Duels and Don'ts

Welyvyne, Eric, Lyren, and Kaelen arrived at the dueling grounds together. The arena sat on the east side of campus, open to the sky where a cool breeze drifted through, carrying the faint scent of grass and dust. The weather was perfect—calm enough to relax, with the warm sun standing in gentle contrast to the breeze.

The dueling arena resembled an oval fencing ring, a dividing line running cleanly through its center. Bleachers rose on either side, while a circle of enchantment runes bordered the perimeter, faintly pulsing with restrained energy. The ground was packed dirt—churned and smoothed again, evidence of countless matches fought and reset.

It wasn’t long before more students began to arrive. By the time the bell chimed, fifteen others had gathered, their voices blending into a low, expectant murmur.

Welyvyne glanced toward the campus towers. “That’s the bell.”

Eric blinked and looked around. “What bell? Seriously—what bell are you talking about?”

She snorted. “The one everyone else heard.”

Lyren and Kaelen turned to look at him, Kaelen’s arm still tucked in its sling.

“You mean you can’t hear the bell?” Kaelen asked.

Eric looked at Welyvyne flatly, then crossed his arms. “No. I’ve been thinking you guys just call hours ‘bells’ and have some kind of fantastic internal clock.”

Lyren burst out laughing, and Welyvyne and Kaelen quickly joined in.

“You really thought we were talking about a metaphorical bell?” Lyren said between laughs. “No, Eric—there really is a bell.” She pointed toward the tower. “They chime it twelve times a day, and at night they muffle it so we can sleep.”

Eric looked toward the tower. “That thing hasn’t made a sound since I’ve been here. No wonder everyone hears everything I say all the time.”

He glanced down toward the arena, only to find the professor staring straight at them. He turned back around and shut up.

At the center of the arena stood the professor—tall and composed. His silver hair was tied into a precise knot, and his dark robes hung perfectly, not a wrinkle in sight. His eyes, a clear glacial gray, swept across the students with the weight of someone who missed nothing and forgave less.

When he finally spoke, his voice was calm and deliberate, carrying farther than any shout.

“Welcome to Dueling. I am Professor Kaelith Varn. Today, we’ll see where you stand in a fight. The rules are the same as always—once your shield breaks, you’re out. I’ll hand out your shield sigils shortly.”

“Lord Kaelen,” he called, his voice cutting cleanly across the arena, “as probably the most seasoned here, would you care to join me?”

Kaelen stood and made his way down to the center of the arena, offering the professor a respectful nod.

“Good,” Professor Kaelith said, his voice carrying easily. “Now—split into two even groups. One with me, and the other with Lord Kaelen.”

The students separated into two even groups, Eric, Welyvyne, and Lyren stepping to Kaelen’s side in quiet unison.

Kaelen handed each of his students a small silver sigil etched with runes. “These will mark your shields,” he said. “Pin them somewhere visible. When the shield shatters, you’re out.”

Eric fastened his to his robe, noticing the faint blue shimmer it gave off. Across the arena, the professor’s group did the same.

The duels began one by one—bursts of motion and color filling the arena. Wind, water, fire, and stone collided in sharp flashes, each impact sparking against the shimmering boundary runes. Every few minutes, a shield shattered, and another student stepped off the field, breathing hard but smiling.

Then it was Eric’s turn.

He exhaled, stepping into the ring. His opponent—a slim elf in a brown, unassuming robe—gulped and took his stance. Eric simply straightened his back and waited.

“Begin,” Professor Kaelith called.

Eric spoke his incantation smoothly, the words flowing without hesitation. Across from him, the elf moved fast, hand rising mid-run, chanting under his breath. The ground bulged, and a chunk of stone the size of a football tore free, hurtling toward Eric.

Eric finished his spell, "Lighting Strike," raised his hand—

—and his lightning fizzled with a pathetic pop.

A heartbeat later, the rock slammed into his chest, his shield cracking from the impact.

