Chapter 20: The Flag and the Flame

The air was crisper this morning—clean, cold, and sharp like a blade left out in mountain wind. A faint mist clung to the floating island’s edge as Class 1S gathered in the northern courtyard, where Professor Kael stood waiting, arms crossed, face unreadable.

Combat Training.

I felt it before I saw it—the tension in the air, the low murmurs of students trying to guess what today’s lesson would be. Most still looked half-asleep, rubbing at their eyes or tugging on their uniforms. But Kael? He looked like he’d been up for hours, carved from stone and wound like a spring.

“Today,” he said without preamble, “we’re moving.”

No explanation. Just that.

Then he turned and started walking—toward the edge of the island, where massive silver roots stretched out like bridges, connecting one floating mass of land to another.

We followed, boots crunching softly against moss and stone. The path took us past glowing flora and strange humming stones embedded in the ground. Birds with long tails and gem-like feathers fluttered above us, crying out in voices like flutes.

Eventually, the terrain changed.

The roots.

They weren’t just roots anymore. They had been shaped—carved into spiraling staircases that wound their way up into the sky like a natural tower. Each “step” was as wide as a wagon and slick with dew, but worn smooth by use. The roots twisted through each other like braided rope, forming bridges and supports as they connected one island to the next.

“Keep your footing,” Kael said over his shoulder. “If you fall, I will not be climbing down to fetch you.”

Caelan muttered something about Kael being part mountain goat.

I looked up and swallowed hard. We still had at least three more root-bridges to cross, each leading to a different platform of land. Up here, the wind picked up, rustling the silver-leafed canopy above. The islands shimmered with mana—floating meadows and plateaus stacked like a layered cake, each one higher and wilder than the last.

After what felt like half an hour of hiking and climbing, we finally reached it.

A clearing.

The trees gave way to a wide, grassy plateau, ringed by low cliffs and shimmering with morning light. The ground was soft but firm beneath our boots, and several mossy boulders dotted the edges like natural benches.

Kael stopped in the center and turned to face us.

“This will do,” he said.

The class spread out into a loose circle. Geri and Sköll padded beside us, sniffing at the wild air. Rias stood near the edge, hands behind her back, listening intently. Elaris stood beside me, her eyes sharp and alert, the wind tugging at her pale hair.

Kael’s gaze swept over us, lingering for just a second longer on me before moving on.

“This island,” he said, “is unmarked. Unmapped. It is part of your training now. You’ll learn to move through uncertain terrain. You’ll learn to adapt. And, if you’re lucky, you’ll learn something about yourselves.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Combat is not about looking good. It is not about flair or form. It’s about survival. Focus. Intention. You will not win your battles because you memorized stances from a textbook. You will win because you refused to yield.”

A silence followed, broken only by the rustle of leaves above.

Then, for the first time since arriving, Kael smirked—just a little.

“Let’s begin.”

We dropped our packs in a cluster near the base of one of the massive root-pillars. Kael stood with his arms behind his back, his pale hair unmoving despite the light breeze, as if even the wind knew better than to mess with him.

“This clearing will serve as our arena today,” he said. “We’ll begin with warm-ups. Pair off and spar. No magic. No enhancement. No elemental interference. Just wood and instinct.”

He gestured with his chin to a long wooden crate that rested beside a patch of moss. “Training weapons are there. Choose wisely. You may be matched against someone who won’t hold back.”

That last part felt aimed directly at me—or maybe at everyone. Kael’s eyes swept across the class like a predator measuring prey.

“Should we partner up?” Elaris asked, nudging me lightly with her elbow.

“Only if you promise not to break my ribs.”

She smirked. “No promises.”

I grabbed two wooden swords from the crate and handed her one. It was rough and splintered near the grip—not ideal, but it would work. Around us, the rest of the class began to pair off.

Marza and Seraphine were already circling each other. Toren tried to spar with Caelan, but Orrin cut in and claimed Caelan first with a cocky grin. Rias had opted to sit on a rock with Geri curled protectively at her feet, her head tilted toward the sounds of swords clacking.

“Ready?” Elaris asked, raising her blade.

I nodded. We circled each other slowly, our steps careful in the uneven terrain. I lunged first—testing, not serious. She parried easily and countered with a flick that tapped my shoulder.

“Sloppy,” she said.

“I was being nice.”

“Oh? Be mean, then.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

We traded blows—light, fast, more like dancing than fighting. Around us, others weren’t nearly as graceful. Caelan let out a shout as Orrin landed a clean strike to his thigh, and Toren tripped on a thick vine trying to dodge Marza’s swing.

