Hézo
The next day, the sound of blades echoed once more in the courtyard. Cling. Clash. Harsh metallic screeches. The same rhythm, the same breath, the same pains. The sun pounded down, blinding. Sweat clung to his skin.
—« …Hwézé Akaba, King of Sinji », he panted between breaths, chest burning, sword raised.
— Very good, said Selom, unshaken. Now, the different tribes of Rada. And make sure you distinguish Sinji from Koéa.
— In Koéa… the tribes of forests, mountains, and hunters… In Sinji, those of fire, serpents, blacksmiths… water… and air.
— Perfect. We can stop here. But I still maintain it's madness to combine studying and training.
— It lets me train longer…murmured Hézo, his gaze hard.
Silence fell, heavy, suspended. Then footsteps echoed against the stone.
A slender, confident figure approached, the folds of her red kita trailing behind like flames.
— Your Highness! cried the soldier, bowing at once.
— Your Highness, greeted Selom, much more curtly.
— Hézo, said the voice he knew all too well.
He barely straightened. Already, anger was knocking against his ribcage.
— Jahia.
Her red hair, gathered high in a bun, gleamed like molten copper. She smiled—that crooked smile that carved her cheeks with mockery.
— Training again? Every day, from what I hear… Well, not where you'd like, but still…
— What do you want?
— No need to be so bitter. I just wanted… to face you. To gauge my level.
Hézo's jaw clenched.
— You have all the Gifted soldiers for that. You came here just to mock me.
— True… But I thought it might help you too. You want to get stronger, don't you? Father forbids you from fighting the Gifted soldiers. He says you don't stand a chance. That it would be… a waste of time.
Hézo turned away.
— Jahia… Leave. You never cared about me. You pretend. I don't believe in that kind of game.
— That's not the problem, she answered softly. The problem is that you're afraid.
Her eyes gleamed. Her smile widened, cruel.
— Afraid to face a Gifted. Afraid to see that you're not enough. That you're weak. I thought you were braver than that.
She turned, ready to leave.
— Wait.
— I knew you'd end up accepting.
— I've got nothing to lose.
Her smile burst across her face. She held out her fist. Hézo struck it with his, knuckles to knuckles. The air tightened.
Hézo took the black breastplate with coppery glints a soldier handed him. He pulled it over his bare chest, yanking the straps tight across his back. The hand-stitched vévés shimmered faintly, reacting to the heat of his body. He hated relying on this—on a protective garment. But he was no Hunsi. And against fire, you didn't fight bare-skinned.
The duel could begin.
Jahia crouched, arms spread like wings. Her eyes lit with a white glow and her hands burst into flames—pure, living, searing fire.
Hézo walled himself in silence, sword at the ready. No trembling. Just the storm rising inside.
She leapt. Suddenly. Like lightning. In a heartbeat, she was on him, fist raised. He lifted his sword and blocked, but the impact flung him backward. Before he could recover, she was already there.
Jahia's flaming fist slammed into his stomach like a blazing hammer. The Asukon breastplate absorbed the blow, but the heat still seared through, brutal, scorching. Hézo grimaced, hurled back, rolling in the red dust. Before he could catch his breath, Jahia was on him again, relentless. She seized him in a firm grip, and a rain of blows fell upon him like a fiery storm.
The breastplate held, but the fibers crackled under the impact, and the smell of burnt soot rose in the air. The blackened fabric at his sides, streaked with red, still quivered with the flames it had swallowed.
Fire… that living, merciless force. And Jahia was only using a fragment of it.
Hézo realized it in a flash of clarity. Just a sliver of her power, and already he bent beneath it. He was overwhelmed by a feeling he thought long subdued: helplessness. Disgust. Rage. He roared—a guttural, bestial cry—that drowned the hiss of the wind and the crackle of flames.
No matter how he trained day and night, no matter how he pushed his body beyond its limits… nothing changed. Against a Gifted, a Hunsi, he was nothing but flesh to be crushed. And that… that was not fair.
— Your sword is useless if you can't touch me, Jahia taunted, her voice laced with mockery. Fire is the ultimate power. Look at you… you can barely stand. And I didn't even need a single spell.
A dry, scornful chuckle slipped from her lips, swelling into triumphant laughter. She raised a hand still haloed with heat, as if admiring her own strength.
— I can feel it coursing through me… blazing, exquisite. It makes me feel invincible… You'll never know what that's like.
CLING.
Hézo's sword fell to the ground with a dull metallic thud. He hadn't even felt his fingers let it go. His arm trembled, numb. Sweat clung to his temples, his breath ragged.
— You really think you can keep going without your sword? sighed Jahia, the flames in her eyes slowly dying. She stepped back, bored. Well… I'm done playing. This wasn't nearly as fun as I hoped. Go back to your little training, Hézo. Maybe in five years we'll talk again. If by then you've managed to beat Ima…
She didn't have time to finish her sentence.
Her throat was seized in an instant. Hézo's grip—brutal, unyielding—snapped shut like a steel trap. His gaze burned with a black, deep rage, too long contained.
Jahia's eyes widened. She struggled to break free, in vain. Around them, soldiers and servants exchanged panicked glances, but none moved. This was a duel, and no one had the right to interfere.
She began to choke. Without air, she couldn't enter Trance. Hézo knew it. He struck.
A punch to the face, sharp, devastating. The crack of her nose echoed. She was hurled backward, crashing hard into the ground. Before she could react, Hézo was upon her. His fists hammered her face, again and again, uncontrollable, as if his whole life had led to this single moment. Each impact rang through his breastplate, each inner scream transmuted into a blow.
Jahia managed to seize one of his fists. Just for a second. A pause. And that was enough.
Her eyes ignited.
A wave of heat exploded against Hézo's back. He sprang backward on instinct. Just in time to see Jahia rise, her feet haloed in fire. Her hands blurred with frantic speed, tracing symbols in the air that Hézo didn't recognize at first… until a blazing vévé flared in her palm.
She slashed the air.
A boomerang of fire, wide and pulsing, surged from her fingers and hurtled toward Hézo with blinding speed. He had no time to dodge. No strength to block. His breastplate, sturdy as it was, would not save him from such a strike.
But just as the projectile neared his chest, Hézo raised a hand. Instinctively.
With a sharp, almost unreal motion, he split the mass of fire in two. It evaporated into a shower of sparks.
Silence fell.
Jahia stared at him, mouth ajar. Disbelieving. Impossible.
Hézo didn't wait. He lunged and unleashed a spinning kick. Jahia tried to parry, but the impact swept her aside like a ragdoll. She crashed to the ground in a cloud of dust. Her face twisted in fury. She slammed her fist against the earth.
Hézo, panting, felt the strange energy that had filled him moments before slowly fade. It unraveled in his veins like a dream dissolving at dawn.
But he could not let it show.
He approached Jahia and offered her his hand, like a brother. A hand she slapped away violently.
— How did you…