A metallic clang cut through the courtyard, sparks scattering. The bully's knuckles struck against a slab of iron that hadn't been there a moment before, a shield, its rough edges gleaming raw, freshly torn from the breastplate of a nearby trainer's armor.
The trainer spun in shock, clutching at his half-missing cuirass, but the black-haired girl holding the shield only laughed.
"Oops," she said brightly, tilting her head as though she'd stolen bread from the kitchen, not armor from a soldier. "Guess you didn't need that piece, huh?"
The bully staggered back, clutching his hand, eyes wide. His companions froze, unsure if they'd just witnessed skill or madness.
"Who the hell are you?" one spat.
The black-haired girl grinned wider, setting the shield down. The iron warped under her hands, creaking, folding, reshaping. Within seconds the shield had become a hammer, crude but solid, the handle jagged where the metal cooled unevenly.
She swung it once, testing the weight, then propped it against her shoulder like it belonged there.
"Name's not important," she said, eyes glittering with mischief. "But if you keep hitting weaklings, maybe I'll introduce my hammer to your face."
Gasps rippled through the children watching.
The biggest bully found his voice. He jabbed a finger toward Kael, still grounded in the dust.
"So this is it, huh? The great Hero needs some lunatic girl to save him?"
Laughter followed, sharp and cruel.
Kael's chest tightened. Kael's palms scraped against the stone as he forced his body upright. His knees wobbled, his vision swam, but he kept pushing.
The bullies sneered louder.
"Look at him tremble, can't even stand without shaking."
"And he calls himself Hero?"
"Maybe his card was a mistake. Worthless."
Kael's lip bled freely. His throat felt raw, but he still managed to rasp, "If… someone's being hurt… I will not just stand there…"
The courtyard stilled for a heartbeat. His words were childish, clumsy. Yet his eyes… his eyes were burning, unyielding.
"Get back to your drill, all of you!" a trainer bellowed, finally snapping out of his shock. "I'll have the lot of you running the wall until sundown!"
He turned to the girl, rage reddening his face.
"You, thieving brat! You dare tear metal from a soldier of Azerath? You dare mock our drills with toys?"
The girl only tilted her head, hammer resting lazily on her shoulder. Her grin widened.
"Well, you weren't using it."
A chuckle rippled among the children. The trainer's face purpled. His hand rose, ready to strike her across the face.
Kael's chest heaved. His body screamed to move, to stop him. But his muscles betrayed him, locking in place. He could only watch.
The trainer's hand hovered inches from the girl's cheek, his roar echoing in the courtyard
And then the air bent.
A heavy silence fell. Not a sound but the groan of stone under unseen pressure.
From the archway, a boy walked in. He couldn't have been older than twelve, yet the courtyard seemed to tilt around him. His steps were calm, deliberate.
His tunic was black silk, his cloak pinned with a silver crescent that marked him as royalty. His face was young, sharp-featured, and unsettlingly bored. He glanced at the carnage, the whimpering children, the bewildered trainers, the black-haired girl holding a deformed metal hammer, as if observing something mildly interesting under a microscope.
The air thrummed around him, a silent, powerful drone. His card glowed faintly in his palm: GRAVITY.
He didn't shout. He didn't draw a weapon. He simply stood, and the entire training ground seemed to bend to his will.
One of the young nobles, the one with the Maul card, tried to take a step back and found his boots sticking to the earth as if glued by impossible weight.
"No, no," the figure drawled, his voice carrying effortlessly through the heavy air. "I was enjoying the show. Don't stop on my account."
The noble froze, sweat beading on his forehead as the gravity intensified around his feet.
The children bowed their heads, too terrified to raise them. The bullies collapsed onto the stone, palms slapping hard against the ground. Even the trainer staggered, his arm yanked downward as though the earth itself demanded obedience.
The figure's gaze swept the bullies. "Take them away."
Two soldiers appeared from the shadows, their armor gleaming. They seized the boys, dragging them out. The bullies' faces drained of color; they didn't even dare scream, only whimpered as the soldiers hauled them past the gates.
The trainer remained on his knees, chest heaving, eyes fixed on the stone.
The figure sauntered toward Kael, who was still kneeling in the dust. He stopped inches away, forcing Kael to look up at him. For a moment, he thought salvation had come
Then the figure leaned closer, lips curving in the faintest smile.
