Thane blinked against the bright light overhead, his body stiff and aching, every muscle crying out in protest.
He sat up with a start, the pristine white sheets tangling around his legs. A wave of nausea hit him, and he gritted his teeth, steadying himself.
Where am I?
Memories flickered, Aaron, the handshake, the fight that never began. And then...nothing.
Voices drifted from beyond the partition. Familiar ones.
"I still can't believe what happened," a voice snickered, low and mocking.
"Thane Eldrath, a heir to The House Eldrath, reduced to...well...that."
Another joined in, tinged with feigned pity.
"Blood from the eyes and ears, frothing at the mouth, even...urine. In front of everyone." The speaker paused for dramatic effect, before adding with a gleeful sneer,
"Not exactly the image of a dignified Heir, is it?"
Thane's breath hitched, his heart hammering against his ribs. His fingers tightened around the bedframe, knuckles white.
"What did you just say?" His voice was hoarse, but it cut through the room like a blade.
The speakers froze, their heads snapping toward him. It was Kael, heir of the House Montague, and Zoya heir of the house Valharyn. Both bore expressions of thinly veiled amusement, though Zoya's lips twitched, barely suppressing a smirk.
"You're awake," Kael said, feigning surprise as he straightened his posture.
"Good. We were just...catching up."
Thane swung his legs off the bed, his body still weak, but his glare sharp enough to pierce steel.
"Explain."
Kael and Zoya exchanged a glance before Zoya sighed, her tone syrupy sweet. "Oh, Thane, darling. You don't remember? It's all anyone can talk about."
Kael stepped closer, his grin wolfish.
"The mighty Thane Eldrath, brought low by a handshake. Blood streamed from every orifice, collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. And the...other fluids? Well, let's just say the arena floor needed more than just a mop afterward."
Thane's face burned with humiliation, his hands balling into fists.
Zoya tilted her head, her voice oozing mock sympathy.
"It wasn't just the crowd, you know. Every heir from the Great Nine was watching. Such a...spectacle."
"Such a... spectacle. Really, you've outdone yourself. The man who always set his eyes on number one was brought down like that. Hmm"
Thane's mind raced, shame twisting into a searing rage. Aaron. He forced himself to stand, his legs trembling beneath him, but his resolve was unshaken.
"You think this is funny?" Thane growled, his voice low and venomous. "You think I'll let this slide?"
Kael raised an eyebrow, unfazed by the threat.
"Oh, we're not laughing at you, Thane. Well, not entirely. It's just...Aaron. An embarrassment to his family, the lowest of the Solarius lineage, and he's the one who did this to you? Imagine the headlines."
Zoya chuckled softly, her emerald eyes sparkling with mischief.
"Don't take it personally. Everyone falls once. Yours just...happened to be more dramatic."
Thane's vision blurred with fury. Years of relentless training, countless hours perfecting his aspect, and the pride of standing at the pinnacle, all overshadowed in an instant. His humiliation wasn't just a fluke of fate; it stemmed from a calculated move, an act he himself had initiated.
And Aaron...
Whatever fears that boy had confronted, whatever buried sin had risen to the surface at that moment, its weight was beyond anything Thane could fathom. The sheer intensity of it, the raw, unrelenting force that had unraveled him, was unimaginable. It wasn't just a defeat; it was an exposure, one that burned through his pride like acid.
He inhaled deeply, forcing himself to regain control. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing him unravel.
"When I'm done with Aaron," Thane said, his voice a deadly whisper, " The humiliation he faced will only be remembered, no one will remember this. Only what happens next."
Kael smirked, clearly enjoying the spectacle. "Oh, we're counting on it. Let's see how round two plays out."
Zoya gave a mock bow before turning to leave. "Best of luck, Thane. You'll need it."
"But what did he do to leave you like this?" Zoya's voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade.
Kael leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied Thane. He didn't just want answers, he needed them. But Thane sat motionless, his gaze fixed on the floor as if the answers were buried there. His face was a mask, betraying nothing but the weight of his thoughts.
Zoya clenched her fists, her patience unraveling. The urge to needle him, to pull the truth out by force, burned in her chest. Her lips parted, ready to hurl another question, but Kael's hand shot out, gripping her arm before she could act.
"Don't," he muttered, low and firm.
Her eyes flared with irritation for not getting an answer, but Kael shook his head, With a reluctant huff, Zoya let him guide her out, her footsteps echoing in protest against the quiet room.
Behind them, Thane remained still, untouched by their departure, his thoughts a storm he refused to share.
As they left, the echo of their laughter lingered in the air.
Thane clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. His humiliation burned like a brand, seared into his memory.
But beneath the shame, a darker fire roared to life. Aaron Solarius had made a fool of him, and for that, there would be no mercy.
No one humiliates Thane Eldrath and walks away unscathed.
***
Aaron Solarius walked down the stark white corridor of the academy, his steps steady, measured. He was clad in a simple training suit, the black fabric snug against his lean frame. In his right hand, he carried a training sword, its polished blade catching faint glints of artificial light.
His expression was as impassive as ever, betraying none of the anticipation or focus churning within.
Stopping before the reinforced steel door, Aaron raised his wrist. His watch emitted a faint beep as he held it against the scanner. A monotone voice greeted him.
"Welcome to the advanced training room, Student Aaron Solarius."
The door hissed open, revealing a cavernous chamber bathed in a cold, sterile glow. Aaron stepped inside, the door sealing shut behind him with a metallic thud. Without a moment's pause, he synced the room to his watch, fingers gliding over the holographic interface as he adjusted the settings.
The hum of machinery filled the air, and moments later, a human-shaped combat robot stepped into view.
Its mechanical frame gleamed under the lights, a sleek blade gripped in its synthetic hand. As it raised the weapon, Aaron's stance shifted, his body falling into perfect alignment—a testament to countless hours of practice.
The robot lunged without warning, its blade cutting through the air in a precise arc. Aaron met it with effortless grace, his sword rising to deflect the strike.
Metal clashed against metal, the sound reverberating through the room. He flowed into a counterattack, his movements economical, each strike imbued with unyielding precision.
There was no flair, no excess, just the fundamentals executed to perfection.
The exchanges continued, the rhythm of combat steady and unrelenting. Aaron blocked, parried, and retaliated with mechanical efficiency, his strikes landing true but never overcommitting.
The robot matched him in kind, adapting, and testing. On the fifth clash, it abruptly disengaged, taking a deliberate step back. Its stance shifted, subtle, but unmistakable.
Aaron's eyes narrowed.
"Which sword art is it going to use?" he murmured, his tone neutral but alert. He hadn't specified one in the settings, leaving the choice to the machine's algorithm. It would pull from a database of countless forms, each designed to challenge the user.
The air around the robot seemed to change, the atmosphere growing taut. Aaron's grip tightened on his sword as he adjusted his footing, his muscles coiling like a spring.
His senses sharpened, attuned to even the faintest disturbances, a ripple in the air, the faint whine of servos shifting, the tension in its stance. These details painted a vivid picture, one he absorbed instinctively.
He wasn't relying solely on sight. Combat was more than that. His awareness extended beyond the physical, honed to detect intent. Against a human opponent, it was the flicker of emotion, the subtle cues that betrayed their next move.
Against a robot? It was harder. Devoid of emotion, its intent was encoded in the precision of its movements, the deliberate shifts in weight and balance.
It wasn't his first time facing a training robot, but this was the first time he'd chosen such a challenge, a D+ ranker going up against a C+ rank opponent in pure swordsmanship, with no aspects and no affinities to aid him.
But a challenge is what makes a man strong, and he is ready for it.