The Arena of Silence
The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
Dust drifted lazily across the clearing where so many had fought and bled before. Now, that same ground would become something worse than a battlefield—it would become a graveyard for brotherhood.
Twenty-two survivors stood in a ragged half-circle, watching, waiting. Some leaned on their weapons, bandaged and broken, their eyes hollow. Others pressed trembling fists to their chests as if holding their hearts in place.
And at the center, facing each other under the pitiless eye of the sun, stood Daren and Fin.
The announcement still rang in Daren's ears:
Verya's voice – cold, absolute.
"First match—Daren versus Fin."
It had struck harder than any blade. The crowd had gasped, whispers spreading like wildfire. But now, silence ruled.
Fin's legs wavered as he stepped forward, dragging his short blade along the ground. The weapon trembled in his hand, his knuckles white. He looked so small, so fragile—like a boy who had stumbled into a nightmare he couldn't wake from.
Daren, in contrast, stood tall, but his shoulders felt heavier than steel chains. His chipped sword rested in his grip like a curse. He couldn't meet Fin's eyes. Every glance threatened to split him open.
Above them, Verya watched with arms crossed, cloak unmoving despite the breeze. His gaze was sharp, calculating, stripped of all humanity.
Verya:
"Begin."
The word slammed down like a hammer.
Neither moved.
The survivors shifted uneasily, their breaths catching. Even the untouched group—five figures standing apart, spotless uniforms gleaming—leaned forward with cruel anticipation.
Untouched trainee (smirking):
"Look at them. They can't even lift their blades."
Second untouched (mocking):
"Children playing at soldiers. This will be over in seconds."
But seconds stretched into eternity.
Daren's chest burned as he clenched his teeth.
Daren (inner monologue):
Fight him? No. This isn't war. This is slaughter. They want us to kill what's left of ourselves.
Fin's lips moved silently. His eyes glistened.
Fin (inner monologue):
I don't want this. I can't… not against you, Daren. Please… let this end before it begins.
The stillness grew unbearable. Every heartbeat was thunder. Every breath was a blade at the throat.
---
Hesitant Steel
The first sound came not from courage, but from desperation.
Fin moved.
His legs were shaky, uneven, like they might betray him at any moment. But his body lurched forward, blade lifted in trembling hands. His cry was strangled, more sob than roar, but still—it carried across the arena.
Fin (shouting, voice cracking):
"Ahhh—!"
The short blade slashed through the air, crooked and slow.
Daren reacted without thinking. His sword snapped up, steel clashing against steel with a metallic shriek that split the silence. Sparks scattered, bright and fleeting, like fireflies in the dusk.
Gasps broke from the survivors. A few flinched as though the blow had landed on their own hearts.
The untouched only laughed.
Untouched trainee (mocking):
"Finally! And here I thought they were statues."
Another (snorting):
"That swing wouldn't cut bread."
Fin stumbled back a step, arms shaking violently from the recoil. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down his brow. He clutched his weapon tighter, but the trembling never stopped.
Daren held his ground, his chipped sword steady, but his heart thundered. His arms ached—not from the strike, but from holding back the full force of his counter.
He could have broken Fin's guard. He could have ended it right there. But his blade had stopped at the last possible moment, mercy pulling it away.
Daren (inner monologue):
I can't. I won't cut him. He's not my enemy… he's my brother.
Another swing came, weaker than the first. Daren sidestepped, letting the blade carve nothing but air.
Fin gasped, nearly falling forward, then caught himself.
Fin (gasping, whispering):
"I… I can't do this."
But his body betrayed him, forcing another strike. And another. Each more desperate, more unbalanced, as though he hoped sheer movement would drown out his fear.
Daren blocked them all, sparks scattering, his feet unmoving. He didn't strike back. Not once.
The untouched grew louder, their jeers cutting deeper than blades.
Untouched trainee:
"Pathetic."
Another:
"This isn't a duel—it's a dance of cowards."
The words pierced Fin more than Daren's sword ever could. His hands shook harder. His vision blurred.
And then—
Verya's voice boomed, low and merciless:
"Resolve is survival. Hesitation is death."
The words slammed into Fin like a hammer. He staggered, panting, eyes wide.
Fin (inner monologue):
Hesitation… is death?
He remembered the first day of training, when Verya's whip cracked across the air, cutting down those who faltered. He remembered the boy who couldn't finish his climb, and how Verya left him behind without a word.
If I stop… if I hesitate… they'll erase me.
His teeth clenched. He raised his blade again, tears spilling freely now.
Daren tightened his grip.
Daren (inner monologue):
No… don't force yourself, Fin. Don't break yourself for their game.
But Fin lunged again, crying out, striking clumsily, desperately. Their blades rang over and over, sparks flying in rhythm with their heartbeats.
And yet—each clash carried something more. A plea. A memory. A promise.
Every strike was Fin begging: "Let's end this together."
Every block was Daren whispering: "No, I'll carry this sin for you."
The audience couldn't hear it. But the brothers could.
