but there was a new tension in them.
"I see you're training more too," Aren said, approaching.
Eryndor didn't stop.
"The tournament doesn't wait for those who hesitate."
Aren leaned against a stone pillar.
"That sounds like a reproach."
The elf finally stopped. He turned his head just enough to look at Aren from the corner of his eye.
"It isn't. Unless you feel identified."
There was a brief silence.
"I want to ask you something," Eryndor said. "That power… the one you used against the instructor."
Aren felt his stomach tighten.
"Have you used it again?"
Aren slowly shook his head.
"No…"
Eryndor watched him closely, as if measuring not only the answer, but everything behind it.
"You can't replicate it?"
"I don't even know how I did it," Aren admitted. "I don't think it depends only on me."
The silence that followed was different.
Not uncomfortable.
Final.
Eryndor lowered his sword.
"Then maybe I overestimated you," he said, disappointed. "I thought I'd have two worthy rivals in the tournament, but it seems that won't be the case."
The words carried no anger, no venom. That was exactly why they hurt more.
Aren opened his mouth, but found no words.
Eryndor resumed training.
"The tournament doesn't reward potential," he added. "It rewards what you can do when people are watching."
Aren remained there for a few seconds longer.
Eryndor didn't look at him again.
—
That night, Aren trained once more.
He repeated the basics until his arms trembled, and his breathing became irregular. He thought of Kaelreth, Aveline, Eryndor, and Lylia.
Everyone he knew seemed to be moving forward, each in their own way.
And how he was trapped between who he was and what he still couldn't reach.
—
The next day, the atmosphere was heavy.
The rumors were confirmed: the tournament would be soon. One week remained.
After the announcement, everything intensified. Instructors no longer hid their intent to observe. Knights appeared more frequently in the yards, evaluating in silence.
During a break, Hal couldn't hold himself back.
"They say nobles from other kingdoms will attend," he whispered. "And that the saint candidate will be sitting beside the prince."
Lysander nodded dramatically.
"Imagine winning in front of her…"
Aren closed his eyes.
"Focus," he said coldly. "Or you'll be removed before the tournament even begins."
Hal looked at him in surprise, then let out a small sigh.
"The big guy's right, Lysander," he said resignedly. "I don't think you want Aren challenging you to a duel."
A few steps away, Aveline trained without breaking rhythm. When Aren looked at her, she didn't look back… but she smiled faintly, as if she knew he was there.
It wasn't a mocking smile.
It was one of challenge and recognition.
—
One night, Kaelreth found Aren still training after the final exercise.
"I see you're still here," he said. "That already says something."
Aren was breathing heavily.
"I won't give up."
Kaelreth studied him for a moment.
"You'd better not," he replied. "The tournament will show no mercy."
Aren nodded.
When he was alone again, he looked once more at the emblem on his chest.
The incomplete circle.
The sword piercing through it.
The tournament was close.
And Aren was not the only one preparing to win it.