The impact lifted him off his feet. He hit the dirt, rolled once, and lay staring at the sky, wheezing and clutching his ribs.

“Yep,” he groaned. “Kinetic energy still hurts.”

After a heartbeat, a shadow fell across him.

Eric blinked up—his gaze tracing from Kaelen’s polished boot all the way to his face. Kaelen was clearly fighting back laughter, his lips twitching in betrayal of his composure.

“You—” Kaelen started, then broke off in a snicker. “You okay, Eric?”

“Nope!” Eric said with a pained grunt. “That one—hit me right in my pride.”

Kaelen couldn’t hold it in any longer. Laughter burst out of him, echoing off the arena walls. Still chuckling, he reached down and offered Eric a hand.

“You know, Eric,” Kaelen said between laughs, “standing still is exactly how you get hit, right?”

Eric smiled faintly. “Noted.”

Kaelen glanced at the student across the arena, still grinning. “You ready to try again?”

Eric chuckled—and immediately winced. “Yep. I’m not going down like that.”

Kaelen let out a sharp breath. “Good. Let failure be a lesson.”

He clapped Eric on the shoulder—firm, not unkind—and helped him steady himself.

Eric kept at it. Little by little, he began to move instead of stand and take the hit. His spells came easier—cleaner—but skill still landed him on his back more often than not.

Still, when the latest blast knocked him flat, a soft chime echoed in his mind.

You have learned: Defense — Rank 1.

Eric snorted, staring up at the sky. “Should I be insulted or grateful?”

After a few more rounds, most of the students had started flagging, their mana long spent. Eric, however, showed no sign of slowing down. Even after taking hit after hit, he kept stepping forward, casting again and again as if fatigue were someone else’s problem.

Eventually, Professor Varn appeared beside Kaelen, his sharp gaze fixed on Eric.

Professor Varn spoke smoothly, his tone even but carrying weight.

“You’re not exactly cut out for ranged casting,” he said, studying Eric with faint intrigue. “But based on your endurance—and the way you can take a hit—I’d say you’re built for melee.”

Kaelen nodded in agreement.

Eric grumbled, “My class does say mage, though.”

Kaelen chuckled. “Not all mages sit on the backline and cast. There are some who fight in the center—protecting the ranged casters.”

Eric looked between the professor and Kaelen. “So… you want me to be that kind of mage, then?”

Professor Varn smiled faintly. “It’s not what we want, Mr. Elwin. It’s what you’re clearly built for.”

Kaelen nodded again, trying not to grin.

Eric groaned. “There goes my dream of raining down majestic destruction on my foes.”

Professor Varn smiled—for the first time since Eric had met him.

“Lord Kaelen,” he said, his voice carrying that calm authority, “take him over to the melee practice field and run him through a few combat stances.”

“Yes, sir,” Kaelen said with a faint grin. “I’d be happy to.”

Kaelen led him to a row of practice racks lined with every kind of weapon—swords, maces, clubs, even a few polearms.

Eric pointed toward one of the polearms, clearly hoping for a little distance. Kaelen just shook his head.

With a sigh, Eric reached for a longsword instead and gave it a few experimental swings. It felt lighter than he’d expected—impossibly well-balanced.

“This feels nice,” Eric admitted, turning it in his hand. “Well balanced.”

Kaelen’s grin softened into a genuine smile. “That’s a good sign. Most people who aren’t meant for melee find swords awkward and cumbersome.”

Kaelen demonstrated a stance—feet shoulder-width apart, his off leg slightly forward. “Balance first,” he said, shifting his weight from heel to toe. “You move wrong, you lose footing, and that’s the fight.”

He stepped forward, switching his stance with fluid ease. “This gives you reach, but exposes your leg. Every strike should flow into the next—never flat-footed, never stiff.”

Eric mirrored the stance, adjusting his weight until it felt natural. His movements were clumsy at first, but within minutes he’d begun flowing through the transitions like he’d done it before.

