CHAPTER FIFTY THREE: THE TIDES OF RIVALRY

"The strongest waves are not the ones that crash the hardest, but the ones that refuse to be broken by the shore." – Unknown

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The training ground still thrummed with tension, the air thick with the scent of sweat, salt, and something heavier—pride, resentment, and the quiet hunger to prove oneself.

Gravill could feel every aching muscle, the sting of scrapes along his skin, but he stood tall. His heart pounded in his chest, not just from exertion but from something deeper. He had won. He had proven he wasn't weak. Yet, the weight of the stares pressed against him like an anchor dragging him toward the ocean floor.

Callix was still on the ground, his chest rising and falling in uneven gasps. His friends were already by his side, gripping his arms as they hauled him up. He let out a sharp grunt, clutching his ribs as he stumbled.

Gravill swallowed, the heat of the fight slowly fading from his limbs, but not from the air around him. He could feel it—resentment, unspoken but suffocating.

Then one of Callix's friends turned to him.

His face was a mask of fury, jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful. He jabbed a finger in Gravill's direction, his voice sharp, cutting.

"It's not over."

Gravill held his gaze but said nothing. What was there to say? He wasn't foolish enough to believe this fight had settled anything. If anything, it had only made things worse.

A low murmur ran through the gathered trainees as the instructor motioned for the next fight. Gravill forced himself to step down from the ring, his breathing still uneven, his mind still buzzing with everything that had just happened. He found himself near Kieran, who barely spared him a glance.

Then it was Kieran's turn to fight.

Unlike Gravill's battle, which had been raw and instinctive, Kieran's was something else entirely. He moved with a grace that didn't belong in a place like this—sharp, precise, controlled.

His opponent lunged, but Kieran sidestepped effortlessly. Another attack—this time a swing toward his ribs. Kieran ducked, twisting with ease, as if he already knew exactly where the blow would land before it even came.

For a moment, it almost seemed like he was playing with the other boy.

Letting him believe he had a chance.

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

Kieran struck, swift and final, sending his opponent sprawling onto the ground. The boy groaned, coughing as he clutched his stomach.

Kieran stood above him, his breathing barely labored. He didn't smirk, didn't gloat—just tilted his head slightly, like he was disappointed the fight hadn't lasted longer.

Then he turned and walked away, as if none of it had ever mattered.

Gravill watched, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach as he watched, a slow churn of discomfort.

One by one, the fights continued. Some were over in moments, brutal and merciless. Others dragged on in desperate clashes of will, two bodies locked in a struggle neither wanted to lose to the other.

The sand beneath their feet grew darker with sweat, speckled with tiny droplets of blood. The air was thick with exhaustion, yet the tension never eased.

And then, at last, it was over.

The instructor stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he surveyed them.

"Those who lost, stand to the left."

There was no sympathy in his voice, no softness for the ones who had fallen.

Slowly, the defeated trainees moved, stepping aside, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and frustration. Callix was among them, still holding his ribs as he fell into place beside the others.

"Those who won, to the right."

Gravill found himself stepping forward, joining the victors. He could still feel eyes on him, filled with resentment, but he ignored them totally like it didn't matter.

Yes, it didn't matter.

He had won.

A silence settled over the training ground, stretching thick and heavy. The wind had died down, leaving only the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore.

Then the instructor moved again, stepping toward them with slow, measured steps. His gaze swept across them all—those who had won, those who had lost.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"Now, we begin the real test."

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