Some days later, routine returned with a confidence that felt rehearsed.
Training continued as expected, yet beneath it all ran a quiet certainty—an understanding shared without words that the calm was temporary. I sensed it in the way instructors allowed space to form, in the way other trainees kept their distance without hostility, and in the way my name was spoken less often, but never forgotten.
The challenge came in the afternoon.
The heir stepped onto the training ground without announcement, his presence enough to draw attention without demanding it. He was close to my age, close enough that comparison was unavoidable, yet the distance between us had grown since our last encounter. Not in skill alone, but in expectation.
This time, there was no spectacle.
No murmurs.
No anticipation sharpened by novelty.
It was understood.
We would duel.
The instructor gave permission with a single nod, and the ground cleared with disciplined efficiency. When we faced each other, the heir's expression held neither arrogance nor resentment—only resolve. Whatever he sought this time, it was not validation.
It was certainty.