“I swear these roots are cursed!” he yelled as he hit the ground again.

“Maybe it’s you that’s cursed,” Marza called back.

“Or just uncoordinated,” Seraphine added helpfully.

Kael watched us all without a word, standing near the crate like a sentry. After a few more minutes, he clapped his hands once, the sound sharp and final.

“Enough.”

The sparring slowed, then stopped.

“You’ve had your warm-up,” he said. “Now comes the real test.”

He bent down and pulled out a handful of red sashes from the crate—long strips of cloth dyed the same crimson as our academy uniforms.

“This exercise is called Capture the Flag. The difference is: the flag is you.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“You’ll be divided into four teams. Each team will have a leader. That leader will wear one of these sashes across their chest. The goal is to defeat the opposing leader in combat and make them yield. Only then may you take their flag.”

A murmur spread through the class.

“What happens to the others?” someone asked.

“If you are forced to yield in any duel, you’re out. The game ends when only one team has their leader standing with their flag.”

He let that sink in, then added, “You may use wooden weapons only. Enhancement magic that sharpens or strengthens the weapon is forbidden. Spells, barriers, and buffs—also forbidden. This is a test of strategy, cooperation, and restraint.”

“Do we choose our teams?” Orrin asked.

Kael shook his head. “No. I’ve chosen them.”

His eyes met mine for a brief second, and I felt the weight of it.

He tossed one of the red sashes straight to me.

“Arthur Fenrir. You’re a team leader.”

“Teams have been chosen,” Professor Kael announced. “Your opponents are those standing across from you. The game will begin shortly.”

The grassy field stretched across the top of the floating island, framed by steep cliffs and distant clouds. A small stone wall lined the edge of the island, serving as a safety measure to ensure we were aware of its boundaries before it was too late. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that one wrong move could send someone plummeting.

I looked over at my team—Elaris, Rias, Caelan, Seraphine, Marza, Toren, and Orrin. All of us clustered together, some shifting nervously, others eager to start. I adjusted the thin sash tied across my shoulder—the red strip of cloth marking me as our team’s “flag.”

“Looks like you’re our fearless leader,” Caelan said with a grin, arms crossed. “Try not to get stabbed.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Seraphine rolled her eyes. “Let’s not forget the part where we’re supposed to protect him, remember?”

“I didn’t forget,” Orrin said. “But the flag’s not just a burden—it’s bait.”

“Charming,” I muttered.

Elaris stepped up beside me. “We should spread out,” she said. “Form a loose V formation. If they rush in all at once, we’ll get swarmed.”

I nodded, trying not to let her nearness distract me. “Good call.”

Across the field, Anastella adjusted her own sash—the brilliant orange cloth standing out like a warning flare. She hadn’t broken eye contact with me since the teams had been announced. Her teammates buzzed with energy, a few already bouncing on their toes with anticipation.

Then came the horn.

A deep, echoing blast rang out across the floating island.

The game had begun.

Seraphine and Caelan bolted toward the right flank, drawing two opponents with them. Orrin and Toren held the center, blades up, while Marza stayed near Rias, watching their rear. Elaris darted left, fluid as ever, scanning for a target. I stayed near the back, per the rules—if I got taken out, it was over.

For the first few minutes, it was chaos.

Students clashed, wooden blades striking shields of mana. Screams of effort, yells of frustration, the occasional cry of “Yield!” echoed across the field. Professor Kael stood off to the side with his arms crossed, observing silently.

It didn’t take long before the crowd started to thin.

As students yielded one by one, a horn sounded every time. I saw Caelan knock someone’s sword away and jab toward their ribs, stopping short—his opponent immediately shouted, “Yield!”

But I didn’t see Elaris.

Not until I heard her scream.

It wasn’t loud, but it was sharp—sharp enough to slice through the fog of battle like a dagger through cloth. My head snapped toward the sound, and my blood turned to ice.

Across the clearing, Elaris lay crumpled on the ground, her arm twisted unnaturally beneath her. Standing over her, breathing hard, was Anastella Vortigern.

She didn’t look triumphant.

She looked furious.

My heart leapt into my throat.

Without thinking, I ran.

Wooden sword in hand, I bolted across the field, dodging clashes and skidding past dueling students. I heard someone call my name—Toren, maybe—but I didn’t stop.

By the time I reached them, Anastella was still standing over Elaris, her expression unreadable. Her sword was raised—but she didn’t strike again. Not yet.

I dropped to my knees beside Elaris. Her face was pale, eyes clenched tight against the pain. Her forearm was already beginning to swell.

