System, please just shut up

The fight ring in District 6 wasn't particularly fancy. Just a clean, rune-bordered circle tucked almost unassumingly between two humming smithing halls, its stone worn smooth by countless practice bouts.

It was mostly used by patrolling officers looking to sharpen their edge or by reckless festival-goers eager to settle bets with blunted steel.

Which was probably why Jarik grinned, a wide, predatory flash of teeth, when they walked past it.

His eyes, usually sharp with observation, now gleamed with competitive fire.

"Wanna go a round?" he asked, already loosening the straps on his wrist guards, his body language practically vibrating with eagerness.

Kael blinked. "Now? Here?" He gestured vaguely at the few curious onlookers starting to drift towards the ring, drawn by the scent of a potential skirmish.

Theo smiled, a knowing, almost mischievous glint in his eye.

Someone was about to receive a beating.

He hopped onto the sidelines with practiced ease, folding his arms. "I would be surprised if this birdbrain walked through a training arena without itching to swing something. It's practically instinct for him."

Kael opened his mouth to protest, then he paused.

His body was already reacting, the familiar, insistent itch to move, to test himself, creeping up his spine.

He'd been training Flicker Step nonstop for days. Hours of repetition, thousands of awkward, imperfect attempts.

The motions were beaten into his bones, a new, complex muscle memory forming. His technique wasn't perfect yet, far from it. But maybe—

"Alright," Kael said, the word coming out with a decisive snap.

He stepped into the circle, the cool, worn stone a solid anchor beneath his feet. "Let's see if I've been wasting my time."

Jarik's grin widened, a genuine, unburdened laugh bubbling up. "That's the spirit, Cadet! Let's see how much improvement you've made since I last made you eat dirt. I'm hoping for at least twenty-five seconds this time, for old times' sake."

Theo let out a low chuckle, his amusement palpable. "Alright boys, keep it civil. No cutting off limbs unless it's genuinely hilarious, Jarik. Kael needs all his appendages for the Festival."

They drew practice swords from the rack nearby—blunted steel, perfectly weighted, enchanted with complex dispersal runes designed to absorb and distribute impact, making a full-force blow feel no worse than a heavy punch.

Jarik spun his once, casually, the blunted blade whistling through the air. "Last time we fought, you didn't last twenty seconds before I had you tapping out. You were all raw strength, no finesse."

Kael rolled his shoulders, settling into a calm, balanced stance.

His breath was steady, his focus already narrowing, the outside world fading. "Let's see how long I last this time."

The match began without ceremony, without a formal call. Jarik, as expected, charged in with his usual mix of brute, almost overwhelming force and deceptively technical precision.

He swung a powerful, arcing blow aimed straight for Kael's left shoulder, designed to smash through any conventional block.

Kael didn't block.

He moved. One simple, exact step. Not a step back, not a sidestep, but that precise, inward shift of weight, a breath before impact. It was the core motion of Flicker Step.

And Jarik's blade sliced through empty space, a harsh, whistling sigh of displaced air.

The sudden miss threw him off for half a second—almost imperceptible imbalance that would have gone unnoticed by anyone else.

But it was all Kael needed.

Flicker Step.

He moved again, a second, coordinated micro-shift, crossing a short, impossible angle, his body compressing and releasing momentum.

One moment, he was directly in front of Jarik, the next, he appeared behind him, fluid as smoke, before the older boy even fully registered the shift, his eyes still tracking the ghost of Kael's former position.

His sword, light as a feather, tapped against the back of Jarik's ribs, a decisive, unmistakable touch.

"Point!" Theo's voice cut through the air, sounding genuinely surprised. "Kael takes the first!"

Jarik spun around, his eyes wide with stunned disbelief. "The hell was that? You just… blinked." He looked from Kael to his own empty space.

Kael didn't answer verbally.

He simply reset his stance, his blade raised, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Actions spoke louder than words.

The second exchange was faster, Jarik recovering quickly, his instincts kicking in.

He started adjusting, tightening his guard, wary now, his powerful blows delivered with more caution. But Kael's movement kept slipping past him—fluid, sharp, unpredictable.

Again and again, he seemed to vanish in short, controlled bursts of motion, appearing at Jarik's flank, then his back, always one step ahead, always putting Jarik off balance.

Kael didn't land full, solid blows, he simply tapped, demonstrating his superior positioning. The blunted steel whispered, barely touching, but undeniably there. Jarik parried air, lunged at phantoms, and spun in exasperated circles.

By the fifth decisive point, with Kael having effortlessly slipped past another desperate lunge and tapped his exposed back, Jarik dropped his sword with an incredulous laugh, shaking his head.

"Okay, okay! What have you been drinking, Kael? Or what arcane ritual did you perform? You're moving like a freaking wraith!"

Kael was breathing lightly, not exhausted, though beads of sweat gleamed at his brow. His heart rate was elevated, but his movements were still controlled, his mind clear.

"New technique," he said, accepting the compliment with a humble shrug. "I haven't even trained with it for that long, just a few days total."

Jarik sat down heavily on the edge of the circle, rubbing his face with both hands. "No, no, that's not it. It's not just the technique. It's how you're using it. You weren't thinking, you were just… flowing. Last time we fought, you couldn't even keep proper footing, you were a wild animal swinging a sword. Now you just moved like someone with six months of advanced drills under their belt, like a true master of evasion."

Kael smiled faintly, a genuine, unforced expression of satisfaction. "Trust me. I'm just as surprised as you."

And he was.

Not just by the easy, decisive victory over a far more experienced fighter—but by how utterly natural the technique had felt in the heat of combat.

For a split second in every movement, he hadn't been thinking. He had just known. His body had moved before his mind could even register the impulse, a seamless blend of instinct and learned skill.

It was the first true taste of Resonance, of a technique becoming part of him, an intuitive extension of his will.

The shift was subtle, almost imperceptible, but profound. It was the feeling Seraphina had described, the moment where the understanding of the technique transformed into an embodied truth.

He looked down at his hands, still gripping the practice sword.

They weren't trembling.

Not this time.

There was no lingering adrenaline shake, no exhaustion. Just a quiet hum of power, a nascent confidence that whispered of greater things to come.