The Duel


    A cold shiver ran down Lethe’s spine. A feeling of agony and fear twisted in his chest, making his stomach churn. His vision blurred, mind clouded—


    And then, a voice.


    "Prove me wrong."


    Lethe’s eyes snapped open.


    "Hey. Snap back to reality," Aren’s voice cut through the haze. Lethe blinked, the training chamber around him coming back into focus. Aren stood over him, arms crossed.


    "Get ready for the duel," his brother said flatly.


    Lethe exhaled, shaking off the strange feeling. He pushed himself up, stretching his arms. No time for distractions.


    The coliseum buzzed with anticipation as his name flashed across the holographic display.


    "Lethe Riven vs. Iron Calder!"


    Iron, a towering figure of muscle, cracked his knuckles. His movements were slow but deliberate, like a mountain shifting before an avalanche.


    Lethe rolled his shoulders. No hesitation.


    The signal flashed.


    The Duel – Lethe vs. Iron


    Lethe charged forward at full speed, aiming for Iron’s solar plexus. His strike landed cleanly—


    But Iron barely flinched.


    Instead, he found an opening—a blind spot on Lethe’s left side. With a sharp push, Iron sent Lethe stumbling backward.


    For a split second, Lethe was stunned.


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    Iron didn’t waste time. He lunged forward, raising both arms for a crushing downward slam.


    Lethe reacted.


    Palm to the ground. A burst of manipulation magic reinforced his movement. He twisted in the air, flipping backward onto his feet.


    Iron narrowed his eyes. This wasn’t going to be easy.


    Round Two Begins


    Iron adjusted his stance. His sheer strength and endurance made him an immovable wall. Lethe had speed—but speed alone wouldn’t win this.


    The signal flashed.


    Iron struck first—a powerful, finishing blow.


    Lethe moved.


    A precise kick—straight to Iron’s knee.


    The impact sent shockwaves through Iron’s stance. His balance wavered. His own momentum betrayed him.


    His footing slipped.


    A second later—he crashed to the ground.


    Lethe was already there.


    Hand flat. Fingers aimed at Iron’s throat.


    Silence.


    The match was decided.


    Interrupted Victory


    The crowd roared. Cheers erupted from all sides.


    The announcer’s voice boomed:


    "Would you look at that—Lethe Riven wins the first round! You just love to see it—"


    A gust of cold air swept through the arena.


    Lethe’s instincts flared.


    He turned.


    Aery March stepped onto the battlefield, her ice-blue gaze locked onto him.


    "This match is over," she said, her tone absolute.


    "I’ll be your opponent now."


    The Duel – Lethe vs. Aery


    Lethe barely had time to process before the signal flashed.


    Aery moved instantly.


    A wave of cold air spread from her, ice creeping along the arena floor. Lethe adjusted, his steps careful. She was forcing him into a battle on her terms.


    Lethe dashed forward, aiming a feint to her right—


    Ice formed beneath his foot.


    His step slowed for half a second. That was all she needed.


    Aery’s fist slammed into his ribs. A pulse of cold magic spread through him—not to freeze, but to slow him down.


    Lethe gritted his teeth, twisting to counter with an elbow strike. Aery dodged, flowing effortlessly around the attack.


    Lethe used manipulation magic to force himself into a spin, gaining momentum for a sweeping kick—


    Blocked.


    Aery grabbed his leg and slammed her palm into his shoulder, sending a shock of ice through his body. His limbs felt heavy.


    He needed to push back.


    Lethe faked a stumble. Aery closed in.


    A perfect opening.


    With all his force, Lethe lunged forward, fist aiming for her midsection.


    For a split second, Aery’s eyes narrowed.


    She adjusted instantly.


    Her hand caught his wrist.


    In a single fluid motion, she twisted—Lethe’s balance collapsed.


    Before he could react, she had him locked in place, ice creeping up his limbs.


    Three seconds.


    The match was over.


    Aftermath


    Lethe lay on the cold arena floor, his breath steady despite the lingering chill in his limbs. Aery’s magic still clung to him, like frost refusing to melt.


    The crowd erupted. Some cheered for Aery, but others whispered about Lethe’s performance. He had landed hits. He had forced her to adjust.


    The announcer’s voice boomed:


    "And that settles it! Aery March wins the duel! But what a fight—Lethe Riven didn’t go down easily! A solid display of skill against the princess herself!"


    Lethe exhaled, pushing himself up. His body felt heavier, but he wasn’t broken. He glanced at Aery. She was already walking away, composed as ever.


    He relaxed after the freezing sensation ended.


    "Fair play."


    A shadow loomed over him.


    Aren.


    His older brother crouched slightly, offering a hand. Lethe took it without hesitation.


    Aren smirked. "You lasted longer than I expected."


    Lethe said nothing.


    Aren crossed his arms. "You weren’t far off. But ‘not far’ is still losing."


    Lethe didn’t argue. He knew that already.


    Aren glanced at Aery, who had already disappeared from the arena floor.


    "She acknowledged you, though." His smirk widened. "That means you’re worth fighting again."


    "Sure..."