In the Academy
Cylinth dei Silverio sat alone in her office, highlighted by the glow of the evening sun casting long bars of gold across the floor.
TtapPpp… TtAppPp…
Her fingers tapped against the hardwood desk in a restless rhythm.
Before her lay an application form.
Unsigned.
Unscored.
And untouched by examination ink.
She stared at the name printed neatly at the top:
[ Seven Hart ]
Cylinth leaned back slightly and folded her arms across her chest as her eyes stayed fixed on the form.
As she frowned, a subtle warmth of her zaen gathered in the room like an imperceptible rise in temperature until the edges of the application paper lifted with a slight curl.
She noticed and exhaled slowly through her nose.
Her fingers twitched, thus she flexed them once and planted both hands on the desk to steady herself.
"...This little runt."
For a moment, she merely sat there and weighed the consequences of what she was about to do.
Haah…
With a sharp exhale, she yanked open her drawer, retrieved a clean sheet of parchment, and dipped her pen into fresh ink.
She wrote:
To the Academy Council,
Subject: Formal Recommendation for Seven Hart
What followed was a wall of words tightly closed to each other but can still be called as an elegant handwriting— justification of Seven Hart through raw conviction.
It was more like a letter of recognition rather than a simple recommendation.
This recommendation would bypass standard entry procedure. It would raise eyebrows and spark murmurs. Worst of all, it would come after the Eden letter, the one the council had sworn would be the first and final recommendation.
Especially the Havin household.
Given that all recommendations were aimed to those with the blood of Hart.
Cylinth hated this idea.
"...Little runt."
She repeated under her breath, as if the name itself was a thorn in her throat.
Cra— Crackle!
The temperature in the room surged. Flames licked the edges of her sleeves as her zaen flared uncontrollably, veins of black energy webbing through her skin like molten glass.
After all, the thought of groveling before the old relics on the council again, bending her pride to explain a gut instinct they would never understand…
Thud!
She slammed the pen back down.
The steel shaft cracked in half beneath her hand, and ink scattered across the desk.
Slowly, she opened the drawer once again and reached for the parchment-covered snack and bit it in one go.
"...So be it."
The application form was finished, and all she needed to do was to submit it to the council. Personally.
"Little runt."
***
In the Training Ground
"Try it if you can."
That was what Seven said though he was technically the one at a disadvantage. Still, instead of changing his sword to metal, he simply recoated it in a ripple of zaen.
Lythian did not give him the next move.
He burst forward one more time with a slight hop-step, left foot crossing over right like a maneuver that kept his shoulders squared even as his body spun. He led the dagger to a downward slash aimed for Seven's collarbone.
But it was a fake.
Mid-swing, he planted his left hand on the ground, used the torque of his core to spin low beneath Seven's guard, and swept a kick toward the back of his left knee.
Seven's eyes began to glow gold.
He stepped into the kick, rather than away.
His left leg bent as it took the kick directly, but the force was minimized given that he brought his leg closer towards it.
Pivoting his right foot outward, he twisted his torso and let the stored momentum of his stance bring his sword down in a vertical arc toward Lythian's exposed ribs.
Swoosh!
Lythian tucked his dagger arm in tight and rolled onto his back, letting the blade hit the tile beside him instead. The instant his shoulders hit the floor after the roll, he pushed himself up using one hand and aimed for another kick toward Seven's chin.
Seven bent backward at the waist and dodged it by inches.
Lythian took that opportunity to follow up for a stab.
But Seven whipped his torso back upright and struck forward with a horizontal slash across Lythian's chest.
Slash!
But it never landed.
Lythian twisted his hips in midair, tucked his knees tighter, and let himself fall faster than gravity would have taken him.
He dropped flat on his back and folded his arms protectively over his face as the wooden sword swept just overhead.
Lythian kicked off the ground and propelled himself backward in a handspring, landing light on the balls of his feet with his left foot slightly behind the right whilst holding the dagger in a reversed grip.
He dashed backward.
"Fudger."
Seven said, brushing the blood that stained his lips.
"Why are you afraid of death when you cannot die?"
"...?!"
Lythian was immortal. That was exactly the reason as to why he challenged him to a duel under the facade of training. After all, his wound would just regenerate as long as he has enough zaen reserves.
Thus that means Lythian could charge over and over again, and that alone was enough for Seven to push through his limits.
Hff…
Both of them took a deep breath at the same time.
Crackle! Cra—
Both of them also moved at the same time.
Seven slid his left foot forward, which was a conservative opening he used to read to prepare an attack.
Lythian mirrored him. He also stepped forward and brought the dagger in a low and sharp arc aimed for the thigh.
Seven angled his wrist and caught the dagger with the wooden guard of the wooden sword near the hilt. He redirected the strike before he shifted his weight and rotated his hips, letting the torque pull his torso into a tight spin.
The sword followed and trailed a narrow arc behind him.
But Lythian leaned inside the arc. The blade passed behind his head, missing by millimeters before he shoved his shoulder into Seven's ribs.
Though the contact was brief, it was enough to throw Seven's frail body off-balance.
He stumbled back half a step. Lythian followed immediately and drove a series of short jabs with his dagger.
But then again, Seven's Præscientia lit the path.
He angled his body away with tiny pivots, and each motion cleared the incoming edge by margins no wider than cloth.
The dagger brushed against his clothes and grazed his skin that left shallow wounds given that his body was not capable enough to dodge all of it perfectly, but a strike never landed clean.
On the sixth jab, Seven snapped his wrist upward.
Clank—!
The wooden blade hit Lythian's forearm and knocked the dagger high above.
Seven did not waste this chance away and stepped in before he drove his elbow into Lythian's shoulder (did not use the sword as Lythian could dodge before the strike landed).
Haahh….
The breath left Lythian's lungs.
But he did not give up.
Lythianmimicked what Seven did during their first encounter back in the forest: Lythian kicked the falling dagger back up, caught it mid-air in a reversed grip, and drove the dagger forward in a ninety-degree spin.
Seven stepped back to dodge, but he was not fast enough.
Stab!
The dagger pierced his chest, and blood welled and tainted his shirt.
Ignoring the pain, Seven stepped in with his full body. Zaen surged from his soles as he stomped his right foot forward, and slashed the sword in a downward slash.
Lythian pulled his dagger from Seven's chest to block, but it was too late as the edge of the wooden sword slammed into his shoulder and cut his flesh.
Normally, a wooden sword cannot cut through flesh, but only if not infused with zaen.
Clang!
Lythian's dagger fell.
He grit his teeth and tried to push Seven off with his knee through his ribs, but Seven caught it with his forearm and absorbed the blow given that he saw it in the foresight.
Seven twisted his wrist, and drove the hilt of the sword towards Lythian's jaw.
Thud!
Lythian hit the floor in a roll, but his veins pulsed and the wound on his shoulder started to regenerate along with his crooked jaw that returned back to normal.
Cra— Crackle!
Slowly, he picked up the dagger on the ground as he stood up.
Hff…
Haah…
Both of them stood while facing each other again, panting.
Seven shifted his weight to his rear foot and now held the wooden sword in a low, defensive stance as he ran a hand through his hair.
Lythian narrowed his eyes. He wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand. His shimmer shimmered, slower than before, and the wound in his shoulder stopped regenerating.
Both of them now were almost out of zaen reserves.
But then again, neither of them cared.
"One more round."
Seven and Lythian said in unison, as if they shared a single mind.