I watched him.
The outsider.
The boy who had once stumbled through the rite with nothing but reckless courage now stood before me with a presence that set my instincts on edge. The outsider. His stance was crude—hands loose, weight uneven—but it was a lie. The danger was coiled beneath it.
He moved differently now. Not trained. Honed.
"You've changed," I muttered. "What are you?"
The outsider grinned and rolled his shoulders, loose as a brawler sizing up prey.
"I learned by watching you. You think your duty makes you untouchable?"
Dirty words. Spoken like a challenge.
My master's voice surfaced, cold and absolute.
"You will first remove the challengers from the equation and then, the outsider—eliminate him."
I had hesitated. "But Master… would that not be unfair to the warriors? This is the rite. We are meant to test them, not—"
"Do you not remember what became of our island the last time we let an outsider live?" His eyes bore into mine. "This matter is beyond the rite, beyond fairness. Remember, duty is everything. Nothing else matters."
Thoughts of Aria flickered, stubborn shadows. She, the outsider, now our champion. Could belief in her be folly? I swallowed hard.
"Yes, Master." Duty first. Nothing else.
The outsider lunged.
Not straight in.
He dipped low, shoulder feinting, foot scraping stone to bait my cut. I answered on instinct—kampilan flashing in a clean arc meant to end it fast.
He wasn't there.
His fist crashed into my ribs instead.
Air burst from my lungs. I twisted, blade snapping back just in time to intercept his second strike. Steel rang as he punched into my guard, knuckles skidding off the flat of the blade as he ducked under the return swing.
Animalistic. Close. Filthy.
"You're stiff!" The outsider barked, driving a knee toward my thigh.
I checked it with my shin and shoved him back with the pommel.
"Discipline beats chaos," I said, resetting my stance. "Every time."
He spat blood and laughed.
"Then why are you breathing harder?"
I pressed.
My kampilan controlled the space—wide arcs, dominant angles, forcing him to move or be cut. He slipped through gaps that shouldn't have existed, eating glancing blows just to stay close. Every miss cost him skin. Every hit I landed should have ended the fight.
He didn't stop.
Each exchange demanded more focus than it should have.
This is no longer the outsider I beat.
His rhythm shifted.
The wildness didn't vanish—but it aligned.
Footwork tightened. His shoulders stopped telegraphing. His fists traced clean lines through my guard, slipping inside my cuts before retreating just out of reach.
Fluid.
Efficient.
The Bat style.
My breath caught.
"Impossible… You move like—"
"Like her?" The outsider finished, ducking low and slamming his elbow into my wrist. Pain flared. "Yeah. I watched everything."
His fists came fast now—not flailing, not desperate. Each strike was placed to disrupt my balance, to ruin my tempo. Chaos had learned precision.
My sword danced with his strikes, but his movements reflected Aria's training. He had taken something I could not have anticipated.
"I heard you'll be the one to test the candidates this year," she had said, quiet but earnest.
"Yes," I had replied, straightening my stance.
"Go easy on Kael," she had urged. "He was dragged into this because of me."
"I cannot," I had said. "Duty does not bend for kindness."
She had studied me, lips pressed into a line. "Believe in him, as I do."
I had scoffed, skeptical, certain that belief in an outsider was foolish.
For the first time, I had to retreat.
Am I a soldier, or a fool? Can I truly follow orders if they blind me to reason? I thought between parries. She trusts him… but I am sworn to duty. Which is stronger?
The world narrowed—steel, breath, intent.
Strike.
Parry.
Adapt.
Then—
The light dimmed.
The flame vanished.
Cheers erupted behind us.
A cheer rang out. "We did it!" Leilani. She had moved, unseen using her spirit arts she had doused the flame. Clever, precise, her timing flawless. I allowed myself the smallest measure of respect.
Spirit arts… always underestimated, I acknowledged silently, adjusting stance mid-strike.
I announced, "Candidates… have passed," but Kael ignored reason and lunged again.
This time, I met him fully.
My master's warning echoed: This one is dangerous. He cannot be left to strive.
Blade and body collided in brutal rhythm. He punched through pain. I cut through flesh. Neither of us gave ground. Every clash was a conversation—every impact a refusal to yield.
"I'm not some untrained outsider anymore!" The outsider snarled, smashing his forehead into my guard. "You don't get to judge me!"
"Then prove it," I said.
As the final sequence approached, Malik, still struggling to rise, croaked, "Brother…" barely audible. The single word was enough. How could I lose with my little brother rooting for me? My arms moved with renewed sharpness, not sentiment, only purpose.
The final exchange came like a breath held too long.
One movement.
One decision too late.
My legs buckled.
I dropped to one knee.
Not broken.
Just empty.
Kael collapsed beside me, chest heaving, fists slack at his sides.
I rose.
Sword raised.
Duty demanded it.
Then I saw his face.
Tears streaked through the grime. Rage spent. Resolve hollowed out.
Aria's belief crashed into me all at once.
My grip loosened.
The kampilan slipped from my hand and struck stone.
I followed it down.
The last thing I saw was Aria running toward us.
"Darin! Are you hurt?"
"I…" My voice failed. "We—yes."
Darkness took me.