The sword's weight no longer surprised Alpha. His palms were hardening, the blisters beginning to scar, and though the pain lingered, it had become familiar—an echo of chains he had once known.
But today felt different.
The Skeleton Knight stood as it always did, immovable, sword in hand. The empty sockets of its skull burned with something unseen, and Alpha felt the weight of its gaze settle like stone upon his chest.
"You have learned to stand."
Alpha raised his blade, feet planted. His stance was still imperfect, but it no longer wavered as easily. "I can block," he said, chest heaving.
"A shield blocks. A sword does not."
The knight stepped forward. Its blade rose in a slow, deliberate arc before cutting down. Alpha lifted his weapon, braced for the impact. Steel rang, his arms shuddered, but he held.
The knight's voice thundered. "And now, to strike."
Alpha blinked. "Strike?"
"You endure like stone. But stone only delays the river. To carve fate, you must cut back."
Before Alpha could answer, the knight struck again. Harder. He staggered, nearly falling, but caught himself.
"Strike!"
Another blow. Alpha gritted his teeth, raising his sword. His instincts screamed to block again, to survive. He obeyed them, barely holding against the weight.
The knight stepped closer, towering, the hollow sockets glaring into him. *"Chains taught you to endure. Chains never taught you to choose.
The words tore at something buried inside him.
Alpha remembered the years bent beneath lashes, his back bleeding, his throat raw from silence. He remembered the emptiness after freedom, the world too vast, too cold. All he had ever done was survive. Never choose.
The knight raised its blade once more, slow and heavy, giving him the chance. "Choose."
Alpha's hands trembled. He wanted to block. It was safer. It was all he knew. But something in him shifted—a faint ember ignited by the skeleton's words.
He screamed, swinging his sword forward instead of raising it. The clash rang louder, his strike weak but defiant. The knight's blade shuddered, diverted, the impact sending a shock up his arms. But this time, he had not just endured.
He had cut back.
The knight stepped back, silent.
Alpha's chest rose and fell as though he had fought a hundred battles. His arms ached, but there was something in his chest—a spark that hadn't been there before.
The knight's jaw moved, bone grinding. "Again."
The next strike came faster. Alpha met it, not with defense, but with another desperate swing. The blades clashed, his stance faltered, yet the sound was different—less hollow.
"Again."
This time, he struck first. The swing was clumsy, his footing unsteady, but the knight did not stop him. Their blades collided, sparks flying in the cave's gloom.
Each swing pushed him closer to collapse. His breath tore in ragged gasps, sweat soaked his hair, and blood trickled from fresh splits in his palms. But each strike carried choice.
By the time his body failed, Alpha was on his knees, the sword clattering beside him. His vision swam, but he was smiling faintly, bitter and proud.
The knight lowered its blade. *"You cut not with strength. But with will. That is the beginning."*
Alpha looked up, chest burning, throat raw. "Then… I'll keep cutting."
The knight turned, returning to its seat against the cave wall. Its hollow sockets glowed faintly in the darkness.
"Barely. But you live."
Alpha's smile faded, replaced by exhaustion, but the ember in his chest did not vanish. For the first time in his life, survival felt like more than endurance. It felt like a step.
He collapsed back against the stone, the roar of the waterfall echoing through the cave. The sound no longer felt like silence. It felt like a rhythm, steady, unyielding, waiting for him to strike again tomorrow.