In a dim training hall, the sound of heavy breathing was drowned by the echo of bare feet slapping against hardwood flooring.
To anyone else, they would have seen a young man with tousled black hair and a sweat-streaked face, swinging his blade around under the dimmed lights of the training hall, fighting against an invisible enemy that only existed in his mind.
Well, they wouldn't have been too far off with that assumption. I was swinging at air, and the shadow of an opponent that I fought truly only existed in my mind. But that was the point—after all, how else was I supposed to train my mediocre skills?
The image of my twin sister dashed toward me, her blade moving with a grace that I could not replicate even if I had another decade of training under my belt. Her blade was a bastard sword longer than she was tall, yet she swung it around like it was made of paper, and moved with an agility that belied its weight. She wore a heavy-looking armor, one that glistened under the dim lights and pulsed with intricate runes that would have made the mind of a lesser man buzz with pain.
I was used to this image, though. My twin sister—despite having been born minutes after me—had always felt like an insurmountable mountain that I could never climb. Father had always doted on her, especially since she had inherited a mutated, if not improved, version of his bloodline. The armor she wore was a personal gift from him, one that he'd spent great military merit to acquire. I had even heard from some of my cousins that he had knelt before the Blacksmith's doors for a whole week before the smith even acknowledged his plea.
I swung my blade at the shadow of my sister, and she parried the blow with her usual ease and stabbed toward my heart. Her movements lacked waste. Every single swing, step, and breath was efficient beyond her years. Sometimes, it felt like I was fighting against a grandmaster swordsman rather than someone my own age.
I barely moved my thin blade in time to block her precise stab, but the power behind the strike had far too much force, and I quickly found myself skidding back, tumbling head over heels until I rolled onto my feet.
But by then, it was already too late. I felt a tsunami of killing intent wash over me, and my eyes widened as I saw her standing above me, her sword reeled above her, the blade shimmering with a profound blue light that radiated danger.
My muscles tensed, and despite the wires of pain that shot through my calves, I did my best to roll to the side.
But I was far too slow.
The sword descended, my vision was filled with blue, and then everything turned black.
Minutes later, my eyes fluttered open in the empty training hall, my breath coming out in pants. My back was covered in cold sweat, and I could feel the lingering dread of death slowly seeping out of my mind.
No matter how many times I fought her, I never got used to the feeling of dying—even in a simulation. The dread was real, and my body kicked into overdrive every time I felt it looming over me.
I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. My hand came away soaked in sweat, but that just meant that I'd had a good day's training.
"Thirteen whole seconds this time... I'm improving, though barely." I croaked to myself, a smile spreading across my lips. My gaze turned toward the sword that lay next to me, the old thing's sharp edge barely gleaming under the dimmed lights.
The saber was old. Really old. It was a straight, single-edged saber, though it was a bit bigger than the usual sabers. The blade was a hint wider, and the hilt was thicker, despite having weathered to the point that grooves had formed where I placed my hands while wielding it.
Despite that, the blade itself looked rather well off. It was still sharper than most, and I had made sure to take care of it to the best of my ability.
I lay down and gazed absent-mindedly at the air with a sense of melancholy. Now that there was nothing to distract me, I couldn't help but stare at the screen hovering in the corner of my vision.
[Candidate Orin Raven, you have been formally invited to take part in the Crown Trials. Acceptance is compulsory.][The Crown Trial begins in 00:17:48]
I stared at the screen impassively before puffing out a sigh. I dragged myself toward the shower room and quickly washed off the sweat that had built up throughout my training. Five minutes later, I left the shower room refreshed, having donned new clothes and a messy haircut that I didn't bother styling.
I had already packed up most of my stuff. A military backpack lay to the side of the training hall, and it only took me a few seconds to sheath my sword and clip it to my hip.
As the silence prolonged, the clamor, cheers, and chatter from the hall upstairs became clearer by the second. Despite my social acumen, I hadn't bothered attending the party.
I was usually rather skilled at navigating the social gatherings that my parents threw—especially when it came to dealing with the uptight assholes that they called their friends. I wasn't good at anything when I was young, especially when compared to my siblings, so I had foolishly taken to learning how to deal with people "the upper-class way," as my mother so elegantly put it.
She taught me how to scheme, smile, and fake every single emotion and action I displayed. I had thought that, if I couldn't impress them with my strength or talent, at least I would be able to impress them with my social skills. That I could finally be useful to the people who birthed me. To the people who had taken care of me from the day I was born.
How wrong that assumption turned out to be. As I grew older, I realized how little anything other than talent mattered to them. My father wasn't obvious about it—despite clearly favoring my sister—but my mother had always been rather blunt, especially to those she deemed useless.
After that, I was stuck dealing with uptight rich people born with silver spoons up their asses, and platinum ones gorged in their throats. In a way, I was a lot like my father when it came to my attitude toward them. I'd never understood why people couldn't be blunt and direct with each other, instead of coating their intentions with flowery words—all the while awaiting the moment they could slip something in their "friend's" drinks and take them out permanently.
My expression didn't shift as I recalled these memories. I wasn't angry. Annoyed, maybe—but I wasn't allowed to be angry. After all, what did I have to complain about? I was born into a well-off military family, with two earning parents who took care of me as a child. I had a roof over my head, and four siblings who'd take care of me in the future if I ever stumbled too hard.
