Unexpected Duel (2)

The battle raged on for another two minutes. Two minutes that felt like an eternity.

Oswin, once wild and unrestrained, could now barely stand. His body was bent under the weight of his own mistakes and the relentless pressure coming from Beatriz. She, in contrast, looked untouched — not just physically, but in spirit.

The tide of the fight had completely turned. Oswin kept retreating, trying to reset, shift the flow, find an opening. But every time he stepped forward, Beatriz shut him down.

It was like watching a child try to face off against a seasoned swordsman — the gap in perception, timing, precision... it was staggering.

‘What happened to the shy girl I remember?’ The thought cut through my mind like a stray arrow.

The Beatriz from my memories stumbled over her words, kept her eyes low, avoided fights... always hiding behind her father.

Now she stood there with eyes like blades — cold, sharp, not arrogant in a petty way, but with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. She wasn’t just fighting — she was reading him. Reading Oswin’s every move like an old, familiar book. And every response she gave was measured. Fair. Precise.

The end of the duel was drawing near. There was no escaping it.

With one final burst of rage, Oswin lunged forward with a stifled yell, fists clenched like he could crush the very tension in the air. Beatriz moved into position, twisting her body, her katars ready for a lethal counter.

But Oswin caught her off guard. Just before her wooden blades could reach him, he leapt — knees tucked midair. Gravity did the rest. His heel came down like a warhammer.

Beatriz raised her arms, crossing her katars to block. The impact echoed like muffled thunder, hurling Oswin backward, flipping him midair, as if the force he tried to unleash had turned on him.

Sensing a chance to end it, Beatriz surged forward with a fierce, fluid step, both katars aimed like fangs ready to strike.

But Oswin, the moment he hit the ground, didn’t even pause. He turned his stumble into momentum. He spun, launching himself back into the air like a cornered wolf leaping over a spear.

“What...?” I muttered.

In mid-spin, he grabbed Beatriz’s arms — not with any refined technique, but with pure, raw savagery. And just like that, she lost her footing.

The small crowd of children surrounding the training ground gasped in unison.

Beatriz was flung through the air, spinning straight toward the wall.

“Oh! Now it’s finally starting! Took them long enough!” the old man shouted, grinning wide, like this was the best birthday he’d ever had.

“Starting...? What are you—?” I turned to ask, confused. But when I looked back at the arena, it all made sense.

The air was quivering. Dust from the combat started to move — unnaturally. Like something invisible was twisting it into subtle spirals. And then I saw it.

Smoke.

Not normal smoke. It was white, ghostly, brittle like morning mist under sunlight. It danced around Beatriz’s body like floating veils. Like something within her had begun to awaken.

She hit the wall feet-first and, as if it were solid ground, launched herself back into the arena. Not stumbling. Not hesitating. Flying.

“She… used the wall as a launchpad,” I murmured, more to myself than to the old man.

But it didn’t stop there. Across the field, Oswin was still kneeling, gasping as if the air had turned to fire. His eyes were wide, lit with a mix of shock and fury.

And then I saw it.

That smoke. Ethereal white spirals began to swirl around him too. But unlike Beatriz’s soft, veil-like aura, his burned like embers caught in a storm.

“This smoke…” I murmured, unconsciously leaning forward.

That’s when I remembered.

It wasn’t the first time I’d seen it. The day before, in the café, Oswin had also been cloaked in that shimmering veil. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time. But now, it was obvious.

It was… something.

"It’s the same smoky veil… the one that covered him before," I said aloud, as if speaking the words might make them more real.

My eyes snapped back to the field. Beatriz, wrapped in her own spectral glow, launched herself like a missile at Oswin.

The wind screamed around her as her body spun like a bullet. Her katars were pointed straight ahead, each blade slicing through the air like a ship’s rudder through water.

And then…

The smoke around Oswin flickered. A deep, vivid red — almost molten.

In that exact instant, he tilted his body to the side.

“What—?”

Beatriz shot past him — barely — and in defiance of all expectations, maybe even the laws of motion themselves, she struck the ground just in front of him.

The impact was brutal, sending up a cloud of dust that swallowed part of the arena.

The audience’s murmurs turned into a buzzing confusion. The children, noisy just moments before, now sat frozen in the kind of silence that comes only when the mind can’t keep up.

But my confusion… was different.

When did he get… this strong? I felt my hands trembling as I gripped the edge of the wall I was leaning on.

The smoke around Oswin now pulsed steadily, like it had a heartbeat of its own. Red. Hot. Almost alive.

He still hadn’t moved. Feet rooted exactly where they’d been. He hadn’t dodged. He hadn’t retreated. He’d just… leaned, with the cool calculation of someone who knew exactly where the blade would pass.

Beatriz was still descending when the counterattack landed.

A single elbow strike.

Precise. Severe. Brutal.

Right to her back.

The force of it shattered the momentum she had built — her body crumpled forward, flung like a puppet whose strings had snapped, landing hard in the dirt ahead of him. Like all her power had been erased by that one strike.

“My God…” I whispered, my heart thudding in my throat.

Beside me, the old man chuckled. But there was no mockery in it. It was pure joy — the kind of laughter you hear from someone watching a beloved tale unfold just as they remember.

“Oswin won…” I murmured, more to myself than to him.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t jump to conclusions so quickly,” he said, breaking into my thoughts.

