The training arena finally came into view—massive and circular, built of pale stone. The stands formed a solid crown around the wide inner space. The walls, polished by years, reflected the winter light. The whole place felt both ancient and impeccably maintained.

  Le?na stopped short, eyes wide.

  The immense ground, entirely covered in fine sand, gleamed under the pale winter light. Four cardinal entrances structured the arena: to the west, access to the stands; to the north, the girls’ changing room; to the south, the boys’ changing room; to the east, the storage room lined with training dummies, weapons, and armor.

  The place was vast, solemn, and surprisingly quiet.

  — It’s huge, Le?na breathed in awe.

  — We train here almost every day, Elwyn explained.

  Loyd drew a deep breath, sniffed the sand-laden air, and smiled as if he’d found a second home again.

  — I already missed this.

  Nahira looked at him.

  — I’ll remind you that you came to train this morning.

  — That’s not contradictory, he replied, perfectly serious.

  Volden stepped onto the sand slowly. Each footfall sank slightly, lifting a golden dust that settled at once. His gaze swept the arena with the precision of a veteran used to battlefields. His features barely changed, but Elwyn caught a hint of pride mixed with quiet nostalgia, as though the place had awakened an old memory.

  Then Volden’s eyes settled on him.

  He narrowed them gently.

  A light hush fell over the sand.

  — You train here every day.

  — Yes. In the morning. Sometimes with Loyd. Sometimes alone. And in the afternoon, the two of us train for two hours in a clearing outside the Academy.

  — And you’ve improved.

  It wasn’t a question.

  Elwyn inclined his head.

  — I still have a lot to learn. He never stops putting me in difficulty.

  Volden crossed his arms. His shoulders lifted slightly, as if his body were reclaiming an old instinct—buried, but intact. He took two steps toward the arena’s center.

  — Show me.

  Elwyn looked up, surprised.

  — Now.

  — Yes. Nothing complicated. A simple evaluation duel. No weapons. I want to see how you move. How you breathe. How you’ve grown.

  Le?na stifled a small squeal.

  — A duel with Dad.

  Sylaria’s eyes widened, caught between interest and an instinctive nervousness. Nahira watched with sudden seriousness. Arimélia straightened, focused. Loyd, for his part, wore an eager smile.

  — This will be interesting.

  Elwyn inhaled slowly. A hesitation crossed him—not from fear, but from respect. Volden was no ordinary fighter. He was a man who’d survived dangers people only spoke of in whispers.

  — Very well, Elwyn said.

  He removed his coat and set it on a bench. Volden did the same.

  They faced each other at the center of the circle of pale sand.

  Le?na slipped close to Ophélia, fingers tight around her coat.

  — They’re going to fight hard.

  — No. Your father knows exactly what he’s doing, Ophélia answered calmly.

  Volden adopted a simple stance: feet anchored, back straight, hands relaxed. Nothing aggressive—only that cold concentration that reads a body better than an open book.

  Elwyn lowered into a more defensive posture: weight distributed, breathing controlled. A calm that cut cleanly against the tension around them.

  Volden gave a slight nod.

  — You’ve changed.

  He stepped forward.

  Elwyn tracked every micro-movement.

  Then Volden launched.

  The first attack was fast: a subtle feint, a sharp transfer of weight, then a direct motion.

  Elwyn slipped right in one fluid step. Sand lifted briefly beneath his footing.

  Volden followed with a sweep.

  Elwyn jumped—light—without losing his axis.

  Loyd let out an admiring whistle.

  — Your dad is really fast.

  Nahira agreed with a small nod.

  The duel continued.

  Volden attacked with methodical precision. Elwyn evaded with an almost unreal serenity. Nothing but body, breath, reading. Two silhouettes trading a pure, taut, living exchange.

  At one point, Volden truly accelerated.

  He struck in a sharp motion.

  Elwyn parried. He pivoted, redirected the trajectory, and returned to the impact a controlled fluidity.

  The dull sound of contact rang through the arena.

  Volden smiled—a genuine, proud smile.

  — There. Yes. Now I recognize my son.

  Elwyn retreated three precise steps. His breathing stayed calm. He wasn’t aiming for victory or display—only showing what he had become: steady, grounded, mature.

  Volden stepped back as well, then lowered his hands.

  — That’s enough for me.

  Arimélia stepped forward.

  — You don’t want to continue?

  Volden made an easy gesture.

  — I don’t need to see more. His movements speak for him. He doesn’t fight to win. He doesn’t fight to prove. He fights like someone who knows what he is. And that’s enough for me.