“Elaris,” I whispered, one hand on her shoulder. “I’m here.”

She nodded weakly, her voice barely audible. “I’m okay… Just—hurts.”

I turned to Anastella.

Her gaze met mine.

Something passed between us—something ancient and electric and hot. It wasn’t just anger.

It was personal.

“You did this,” I said, rising slowly. My fingers clenched tighter around the wooden hilt. “She already yielded, didn’t she?”

“She was too slow,” Anastella said, voice like ice over a flame. “Not my fault she doesn’t belong here.”

“Take that back.”

She smiled faintly. “Make me.”

I didn’t wait for permission.

The wooden sword in my hand felt heavier now—less like a training weapon and more like something real, something dangerous. Anastella stood across from me, chin high, flame-red hair tied back like a banner, her sash marking her as the enemy team’s leader. The flag.

“You want to settle this?” she said coolly. “Then stop glaring and fight me.”

I stepped away from Elaris, barely aware of Rias and Seraphine rushing in to help her. I didn’t take my eyes off Anastella.

Professor Kael’s voice rang out across the clearing. “Arthur Fenrir versus Anastella Vortigern let the rematch begin.”

No time for a stance. No time for strategy.

Anastella lunged first, striking downward in a clean arc. I sidestepped, barely deflecting in time, and swung low—trying to sweep her legs. She jumped, twisting midair, and landed hard enough to make the dirt puff beneath her boots.

She was faster than I expected.

But not stronger.

I surged forward, catching her off guard, and our blades met with a sharp crack of wood against wood. I pushed forward, muscles straining. Her eyes narrowed, green and hot with frustration.

“Still think a backwoods nobody like yourself deserves to be king?” she spat, pushing back. “Or do you really think you have what it takes?”

I gritted my teeth and shoved her off. “I’ve got more than what it takes, at least more than you do.”

Another clash—then another. She was relentless, spinning and striking, moving like fire given form. But I had fought monsters. I had survived alone in the mountains. I’d bled for every step of my life.

And I was done letting people like her decide who belonged.

“You hurt her on purpose,” I said, breath ragged between strikes. “You didn’t have to go that far.”

“She was in the way.”

“She wasn’t your enemy. I am.”

Our swords locked again. For a moment, our faces were only inches apart.

“You think being prince means you’re untouchable?” she whispered.

“No,” I said, low and steady. “But hurting the people I care about? That has consequences.”

I twisted, slipping my blade past her guard.

She barely dodged the strike aimed at her chest—but her footing faltered. I followed through, spinning and slamming the flat of my wooden sword into her shoulder.

She stumbled back, grimacing.

I didn’t stop.

Blow after blow rained down. She blocked most. But not all. I drove her backward, forcing her into the center of the clearing.

She swung wide—desperate, off-balance.

I ducked under it and knocked her legs out from under her with a sweeping kick.

She hit the ground hard.

And I didn’t hesitate.

I stepped forward, raising my fist—not the sword, but my bare hand. She looked up just as I stopped, my knuckles hovering over her face.

Breathing hard. Shaking.

She flinched.

I could’ve hit her.

I wanted to hit her.

But I didn’t.

“Yield,” I said coldly.

Her lips twisted—but she looked around. Her teammates were either out or watching in stunned silence. The field had gone still.

“I yield,” she said through gritted teeth.

Professor Kael’s voice broke the tension. “Match over. Victory goes to Arthur Fenrir’s team.”

It was done.

I lowered my hand and stepped back. Anastella sat up, not meeting my eyes.

I didn’t care.

I turned on my heel and ran back to Elaris.

She was sitting up now, her face pale but her eyes clearer. Rias knelt beside her, holding a strip of cloth against her swollen arm.

“Hey,” I said, dropping to my knees. “You okay?”

Elaris blinked at me, her voice faint. “You beat her?”

“Yeah. You should’ve seen it. I was all hero-like and everything.”

A tiny smile tugged at her lips. “Did you punch her?”

“No,” I said. “I stopped myself.”

“Shame. Would’ve made a better story.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

She nodded, and I gently slid my arms beneath her legs and back. She didn’t protest. In fact, she leaned into my shoulder, her good hand curling slightly into the front of my uniform.

The others gathered around, quiet, concerned.

“I’ll take her,” I said. “Tell Professor Kael.”

Caelan gave me a nod. “We’ve got it covered.”

As I carried her across the grassy field, the sounds of the match faded behind us.

The trees whispered above. The sky stretched endless and open.

And for the first time that day, the fire in my chest began to cool.

Not from exhaustion.

But because she was safe.