"A Hero crawling in the dirt," he murmured, so quietly only Kael could hear. "How pitiful."
The words struck harder than any fist.
The figure straightened, the faint smile still on his lips. Without another glance, he turned and walked away, the gravity of his presence lifting with each step until the courtyard felt hollow in his absence.
Kael's fists clenched. His jaw trembled. Blood still dripped from his lip. But in the silence, he whispered to himself, to no one: "I'll… get back up."
The sun dipped low when Kael was finally escorted back to the stone barracks. His body ached from the fight, but it was his pride that throbbed worse than the bruises.
The heavy door groaned shut behind him, the trainer leaving with a glare that promised tomorrow would be harsher.
Inside, rows of straw-stuffed mattresses lined the hall. Dozens of children huddled on them, some whispering, some staring blankly at the ceiling. Kael trudged toward his bed, trying not to wince with each step.
A shadow loomed.
The black-haired girl flopped onto the mattress beside him, grinning like she hadn't nearly picked a fight with half the courtyard.
"You looked pathetic out there," she said matter-of-factly.
Kael turned, scowling. "You didn't have to step in."
"Yes, I did." She puffed her cheeks, mimicking his beaten face. "If you went down any harder, they'd have needed a shovel to dig you out."
Kael tried to glare, but her ridiculous expression cracked a short laugh from his throat.
"…Thanks," he muttered.
She waved it off, already fiddling with her card, spinning it between her fingers. "Blacksmith," she announced proudly. "Coolest one here."
Kael blinked. "How did you use your card?"
She smirked. "Watch." She tapped the floor with her card. The stone rippled, a vein of dark ore bubbling to the surface. With a twist of her hand, it hardened into a miniature dagger, sharp enough to glint in the dim light. She twirled it and, without warning, stabbed it into the straw at Kael's feet.
He flinched. "Hey!"
She grinned wide. "See? Amazing."
Kael swallowed. "How… do you do that? I tried, when they were beating me. But nothing happened."
"Simple." She tapped his chest with the hilt of the dagger. "You're thinking too hard. Cards don't do squat unless you make 'em. Cry all you want, nothing'll happen. Push harder, and then maybe it listens."
Kael frowned. "What if my 'push' isn't strong enough?"
She leaned back, lacing her hands behind her head. "Then you'll stay weak. But hey, maybe you'll grow into it. Or maybe you'll keep face-planting until you figure it out. Either way, I'll watch. Could be funny."
Before Kael could answer, a nervous squeak interrupted.
"I-I think it was brave…"
They turned. At the far corner, the small boy from the Cloisters, the one who had wet himself, peeked out from under his blanket. His eyes darted nervously. "Y-you tried to protect someone. T-that's what matters."
Next to him sat the blonde girl, her cheeks streaked from tears but her chin lifted in defiance. "Stupid, maybe. But better than hiding." She crossed her arms, huffing.
The black-haired girl barked a laugh. "Well look at that, Hero. You've got fans already."
Kael flushed, unsure whether to smile or groan.
"…I'm Kael," he offered.
The black-haired girl smirked. "Talia," she said at last, giving him her name like it was some great secret.
The blonde raised her chin. "Liora."
The boy whispered, almost tripping over the word. "M-Marik."
Four names. Four children, barely six years old, bound by circumstance in a cold stone hall.
Kael glanced at his bruised fists, then at the dagger Talia had sunk into the straw.
Maybe… maybe he wasn't completely alone.
The infirmary chamber smelled faintly of iron and oil, and the ghost of blood that wouldn't quite wash out of stone. Kael lay half-asleep on his bed, his chest bandaged and his breathing shallow, the rise and fall uneven, fevered.
Talia sat cross-legged nearby.
Liora, perpetually fidgeting, sat beside Kael, wringing her hands.
Marik leaned against the wall, knees tucked, staring at his own trembling fingers.
"You should rest too," Talia muttered without looking up. "You are up half the night."
Liora shook her head. "I can't. His fever's worse."
Marik glanced at her, voice low, uncertain. "Can't you, you know… use your card again?"
