The royal training yard buzzed with the excited chatter of young children. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm orange glow over the courtyard. It wasn't often that the young princes and their friends were allowed to train, but today was one of those rare days. The adults often looked on from the balcony above, nodding in approval or shaking their heads at the clumsiness of the younger generation.
Arlen stood at the center, sweat dripping down his forehead, trying to focus. His heart raced with excitement as he darted around the yard, dodging mock attacks from his friends. The sounds of laughter and friendly competition filled the air, but Arlen was serious. He was determined to master his hand-to-hand combat.
He'd tried using a sword once. Well, maybe twice. But it didn't feel right. His father wielded a sword with such power, coating the blade in flames and striking down enemies. But Arlen… he liked his fists. He could move faster, react quicker. The sword always felt heavy, and besides, he liked the challenge of using only his body.
"Try to hit me, Arlen!" Cassia called out, swinging her wooden sword at him with a playful grin. She was about his age but quick, always getting the best of him in their sparring sessions.
"I will!" Arlen shouted back, crouching and sidestepping her strike. He tried to grab her wrist, but she was faster, twirling out of his reach.
Cassia laughed. "You're so slow today. Come on, you can do better than that!"
"Stop showing off, Cassia!" Tarek yelled from the sidelines, his voice a mix of teasing and frustration. His brother, Darian, stood beside him, watching the sparring match with amusement. Tarek's quick reflexes made him good at dodging, but he wasn't quite as skilled in actual combat yet.
Arlen turned back to Cassia, his focus returning. He knew he needed to get better, but he didn't want to be like everyone else. He didn't want a sword. He didn't want to be like his father, even though everyone expected him to be. He just wanted to fight on his own terms.
"I'm going to beat you this time!" Arlen said, his voice a little more determined as he squared up.
Before they could continue, Sir Rayen, the royal knight with earth magic, called over to them from the edge of the yard, his tone firm but not unkind.
"Alright, enough playing around, Arlen. You've been dodging enough. Let's see some real work. Come on, show me what you've got."
Arlen nodded eagerly, ready to prove himself. But Sir Rayen always pushed him harder than anyone else, his expectations as heavy as a stone. Rayen had always believed Arlen could do more, that he could master the art of swordplay if he just tried.
"You've got to stop dodging and get in there," Rayen continued. "You can't always avoid every blow. Sometimes you need to stand your ground."
Arlen looked at the knight, then back at his friends. "I don't need a sword," he said, a little stubbornly, his hands clenched into fists. "I'd rather fight with my fists."
Rayen raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "The sword is a tool, Arlen. It's an extension of your strength. Your father could set his sword aflame and cut through armies. You could do the same."
Arlen grimaced but didn't respond. He didn't want to hear about his father. The idea of wielding a sword felt unnatural to him. He preferred feeling the direct connection between himself and his opponent. Fists were faster, freer.
"You'll see," Arlen said confidently, and then he dashed forward, using his speed to try and dodge Cassia's next strike.
But as he did, something strange happened.
A burst of heat spread through his arm. He hadn't planned it, but before he knew it, his fist erupted into flame. The fire blazed brightly, swirling around his hand like a dancing inferno. It was as if it had a mind of its own, roaring with power.
Arlen's heart skipped a beat. What is this?
He couldn't stop it. But instead of panicking, his instincts kicked in. He threw his flaming fist toward Rayen, aiming at his mentor's chest.
Rayen didn't even flinch. His body shifted as the ground beneath him rose in defense, a wall of stone suddenly thrusting up in front of him, just in time to block the fiery punch. The flames collided with the stone, hissing and crackling against the earth. It was a collision of raw power and magic.
The kids watching gasped. "What?!" Cassia's voice was filled with awe, and even Tarek, who usually loved to tease Arlen, looked on with wide eyes.
Arlen stood frozen for a moment, staring at his hand. The flames had subsided, but they had felt… alive. His heart pounded in his chest as his eyes flickered toward Rayen.
Rayen, for the first time, seemed stunned. "I didn't know you could do that…" His voice was low, but there was a trace of excitement in his tone. He lowered the stone wall, revealing Arlen's hand. The heat lingered in the air, like the remnants of a firestorm.
"Do you see?" Arlen said, looking at his mentor with a proud smile. "I don't need a sword. This is all I need."
But before Rayen could respond, Arlen's moment of triumph was cut short.
Rayen raised an eyebrow, stepping forward. "You've got fire, I'll give you that. But you're still too wild. You need discipline."
Arlen gritted his teeth. He didn't want discipline. He didn't want to be like everyone else. But he couldn't deny the rush—the power—that surged through him just then.
"I'm ready for more," Arlen said, ignoring his previous uncertainty. He could feel something building inside him—an urge to test his limits, to push beyond what was expected of him.
Rayen smirked. "I can see that. But there's more to fighting than just raw strength. Come on, show me your focus now."
Arlen squared up, getting ready for the next round.
At the same time, Ina, who had been sitting on the sidelines with Tarek and Darian, stood up suddenly. He looked like he was about to run over to join them, his face filled with excitement. But as he took a step, something odd happened.
He seemed to lift off the ground—just an inch, maybe two, his small body hovering in the air for a moment. It was so subtle that at first, Arlen thought it was just his imagination.
But then, Arlen's eyes locked on Ina, wide with surprise. His brother's feet hovered above the ground, a faint glow in his eyes. It lasted only a second before Ina's feet touched the ground again, and he quickly glanced away, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
"I—I wasn't flying," Ina stammered, his voice quiet and unsure. "I—I don't know what happened."
Arlen's heart raced. What? Had he just seen what he thought he saw? He wanted to ask, but before he could say anything, Sir Rayen's voice cut through the moment.
"Arlen, focus!"
Arlen turned back to Sir Rayen, his mind still reeling from what he'd just seen. Ina had been floating, just barely, but enough for Arlen to know it wasn't a trick of the light.
"Sorry," Arlen muttered, shaking his head and trying to refocus on his training. But in the back of his mind, he couldn't stop thinking about his younger brother's strange moment.
"Don't apologize, just show me what you can do," Rayen urged, already moving into a defensive stance.
Arlen gritted his teeth and advanced again, trying to push the thought of his brother's powers out of his head. He had his own fight to focus on. He wasn't about to be distracted by something as strange as that.
But as he went to strike, he couldn't help but glance back at Ina one more time. Ina was sitting on the ground now, his expression uncertain, but Arlen's eyes narrowed.
I'll get to the bottom of this later, he promised himself.