Chapter 9
720 Words
Chapter Nine
Sage
The air in the training bay wasn’t just still—it was watching.
The spell-etched walls hummed faintly, lit from within by containment glyphs designed to absorb magical blowback. A subtle ward shimmer hung like heat off the ceiling, sealing the space from the rest of V.E.I.L. Like once you stepped inside, no one could save you from what happened next.
Good.
I didn’t want saving.
I wanted a fight.
“Solo first,” Kade said, stepping back. “Draven. You’re up.”
Of course.
He moved forward without hesitation. No cracking knuckles. No flashy entrance. Just calm, unshakable force in a body built to break people.
He drew a heavy blade with one hand—dark steel with rune-scored edges. Functional. Deadly.
I didn’t flinch. Just reached for my own.
Twin blades. Light. Fast. Not meant to overpower—but to outmanoeuvre. Which suited me just fine.
Kade’s voice echoed across the bay. “No magic. No enhancements. Live steel. First clean strike ends the round.”
Ash muttered something from the sidelines, but I tuned it out. I was already shifting my weight, watching Draven’s centre, not his hands. He gave nothing away. No twitch. No muscle tell. Just a calm, eerie readiness that made the hair on my arms rise.
A low glyph blinked red in the corner of the bay. One of the surveillance runes. Someone upstairs was watching. Recording. Rewinding. Judging.
Perfect.
“Ready?” Kade asked.
Draven nodded.
I did the same.
Kade dropped his hand.
“Begin.”
He was on me instantly.
No hesitation. Just raw, trained aggression—his blade slicing across the air like he meant to cut straight through bone.
I ducked. Turned. Parried the next blow with the flat of my left blade and spun away from the follow-up strike that would’ve cracked a rib if I’d been half a second slower.
Draven didn’t fight like most enforcers. He didn’t waste energy. Every movement was tight, efficient, deliberate. His footwork was perfect. His strikes had rhythm.
I had to break it.
I feinted low. He didn’t fall for it. Came at me harder, forced me back with sheer pressure. I blocked, danced out of reach, shifted my stance.
He pressed forward—swung left, then reversed into a vertical cut that nearly kissed my shoulder.
I slid under it and twisted behind him, catching his side with a quick jab that he turned into an elbow aimed at my face.
I dropped. Rolled. Came up slashing.
He blocked it—barely.
Our blades met again, steel screaming against steel, our bodies locked close for half a breath. I caught his eyes—cold, unreadable, assessing. Then he shoved me back with his weight, no theatrics, just brute momentum.
My boots scraped across the floor. My shoulder throbbed from a mistimed block. I steadied. Ignored the pain. Breathed.
This wasn’t about showmanship. This was about who broke first.
Draven came at me again, this time faster. Less testing. More pressure. He wanted me to slip.
I didn’t.
I let him drive the tempo, adjusted with every strike, every shift in balance. I learned how he moved, where his weight landed, what openings he didn’t protect fast enough.
Then I set the trap.
He went for a high cut—I ducked. Closed the gap. Slid inside his reach and brought my right blade up across his ribs, hard and clean.
Stopped just short of slicing.
Draven froze.
Silence echoed.
“Strike landed,” Kade said evenly. “Match over.”
I stepped back, breathing hard, blades still up. My chest burned. My shoulder ached. Draven lowered his weapon slowly.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t nod.
But as he turned away, he gave me the smallest tilt of his head.
Not praise.
Not surrender.
Just recognition.
Ash whistled from the edge of the ring. “Well shit.”
I didn’t smile. Didn’t look at Kade. Just turned, walked back to my spot, and slid both blades into their sheaths.
Kade watched me longer this time. Not with approval. With calculation. Reassessment. Like he’d just lost a bet he hadn’t meant to make.
Let him chew on it.
Let them all.
I didn’t come here to play nice.
I came to win.
And I hadn’t even used magic yet.
- Writer
