Felice Ronin POV
The sky above was just like it always was—a swirling mess of gray clouds that seemed perpetually on the verge of a downpour but never quite there.
My spear, with its twin blue blades that looked like they were stolen from some alien's swiss army knife, whistled through the air as I lunged forward. My target? The stone-faced, white-haired man standing at the other end of the arena, who looked to have been molded after the gods themselves.
That's my grandfather, Geralt Ronin. Don't let the lack of wrinkles fool you—he was old, he never said how old but I knew he was older than any normal human lifespan allowed. Being a Primordial Devourer comes with some pretty sweet perks, almost eternal youth being one of them.
"Again," he commanded, his voice as warm and inviting as a frozen lake in winter.
I nodded, trying not to show how much I wanted to roll my eyes. Instead, I focused on the power I'd gained from my latest (and first) devouring—a Cherub, a feral rank, seraph class beast, which despite its cute name, was about as cuddly as a rabid porcupine with anger management issues.
Wings sprouted from my back, delicate and translucent with a soft blue glow, something I had gained solely because I had fully consumed the beast. They looked like they belonged on a fairy figurine, but don't be fooled—these wings gave me speed, speed unmatched by anyone in my rank.
With a powerful flap that probably looked ridiculous, I shot forward. The world blurred around me as I closed the distance between us faster than you could say "overcompensating grandfather issues."
My spear thrust forward, aiming for grandfather's chest. He parried with a casual flick of his wrist, like he was shooing away an annoying fly. The clash of our weapons sent sparks flying, momentarily lighting up the gloomy arena.
I spun, using the momentum to bring my spear around for another strike. He blocked it again, his movements smooth and uncaring as always, he always seemed to know where I would attack before I even did it.
"Too predictable," he said, shoving me back with enough force to send me stumbling. My wings fluttered frantically, catching the air and stopping me from an embarrassing fall, which would have been only more embarrassing with my grandfather watching.
Frustration bubbled up inside me, I had the raw power of one of the most powerful feral ranks in existence, and yet against my grandfather, I might as well have been wielding a pool noodle.
Time to change tactics. I summoned balls of light around me, like giant sized fireflies, exploding fireflies that is, and sent them hurtling towards grandfather in a chaotic swarm. They darted and weaved, a dizzying lightshow to confuse him, to get a clean hit something, anything.
My grandfather's eyes flicked between the orbs, his expression unchanged. Then, with movements too fast for my eyes to follow, he spun his spear, slicing through each orb with surgical precision. The lights shattered, dispersing into glittering particles that faded away in a matter of seconds.
I didn't give him time to gloat (not that he would—the man had the emotional range of a brick). I pushed forward, using my wings to dash left and right in a zigzag pattern. My spear became a blur as I unleashed a barrage of strikes, aiming for every vulnerable point I could reach.
But he moved like he was in his own personal time zone (which honestly could have been a power of one of his devourings), always a step ahead. He deflected each strike with the barest of movements, his red eyes never leaving mine.
"Too much reliance on your powers," he remarked, his voice infuriatingly calm as he turned aside another of my attacks. "Speed alone won't win you a fight. You need strategy, control."
I wanted to snap back with a witty retort, but my burning muscles and ragged breath had other ideas. Every part of me screamed to push harder, to prove I wasn't just some kid playing with borrowed power.
I pulled back, gathering myself for one last assault. Then, with a burst of speed that left my wings aching, I surged forward. My spear slashed upward in a feint before I twisted mid-air, bringing the other end down in a powerful strike.
For a glorious moment, I thought I'd finally caught him off guard. But his spear shot up at the last second, meeting mine with a resounding clang that echoed through the arena. The force of his block sent me skidding across the stone floor, my feet scrambling for purchase.
"Better," he said, lowering his spear slightly. "Strategical unpredictability is the best way to win a fight. But you're still hesitating."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the words died in my throat. I didn't feel like I was hesitating but if he said I was, then I was. If there was one thing my grandfather was never wrong in that would be battles.
"One more time," I said, setting my stance.
He nodded, raising his spear again. This time, though, something changed in his posture. The overwhelming aura of power that usually surrounded him seemed to dim, becoming more... manageable. Was he holding back, even more?
I didn't have time to ponder it as I launched into my attack. My wings carried me in dizzying patterns around him, my spear a blur of blue as I struck from every angle. Light orbs spun around us in a chaotic dance, exploding into bursts of radiance whenever his spear touched them.
For a moment, it felt like I was everywhere at once. My strikes came faster, harder, each one fueled by a determination to prove myself. I could see a flicker of... something in his eyes. Yet it vanished just as quickly as it had come.
But then, just as I thought I might be gaining the upper hand, his movements changed. He spun his spear in a complex pattern, creating a whirlwind that scattered my light orbs and forced me back. I realized with a start that he'd been lowering his rank, holding back to somewhere even below Neophyte rank, without using any of his consumed beasts' powers—and he was still overpowering me.