“What do you mean?” I asked, turning to him in confusion.

He didn’t answer. He just extended his arm and pointed downward with one crooked finger.

And then — like time itself had just remembered to breathe — the crowd erupted.

Cheers. Screams. A storm of sound.

I followed his gesture instinctively.

Oswin was airborne — his body flung like a stray arrow, crashing violently into the wall on the far side of the field.

And Beatriz… was standing.

Upright. Solid as a war statue, katars in hand, her hair whipped wild by wind and dust, her eyes… glowing.

The smoke around her was no longer white and faint. It burned orange — the color of fire, vibrant, pulsing to the beat of her heart.

“She really is Captain Charles’ daughter…” the old man muttered, almost with pride. “To awaken aura before the restriction's even lifted…”

He paused for a moment, watching as Oswin was dragged from the rubble.

“But that boy… he’s not bad either. Give it a little more time, and he’ll be right up there. Shame he’s so… wild.” He sighed, as if mourning something inevitable.

I… I was stunned.

The whole arena had come alive. Even the knights, who had watched in solemn silence, now stood, exchanging quiet, measured glances.

“AURA!” someone shouted.

“She awakened her aura!”

“Impossible — she’s only ten!”

“Aura…” I repeated, nearly in a trance.

The word felt heavy in my mouth.

Yes, I had seen it before. During the fight between the criminals and the warrior I now knew as Israel Dracknum. Even in the memories I carry, there are manifestations of aura far more intense, more astonishing.

But… this was different.

I was mesmerized.

✦ ✦ ✦

Three hours had passed since the end of the duel.

The sun had long crossed its zenith, its light now waning, spilling across the fortress walls like warm, golden honey. The training grounds, once pulsing with energy and cheers, had taken on another shape entirely — quiet, subdued. Only the steady clatter of blades against wood, steel meeting armor, echoed faintly in the distance, rhythmic and detached.

Oswin had been carried away unconscious — arms limp, head hanging, his wounds already drying into dark crusts. The impact with the wall had been brutal. The injuries themselves weren’t grave, but there was something deeper in that blow — something broken that couldn’t be seen. He now lay in the infirmary, where the air was thick with the scents of iron and herbs.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t rest.

My steps wandered of their own accord around the fortress — driven not by purpose, but by a restlessness that refused to fade. I passed through vacant corridors, brushed against cold stone, stared out at the sky through open arches. And somehow, without realizing, my feet brought me to the library.

It had always been a sanctuary. Among the scent of old parchment and dust, I could usually find some sense of order — if not peace. But today… even the books seemed to repel me.

I sat at a corner table, the wooden chair creaking quietly under my weight. I opened a thick tome, its pages rough and yellowed by age. Ornate lettering marked the title: The Fundamentals of Aura. A book I’d never bothered to read. But now, the words blurred as I scanned them. The letters became runes. The sentences, mazes.

I exhaled slowly, leaning back in my chair. My mind pulled me back — again — to the arena. To her.

Beatriz… She had stood there like a living shadow bathed in light.

One eye shimmering like golden amber, the other glowing red like an ember at rest. Yet there was no warmth. No sparkle. No trace of hesitation. It was like facing two gates — one to heaven, the other to the abyss.

Her face… blank. Still. Almost inhuman.

Not arrogant. Not cruel. Just… gone. As if everything that had once made her Beatriz had been burned away.

What happened to the timid girl who couldn’t hold a gaze when she spoke?

I remembered the first time I saw her — so reserved, almost delicate. A presence that seemed to ask for permission to exist. And now… she was a wall made flesh. A volcano sealed shut by its own pressure.

I snapped the book shut. The sound cracked through the silence. My hands were trembling and I hadn’t even noticed.

“She awakened aura before the restriction was lifted.” The old man’s voice echoed in my mind, as if he still stood beside me, seeing through more than just skin.

And me? What was I?

Would I ever… be able to do the same? I swallowed hard.

A bitter taste rose in my throat. A knot formed in my chest. A feeling I didn’t want to name — didn’t want to admit I knew.

But what hurt the most was the truth I didn’t want to speak, not even in thought:

I am incomplete.

I closed my eyes and took a long breath. Tried to push the thoughts away, as if I could evict them from my mind by sheer will.

But it was useless.

Beatriz hadn’t just won a duel.

She had left a scar.

I stood, though I couldn’t remember when I had sat down. My body felt stiff, my back sore. The twilight light streamed in through the high windows, casting long shadows and stripes of orange across the stone floors and tall bookshelves.

I walked toward one of the wide windows and leaned on the cold ledge. Outside, the sky was beginning to tint violet at the edges, and the first songs of night birds crept into the air. The rooftops of the fortress glowed with a soft warmth, while the streets below bustled with silhouettes — trainees, knights, instructors — moving like ants in their tasks.

I stayed there, unmoving. Minutes. Maybe hours. My mind — emptied of all noise.

And then I saw her.

Crossing the street below, her steps as sharp as the edge of a blade. Black hair tied tightly in a bun. A face carved from stillness. Twin wooden katars strapped across her lower back like two sleeping beasts.

But it was her eyes that froze me.

One gold. One red.

My fingers clenched the window frame without my knowing.

She walked like someone who never had to ask permission from the ground beneath her. As if every breath around her answered to her presence.

In that moment, my body moved before my thoughts.