The arena was quieter than usual.
Not because there was no combat — but because today's match wasn't a lesson.
It was a challenge.
And for the first time, Deus hadn't issued it.
Across from him stood a boy roughly his age — maybe a little older. Tall, lean, black hair tied behind his neck. The others called him Kairen Solthein — heir to a northern border house known for its military discipline and brutal cold winters.
He wasn't smiling.
He also wasn't nervous.
Which annoyed Deus more than he expected.
"Didn't think you nobles ever got bruised," Kairen said, adjusting his stance with the casual grace of someone who had bled before and didn't mind it.
"I don't bruise," Deus replied flatly.
"Good. Makes you easier to hit without guilt."
They stood in the ring under Gairos's watchful eye. The other heirs — about a dozen of them — had gathered along the edge. Most expected Deus to win. A few hoped he'd lose.
No one expected what would happen next.
The fight began fast
Kairen struck first — a feint into a sweeping leg kick, followed by a blade jab aimed for Deus's shoulder.
Deus dodged — barely.
The blade grazed his sleeve.
He stepped back, recalibrated.
This one doesn't follow patterns.
Deus countered — sharp, precise swings meant to test reaction. Kairen deflected with speed, not strength. Their footwork mirrored a dance more than a duel.
Strike.
Parry.
Turn.
They moved with almost identical rhythm, neither giving ground, neither breaking pace.
Then—
Kairen laughed.
Not mockingly.
Genuinely.
"You're good," he said between breaths. "But you don't enjoy this, do you?"
Deus's expression didn't change.
"It's not about enjoyment. It's about control."
Kairen smirked. "That's sad."
Then he struck harder.
Deus faltered for a half-second — not because of the blade, but because of the words.
Sad?
He hadn't expected emotion.
He hadn't calculated for sincerity.
Kairen capitalized, forcing Deus against the arena's stone wall.
The wooden blade stopped a breath away from Deus's throat.
"Yield," Kairen said, not smug — just calm.
Deus stared at him.
Then stepped forward, letting the blade press slightly against his skin.
"You should have finished it," he said.
Kairen lowered the weapon.
"I didn't come here to win. I came to understand you."
Deus didn't move.
Kairen added, "And now I think I do."
Later – Training Hall Steps
Deus sat alone on the outer steps of the training hall, watching the sky turn gray. The mountain winds were colder here — biting through cloth and bone.
Kairen approached.
"You're not angry?"
"Why would I be?" Deus replied.
"Because I beat you."
"You didn't. You paused. There's a difference."
Kairen laughed again. "Maybe. Or maybe you don't like admitting someone touched your throat."
Deus didn't answer.
Kairen sat beside him.
"You study people," he said.
"Yes."
"Then study this: not every fight is about dominance. Some fights are… practice."
Deus looked at him. "You want to be friends?"
"No. I want to be honest."
A long silence.
Then Deus said, "Most people lie even when they're being honest."
Kairen stood, brushing the dirt from his uniform. "Then maybe I'm not most people."
He walked away.
Deus didn't watch him go.
But his hands clenched slightly.
That Night – Deus's Notebook
Subject: Kairen Solthein
Combat style: Adaptive, improvisational
Weakness: Overextends when emotionally engaged
Strength: Reads intention without words
Emotional read: Balanced. Difficult to manipulate. Possible ally.
Danger level: Unclear
He paused.
Then wrote:
Emotion: Uncertainty. Cause: Genuine challenge. Reaction: Awareness of ego. Possible threat to control.
He closed the book, but the thought remained.
He went to the blade rack.
The wooden swords were gone.
In their place, rested the hilts of Antrar — still dormant, but humming softly with potential.
He reached toward the silver hilt.
It pulsed once, faint.
Alive.
Deus lowered his hand.
"Not yet," he whispered.