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"I am sure the other guy has a mother who would worry just as much as I do!" Eleanor spat, whilst hurriedly collecting clothes and salves from various cupboards and drawings in a whirlwind of motherly medical care. "Just who on earth did you fight against?!"
"The Alderton's son," Cyran said, looking to his father with a knowing smirk.
"The Alderton lad? That weird little sh-," the house walls reverberated with the ringing of a pan rebounding off Virion's thick neck. Eleanor glaring from across the room, apparently satisfied with her aim. "Shrew. Always pulling wings off of flies and stomping on insects as a kid. I always knew he would be a tough opponent. So how good was he, son?"
"Well," Cyran looked down, fiddling with his hands, "I actually messed up a wisp walk and that is where my injuries came from. Other than that, he wasn't too much of a problem."
"The wisp walk will come to you with time and practice. Although you won't get the chance to do so if you practice it in a real fight you idiot!" Virion threw the offending pan to emphasize his point. "Fight with your brain. I have told you before, grace under pressure. Keep calm and think about your opponent with a rational mind. Or do you need a quick lesson before your next match?"
"I think I have it," Cyran said hurriedly, "besides the next match is the semi-final so we have a couple days to prepare." Cyran winced as his mother dabbed the blood away from his wounds and dressed them. He felt a fool for attemping a second wisp walk. He felt that after performing it once, he had reached some kind of breakthrough and, with Wyn's words of encouragement, would reach mastery of the technique in a quicker time than his father. Managing to learn a technique as complicated as wisp walking quicker than the Sentinel of the Sylvarran woods would be a huge boost to start his adventuring career. If it had worked that is. Realising his error and licking his wounds, Cyran took himself to bed.
Watching him ascend the stairs with an exhausted gait, Eleanor looked to Virion. "If it is the semi-finals, what are the chances of him winning? Should I be worried? Do I need more bandages" She asked him whilst clearing away bandages and ruby coloured water.
"The only cause for concern I know of for sure is the Forrora's kid. Now those two have some business to settle and, sage willing, there is no better stage. Other than him, I am hearing rumours of some other guy who wields an odd looking spear and has the skills to use it. But our son is tough. And he has something the other competitors lack," Virion remarked triumphantly.
"What would that be?" Eleanor replied.
"Me as his teacher!" Virion beamed, puffing his chest out, "there is no way he can lose to those mutts."
Cyran had left his days of preparing with little time to spare. After preparing his armour and weapons he had to tend to the needs of his body. He spent time stretching and honing further the muscles he was going to sorely count on in the upcoming fights. All with his younger brother, Arlen, watching and copying his every stretch trying to emulate his hero. The closer the semi-final day came the more nervous Cyran grew. He was aware that Rydel has advanced to the semi-final as well as the spear wielding mute. A yearning for righteous vengeance was all that came to mind whenever Rydel popped up but the spear wielder was an unknown. Not to mention that Cyran had limited experience in sparring with spear users. Though were he to be victorious then, if he had not already, he would surely capture the attention of a mentor Warden. Someone whom Cyran could learn all he could before starting a new life as an adventurer.
"Baby steps Cyran, lets get through todays match in one piece," he muttered to himself groggily as the suns rays lit up his face. Cyran leapt out of bed with all the energy he could, determined to enter the arena with as much good spirit as he could muster. Strapping on his gear, he plodded downstairs and wished his parents goodbye before going to the arena.
The village was quieter as Cyran passed through, now the preliminaries were over the village people were much more eager to witness the bouts, eager to see if their favourites progressed to the next round. So much so that the main plaza of the village seemed eerie in its stillness. Only the wind whistling past the buildings gave any sense of life. Until Cyran came closer to the arena grounds and felt a low grumble in the earth.
Passing by the same guards who let Cyran through the moment they saw him, he found that the earlier shaking was thunderous roars from the crowd. Shouting in exicitement for the match they were about to see. Seeing Galaeron perform his familiar speech and calling the next competitors up had Cyran taking deeper breaths than normal. He was trying to control his nerves in the face of such a spotlight. Never had he sparred with such an audience, especially an opponent that wasn't his father. Taking his position on the arena grounds, Cyran waited for his fellow competitor.
Approaching the arena was a tall elf with short dark hair encircling piercing green eyes. The stare from the youth was so intense that Cyran almost missed the spear he brought with him. Ornate looking yet practical, it looked dangerous although Cyran couldn't help but feel that there was something off about it.
"We meet again, I'm Cyran! I hope to have a good fight with you today," he shouted, bridging the distance with volume. He felt like keeping his distance against a weapon like that even though his father had told him about the appropriate distance to keep when facing spear users.
"Thren," the youth grunted back. His voice wasn't loud yet it still carried with a surprising force.
The gong erupted announcing the start of the match and the combatants both took their stances. Cyran withdrew his twin swords and warily watched Thren, unsure of what he should expect. The youth only held his spear in what seemed to be a lazy grip whilst wearing a mask of heavy concentration. The loud drone of the arena audience did nothing to sway him it seemed which only made Cyran more nervous about the fighting style Thren uses.
A strange sensation assaulted Cyran's senses, one that he just couldn't understand, as though he felt he should be moving. His eyes, however, would not leave the tip of Thren's spear. The weapon had such a distance between them that it could do no harm yet he couldn't shake the feeling that if he took his gaze away, he would be struck.
An orange glow surrounded the spear tip and from this flames were born that combined into a sphere. The coalescing flames grew in size and intensity until Cyran could feel the heat from where he stood. The sensation continued to gnaw at him until he gave in and began running. No sooner had he moved, the ball of flames exploded against the ground where he once stood, immolating the surrounding earth.
Cyran stood, mouth agape, looking at the stage before him. The whole arena had become silent, almost as if a curtain had veiled the combatants from the outside world. Thren strode through the flames, swiping his spear aside to extinguish the flames before him. Cyran brought his attention from his previous location to his opponent, looking at him with brand new eyes.
"Was that magic?!" he yelled, "I am so fucked,"