Darius POV
I woke up to the sound of the alarm echoing through the cell, but what really got me up every morning wasn't the alarm — it was discipline.
The dim morning light slipped through the windows of my small cell, illuminating the corner where my body rested.
I stood slowly, feeling the tension still lingering in my muscles from the night before, when sword practice had drained every last reserve of energy I had left. But the day wouldn't wait, and I couldn't afford that luxury either.
With a sigh, I shut off the alarm and made a quick move to get out of bed. I brewed a small cup of coffee to spark some energy before starting my exercise routine.
Soon, sweat was already dripping down my skin.
The same exercises as always: push-ups, sit-ups, jumps — a silent grind, no words, no complaints. My bones still remembered the pain of imposed discipline.
"Faster," I told myself. "Stronger."
I pushed myself to be the best.
The mind screams, the body obeys. I couldn't afford to miss a single step, a single second.
Then I headed to the training field. The sound of clashing swords and shouted commands filled the air. As I passed by some of the soldiers in training, I heard their greetings.
"Good morning, Captain."
Most of them were young, but their gazes were steady — full of determination. I nodded in return without slowing my pace.
Today was sparring day, a day of simulated combat — no lethal weapons — where strategy and personal skill were pushed to the limit.
I quickly divided the soldiers into pairs and began observing, offering quick guidance.
"Fix your stance."
"Your footwork is off. Move more freely."
The training was intense, and I moved easily between the duels, offering sharp, timely advice.
My eyes were always alert to the details, catching every mistake and every success, adjusting each one's technique.
And then, finally, it was my turn. I was to face one of the most formidable warriors in the field: Grugor — a massive ogre, standing at 7'6" (2.30 meters). I was young, but already 5'11" (1.80 meters), and still, he was a giant compared to me.
I walked to the side of the field to set down my personal sword — a blade forged with precision and honor. As I did, a reflection caught my attention.
My now-black eyes shimmered briefly in the sunlight as I stared at my reflection in the blade.
My once-black hair was tousled slightly by the wind, a few strands falling over my forehead. The medium, messy cut didn't take away from the striking appearance that set me apart from everyone around.
My face was young but sharp, with a strong jaw and square chin that spoke of strength and determination. My intensely black eyes seemed to simmer with the fire of an ambitious soul.
Modesty aside, I was handsome — which only irritated my opponents even more.
But in that reflection, my mind went further.
I saw myself there — not just the man I was, but the boy I once had been.
Blond hair, red eyes... the day I held a sword for the first time.
I was only five years old.
It came naturally. Effortlessly. I never had any doubt — my destiny was always this: to be a warrior. The best of them. Just like my father.
His sword, his spear, his shield — all of them had been his since boyhood.
I remembered the first time my father handed me a sword, how he laughed and said I was...
Boom.
Grugor stomped the ground, impatient, waiting for me.
I pushed the memories aside with a sigh and returned to the present.
I grabbed a wooden sword and walked to the center of the field, where the ogre was already waiting, a grin of anticipation splitting his cracked lips.
Grugor, the ogre, was a colossal creature. His mossy-green skin stretched over muscles as hard as stone beneath his rough training garments.
His yellowed tusks jutted from his mouth, and his wild eyes were locked onto me.
He wielded a massive wooden club — more like a tree trunk — and his hands, the size of dinner plates, gripped it with tremendous strength.
But despite his brute force, his eyes showed a glimmer of humor and respect.
"Captain, go easy on me," Grugor said in a deep, gravelly voice, drawing laughter from those around us.
The laughter echoed across the field. I smiled too, but I didn't move.
I simply waited for the ogre's move, as he readied his attack.
He charged, swinging the club with monstrous force, trying to crush me in a single blow. But I was ready — the trick wasn't brute strength. It was technique.
I dodged with feline grace, hearing the wind slice as the club missed me.
As he passed, I lifted the wooden sword with precision, tapping him on the knee, causing him to stumble slightly.
Grugor roared in pain but didn't falter. He quickly recovered, fury blazing in his eyes.
But I was one step ahead.
I used his own strength against him, moving with a grace that contrasted with my imposing presence.
In one swift motion, I slipped to his side and gave a light, fast jab, touching his rib with surgical accuracy.
The ogre spun, trying to grab me — but it was too late.
I was already behind him, pushing his club aside with a smooth move.
"Don't be so brutal, Grugor," I said, stepping back as he turned to face me again.
With one last movement, I took advantage of his imbalance and brought him down with a clean strike.
Grugor crashed to the ground, dust rising around his massive frame.
He looked up at me, breathing heavily, then smiled with respect.
"Well... well done, Captain," he chuckled, showing more teeth than I'd have liked.
"Strength without control is just destruction," I said, offering a hand to help him up.
Everyone around applauded. I stretched my muscles with a slight smile, keeping my posture upright.
"Training's over," I said, already walking to retrieve my personal sword.
Now it was time for my own training.
But then... the wind shifted. A hum in the sky — one I knew far too well. And unfortunately, it wasn't good.
POV: Third Person
The city of Ardor awoke to the sound of defense bells, their ringing echoing through the streets, the walls, and the trenches around the fortifications.
The peace of dawn was brutally broken as the attacks began.
From the sky, like a swarm of metallic predators, the ships of the Solarii Empire descended in formation, casting black shadows over the towers and rooftops of Ardor.
It was an overwhelming sight — majestic and terrifying.
The wall guards were on full alert, racing to their posts.
Darius interrupted the training without hesitation. Already in his armor, the metal plates clicked into place with precision, covering his body in protective layers — the shoulder guards, the fine chainmail beneath the armor, and the belt where his sword would rest.
His right hand gripped his sword. His left rested on his shield.
But today, he was more than just a soldier.
He was more than a warrior — he was a living legend among his men.
"But we have the Captain."
"He's going to save us."
Then he heard it — the distant roar of the ships approaching.
He didn't hesitate. With quick strides, he moved toward the wall, where soldiers were already taking position, their eyes locked on the horizon and the ships closing in.
He could feel the weight of their expectations pressing on his shoulders.