As Leonel stepped down from the arena, he felt the weight of countless gazes pressing in on him, heavy as stone. The hall had grown eerily silent, as if the very air held its breath. Yet, amidst the sea of stunned faces, Leonel felt something sharper—something that cut through the silence like the edge of a blade.
His steps faltered. Instinct tugged at him, urging him to look up. And there, standing in the shadows of the grand observation balcony, was a figure. Cloaked in shadow, just out of reach of the light, the figure's presence was unmistakable. Leonel couldn't make out the details, but he could feel it—a quiet, overwhelming power radiating from the stranger.
Stronger than Father, Leonel realized, his heart giving a single, uneasy thud.
It wasn't fear that gripped him. No, it was something else—something like awe, laced with caution. He stared up, trying to glean more, but before he could, the figure tilted his head slightly, as though amused. Leonel barely caught the faint words that slipped from the man's lips.
"Oh? He can feel my gaze? That's… unexpected."
And then the presence was gone. The stranger turned, swallowed whole by the shadows as if he'd never been there at all.
Leonel blinked, the tension that had coiled in his shoulders slowly easing. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Who was that? Whoever they were, their power was clear enough to leave an impression, and yet... they hadn't felt hostile. Not yet.
Before he could lose himself in thought, something else pulled his attention—a different kind of intensity.
"Brother! Brother!"
A streak of silver-gray hair and boundless energy barreled toward him. Leonel barely had time to react before his five-year-old sister, Selene, launched herself into his arms. Her small hands clutched at his sleeve, and her face was alight with excitement.
"You were amazing out there!" she exclaimed, her voice brimming with uncontainable pride.
Leonel blinked, caught completely off guard. Of all the reactions he had expected, this wasn't one of them. "You're... not scared?" he asked, a hint of disbelief slipping into his voice.
"Scared? No way!" Selene's bright eyes sparkled, practically glowing with admiration. "The way you blocked his sword—it was like whoosh! And then you stood there so tall and scary and said—what was it again? Oh!—'Do you want to die, Garic Stormblade?'"
She puffed out her chest and did her best impression of him, deepening her voice into something absurdly gruff. "So cooooool, Brother! You have to teach me how to do that!"
Leonel choked on a laugh, trying and failing to keep a straight face. "Selene... you shouldn't be copying that," he said, crouching so he was eye-level with her. "You're too small for swords. You might get hurt."
"I'm not small!" she declared indignantly, stomping one tiny foot. "I'm five! That's almost grown-up!"
Leonel grinned, unable to resist the way her pout made her cheeks puff out like a chipmunk's. "Is that so? Well, maybe when you're a little bigger, I'll teach you," he said, reaching out to ruffle her hair.
Selene scowled at the gesture, swatting his hand away with a dramatic huff. "Hmph! Fine! But you have to promise, Brother! Promise!"
"Alright, alright." Leonel raised his hands in surrender, a warm smile tugging at his lips. "I promise. Just don't go threatening anyone with 'Do you want to die?' That's not something you should repeat."
"But it sounded so cool!" she insisted, dissolving into giggles.
Leonel shook his head, his smile softening. Somehow, his ferocious outburst in the arena had been transformed into a grand, heroic tale in Selene's eyes. Her unshakable adoration was both humbling and grounding. For the first time all day, the tension in his chest began to loosen.
Lady Seraphina's clear voice suddenly rang through the hall, breaking through the crowd's murmur.
"Due to unforeseen circumstances, today's competition will be delayed. The semi-final matches will resume tomorrow, promptly at 9 a.m. Participants, use this time to rest and prepare."
A ripple of surprise washed through the crowd, but relief quickly followed. Exhausted fighters slumped with gratitude, murmuring amongst themselves. Leonel was surprised too, though he wasn't about to argue.
I could use the rest, he thought, stretching his arms as Selene tugged at his hand.
"Can we go home now, Brother?" she asked eagerly, looking up at him with bright eyes.
Leonel smiled faintly. "Yeah. Let's go."
Without a second thought, he scooped her up, earning a delighted squeal as she wrapped her arms around his neck. As they left the hall, he ignored the lingering gazes of the crowd. Selene's chatter—innocent and bubbly—kept his focus where it mattered.
Back at the Graythorn mansion, Leonel carried Selene to her room, though she clung stubbornly to him.
"Selene, it's time for bed," he said, trying to set her down.
"Nooo," she whined, pouting dramatically. "Stay with me for a bit! You promised you weren't tired!"
Leonel sighed loudly, though he was smiling. "I am tired. I just fought a duel, remember?"
"You didn't even look tired!" she accused, narrowing her eyes. "You didn't even look like you were trying!"
"That's because I'm just that good," he replied with a crooked grin.
"Hmph. Show-off."
With some coaxing, he finally settled her into bed. She curled up beneath her blankets, still grumbling about "cool brothers" who didn't stay long enough.
As Leonel left, he heard her murmur softly into the quiet, "Brother is still the coolest..."
He shook his head, chuckling to himself. She really is something else.
When he reached his own room, someone was already waiting for him—Mariella, his longtime nanny.
"Welcome back, young master," she greeted warmly, setting a tray of food on the table.
Leonel groaned. "Nanny, please don't call me that. Just Leonel. How many times do I have to tell you?"
Mariella shot him a look that could shame thunderclouds into retreating. "How dare I call the young lord by name? The audacity."
Leonel sighed, exasperated. "You're impossible."
