Seven years ago…
The foils whistled and clinked. Two combatants with faces hid by meshed helmets—one left-handed and dressed in a black jacket and breeches and the other right-handed and dressed in white—danced as they thrust and parried their weapons. The white fighter huffed, his loud panting muffled by his helmet. His opponent moved with grace and ease, as if toying with him. The black fighter’s weapon stabbed with almost murderous intent and parried attacks with the attitude of a man brushing dust from his shoulder. He charged his white-clad opponent, thrusting and stabbing, and forced him to run backward down the fifty-foot dueling strip under their feet. Five of the six young people watching the duel cheered.
With his back to the proverbial wall, the white duelist parried his opponent’s attack and instantly thrust his own weapon at his opponent’s chest. But the black duelist sidestepped the stab with almost supernatural reflexes and casually tripped his opponent. The white fighter rolled over on the ground to desperately defend himself, only to find the tip of the foil pressed against his neck.
“Ha-ha!” exclaimed the black duelist as he raised his ungloved hand overhead. A fireball shot from his hand, flew into the air, and exploded into a cloud of colorful flames. The spectators cheered louder, all except one.
“Enjoy yourself now, Shar,” said the white duelist, using a quick gesture to summon a gust of wind that threw him to his feet. Now standing, he pulled off his helmet, revealing his sweat-drenched dark blonde hair and cobalt eyes. “But someday I’ll blow you out like a candle!”
Shar removed his helmet, tucking it under his right arm, and ran his fingers through his dry golden hair. His gray eyes flared as he smirked at the wind manipulator. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Talynn. Wind only fans a fire’s flames, brother.” He snapped his fingers, and a small flame appeared on his pointer finger, making it look like a candle. “You’ll never do this to me.” He then pressed his finger to his lips and kissed it, blowing a tongue of fire at his brother and singeing his hair. Shar snickered.
Talynn harrumphed and walked to the bench halfway down the dueling strip’s sideline. There he was joined by their hefty, blond-haired brother, Bulon, while their three blonde sisters intercepted Shar and showered him with praise. This left a brown-haired boy clad in a white tanktop and white athletic pants with silver stripes. He stood alone with his arms crossed, glaring.
Thinks he’s such a “wildfire,” he thought. I’ll show him!
The boy ran toward the bench and grabbed Talynn’s foil. “Jaysynn!” exclaimed Talynn, but the boy ignored his older brother’s objections. He strode up to Shar and declared, “You’re not leaving until you fight me!”
Shar raised an eyebrow. Then he laughed. “I haven’t time for this, little brother. Father demands that I be on time for more lessons in kingship.” He sighed, whimsically adding, “I do look forward to having the throne someday.”
“Since when did you start refusing challenges?” asked Jaysynn, holding the foil up and pointing it at his brother’s smirking face.
“He has a point, Shar,” interjected Chel, the oldest of their sisters. “You didn’t even refuse the challenge of that Examiner from Jalseion who thought he’d reduced fencing to a science.”
Shar nodded. “Poor fool. He was so easy to predict.”
“And do you really think it’ll take you long to beat our little brother?” said Casseo, firing her own smirk at Jaysynn, who replied with a glare.
“I’m the one who can burn holes in people’s heads with a look, little Jaysynn, not you,” said Jilla, their youngest sister.
Jaysynn only glanced at her. He knew doing more than that would only earn him more condescension from her.
“That’s enough, girls,” said Shar. “I see your point.” He turned to his brother. Jaysynn wanted so much to wipe that smug smile off his face. “I accept your challenge.”
Only then did Jaysynn crack a small grin.
“Bulon should have some gear in his locker that will fit you,” Shar continued.
“Let’s duel now,” insisted Jaysynn.
“You’ve always been impetuous,” said Shar, shaking his head.
The two brothers stepped onto the dueling strip. Their sisters joined Bulon and Talynn over by the bench. Jaysynn felt their curious yet disapproving eyes pricking the back of his neck. Even so, Jaysynn always kept his foil pointed at his oldest brother and remained in a fencing pose.
Shar pressed the blade of his foil between his arm and side, holding his mask with both hands. “Do you honestly think you, a boy of thirteen, can defeat the heir to Thyrion’s throne?”
“Yes!” replied Jaysynn, almost yelling.
“Too bad,” Shar said, putting his mask on, “your stance is weak.”
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