Steel rang in the cave. Again. Again. Again.
Alpha's sword arm burned. His breath came ragged. Sweat stung his eyes. The Nameless Knight pressed him without mercy, every strike measured, every step purposeful. Its hollow sockets glowed faintly, watching, calculating.
Alpha parried too late. The clash numbed his wrist. He stumbled, nearly falling.
The Knight did not relent. The next blow came faster, its arc whispering death. Alpha had no time to think. His body moved. He ducked low, rolled, and came up swinging. The sword hissed through empty air, missing.
The Knight turned its skull slightly, as though amused. Its blade stopped an inch from Alpha's throat, then withdrew.
Alpha cursed under his breath. "Too slow…"
The Knight stood still, silent. Yet in its stance, in the tilt of its head, Alpha read something unspoken: 'You hesitated.'
He clenched his jaw. He hated how much the silence taught him. Words were unnecessary; the Knight's strikes were its language. Each parry, each feint, each pause drilled into him truths that no overseer's whip could ever beat into flesh.
Alpha exhaled slowly and lifted his sword again. "Again."
The clash resumed.
---
By the time he collapsed, hours had passed. His muscles quivered. His lungs burned. He lay flat on the stone floor, staring up at the faint glow of crystals on the ceiling.
The Knight loomed above him. Its skeletal jaw moved, the first sound it had ever made.
"Feylith."
The word was harsh, grinding, like rusted metal dragged across stone.
Alpha froze. His eyes widened.
A hot pulse spread across his back. The scar—the brand that had named him Alpha Omega—shifted. Not healed, not torn. Shifted. Like living flesh stirred beneath it.
He grit his teeth and arched, clawing at his back. "What—what is this?"
The Knight said nothing more. Only silence, eternal and watchful.
The scar stilled. But the echo of that single word lingered. Feylith. His Veyres Name.
Alpha lay there, trembling. He whispered it to himself, half in fear, half in awe. "Feylith…"
The sound was heavy, alien, yet it filled the emptiness inside him like nothing had before.
---
The following days blurred together, but something had changed.
Alpha began to see. Not with eyes alone, but with instinct. The Knight's shoulders shifted—its blade would rise. Its foot angled—its strike would sweep low. The smallest details betrayed its intent.
He still lost, endlessly. But not as pathetically. Each defeat carved knowledge into him. Each bruise was a lesson.
He grew sharper.
When he struck, it was no longer wild. When he defended, it was no longer desperate. A rhythm formed, a shadow of the Knight's own deadly elegance.
---
One evening, as the faint waterfall echoed in the distance, Alpha sat with his sword across his knees, chest heaving. His body bore new scars now—not just the brand on his back, but dozens earned from the Knight's training.
His hand trembled. He clenched it into a fist.
Every time the Knight called him 'Feylith', the scar burned, shifted. It wasn't pain, not exactly—it was something deeper. A reminder that the name Alpha Omega was nothing but a wound, but Feylith… Feylith was something alive.
He raised his sword again, despite his body's protests.
The Knight stepped forward, silent, blade raised.
And Alpha whispered, almost smiling despite himself. "Again."
The clash rang out once more.