System, please just shut up

Chapter 67: Moonwake Festival 17



The training grounds were nearly empty.

The joyous, chaotic crowds of the festival had long since pulled most students into the city, their distant voices still echoing faintly in the cool night air.

The campus felt like a ghost town, a quiet shell where only shadows and unspoken thoughts remained.

But Kael wasn't there.

He stood in the middle of a wide, dimly lit practice hall beneath one of the eastern towers—a private facility reserved for ranked combatants and officers.

Dust hung in the air, a thick, silver haze disturbed only by his frantic, precise motion. His shirt was discarded hours ago, tossed into a pile near the wall.

Sweat clung to him now, soaking the wrappings around his hands, beading down the curve of his spine.

His breath came steady, a harsh rhythm forced through grit teeth.

His blade moved again.

An overhead slash. A sharp redirect. A draw step. A lateral sweep. Flicker Steps. Not the full technique. Not yet.

He wasn't activating it, wasn't blurring through space.

He was building the motion into his bones, burning it there, repeating the physical choreography until the memory was etched into his very being. His eyes stayed locked on the far wall, unseeing.

Every strike came with brutal precision. Every reset was a loop. Again. And again.

He didn't stop to rest.

He didn't slow to think.

His thoughts had already been with him all night, an endless cycle of dread and self-doubt. He was here to outrun them. He pushed faster.

Flicker. Return. Slash. Cross-pivot. Break stance. Repeat.

Sweat ran into his eyes, blurring his vision, but he didn't blink it away. His muscles screamed with exhaustion.

His wrist ached from the relentless repetition. His shoulder throbbed where he'd blocked a strike earlier that day—but he kept going.

Because if he stopped, if he gave himself even a moment of quiet, he would have to ask the one question he'd been avoiding for a long time:

What is all of this turning me into?

He didn't want the answer.

So the sword moved again.

******

It was well past midnight when the door finally opened with a soft scrape.

He didn't stop swinging.

Theo stepped in, his boots making no sound on the stone, looking as composed and poised as ever, his face a calm mask in the dim light.

He didn't speak at first, just stood there, watching Kael go through the motions like some cursed automaton, repeating the same movements over and over again in a desperate, self-flagellating ritual.

When Kael finally paused to reset his stance, his muscles quivering with exhaustion, Theo took a deep breath.

"…You're going to break something," he said, his voice flat.

Kael didn't respond.

He moved again, his blade whistling through the air. Slash. Step. Twist. Reset.

Theo stepped forward, his tone shifting, becoming colder. "What is this supposed to be? A punishment?"

Kael's jaw tightened, but he didn't stop.

"I know what this is" Theo continued, quieter now. "I've seen it before. But the question now is why you're going through it."

Kael's next swing was slower, a fraction of its former speed, but still he didn't speak.

Theo came closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Why didn't you leave when you had the chance?"

The blade froze mid-air. Kael stood still. Completely. His body, his mind, every part of him locked into place, the question hanging in the air like a physical weight.

His voice came out low and rough. "Because I didn't have a choice."

"We always have a choice," Theo said, his voice firm.

Kael slowly lowered the sword, the blunted tip dragging across the stone floor.

He turned halfway toward him, their eyes meeting—Theo's mask of indifference but concern, Kael's unreadable, a blank wall.

Then, after a long moment, Kael spoke again, flatly.

"But I don't."

Then he turned back and resumed his swings. Each motion was tighter now. Angrier.

Kael wasn't trying to master a technique anymore.

He was holding himself together by sheer, furious movement—each slash a breath he didn't want to take, each pivot a thought he refused to voice.

"You're not the only one carrying weight," Theo said quietly.

"No," Kael agreed, still swinging. "But I'm the only one who made a deal with it."

Theo let the silence stretch, the hum of wind-cut steel echoing in the vast, empty room, the steady slap of boots on stone, and the harsh rhythm of Kael's breathing.

"You've changed," Theo said finally.

Kael stopped again.

"I mean it," Theo said, stepping closer. "Not just stronger. Colder. Sharper. Like you're… building armor from the inside out."

Kael turned, resting the blunt edge of his blade across his shoulders, letting it drape behind his neck.

The metal felt heavy, solid, real. "That's the point."

Theo stepped forward. There was no anger in his voice. Just honest, quiet sadness. "No, it isn't. Not the way you're doing it."

Kael said nothing, the words hitting a place too raw for him to respond to.

Theo watched him for a long moment, then walked to a nearby bench and sat down, arms crossed over his chest."Well I'm staying until you stop," he said, his voice quiet but resolute. "So either kill yourself from overtraining with an audience, or put the sword down and talk."

Kael's grip on the blade faltered slightly. He stared at the floor, at the dust motes dancing in the dim light. The sword lowered slowly.

He let it fall into the rack beside him, the metal clinking softly against the wooden brace.

Neither spoke for a moment, the only sound the soft drip of Kael's sweat hitting the cold stone floor.

Theo finally broke the silence.

"…Do you ever think about what you'd be doing right now if you had left?"

Kael shook his head, a small, dismissive gesture. "Doesn't matter."

But a bitter thought went through his mind.

'Probably dead.'

Theo gave a slight smile. "Yeah. I didn't think you would."

Kael sat down beside him. The floor was cold. His hands stung.

But he felt… something loosen in his chest. Not comfort.

Just the fact that someone was still here, even though he had no idea of the true intentions of that person.

Theo didn't ask any more questions.

He didn't need to.

They sat in silence, side by side, the only sound the soft hum of distant magic lamps still flickering outside.

Eventually, Kael said, almost to himself:

"I don't know what the hell my life is even all about anymore."

Theo leaned back, looking up at the high, vaulted ceiling. "No one ever does, Kael. No one."


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