The sound of heavy steel slicing through the air echoed in the private training chamber. Darius Greystone swung his greatsword in a series of controlled arcs, sweat dripping from his forehead and splattering onto the stone floor. Each swing was precise, but the weight of defeat lingered in his mind.
Again.
The duel against Reynard played over and over in his head like a mocking echo. No matter how much he trained, how much he pushed himself, Reynard always had the upper hand. It wasn't just skill—it was the infuriating combination of skill, precision, and that calm confidence Reynard carried like a crown.
Darius growled, lifting the greatsword again. His arms trembled, his muscles screaming for rest, but he refused to stop.
The creak of the chamber door interrupted his thoughts. Without turning, he muttered, "Not now."
The voice that answered was calm and pointed. "You can push all you want, but brute force alone won't get you anywhere."
Selene Arkwright stepped into the room, the faint glow of residual mana clinging to her hands. Her dark braid hung neatly over one shoulder, and her amber eyes seemed to gleam with quiet amusement.
Darius exhaled sharply, lowering his weapon. "What do you want?"
Selene leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. "To check on you. Though by the looks of it, you're working hard to destroy yourself."
"I'm fine," Darius muttered, setting the greatsword against the wall and wiping the sweat from his brow.
"Sure you are," Selene said dryly. "Because swinging at dummies until you collapse is obviously the best way to get stronger."
Darius shot her a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. "You wouldn't understand. It's not the same for you."
Selene raised an eyebrow. "Not the same? Just because I don't swing around a giant slab of metal doesn't mean I don't fight my own battles."
Darius looked away, his jaw tightening. "It's different. I keep losing to him. Every time I think I've caught up, he's already two steps ahead. It's like I'm chasing something I'll never reach."
Selene tilted her head, studying him. "You're chasing perfection. That's your mistake. Reynard's precise, polished—but he's predictable. You, on the other hand…" She smirked. "You're chaos. If you could control that, you'd be unstoppable."
Darius frowned. "Chaos? That's your big advice?"
"It's more than you think," Selene said, stepping closer. "You rely too much on instinct. It's impressive, but it's also reckless. If you want to beat Reynard, you need to do more than swing harder. You need to think beyond the next swing."
For a moment, the room was silent. Then Darius let out a bitter laugh. "You're annoyingly blunt, you know that?"
Selene shrugged. "Someone has to be."
Selene gestured to the training dummies. "You're good at breaking things, but strategy? That's where you're lacking. If you want to win, you have to start thinking like a tactician, not just a brawler."
Darius hesitated, her words turning over in his mind. "Think beyond the next swing…" he muttered.
"Exactly," Selene said, smiling faintly. "You've got the strength and the drive. Now you just need the discipline. So stop beating yourself up and start using that head of yours."
She turned to leave, but paused at the door. "One more thing."
"What?" Darius asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Reynard may be the star now, but even stars can burn out. Keep that in mind."
With that, she left, the door clicking shut behind her.
Darius stood there for a long moment, her words echoing in his mind. Then, with a deep breath, he picked up his greatsword again.
"Control the chaos," he muttered. "Fine. Let's see where that gets me."
---
Later That Day
By the time the midday bell rang, the academy's halls were bustling with students moving between lessons. Orin slipped through the crowd, keeping his head down. He was still sore from his morning training, but the small breakthrough he'd made with Spirit Step had been enough to rekindle his resolve.
He headed toward the lecture hall, Finn trailing behind him.
"You've been awfully quiet today," Finn said, nudging him.
"I've been thinking," Orin replied, his voice low.
"That's dangerous," Finn teased. "Anything specific, or just life in general?"
"About how far behind I am," Orin admitted. "And how I'm supposed to catch up."
Finn grinned. "Simple. You don't catch up—you cheat. Find shortcuts. Trick the system."
"That's not exactly helpful," Orin said, shaking his head.
"It's honest," Finn said with a shrug.
--
As they entered the lecture hall, Orin's gaze swept across the room. Reynard and his companions sat near the front, as always. Darius was notably quieter than usual, his expression thoughtful. Amara was scribbling notes in her usual meticulous fashion, while Selene seemed distracted, her fingers tracing patterns on the edge of her desk.
But it wasn't Reynard or his group that caught Orin's attention.
It was Cassandra Aelmire, seated toward the middle of the hall. She glanced over her shoulder, her sharp green eyes meeting his. There was a faint smile on her lips, one that sent a shiver of unease through him.
"Hey," Finn whispered, nudging Orin. "What's up with her?"
"Nothing," Orin said quickly, tearing his gaze away.
But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that Cassandra's interest in him wasn't as innocent as it seemed.
The instructor's voice droned on about the history of the Eldryn Kingdom, but Orin barely listened. His thoughts were divided—between his own struggles, the cryptic advice from Cassandra, and the strange pulsing of the artifact in his chest.
Somehow, he knew his path was going to be anything but straightforward