The obsidian arena waited in tense silence. Two young men stood face to face, only a few steps apart.
Klyven Albrecht, of Brauchwald, drew his sword in a single, fluid motion.
Steel glinted under the muted sky. He lowered his head slightly not in respect, but as an aristocratic formality.
Eryn Kaestell, from the outer districts of Tirnaath, raised one hand. Wind curled around him like the breath of something unseen. In his left hand, a short dagger caught the dull light.
At the edge of the arena stood Magister Rusk, his iron staff planted into the ground.
"Begin."
Klyven struck first.
His steps were silent, his movements sharp and deliberate targeting Eryn's right side with a low-angled slash, a standard technique of noble duelists.
But Eryn wasn't there.
The wind twisted. His body slipped back like a shadow. He didn't counter he read.
Klyven pressed forward, faster this time. He laced defensive magic into his blade, forming a thin shimmer along the edge a protective barrier.
Still, Eryn didn't retaliate.
He moved just enough, letting each strike pass within inches, close enough to taste the air of the blade but never letting it touch.
Whispers rose from the commoner stands.
"He keeps dodging...
Is he scared?"
"No. He's reading. Watch his movement."
In the noble seats, the commentary had a different tone.
"The Kaestell boy is dragging it out," said Marchioness Arceval.
"Or waiting for fatigue," murmured Count Destrois.
Klyven jumped back, exhaling slowly. His face remained composed, but his eyes recalculated.
Eryn crouched, picked up a handful of dust from the cracked obsidian, and tossed it upward. With a whisper, the wind lifted it forming a thin veil between them.
Tactic.
Klyven didn't wait.
He charged through the dust, thrusting forward and struck something.
There was a crack.
But it wasn't Eryn.
It was a decoy a construct of wind, woven in a heartbeat.
Eryn appeared to the left, and for the first time, struck back.
His dagger slashed toward Klyven's side not lethal, but enough to disrupt. Klyven twisted, his protective spell absorbing most of it, though it forced him a step back.
The dust cleared.
They stood again.
Breathing hard.
Silent.
Neither moved.
Magister Rusk raised his staff.
"The duel ends."
The sound of iron rang out.
"Victor: Klyven Albrecht.
Decision rendered by dominant positioning at the time limit."
No cheers. No applause.
Just stares.
Klyven gave a curt nod.
Eryn said nothing, returning silently to Umbra's line.
The duel had ended.
But the seeds of a greater conflict had just been planted.