Ash Beneath the Fire
584 Words
The sound of clashing steel echoed through the training yard like thunder trapped between mountains.
The private courtyard within the Seventh Queen’s estate was quiet save for the sharp rhythm of weapons slicing air and boots grinding against polished obsidian tiles. The sun sat low in the sky, casting long shadows across the stone walls. Wind whistled faintly through high towers, but it could not cut the heat of exertion between master and student.
Malrik, clad in dark robes as always, his grey hair tied back tightly, moved like a phantom. His strikes came swift, without mercy or hesitation, forcing Kenneth to block, shift, twist—and strike back.
But today, something was… off.
Kenneth’s twin katanas weren’t dancing. They were dragging. His footwork lacked its usual grace. His breathing was uneven. And worst of all—his eyes weren’t truly on Malrik. They flickered. Unfocused. Haunted.
Malrik noticed instantly.
CLANG!
The flat of the old vampire’s blade slammed hard against Kenneth’s right shoulder, sending the boy staggering to one knee.
Kenneth gritted his teeth. “Damn it…”
“You’re hesitating,” Malrik said flatly. “Your balance is off. Your follow-through is late. And that last strike was insultingly slow.”
Kenneth panted, gripping the hilts of his swords. “I know.”
Malrik didn’t ease his stance. “You’re better than this.”
Kenneth didn’t reply.
The old vampire narrowed his crimson eyes. “Again.”
Kenneth rose, wiped the sweat from his brow, and lifted his blades.
They danced again.
One step. Two strikes. Feint. Reverse cut. A clean pivot—and then, another mistake. Kenneth’s mind slipped again. In the space between a heartbeat, he saw it.
That flash of red.
The King’s hand, reaching forward.
The splatter of blood across the banquet floor.
The way Lord Halrix crumpled like parchment.
Kenneth faltered. His next strike missed completely, leaving him open.
Malrik stepped in and swept Kenneth’s leg with a precise kick. Kenneth hit the ground hard, rolling onto his back.
“Stop,” Malrik barked, lowering his sword.
Kenneth sat up slowly, arms shaking, his face pale.
“I can’t…” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Master Malrik. I just—”
“Talk,” Malrik said, not unkindly.
Kenneth looked down at his hands. “I can’t get it out of my head. What the King did to that noble. The sound… the speed… He didn’t even blink.”
Malrik exhaled and sheathed his sword. “You saw something most children should never witness. But you are not most children, Kenneth.”
“I know,” Kenneth muttered. “But it felt… wrong. Everyone cheered for me after the duel. I was proud, for once. And then… that. One breath later, someone dies in front of me.”
He looked up at Malrik, eyes wide and conflicted.
“Why did he do it? Did it have to happen?”
Malrik stared at Kenneth for a long time. Then, quietly, he sat down on one of the blackstone benches by the training wall. “Come. Sit.”
Kenneth followed, settling beside him. The courtyard was quiet again, the wind tugging softly at the red ribbons tied around the training posts.
Malrik folded his arms. “Let me tell you something, boy. Killing… is not always the solution, but sometimes, it's necessary, when you learn that, only then will you become a true leader."
Kenneth then heaved a sigh and without saying another word, walked to his room .
- Writer