"You'll live," she replied, smirking as she handed him a warm towel. "Eat first, then clean up. You look like you've been through a war."
Leonel smiled faintly. "It felt like one."
Once Mariella left, Leonel sat on the edge of his bed, the room finally quiet. He absentmindedly picked at the food on the tray, his brow furrowed as his thoughts wandered back to the arena. Back to Garic Stormblade. Back to the way his own voice had sounded—sharp, cold, foreign.
He sighed, his shoulders sagging. What was that?
The words he'd spoken replayed in his mind. The look on Garic's face. The stunned silence that had followed. It all felt… wrong. Even if he'd won, even if he'd protected Ronald, something about it gnawed at him.
I need to be better than this.
It wasn't the kind of impression he wanted to leave, especially on those closest to him.
Father always said true strength lies in restraint.
Leonel closed his eyes, the image of his father's calm face surfacing in his thoughts. Duke Alistair Graythorn, the man whose name was synonymous with composure and discipline, never faltered. His father's strength wasn't loud or explosive—it was steady, unwavering, a force that inspired confidence.
I can't let myself turn into a monster while protecting them. I have to be better.
Leonel stood, ignoring the soreness that clawed at his limbs, and reached for the training sword leaning against the wall. His gaze fell on the weapon for a long moment, the polished wood feeling heavier than steel in his hands.
"I'll fix it," he whispered to himself, the words cutting through the silence of the room. "Tomorrow, I'll prove that my strength isn't a flash of rage… but a force that protects."
He stepped to the center of the room, feet sliding into a stance as natural as breathing. He drew in a steady breath and let the world fade. The crackling of the hearth, the wind tapping against the window—all of it dissolved. Only his heartbeat and the sound of the blade cutting through the air remained.
Calm. Precise. Unshakable.
The sword moved in slow, deliberate arcs. His muscles ached, but he pushed through, forcing his body to obey. Every swing became sharper, every step more disciplined. Sweat dripped from his brow, tracing lines down his face, but he didn't stop.
This is how I will grow.
After what felt like hours, Leonel finally stilled, lowering the sword. He let out a shaky breath, the weight on his chest lifting ever so slightly. He sat back down, resting his arms on his knees as he stared at the floor, his mind clearer but no less weary.
And then came a knock.
"Leonel?"
His head snapped up. It was his mother's voice.
"Come in," he called, straightening as the door creaked open.
Lady Seraphina Graythorn stepped into the room, every movement graceful yet purposeful. She didn't speak at first, her sharp, discerning eyes taking in the sight of him—his sweat-soaked shirt, the training sword by his side, the exhaustion in his posture. And then, without warning, she flicked him squarely on the forehead.
"Ow! Mother!" Leonel yelped, rubbing the sore spot with a glare of mock indignation. "What was that for?"
"For worrying me half to death today," Seraphina said, crossing her arms as her expression hardened. "Do you have any idea the kind of chaos you caused? Interrupting a duel, disappearing in an instant… Honestly, Leonel, what were you thinking?"
Leonel ducked his head, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips. "I was saving Ronald. Doesn't that count for something?"
"It does," Seraphina admitted, though her tone remained firm. "But the way you did it…" Her eyes softened slightly. "It wasn't like you, Leonel. You were reckless. And for a moment…" She hesitated, then shook her head. "Do you even realize how terrifying you looked?"
Leonel blinked, her words hitting him like a splash of cold water. "Terrifying? Me?"
"Yes, you," Seraphina said, her voice quiet but firm. She moved closer, lowering herself to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. "I've seen men consumed by rage on the battlefield. It's a terrible thing, Leonel. For just a moment today… you looked no different."
Leonel's shoulders slumped, the sting of her words sharper than any blade. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Seraphina lifted a hand, silencing him with a look.
"Listen to me," she said softly, placing a hand on his cheek. Her touch was warm, grounding. "Strength isn't about how hard you strike. It's about how well you protect. You're not a brute, Leonel. You are my son. A Graythorn. And we do not lose ourselves to anger."
Leonel swallowed thickly, her words cutting through the knot in his chest. "I know, Mother. I let it get to me. I… I promise, I'll work on it."
Seraphina studied him for a long moment before her expression softened into a faint smile. She brushed a lock of damp hair from his forehead. "Good. Your father and I believe in you. Don't forget that."
Leonel managed a small smile of his own. "Thanks, Mother. I'll make you proud."
Seraphina rose to her feet, the sternness in her posture softening just a touch. "Get some rest. Tomorrow is another day."
She turned toward the door, but Leonel called after her. "Wait!"
She paused, arching a brow.
"You're not going to say how cool I looked today? Blocking Garic's sword like that?"
Seraphina's lips quirked into an amused smirk. "You're incorrigible, Leonel." She shook her head, exasperated but fond. "Yes, you looked impressive. But don't let it go to your head."
Leonel grinned. "I'll take that."
Seraphina chuckled softly and stepped out of the room, leaving Leonel alone once more. The door clicked shut behind her, and silence settled in.
Leonel fell back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling as his mother's words echoed in his mind.
Strength that protects, not strength that destroys.
His resolve hardened like tempered steel. He wouldn't let anger define him. He wouldn't lose control again.
I'll protect my family. My house. Everyone who stands with us. But I'll do it with a steady hand.
Leonel closed his eyes, exhaustion finally taking him. Tomorrow would be a new day—a chance to prove, to himself and to everyone else, that his strength could be something more.
Not chaos, but a shield.
Not rage, but resolve.