The air in the Chamber of Refinement grew heavier, charged with a tension that crackled just beneath the surface. The echoes of ancient battles fought in this space seemed to stir, as if anticipating yet another clash between formidable forces.
Dorian stood tall, his breathing slow and measured, but the storm in his eyes was unmistakable. Solin knew that look—it was the gaze of a man standing on the precipice of something dangerous.
Lirien, sensing the shift in the room, took a cautious step back. She wasn't foolish enough to get between them.
"You've been training for this," Solin said, his voice even.
Dorian's fists clenched at his sides. "You don't understand."
Solin exhaled, shaking his head. "I understand more than you think. You're sharpening your blade for a fight that hasn't come yet—but will that make a difference when it does?"
Dorian's eyes flickered with something unreadable, his expression unreadable. "If you're here to test me, say it outright."
Solin smirked. "You need the practice."
That was all it took.
Dorian's hand shot up, and in a swift, fluid motion, he summoned Solin's sword from the air. The blade glimmered with a faint, ethereal light as it appeared in his grip. The weapon, once wielded by Solin himself, seemed to hum with an ancient power as it pulsed in Dorian's hands.
Without hesitation, Dorian lunged forward, the sword cutting through the air with a deadly arc.
Solin barely had time to react before a fist came for his ribs, a strike so precise that had it connected fully, it might've shattered bone. He twisted just in time, letting the impact graze past him. The force of the near-miss alone sent a gust of displaced energy through the chamber.
"Faster," Solin muttered, stepping back, but the ghost of a grin tugged at his lips.
Dorian didn't give him a chance to breathe. He was relentless, pressing forward with a flurry of strikes—each one sharpened by his refined control of the Weave. To the untrained eye, it was almost as if Dorian were striking from multiple angles at once, his body flickering like a mirage.
But Solin was no novice.
He weaved between the blows, his movements precise, controlled. Where Dorian was a force of seamless aggression, Solin was the calm within the storm, adjusting his stance at the last possible moment to evade each attack by mere inches.
Then Solin countered.
A single step forward—fluid and effortless.
His hand shot out, fingers brushing against Dorian's shoulder before a force, invisible but overwhelming, sent the younger man staggering back.
Dorian's feet skidded against the chamber floor, but he barely hesitated before lunging again. This time, he moved even faster.
Solin had expected this.
As Dorian closed in, Solin shifted his weight and extended his hand. The Weave responded to his call—not in violent bursts, but in subtle, unseen currents that altered the flow of the battle itself.
Dorian's next strike—one aimed directly at Solin's throat—slowed for a fraction of a second. A fraction was all Solin needed.
He stepped inside Dorian's guard, twisting his wrist, and suddenly, Dorian was the one caught off balance. With a sharp motion, Solin swept his leg behind Dorian's knee and sent him crashing onto his back.
The chamber fell still.
Dorian lay on the ground, his breath coming hard and fast. His eyes burned with frustration, but beneath it, something else lurked.
Recognition.
Lirien let out a slow breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "That was…" She trailed off, struggling to find the right word.
"Necessary," Solin finished.
Dorian sat up, rubbing his jaw. "Damn it."
Solin offered him a hand, but Dorian ignored it, pushing himself to his feet. His shoulders were still tense, his pride wounded, but the fire in his eyes hadn't dimmed.
"You rely too much on aggression," Solin said simply. "When you fight Drevin, it won't be about who hits harder."
Dorian scoffed, but he didn't argue. "Then what will it be about?"
Solin's smirk faded. "Who understands the Weave better."
For the first time, something flickered in Dorian's expression—doubt.
Lirien glanced between them. "So… did he pass your test?"
Solin studied Dorian for a long moment before nodding. "He's strong. But not ready."
Dorian's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Solin's gaze softened, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Dorian, we leave for the Northern Expanse tomorrow. Arcon's orders. There's work to be done, and it won't wait."
Dorian's eyes snapped to Solin's, the weight of those words settling into the silence between them.
Lirien raised an eyebrow, clearly curious.
Solin turned toward the door, the sound of his boots echoing in the chamber. "Prepare yourself, Dorian. The real challenges are only just beginning."