Kaelen watched, arms crossed, a faint grin forming. “You pick things up quick.”

Eric chuckled. “Or you’re just a really good teacher.”

Kaelen smirked. “I’d like to believe that, but honestly—you’re picking this up exceptionally fast.” He paused, then added with a faint grin, “However, I’ll accept the compliment. It’s way better than ‘you look like a sunrise.’”

Eric snorted. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”

Kaelen shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. “Not a chance.”

Kaelen adjusted his sling, then picked up a practice sword from the rack. “Since you picked that up so easily, let’s move on to actually swinging a sword correctly.”

Eric raised a brow. “You mean swinging wildly isn’t correct?”

Kaelen snorted. “Come on — start with this. When you strike, lead with your hand: palm up. Snap your wrist as you extend to hit the right; flip palm down for the left. Follow through, don’t just jab. Recover your guard as you finish.”

He moved slow and precise, showing the wrist snap, the shoulder rotation, the follow-through that turned a single motion into a setup for the next strike. The blade traced neat arcs through the air, not with brute force but with economy — each motion preparing the next.

Eric mirrored him, slowing his swing to match the rhythm. At first his wrists tried to do the work, then Kaelen tapped his elbow and said, “There — use your torso. Power starts in the hips and travels through the arm.” Eric adjusted, letting his weight roll forward with the cut; the blade felt less like a lever and more like an extension of his body.

Kaelen watched, nodding once. “Good. Now chain them — strike, turn, push through. If you miss, adjust the follow-through and keep pressure."

Kaelen adjusted his sling with a faint grimace. “I’ll be right back,” he said, stepping away toward another student across the field.

Eric watched as Kaelen spoke quietly to the young man, who nodded once before following him back.

“I can’t really spar with you the way you need,” Kaelen said, gesturing to his injured arm. “So—” he motioned to the other student “—I brought help.”

“’Ow’re ye?” the student said, his accent thick and lilting. “Name’s Aurwin. Don’ see many humans ’round the school—pleasha’ ta’ meet’cha.”

Eric froze for a second, a little startled by the accent. “Uh—hi. My name’s Eric. Pleasure to meet you as well.”

Aurwin points a thumb over to Kaelen, “Lord Kaelen ’ere tells me ye’re needin’ some practice.”

Eric smiled. “I love your accent. Where are you from?”

The boy’s grin widened, teeth flashing white against his tanned skin. “Farmsteads east o’ the city,” he said proudly. “Near the river bend. Not much magic doin' there, just good soil an’ hard work. Guess some o’ it stuck t’ me tongue.”

Kaelen stepped aside, giving them space. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got, Eric. Aurwin, keep it light—just test his footing.”

Aurwin rolled his shoulders, the grin never leaving his face. “Aye, I’ll go easy. Don’ wanna send the human flyin’.”

Eric smirked. “Appreciated. I’ve already been airborne once today.”

They began to circle, boots crunching softly in the packed dirt.

Aurwin struck first—quick, low, testing. Eric blocked awkwardly but solidly, the sharp ting of the blue-metal blades ringing through the field. The impact jolted up his wrist and forearm, nearly throwing him off balance, but he steadied.

“Good!” Kaelen called from the sideline. “Keep your elbows tight—let the blade move, not your whole arm!”

Aurwin pressed again, faster this time, his strikes a blur of easy precision. Eric caught the rhythm—high, low, twist, recover—until instinct took over. He shifted his weight, rolled his shoulder, and drove a counterstrike that met Aurwin’s guard squarely.

The contact buzzed up his arm; the air between them flared with light.

Aurwin grinned wide. “There ye go! Knew ye had some fight in ye!”

Eric exhaled through a grin of his own, feeling the ache settling into his arms. “Guess I just needed the right teacher— and the right opponent.”

Aurwin lowered his sword with an approving nod. “Quick learner, ye are. Don’t often see reflexes like that first day swingin’ syvarium steel”

Eric laughed softly, rolling his wrist. “Feels better than I thought it would.”

