In the heart of the training ground, still shrouded in thick, rolling black smoke, two silhouettes stood locked in a silent understanding. The clang of steel and roars of onlookers had long faded into the background. All that remained was the tension between two men, separated by a thin veil of smoke and a wide gulf of ideals.
One was young, clever, and unorthodox—a self-proclaimed mage with nothing but tricks, instincts, and a desperate desire not to be misunderstood.
The other—a veteran knight, moulded by years of war, law, and faith, whose honour clung to him as tightly as the armour on his back.
Their standoff had reached a strange impasse. Not of swordplay or might, but of words, of meaning, of pride.
Luke exhaled slowly, replaying Commander Alec's words in his mind.
"Make me surrender… the way you made my daughter do the same."
There was no clearer challenge. No clearer agreement.