---
Scene shifts briefly:
Survivors watching in anguish. Lyra covers her mouth, whispering:
Lyra (whisper): "They're… breaking."
Kaen clenches his fists, nails biting his palms, whispering:
Kaen: "Damn it… this isn't a fight. This is torture."
Riku's eyes narrow, unreadable, but the faintest crack in his mask shows—a slight tremor in his jaw.
---
Still, the duel went on.
Fin screamed with every swing, his voice tearing itself raw. Daren grunted with every block, his muscles straining under the weight of mercy. Neither gave in. Neither could.
The world around them blurred—survivors, untouched, even Verya. There was only the clash of blades and the pounding of hearts.
Until finally—
Their swords locked, steel grinding against steel. Face to face, their breaths hot and ragged, sweat mixing with tears.
Fin (pleading, whispering through gritted teeth):
"Why aren't you fighting me?! Just… just finish it already!"
Daren's heart split in two.
Daren (inner monologue, trembling):
Because if I fight you, Fin… I'll kill the only part of me that still believes in hope.
---
Memories Between Blades
Their blades ground against each other, sparks bursting between their faces. For a moment, the present blurred—the roar of blood in their ears drowned out the world.
Fin's eyes were wide, wet, pleading. Daren's were narrowed, burning, but behind them lay a storm of grief.
And then—like a wound splitting open—memory poured out.
---
Academy Grounds
The sound of clashing steel shifted into the faint laughter of younger days.
A dirt courtyard under a pale morning sky. Rows of children stood with wooden practice swords in hand. Among them, two stood apart—one tall, broad, already a step stronger than the rest. The other, shorter, awkward, always tripping over his own feet.
Fin (younger, pouting):
"Daren, you didn't have to hit me so hard!"
Daren (snorting, smirking faintly):
"Then stop leaving your guard wide open. Anyone else would've broken your nose."
Fin:
"Yeah? Well, I'll get stronger. Just you wait!"
He had said it with such fire, so much conviction, that Daren had paused for just a second. Fin's grin, goofy and defiant, had carried a promise.
That promise now echoed in the clash of their real blades.
---
Back to the Fight
Fin shoved weakly against Daren's sword, forcing distance. He stumbled back, chest heaving, his short blade trembling in his hands.
Daren's grip tightened. He felt the memory stinging in his chest like a knife.
Daren (inner monologue):
You said you'd get stronger, Fin. But this isn't strength. This is despair.
---
The Starry Night
Another memory bled in—this time under starlight.
The academy dorms had gone silent, all but the two boys sneaking to the roof. They lay side by side, staring up at the infinite night.
Fin (whispering, awestruck):
"Do you think we'll survive, Daren? Out there, I mean. Beyond training."
Daren (after a pause, voice low):
"…We have to."
Fin (turning to him, smiling softly):
"Then let's make a promise. No matter what happens… we've got each other's backs."
He had extended his pinky, childish, but earnest.
Daren had scoffed then—but after a heartbeat, he hooked his pinky around Fin's.
A promise sealed under the stars.
---
Back to the Fight
The present ripped back. Fin's face contorted in anguish, blade raised again.
Fin (shouting through tears):
"Then fight me, damn it! If we promised to have each other's backs… then don't hold back now!"
Daren's eyes burned. The weight of the memory crushed his chest.
Daren (inner monologue):
You idiot… how can I fight you without breaking the only promise I ever kept?
---
A Brother's Care
Blood. Mud. A scraped knee.
Fin had once crouched beside Daren after a harsh sparring match. While others mocked, Fin had stubbornly pressed cloth to his wound.
Fin (younger, smiling faintly):
"You always protect me… just this once, let me protect you."
It had been such a small thing—an act quickly forgotten. But now, as their swords clashed, Daren felt the sting of that old touch, the warmth of that brotherly care.
---
Back to the Fight
Their swords rang again and again. Each strike from Fin carried no precision, only desperation. Each block from Daren carried no intent to wound, only to shield.
But mercy had its cost. The untouched laughed louder, jeering, their voices carrying.
Untouched trainee (mocking):
"Is this a fight or a funeral song?"
Another (snarling):
"They're wasting everyone's time. End it already!"
Verya's voice thundered again, shattering even the faint hope of peace.
Verya (booming):
"Resolve! Without it, you are nothing but corpses waiting to be buried!"
Fin flinched at the words. His body trembled, but his feet refused to retreat. He charged again, screaming, tears streaking down his cheeks.
Fin (screaming):
"I don't want to die, Daren!"
Their blades clashed, sparks raining like fire.
Daren's heart wrenched. His vision blurred with tears he couldn't stop.
Daren (inner monologue, breaking):
Then don't… don't make me kill you. Don't force me to carry this sin.
---
They broke apart again, circling, breaths ragged. For a moment, silence stretched.
And in that silence, memories and present collided—their laughter at the academy, their promise under the stars, their fights and reconciliations—all crashing into the unbearable truth:
This duel would end with one of them broken forever.