"Good," he said, his breath slightly quicker than before. "You're getting accustomed to the Cherub's ability quickly, it seems it was the perfect beast for you to devour. But remember, raw strength isn't everything. Control will always overpower raw power."
To demonstrate his point, he lunged forward with breathtaking speed. His spear became a silver blur, striking from angles I didn't even know existed. I parried frantically, my wings straining as I tried to keep up with his assault.
For several intense minutes, we danced across the arena in a deadly ballet of flashing blades and bursting light. Each clash of our weapons sent shockwaves through the air, stirring up dust from the ancient stones beneath our feet.
I was holding my own, barely, but I could feel my strength waning. Sweat poured down my face, and my muscles screamed in protest with every movement. My grandfather, on the other hand, looked like he could keep this up for days.
In a last, desperate move, I gathered every ounce of power I had left. My wings flared with intense light, momentarily blinding in their brilliance. I shot forward, my spear aimed directly at his chest.
For a split second, I thought I had him. But then, with a move so fast it defied logic, he sidestepped my attack. His spear swept low, catching my legs and sending me tumbling to the ground. I hit the stone floor hard, my weapon clattering away as my wings flickered and disappeared.
I lay there, gasping for breath, every part of me aching. Grandfather stood over me, his spear pointed at my throat—not threateningly, but as a reminder of how easily he could have ended this fight at any moment.
"You're sloppy," he said, and I could have sworn I heard a note of pride in his voice. "You never, never lose grip on your weapon even when you're down you understand."
I nodded, too exhausted to speak. I stood up slowly and walked even slower to my spear, without it in my hand I felt naked. My hand closed around the metal, reminding me of something I had been wanting to ask for a few days already, I turned around to face my grandfather.
"Master," I said, my voice hoarse. "I want to leave."
His eyebrow raised a fraction of an inch—the equivalent of jaw-dropping shock for him.
"Leave?" he repeated.
"I want to travel on my own," I explained, the words tumbling out. "See the world, face my own challenges. I need to be more than just your student. I can't just stay here, I need to become a Devourer I can be proud of."
There was a long silence. My grandfather's eyes bore into mine, searching for something.
Then, to my surprise, he nodded.
"Perhaps it is time," he said, his voice softer than I'd ever heard it. "There is a place you should go—the City of Prodigy, Acheron. It's one of the few actually good cities remaining, at least it was that way the last time I went there."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sealed letter. "Take this. It bears my seal—an eye surrounded by wings and rings. It will ensure you're treated well in the city."
I took the letter, feeling the weight of its importance in my hands. "Which direction should I go?"
Geralt pointed towards the distant mountains. "East, beyond the Shadowpeak range. Just know that if you decide to do this, you will be truly leaving both your training and me, no matter the situation even if it's life threatening I won't be there to save you. Do you understand?"
I nodded, a mix of excitement and apprehension swirling in my chest. "I understand, Master. I won't let you down."
A ghost of a smile touched his lips. "I know you won't, Felice. Just remember my most important teaching: no matter what, don't let the hunger consume you. Understand?"
"I understand," I said, getting to my feet. I looked at my grandfather, seeing him not just as my stern teacher, but as someone who truly cared for me. "I'll make you proud, grandpa."
His eyes widened slightly before he nodded, I turned and left the arena, my steps becoming more confident with each passing moment. I was finally going to leave this place, I couldn't wait to see what the world had to offer.
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Geralt Ronin POV
I watched my granddaughter's retreating form, a complex mix of emotions stirring in his chest. Pride, concern, and a deep, aching sadness I hadn't felt in sixteen years.
'You would have been proud,' I thought, memories of my daughter and son in law flashing through my eyes.
I sighed, my age suddenly weighing heavily upon me. The words I had spoken—about not coming to her aid—were a lie, of course. A necessary push to make her believe in her own strength.
But the truth was, I would move heaven and earth to protect her if she were truly in danger, after all I had already failed to protect my family once, and I was going to make sure it wouldn't happen again.
'Be safe, little angel,' I thought, my hand unconsciously clenching around my spear. 'And come back to me so you can one day take my mantle.'
As Felice disappeared from view, I turned back to the empty arena. The training grounds suddenly felt vast and hollow without her presence.
I closed my eyes, letting the cool wind wash over me, then I felt it, the all consuming hunger it was growing stronger by the day and I wasn't sure how many more years I could take of it, before I fully lost my rationality, I had closed off my emotions but even then it grew little by little I could last a decade, two at most before I was consumed.
"Haah". I released a sigh I hadn't realize I had been holding.
A/N: Welp I'm trying out an original. Also these five people are gonna be our protagonists though we will focus mainly on Aell since he knows as much about this world as we do which is basically nothing.