Sol took the sword. Drew it. Examined the edge with steady eyes. Then gestured. “Put your bow on the table.”
Collin obeyed. Hands jerky, too tight around the weight. He moved like he was afraid the motion itself might splinter. The ground felt unsteady beneath him—slick with scrutiny.
As he turned, a flick of movement snagged his eye. One of the guards, mouth tilted in a crooked leer—amusement, contempt. Hard to tell in the blur.
The heat came fast. It crawled up his neck, settled behind his ears. He blinked once, hard. Kept his gaze low. His gate nearly faltered. He didn’tlookat the guard again, but he felt the smirk like a stamp on his skin.
He swallowed. Not because he wanted to. Because the fire in his throat didn’t know where else to go.
Sol returned the sword to him—no sheath.
“Center of the yard. Show me what you can do.”
Collin held Lumen like a lifeline. The grip was familiar—the way the hilt settled against the curve of his hand, the slight give where his fingers curled around leather worn smooth. It didn’t stop the tremor entirely. But the weight answered him. Solid. Present. Real, in a way so few things felt lately.
He walked to the center. Waited. No further instructions came.
His mind sprinted in circles. Fight? Demonstrate forms? Stances? Polishing techniques?
Fine.
He took a deep breath and moved into the motions Grandfather had once taught him. The blade sliced elegant arcs through the air—figure eights, spirals, pivots. He moved with focus, letting the rhythm guide him. A dance of control. A performance for judgment.
He stopped, breath coming too fast, chest rising.
Sol didn’t respond. Just motioned.
One of the guards peeled off the wall. Bare-chested. Mountain-sized. Muscles stacked on muscles. He selected a blade—massive, brutal—and walked to face Collin.
“Do not hold back,” Sol called out.
Who was the order for?
No time to ask.
The first blow came without warning. Steel on steel. Sparks.
Collin reeled back, stumbling, barely blocking in time.
Another strike.
Then another.
Then another.
No breath between them. No room to move. No chance to think.
His instincts clawed upward, and he latched on, parrying, spinning, bracing. Lumen shook with every impact.
“I said don’t hold back, Colter!” Sol roared at the guard.
“Fight, boy! Show me what you can do!”
I’m trying!Collin wanted to scream—but he couldn’t spare the breath.
Colter drove him backward with terrifying ease. Every step Collin took was dictated by the man’s assault. He had no room to counter.
He couldn’t see an opening. There was none.
