Blades and Brothers
929 Words
The scent of sweat still clung to the training arena’s air, thick and metallic, mingling with the faint tang of blood from earlier sparring bouts. The marble floors beneath the sanded sparring ring shimmered faintly under the floating magelights, which cast golden hues across the weary forms of the six princes.
Kenneth's chest rose and fell in slow, deep breaths, his hair damp with sweat and clinging slightly to his brow. He had held his own during the hand-to-hand combat class, impressing even the stoic instructor with his stamina and agility. But there was no rest.
"Stand straight. There is no war that waits for your breath," came a deep, gruff voice from the far end of the chamber.
A towering man stepped onto the polished floor with soundless steps. Dressed in midnight armor with a crimson insignia of the royal crest across his chest, Weaponsmaster Varic commanded silence. His face was scarred and stern, eyes pale silver, almost reflective.
"That is Varic," one of the older guards whispered near the doorway. "Weaponsmaster. He speaks little, but he listens to steel—and teaches it to speak for you."
The princes, still recovering from the previous session, straightened instinctively. Even Aurelius wiped the sweat from his brow with silent precision, knowing better than to show fatigue before this man.
Varic paced before them like a predator, his voice as smooth as oiled stone. "A warrior without a weapon is a beast with no fangs. Each of you will choose one before day's end. That weapon will be your companion. Your voice in battle. Your proof of presence."
He raised his hand, and from behind him, royal squires entered wheeling in weapon racks lined with blades, staffs, glaives, polearms, chakrams, and more. The gleam of enchanted steel caught the eyes of every prince.
"Today, we begin with understanding. Then, we speak in steel."
For the next hour, Varic moved with the fluidity of a shadowed dancer, demonstrating various stances, grips, and forms. He wielded every weapon with uncanny ease, switching from one to the next like a man possessed by spirits of war.
The younger princes watched in awe, particularly Kenneth, whose eyes never left Varic’s form. His body felt heavy, sore from the hand-to-hand session, but his spirit remained sharp.
When Varic concluded his display, he turned slowly to them.
"Who wishes to test their will first?"
There was a beat of silence.
Then Aurelius stepped forward.
"I would," he said smoothly. "But only if I may face Kenneth."
There was an audible shift in the room. Lucien raised a brow. Darien folded his arms, watching with interest. Even Sevrin looked up briefly.
Kenneth blinked, then stepped forward without hesitation. "Alright."
A slow smile curved across Aurelius's lips. "Try not to embarrass yourself, little brother."
Kenneth merely shrugged. "I already beat you in hand to hand combat. Might as well make it a streak."
The younger princes chuckled softly.
Varic stepped aside without protest. "Choose your weapons."
Kenneth moved first, almost as if drawn by instinct. His hands fell on twin katanas with obsidian hilts and crimson runes etched along the blades. They felt light, swift, and natural. Balanced.
Aurelius chose a double-headed glaive, long and brutal, laced with violet steel. Its edge glimmered with faint enchantment. Heavy. Powerful. Regal.
The ring was cleared. Magelights dimmed. Tension thickened.
"Begin," Varic commanded.
Aurelius surged forward, glaive spinning in a tight arc. He attacked with raw precision, each swing aimed to overpower. Kenneth, agile as wind, dodged with grace. He weaved, twisted, ducked—his twin blades flashing but never striking.
For a moment, it looked like a dance. One of chaos and grace.
Aurelius's brow furrowed. "Are you just going to dodge? Fight me properly!"
Kenneth gave a quick grin. "Why fix what works?"
He launched forward then, finally attacking. His twin katanas moved like rivers—fluid, fast, untraceable. He struck from angles that Aurelius could barely read, forcing the older prince to shift footing constantly.
The glaive clashed with steel, sparks flying.
The watching brothers murmured among themselves.
Lucien: "He's reading Aurelius like an open book."
Darien: "Or he's not thinking at all. Just moving. That's dangerous in a different way."
Aurelius bellowed, twisting his glaive in a wide arc meant to knock Kenneth off balance. Kenneth bent backward, feet sliding on the sand, then twisted into a counterspin that knocked the glaive upward before slipping past Aurelius and tapping the back of his leg with the flat of his blade.
Varic raised a hand.
"Match."
Silence. Then slow, surprised claps from Lucien.
Aurelius breathed hard, face flushed with rage and embarrassment.
Kenneth offered a hand to help him up.
Aurelius hesitated.
Then took it.
Varic spoke evenly. "Both showed form. Aurelius, temper your swings. You fight to conquer, not to survive. Kenneth, strike when needed. Evading endlessly delays your victory. Learn to end battles."
The boys nodded.
Varic pointed to the rest. "Drills. One hour. Then choose your companion weapon. Rest for ten."
As the princes dispersed, murmurs began to rise.
Lucien joined Kenneth. "You're getting good at this."
"Thanks. I still feel like my arms are made of fire."
Darien smirked. "That means it's working."
As the drills continued, Aurelius sat in silence for a moment, watching Kenneth with narrowed eyes. There was respect there—buried deep—but also something colder.
Jealousy. Or fear.
Kenneth stretched his arms, feeling the weight of the twin katanas at his sides.
They felt right.
Like they had always been his.
And the day had only just begun.
- Writer