I moved toward the coat hanger and donned the black long coat that hung there. The main reason I chose it was due to the number of pockets it had. I could only imagine how many things it could hold. Hell, even now, I had only filled half of them up. The basic enchantments on them made sure that nothing would rattle or weigh me down as I moved—so it was a double win, if you asked me.
I threw the military backpack over my shoulders and trotted toward the exit.
[The Crown Trial begins in 00:11:34]
The timer ticked down in the corner of my vision, clear as day despite the fact that I was trying to ignore it.
Turning my attention away from it, I contemplated whether I wanted to show my face at the party. It was my twin sister's seventeenth birthday after all, and while it technically also meant that it was my birthday...
Who needed birthdays, right? Not me. Nope. Birthdays were for losers anyway. It was filled with stuck-up bastards too, and that would be a whole headache of its own! I was not going to spend my last day alive brown-nosing a bunch of people I didn't bother learning the names of.
Plus, imagine going to a birthday on the same day as yours and not having your name printed anywhere. How depressing would that be!?
I nodded to myself in satisfaction, pride blooming at my strong will and unmovable heart. No party would seduce me into attending it, not as long as I was alive!
Just as I was about to leave, the doors to the training hall slid open, and a pair stood before me, their eyes widening as they stared at me.
"O-Orin. I thought you weren't home, man. Your siblings said you'd be celebrating your birthday somewhere else." The boy chuckled, his hand coming up to rub the back of his head. He had neat blonde hair and a pair of rather kind emerald eyes. His smile was awkward, as if he'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar.
"Hey, Gale," I spoke calmly as my lips curled into a smile on their own. It wasn't strained, and it reached my eyes with no issues. Inwardly, though, I felt nothing.
Gale was my best friend from childhood. He'd always been a happy guy, unlike his gloomy sister, who wouldn't smile even if it killed her. He'd always been faster, stronger, and more athletic than us as kids. Even my sister couldn't compete—until she'd awakened her bloodline a year earlier than him. Now though? He stood a whole head taller than me and was built like a mountain.
I turned to the side and met the gaze of his girlfriend. She had long black hair tied into a tight ponytail, as well as a pair of unnatural crimson eyes that were likely the result of her bloodline. She looked at me with the same awkwardness, but there was also a hint of distance from her, far more pronounced than Gale's.
"Sorry, we just haven't really hung out in a long time, so I didn't really bother." I shrugged. I knew my words could be seen as rude, but I didn't really care at this point. Pushing past them, I left the training hall and took the stairs without another word. Gale turned back to say something, but his words died in his throat as I didn't bother turning back to hear him out.
Walking past the large hall on the first floor, I couldn't help but take a peek inside. It was bustling with people—dozens, if not hundreds—dressed elegantly in their most luxurious clothes and jewelry they could boast about. I could see my siblings around the room, two to be specific. My younger brother seemed to be playing with a bunch of kids his age, moving his hands erratically as if he were telling a grand tale.
My twin sister, on the other hand, stood in the middle of everything next to my mother. She had an arrogant smile on her face, and her chest was puffed up with pride, as if reaching the age of seventeen was an achievement to be celebrated.
My father stood in the corner with a couple of burly-looking men. He had a rather amazing mustache if I had to say so myself, and had chosen to wear his military uniform—something mimicked by the people who stood near him.
My two other siblings were nowhere to be found, likely working or trying their best to avoid the whole party in general.
Without another glance, I turned and left through the front door. Not a single person I walked past bothered to greet me. The most I got was a head nod from the people in my class who recognized me.
[The Crown Trial begins in 00:04:21]
It didn't take long to reach the city center. It was a single bus ride away, and it had taken less than five minutes to reach it. I tightened the straps on my backpack as I walked through the streets. The biting winds blew against me and caused my coat to flutter in the wind.
Towers made of glass, far larger than the ones in minor cities, extended toward the skies—the blackened skies. The moon stood high above, its silver light shining brilliantly, illuminating every dark corner of the city.
According to a story I had read, apparently, long ago—long before the Cataclysm—the sky shone with tiny bulbs of light, each one a prick in the endless darkness, yet together, they outshone the moon itself. They came in all sizes and colors, some looking like gaseous clouds of blue and pink, while others looked like holes of white.
"Would have been nice to see the stars in my lifetime," I muttered absent-mindedly, my eyes fluttering closed as I allowed myself to bathe in the moonlight. Something told me I wasn't going to see this sky anymore. It was something deep inside me—something that somehow saw where the thread of my life untethered and snapped.
[The Crown Trial begins in 00:01:02]
I took out my phone and scrolled through my contacts. The first one I found was my sister's contact. I sent the pre-written message—only three lines long—but it was enough. It essentially said, "Hey, if I don't come back, don't look for me. Probably dead," or something along those lines. I didn't bother sending one to my older brother; I doubted he'd care much.
The next contact I found was the last one, too. It read "Seraphine :P" with a tiny heart at the top that I had no clue how to replicate. I wrote her a similar message before turning off my phone and placing it in my coat.
[The Crown Trial begins in 00:00:08]
I simply stared at the sky and allowed the timer to tick down to zero. The entire time, I placed a hand on the hilt of my sword.
Today, if I were going to die, I'd at least make sure that I died with a bang.