  He set a warm, firm hand on Elwyn’s shoulder.

  — You’ve become impressive. Not only strong. Certain. Controlled. I’m not worried anymore.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  A sincere warmth crossed Elwyn’s eyes.

  — Thank you.

  Le?na ran up at once, like a spark.

  — That was so cool. You flew over the sand.

  — Not quite, Elwyn replied, a little amused despite himself.

  No sooner had Volden left the center than Loyd stepped forward. His eyes shone with pure enthusiasm—almost provocative.

  — That was beautiful. Truly. But now it’s my turn.

  Elwyn turned sharply toward him.

  — Loyd…

  — What? I just want to see if your dad is really as strong as he looks. It’s the perfect opportunity.

  A smile tugged at Volden’s lips. Amused by the boldness of the young nephilim of War, he crossed his arms.

  — You want to face me.

  — Yes. And without holding back too much. Just enough for it to be fun.

  Le?na’s eyes went wide.

  — You want to fight Dad.

  — Yes. And I fully intend to win.

  Arimélia pinched the bridge of her nose.

  — I strongly doubt that conclusion.

  Nahira tilted her head slightly.

  — Me too. But I admire your optimism.

  Sylaria tried to keep a neutral face. Her eyes betrayed a very real fascination.

  Volden watched Loyd carefully: the build, the grounding, the overflowing energy. Raw determination, unrestrained.

  — Very well. But not bare-handed. Let’s get weapons from the storage room.

  Loyd puffed his chest slightly.

  — No need. I’ll handle it.

  He raised his hand. Ether surged along his arm and condensed in his palm. A deep red glow swirled, and a bastard sword materialized—solid, stable, balanced.

  Le?na stepped back two paces, impressed.

  — That’s magic.

  Arimélia murmured under her breath.

  — When you use it, it’s a lot less magical…

  Loyd gave it a flourish. Sand lifted in brief arcs.

  — Perfect.

  He held the sword out to Volden. Volden took it, and the blade vibrated slightly, as if recognizing an experienced bearer.

  — Crafted with care. Impressive.

  Loyd shaped a second identical blade.

  — Same weapon, same weight. No excuses.

  They returned to the arena’s center, facing each other. Same distance. Same axis. Two fighters nearly equal—at least in appearance.

  Arimélia crossed her arms.

  — This will be very different. Loyd is strong. He won’t leave an opening on purpose.

  Nahira nodded.

  — And Volden won’t leave any at all.

  Sylaria held her breath as they began to move.

  The duel began.

  Loyd moved first—not from impatience, but because he knew that giving initiative to a veteran like Volden was surrendering control from the first second. He sprang forward, blade high, footing solid in the sand.

  Volden parried the first strike without stepping back. He absorbed the impact with an almost elegant precision.

  The shock made the air vibrate.

  Loyd chained attacks: horizontal, then diagonal. He tried to break stability by abruptly changing the angle of his wrist.

  Elwyn watched closely.

  — A sliding feint. He’s testing his stability.

  Arimélia didn’t blink.

  — And he’s not holding back.

  Volden redirected the blade: a foot shift, a change of support. He wasn’t only countering the strike—he was countering the intent.

  Loyd stepped back once. A smile stretched his lips.

  — You’re reading my movements.

  — Of course. You’re very good. But your body speaks before your weapon.

  Loyd tightened his grip. Slowed. Breathed deeper. His expression changed. A predatory focus settled in his eyes.

  — Then I’ll change the rhythm.

  He surged again—this time without signal, without preparation—like silence breaking.

  Volden retreated a half-step. Just a breath.

  But it was enough to show the level was truly rising.

  Loyd struck straight, then in rotation, then disrupted the tempo. Volden followed—always exact, always precise.

  Blades crashed in bursts. Sand flew beneath their fast steps. Their breathing synchronized in spite of them.

  Le?na wasn’t even blinking anymore.

  — It looks like they’re flying.

  Sylaria nodded, never looking away.

  — This is a very serious duel.

  Loyd forced a strike slightly. Volden blocked, power contained. The sand dug in under his feet.

  Then Volden attacked—pure experience, without useless brutality.

  Loyd barely parried. He anticipated every tension, every micro-rotation of the wrist. It wasn’t one-sided.

  But one of them had twenty years’ advantage in the art of reading an opponent.

  After a rapid series of exchanges, Loyd thought he saw an opening.

  He struck—fast, decisive, sure he would land it.

  Volden blocked at exactly the right moment.

  Clean. Perfect. Without hesitation.

  Loyd’s eyes widened.

  — I didn’t see it coming.

