The day of the competition dawned crisp and cold, the winds off the distant cliffs carrying a whisper of promise and peril.
Beyond the stone walls of the outer estate, the horizon stretched wide, the sun barely rising over the jagged outline of the mountains. A column of mounted figures approached the estate gates, each horse's hooves striking the earth in perfect rhythm, like a drumbeat announcing the coming storm.
At the center of the column rode Auri Avernus, the Patriarch, atop a massive black warhorse. The knights of House Avernus flanked him to left and right, a disciplined line of steel and shadow, each movement precise, each glance carrying unspoken command.
Behind them rode the elder siblings: Elara Avernus, poised and composed.
Darisn Avernus, restless but disciplined.
And Gale Avernus, the third-born, quiet yet observant.
Their presence completed the formidable procession, a living testament to House Avernus' reach and power.
Even from a distance, the children of the outer estate felt the weight before they saw the riders. Whispered breaths filled the yard, but Jude's eyes were steady. His gaze was fixed, not on the grand procession, but on the man who had never truly noticed him — his father.
The gates opened with a low creak. Hooves struck stone, echoing through the outer estate like rolling thunder. Dust swirled, carried by the wind, catching in the sunlight and turning the moment almost sacred.
For a heartbeat, everything — the air, the stone, even the children — seemed suspended. Then the Patriarch and his retinue entered, silent and imposing.
No one dared move until the house guardian stepped forward, bowing deeply to the Patriarch before straightening to announce the start of the ceremony.
Auri's eyes scanned the yard with deliberate calculation. They lingered on the assembled children, pausing on Vex and Vin. Both brothers' gazes flicked away nervously, the weight of their father's presence pressing down on them.
Then his eyes met Jude's. Not dismissive this time. Not indifferent. Fierce, measuring, and calculating. The kind of gaze that could cut through bone.
A slow, almost imperceptible smirk curved the Patriarch's lips. He nodded once.
"Begin."
The competition hall was a wide expanse, polished wood gleaming faintly under the high windows. The rules were simple: children fought one-on-one with wooden swords.
After defeating their initial opponent, they could challenge another. A subtle hierarchy began to form even before the first clash.
Vex stepped forward first, squaring himself against a child near his age. The air seemed to tighten around him, his shoulders stiff, his expression hard. The fight began.
Vex attacked aggressively, a flurry of thrusts and slashes. His opponent barely had time to react, parrying with quick, awkward motions.
The clash of wood filled the hall — sharp snaps, dull thuds, the occasional grunt. Every strike of Vex's carried force, yet his movements lacked refinement. Speed alone could not cover inexperience.
Within ten minutes, he had worn down his opponent with repeated, precise counters, ending the duel with a clean strike that disarmed the boy.
He stood tall, chest heaving, sweat streaking his face. His eyes found his father's briefly. Auri's gaze was still measured, unreadable. Vex's jaw tightened. Not impressed. He clenched his fist.
"Father," Vex said, bowing slightly, "I would like to challenge another contender."
Auri nodded once, no words necessary. Approval granted.
Vex's eyes found Jude, sharp and daring.
"Then I challenge… Jude Avernus," he announced.
Jude smiled faintly, feeling a thrill of anticipation. This was exactly the opening he had been waiting for.
His brothers had always underestimated him, and now, without realizing it, Vex had handed him a chance to demonstrate everything he had learned — everything he remembered from his past life.
"I accept," Jude replied simply. He walked toward the arena. Step by step, the distance closed. His mind ran through the stances, the motions, the defensive shifts he had perfected.
His heart beat steady. Focused. He remembered every mistake he had made before, every lesson learned too late. Now, he would act with precision.
Vex met him at the center. He looked bigger, stronger, more confident. But confidence alone would not win this fight.
Elara and the other siblings watched silently. Only Jude's presence shifted something unseen — the sense of control, subtle yet undeniable, radiating from his stance, his composure.
The fight began.
Vex lunged first, a wide overhead strike aimed at Jude's shoulder.
Jude shifted easily to the side, letting the blow pass harmlessly, and countered with a light tap to Vex's forearm, testing strength and reaction.
Another strike. Another dodge. Each clash of wood rang like a bell, marking seconds, marking movement.
Vex's strikes were fast, aggressive, and powerful. Jude's blocks were precise, measured, almost effortless. He could see the trajectory of every attack, every tell — muscles twitching, eyes narrowing, the faint imbalance in weight distribution. Every motion of Vex's body betrayed intent.
Jude parried. Feinted. Pivoted. Each action perfectly timed. The fight lasted, relentless, the children circling, striking, defending, sweat slicking foreheads, breathing heavy, the hall filled with the music of battle.
Minutes passed. Ten, perhaps. Each second stretched. Every strike of the wooden swords was a conversation, a test, a demonstration of will.
Then it came — the opening.
Vex overextended in a strike, leaving his right side exposed. Jude stepped inside, his movements calm, economical. With a flick of his wrist, he cut through Vex's wooden sword, snapping it neatly in half.
Vex staggered, stunned, his confidence shattered. Jude's chest heaved gently. His eyes met his father's again. Steely. Fierce. Determined. Not a word, no boast, just presence.
Vex's gaze dropped. Ashamed. He had fought the youngest and lost.
The hall fell silent. Jude's wooden sword remained in his hand. Vex slumped to the floor, defeated. The competition had just begun, but the youngest son had already made his mark.