Page 2 – Mockery of the Clan
Kael lowered his sword, panting hard as his vision swam. His body demanded rest, but the voice in his head pushed him onward: Again. If you stop now, you'll never change.
A sudden laugh broke the silence.
"Well, well. If it isn't the great Kael Ardent, still chasing shadows."
Kael froze, shoulders stiffening. Slowly, he turned to see three boys leaning against the training yard's fence. They wore crisp academy uniforms embroidered with their clan crests—symbols of strength and respect. Unlike Kael's, whose was faded, half-torn, and mocked as a stain upon the Ardent lineage.
"Look at him," one of them snickered. "Swinging that stick like it'll make him stronger."
"Pathetic," another added, his grin cruel. "Doesn't matter how much you swing, Ardent. Weak blood stays weak."
Their words cut deeper than blades. He had heard them all before, from strangers, from peers, even from his own clan. Still, Kael gripped the broken handle of his practice sword and forced himself to meet their gazes.
"Say what you want," he rasped, breath still ragged. "But I won't stop."
That only earned another round of laughter. "Won't stop failing, you mean." The tallest of them stepped forward, towering over him. His clan crest gleamed proudly against the setting sun. "You're a disgrace to the Ardent name. No wonder your family pretends you don't exist."
Kael's chest tightened. His fingers dug into the wooden hilt until splinters bit into his skin. He wanted to fight back, to shout, to prove them wrong—but what proof did he have? A broken sword and blistered hands. Nothing more.
The bullies lingered a moment longer, hurling insults before finally walking away, their laughter fading into the distance.
Alone again, Kael stood in silence, his body shaking. Not from fear—but from the fury of knowing they were right. At least, for now.