  — Your forehead moved before your wrist, Volden replied.

  And using the surprise, he flowed into a smooth motion. His blade brushed Loyd’s shoulder.

  A light touch—symbolic—final.

  — Touché.

  Sylaria jolted. Le?na clapped her hands over her mouth. Nahira held a tight breath. Arimélia stayed still. Elwyn watched with quiet respect.

  Loyd froze for a second, then burst into loud laughter.

  — By the Grand Guardians… you’re really strong.

  Volden lowered his blade, calm.

  — No. I’m just older. And I have far too many hours of training and fights behind me.

  He offered his hand.

  — You have exceptional potential. Keep going. You’ll surpass me.

  Loyd clasped it, sincere.

  — That’s the plan.

  Ophélia applauded softly.

  — Well done, both of you. That was clean. And impressive.

  Le?na ran up.

  — That was incredible.

  Sylaria nodded.

  — It looked like a duel between two masters-at-arms.

  Arimélia added, composed.

  — Loyd. You fought better than I imagined.

  Loyd rubbed the back of his neck, smiling—embarrassed but proud.

  — Thanks.

  Nahira looked at Volden.

  — I understand better where Elwyn’s discipline comes from.

  Volden rested a hand on his son’s shoulder.

  — And I’m proud of it.

  Then he turned slightly toward him.

  — You have excellent friends. Don’t let them slip away.

  — I have no intention of it.

  Loyd dismissed both weapons in a soft rush of ether. The metal volatilized between his fingers. Silence returned to the arena, broken only by sand grinding underfoot as they walked away.

  Snow fell gently, almost weightless. The sky darkened in successive shades, and the air grew stiller as the celebration approached. Everything seemed to quiet down, making room for the evening’s anticipation.

  Ophélia lifted her eyes to the pale vault of sky, a gentle fatigue in her gaze.

  — Time to go back up. The evening is being prepared.

  Le?na lit up.

  — Yes. The banquet.

  Volden set a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

  — Before the banquet, we’re going to rest a bit. We’ll need our strength.

  Elwyn stepped forward slightly.

  — I’ll walk you back. I’ll come get you a little before it starts.

  Ophélia gave him a calm smile.

  — Very well. Enjoy the time you have left before you get ready. We’ll meet again afterward.

  They headed back toward the guest dormitory. Le?na walked for a while holding Elwyn’s sleeve, then let go to run ahead—still overflowing with energy.

  Along the way, she hopped from one topic to another, even walking backward so she could keep talking to Elwyn, her eyes bright as two little lanterns.

  — And after the banquet, do you think we can still go for a walk? And will there be music? And will…

  — Easy, Le?na, Ophélia interrupted gently. You’ll end up out of breath.

  — Never, the little girl replied, spinning in place.

  Volden shook his head, amused.

  — If she keeps that pace, she’ll fall asleep standing up before she even gets dessert.

  When they finally reached their room, Ophélia removed her daughter’s scarf while Volden set his coat on a chair.

  Le?na still circled the room—too excited by the visit, the meal, the labyrinth, the fights, and the party to come.

  Ophélia put a hand on her shoulder.

  — You should rest a little. The evening will be long.

  — But I’m not tired.

  Elwyn knelt in front of her and gently moved a strand of hair off her forehead.

  — You’ll enjoy the banquet even more if you take a short nap. I’ll come wake you before it starts.

  She hesitated, then nodded, unable to stay still.

  Elwyn placed two fingers against her hand.

  No flare. No visible light.

  Just a breath.

  A fine thread of ether—soft, almost imperceptible—slipped into the rhythm of her heart like a silent lullaby. The soothing pulse wrapped around the little girl, easing away the excitement that kept her upright.

  Le?na’s eyelids fluttered.

  — Okay… but you… don’t go far…

  — I’ll be here, he promised.

  She slid into the middle of the bed and pulled the blanket up to her chin.

  Within seconds, her breathing slowed and steadied.

  Ophélia tucked her in with a tender motion, then looked at Elwyn with calm gratitude.

  — Still as efficient as ever.

  Elwyn shook his head gently.

  — She just needed rest.

  Volden set a heavy, reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder.

  — You were born with that gift. Not only to soothe. To understand.

  Elwyn didn’t answer. He only smiled.

  — Rest as well. I’ll come get you when it’s time.

  Ophélia nodded. Volden did too.

  Elwyn left the room and closed the door softly behind him.

  Outside, snow kept falling in silence, and all across the Academy, the evening’s celebration was being prepared—slowly.

  The banquet was waiting.

  The night promised to be beautiful.