The Dorne estate was unusually quiet the morning after Seren made his bold declaration.
Word spread quickly.
By high noon, the Patriarch had personally sent out the official notice of the duel—endorsed not just by his authority, but backed unanimously by the Council of Elders.
Elder Varek Dorne, Master of the Broadsword, rested a hand on the hilt of his massive blade. "A duel between brothers… we'll see if the boy has steel in his bones."
Elder Kal Dorne, Master of the Spear, narrowed his gaze. "I heard rumors about him being able to cure someone who whose leg was about to get amputated, also heard he is skilled in both magic and sword...i really what this duel to happen "
Elder Kael Thorn, known in whispers as The Shadow of Dorne, merely nodded once. "The failure walks the path of blades again. Interesting."
Elder Serin Dorne, Keeper of the Vault, said nothing at all. But that night, he personally unlocked one of the ancient ledgers, dusted it off, and left it open on his desk. A record of duels—past and present.
The summons eventually reached Caelan.
He read the notice in silence, the wax seal of the Patriarch unbroken until the moment he opened it.
Gregor, standing beside him, didn't speak either. He only handed over a fresh set of practice robes and bowed slightly. "It begins."
But beyond the estate—others had heard.
Thorne Aldric, Caelan's magic teacher and disciple of the famed Archmage Velra, stood at the edge of a high cliff, overlooking the wind-swept plains of eastern Ravencair.
A hawk circled once above him before flying west.
He smirked faintly.
"So… he's grown this far already? Then I must be there to witness my student's first true storm."
Within the ranks of the Sword Guard, Commander Veyon stood before a formation of new recruits. But his eyes were distant.
"They called him failure… even I once believed it."
"Can he overcome his destiny of failure i am curious"
The day had finally come.
Crowds from across the territory gathered around the large stone arena near the training grounds. People filled the benches—commoners, soldiers, knights, even noble families—waiting eagerly for the duel between the two Dorne brothers.
The knights of the estate stood in a circle around the dueling ground, keeping order. On the raised platform above, overlooking the field, sat the Patriarch, Armath Dorne, his expression firm and unreadable.
Beside him were the elders of the house:
Varek Dorne, Master of the Broadsword
Kal Dorne, Master of the Spear
Kael Thorn, the Shadow of the Dorne
Serin Dorne, Keeper of the Vault
Standing off to the side was Lady Nyra, her cold eyes watching everything. Her long coat swayed slightly in the breeze, and the grip of her Ripper Sword peeked over her shoulder.
Then, Seren arrived.
He walked out first, dressed in a polished silver armor, his golden hair shining in the sunlight. His amber eyes scanned the crowd confidently. He looked like a prince from a storybook—elegant, proud, and calm.
The crowd cheered loudly:
"Seren! Seren!""He's like a royal knight!""So noble-looking… amazing!"
Then came Caelan.
He walked slowly, each step firm and quiet. His dark cloak moved with the wind. There was no shine to his outfit, no flashy armor—only calmness in his eyes and quiet strength in his posture.
The crowd's cheers faded into whispers.
"That failure actually showed up?""He's going to fight Seren? He's got guts, I'll give him that.""No way he wins… not a chance."
Caelan ignored the noise. As his eyes moved across the faces, he spotted someone—Thorne Aldric, standing near the middle rows.
Aldric, his master and friend, just a few years older than him, gave a relaxed smile and nodded.
Caelan felt something warm rise in his chest.
"Looks like I can't afford to lose today."
He stepped forward and stopped in front of Seren.
Seren looked him up and down with a grin."You didn't run. Good. At least you have some courage, even if you're outmatched."
Caelan returned a small smile."I didn't come to run. I came to win."
Seren chuckled."Confident, huh? Let's see if your words mean anything when we start."
Just then, Commander Veyon walked into the center, his presence quiet but strong. He was here not as a fighter, but as the arbiter—the one who would oversee the duel.
His voice was calm but clear:"This is a formal duel under House Dorne. No killing is allowed. You may use weapons, aura, and magic. The duel ends when one of you is unable to continue or chooses to yield."
Caelan's brow furrowed slightly."So it's fine… as long as the person stays alive? Even if they're badly hurt…"
He didn't say it aloud, but the thought lingered in his mind.
Seren tilted his head slightly and grinned."I heard you managed to scratch Commander Veyon who is at peak of 5th star stage once ."
Caelan shrugged."So what?"
Seren's smirk grew wider."You see…" He stepped forward slightly. The aura around him began to rise—thick, heavy, and intense.
"…I've almost reached the peak of the Fifth Star Stage."
A wave of pressure rolled off him like heat from a fire. Some nearby knights visibly tensed.
Seren's eyes narrowed slightly.
"So tell me, brother… how do you plan to win… when I'm already standing near the top?"