Liora hesitated. "It's not that simple. 'Vitality' doesn't just… fix things. It gives back what's already there. If the body's too weak to respond, it burns me instead."
Talia smirked slightly. "Then what's the point of having it?"
"The point," Liora said softly, her tone unexpectedly firm, "is that sometimes it works."
She reached out and pressed her hand over Kael's chest. Her palm glowed faintly, not bright like fire, but warm, like sunlight through curtains. The fevered sheen on Kael's face softened. His breathing steadied.
Liora exhaled sharply, the glow fading. Sweat trickled down her neck.
Marik caught her as she swayed. "You'll collapse again."
She managed a weak smile. "Then you'll have to catch me again."
Marik sighed, rubbing his temples. "And me? My card's useless next to that."
"What is it again?" Talia asked, half-curious, half-mocking.
He hesitated, as if saying it aloud would invite ridicule. "…Fortitude."
"Sounds… interesting" Talia said instantly.
Liora turned toward him, her voice a whisper but unflinchingly sincere. "It's not useless. Standing up when everyone else can't, that's harder than healing. Or fighting."
Talia raised an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. "You talk like a priest."
"I talk like someone who believes in people," Liora replied simply.
There was silence, just Kael's breathing, and the soft rasp of Talia's blade against stone.
Then Kael stirred in his sleep, murmuring something they couldn't quite make out. His hand twitched, as though reaching for something unseen.
The next morning drills began with the sound of boots stomping on the packed dirt of the training yard.
Rows of children stood in formation, the older ones watching the younger with sneers of entitlement.
Trainer Varrin's eyes scanned all the children in formation, unable to find Kael.
His voice cracked across the air. "Where is the 'Hero'?"
He spat the word like a curse.
The children exchanged glances.
Liora swallowed hard. "He's still feverish, sir."
Varrin turned toward her slowly, his expression unreadable. "Fever?"
"He's too weak to stand," she added, quieter now.
"Too weak to stand," Varrin repeated, stepping forward. "And yet we are to build an empire on his back?"
He strode toward the dormitory wing.
Liora darted in front of him. "Please —"
A snap of his wrist and invisible force wrapped around her mid-air. Ironhide glowed on his arm.
Liora hit the ground with a gasp, bound in metal bands that shimmered faintly.
Talia ran forward, shouting, "You bastard —"
She didn't finish. Chains erupted from the soil, slamming into her shoulders, pinning her arms behind her back. The ground around her cracked under the weight.
Varrin didn't even glance at them. "Discipline must be taught before reverence."
He entered the chamber. Kael lay half-awake, his body too heavy to rise.
The trainer's hand reached down; and another small hand gripped his wrist.
Marik. Pale. Trembling. Eyes wide, but unyielding.
"Stop."
Varrin stared at him with mild disbelief. "You think you can command me, child?"
Marik shook his head. "I-I'm just saying, d-don't hurt him."
Varrin's expression twisted into something cruel. "Then learn what defiance costs."
He grabbed Marik by the collar and dragged him out into the open training ground.
The morning drills halted as soon as they saw Varrin throw the small boy to the dirt.
Other trainers watched silently. The noble-born children smirked.
Liora and Talia, still bound by iron, were forced to watch, helpless.
The other trainees gathered in silence as Marik was thrown to the ground.
The bullies, Rhett having Maul card, Soren having Bindweed card, and Vex having Gravel, snickered from the back rows.
"Maybe he'll finally grow a spine," Rhett whispered.
"Doubt it," Soren replied. "He'll break like glass."
Varrin cracked his knuckles. "Lesson one. Weakness breeds ruin."
The first blow slammed into his stomach. The air left his lungs.
The second cracked across his face. He stumbled, fell, caught himself on shaking arms.
Blood dotted the dust.
"Stay down," Varrin ordered.
Marik pushed up again, gasping. "No."
Another blow. Another fall. Another rise.
Blood dripped from his lip, staining the dirt. He looked up, trembling, but still standing.
Liora screamed. "Stop it! You'll kill him!"
Marik coughed, his voice breaking between gasps. "I can't… fall. If I fall, he'll…"
He looked toward Kael's still form in the window. His fists clenched. His eyes burned.
His card pulsed. The mark on his wrist ignited with faint light: FORTITUDE.