A faint chime echoed in his mind.

Skill learned: Longsword — Rank 1.

Skill learned: Melee Combat — Rank 1.

Eric and Aurwin kept sparring until half the field had emptied. Mid-swing, Aurwin suddenly dropped his guard.

“’Er’s da bell,” he said with a grin. “Nice meetin’ ye—see ye ’round.”

Eric had to pull his strike short, stumbling half a step to keep from clocking him outright. “Bell? What—?”

But Aurwin was already waving as he jogged off toward the campus path, humming under his breath.

Eric straightened, still blinking after him. “Bell? Seriously?” Around him, most of the other students were already packing up, drifting toward the exits. “I really like that guy,” he muttered. “I should make a point to spar with him more often.”

A firm hand clapped his shoulder.

“Probably not a good idea to spar the same person all the time, Eric,” Kaelen said, voice calm but amused.

Kaelen looked past Eric, his grin widening. “We should go get lunch. The girls look a bit annoyed.”

Eric turned to follow his gaze—and sure enough, Lyren and Welyvyne were standing at the edge of the field, arms crossed in perfect synchronization.

Eric walked over to the rack and was about to return his sword when Kaelen spoke.

“Keep it,” he said. “We’ll need it later—after school practice.”

Eric glanced down at the blade. “Won’t they need it for the class?”

Kaelen chuckled. “You did notice the number of melee fighters, didn’t you?”

Eric blinked. “…Right. So, very few?” He shrugged and willed the sword into his inventory.

Kaelen smirked. “Exactly.”

They met up with Lyren and Welyvyne. Without a word, the four of them turned and started toward the dining hall.

A few steps in, Lyren started chuckling under her breath.

Eric glanced at her. “What?”

Lyren started laughing harder. “You— you should’ve seen the look on your face when you went airborne! I nearly peed myself!”

Eric deadpanned, “Ha-ha. Yeah, I bet that was hilarious.”

Welyvyne started chuckling next, and then they all burst out laughing.

Eric grinned. “Yeah, that was pretty funny. That rock hit me like a cannonball.”

Welyvyne wiped tears from her eyes. “I don’t know what that is, but it sounds dangerous. I thought for sure you’d win just from sheer power.”

Eric rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, well—there’s no accounting for sheer skill.”

Kaelen was still laughing. “I almost couldn’t go help him—I thought for sure I’d lose it right there on the spot.”

Eric sobered. “Thank you, Kaelen—for, you know… teaching me when I felt like a failure. It means a lot, really.”

Kaelen smiled. “It was my pleasure, Eric. Besides, Professor Varn and I both saw your potential. You really are a monster—just not a casting monster.”

Eric snorted. “Oh, don’t you worry—I’ll become a casting monster too. I like it too much to give up.”

They arrived at the dining hall, grabbed trays, and loaded up with food before settling at their usual table.

Apparently, people still knew better than to sit there.

Eric dug into a bowl of noodles coated in a thick sauce brimming with mushrooms and vegetables. “So,” he said between bites, “I guess at some point I should get a sword, then.”

Kaelen smiled. “Let’s get you trained a bit more first. After that, I’ll take you to the city, and we’ll find one that suits you.”

Eric grinned. “Oh, do I get to name it after my first kill?”

Kaelen nearly spat noodles across the table.

Lyren looked over at Welyvyne, eyes wide. “I think you just lost your bonded academic to a boy crush.”

Welyvyne snorted. “It’s cute, though.”

Eric and Kaelen looked at each other—and burst out laughing.

After a while, Eric stood to return his tray.

The world tilted sideways, spinning out of focus.

Darkness crept in from the corners of his vision—

and somewhere far away, he thought he heard his name.

Voices called out—Lyren, Welyvyne, Kaelen—all blurring together as the floor rushed up to meet him.

Then everything went black.