His battered frame steadied; his breath evened. The crowd murmured.
Each hit that followed landed harder, but his body seemed to absorb it, bending but not breaking. His breathing steadied, his legs rooted to the ground like stone.
Liora cried out, struggling against her bindings. "Please… stop!"
Marik's knees buckled. He was swaying now, body screaming for him to collapse.
But the moment he thought of giving in, Kael's sleeping face flashed through his mind.
His eyes sharpened. He staggered upright, swaying.
"I said… no."
Varrin's expression twisted into anger. "You think defiance makes you strong?"
He drew back his fist, this time his arm gleaming with the iron's metal sheen.
Inside the chamber, Kael stirred.
Noise. Voices. A dull thud-thud-thud that sounded too much like flesh on stone.
He blinked, blurry shapes, colorless light. He pushed himself up, the fever haze clinging to his mind.
Marik.
Outside, Marik was falling under the blows of the trainer.
Something inside Kael's chest snapped.
He staggered to his feet, vision flickering. For a heartbeat, everything blurred, sound dulled, the air thickened, and in the blink of an eye, he was there, standing between Marik and the descending fist.
The blow struck, but didn't land.
A shimmer of light spread between Kael and Varrin's hand, translucent, rippling, a shield of pure will.
The impact exploded outward with a sharp, ringing crack.
Varrin stumbled back.
Kael's eyes opened fully now, no fever, no weakness, just raw courage.
Smoke curled from his arms, the heat of his own wounds sealing shut, skin mending where moments before it was bruised.
The Hero card gleamed on his palm, radiant, alive, dangerous.
Kael's voice, small but steady:
"I won't let you hurt him. Not him. Not anyone else."
A shadow passed over them.
Then, a crash of gravity.
Stone cracked as the figure descended from above, floating down in a slow, deliberate fall, boots touching earth without a sound.
He surveyed the scene, the blood, the shield, the silence, with faint amusement.
"So…" he said at last, "the Hero finally stands. I was starting to think the title was wasted."
Varrin froze mid-bow. "Your Highness I–"
The figure raised one hand. The air compressed. Varrin's body bent under the unseen pressure, forced to his knees.
"I don't recall asking for your excuses," he said mildly. "You've done enough teaching for today."
Then he looked towards Kael. "You defended another before yourself. Admirable. Predictable."
His eyes drifted to Marik, bruised and barely upright. "And you... You might be the only one here who understands what tenacity truly is."
He turned slightly, raising his voice so the trainees could hear. His gaze sharpened, a cruel glint beneath his calm tone.
"Kael"
"You stood up again… and again… even when you knew you couldn't do anything."
Kael, breathing heavily "I couldn't just watch anyone get hurt."
"So you decided to challenge someone far stronger than you. Interesting…"
"Who… Who are you? And why are you doing this?"
"I am Ayelin Valen-Rhys, Crown Prince of the Dominion of Azerath. And I'm doing this because I'm… curious."
The crowd murmurs as tension tightens.
Ayelin turned his gaze toward the back of the crowd.
"Rhett, Soren, Vex, step forward."
The three bullies froze.
Ayelin pointed toward Kael. "Three months from now. You'll face him in the ring. All three of you."
Kael's eyes widened. "Wait, what? Three against one?"
"You think I'm that cruel? No, no. I'll give you a fair chance."
Ayelin, shifting his gaze towards Talia
"You, the girl who forged a shield from Varrin's armor. You amuse me… You'll fight beside him."
Finally pointing toward Marik, who flinches so hard it's almost comical.
"And you. You'll be the third."
Marik started panicking
"W–Wait! Me?! But— but I can't— I'm not—!"
Talia snickers beside him, slapping his shoulder.
"Cheer up, tough guy. Worst case, we die together."
"That's not comforting!" Marik whimpers, half-crying
Ayelin's smile returned, cold and complete. "Three months, then. Don't disappoint me."
He rose into the air, cloak swirling, a faint pulse of gravity kicking up dust as everyone watched in silence.
Talia exhales, cracking her knuckles. "Three months, huh? Guess we'd better start making a miracle."
Marik groans "Or start digging our graves…"
Talia snorts; even Kael lets out a tired laugh as he looks up towards the fading image of Ayelin in the clouds.