The Seige Draws Near

Akash's practice sword rested against his shoulder, his stance unwavering as his gaze locked onto the scythe in Fallen's hands. Beads of sweat trailed down his temple, stinging his eyes, but he refused to blink. Elys sat off to the side, lazily washing her arms in the humid heat, the sound of trickling water contrasting the tension between the two fighters.

The scythe's curved blade shimmered as it swung downward in a tight arc.

Akash reacted instantly, stepping forward and angling his dulled practice sword to deflect the blow. Metal screeched as the scythe's edge slid harmlessly along the blade's flat. Using the momentum of the clash, Akash twisted his foot and hooked Fallen's leg, attempting to unbalance the towering Ukari. He pressed into his opponent's guard, knowing that close quarters would neutralize the scythe's advantage.

It was a strategy Jassin had drilled into him endlessly: A long weapon means nothing if you deny it room to swing.

But Fallen was no ordinary opponent.

The Ukari stepped with uncanny grace, fluidly absorbing the impact of Akash's shove. His free hand shot out, seizing the hilt of Akash's practice sword with startling strength. Akash gritted his teeth, struggling to reclaim control, but it was like trying to wrestle a mountain. He adjusted instead, abandoning the struggle and retreating to reset his stance.

Fallen's scythe swayed lazily in his grasp, a silent predator waiting to strike again.

Akash surged forward, this time feinting low before darting inside Fallen's reach. His hand snapped out, grabbing the wooden haft of the scythe. For a moment, he thought he had him—until Fallen shifted, using the scythe's length to counterbalance Akash's strength. The Ukari twisted, but Akash didn't relent. He lowered his shoulder and drove it into Fallen's chest, putting all his weight behind the blow.

Fallen stumbled, just slightly.

It wasn't elegant, but it was effective.

Akash grinned, his practice sword now poised at Fallen's neck. "Looks like it's my win."

A low grunt escaped Fallen's lips. "I wouldn't be so sure."

The cold edge of worn steel pressed lightly against the small of Akash's back.

Fallen's voice was calm, almost bored. "A real blade does little against Ukari armor. You'd be dead before you finished boasting."

"But I beat you as a swordsman," Akash shot back.

Fallen retrieved his scythe and planted it in the dirt beside him. "I am not a swordsman. If you care so much about swords, fight Godric. He'll trounce you well enough."

Akash tilted his head. "If I had a resin-infused blade, I would've won outright."

Fallen extended a hand to help Akash to his feet, his tone still level. "Resin-infused blades solve many problems, but not all. What happens when you lose the blade? Or when you face someone who won't let you strike them at all?"

Akash brushed the dirt off his tunic, frowning. "And I could say the same about your armor. Besides, Jassin always says losing your blade is the greatest sin of a swordsman. I'm not about to let that happen."

Fallen sighed, his tone softening slightly. "You rely on a weapon that can be taken from you. I rely on what's bound to my very skin. It is not the same."

"I'm not going to die so easily," Akash retorted, his voice firm.

"A strong conviction," Fallen said as he stretched, his joints creaking slightly. "But conviction is not immortality. You have an oath to fulfill, Oathsworn. The remaining Ukari will follow you until it's done."

Akash's expression darkened. "An oath you won't even tell me about."

Fallen's amber eyes glinted faintly in the fading light. "It will be fulfilled, whether I tell you or not."

Akash exhaled sharply, frustration evident. "I've been winning more duels than losing these past few months. Most of the Dauntless Company can't even touch me anymore. I'm not some beginner, Fallen."

"And yet," Fallen said evenly, "you still lose to the Ukari."

"I'm fighting eight-foot men in armor heavier than I am! What do you expect?"

"I expect you to stop making excuses," Fallen replied. "What would Jassin say?"

The words hit their mark, silencing Akash. He could practically hear Jassin's voice in his head: War is never fair. Every challenge is a whetstone for your blade—sharpen yourself or be dulled by the battlefield.

"If the Angel of the Red Sands—" Fallen began, but Akash cut him off with a groan.

"—were to fall on the field, the Veneres soldiers would break, and the siege would be lost. Yes, I know." Akash gestured with exasperation. "I've heard it enough this month to recite it in my sleep."

Fallen's lips twitched in the faintest semblance of a smile. "Good. Then perhaps you'll actually listen this time."

Before Akash could retort, the familiar presence of Jassin entered the sparring ring. The old swordmaster carried himself with his usual quiet authority, his movements efficient and deliberate.

"Are you ready, then?" Jassin's voice carried just enough weight to demand attention.

Fallen inclined his head respectfully. "Swordmaster."

Jassin's sharp eyes settled on Akash. "Vyn and his battalion will move to their positions soon. Prepare yourself."

Akash glanced at the setting sun, his jaw tightening. "Will this really work?"

Jassin's expression didn't waver. "Perhaps. But we have no other choice. The Dauntless Company is contracted, and we will see it through."

Silence hung between them, heavy and reflective. Finally, Akash spoke, his voice quieter. "I'll make you proud."

Jassin didn't respond immediately. Instead, he unsheathed the Annealed blade—a weapon forged of alien metal so resilient it made even resin-infused steel seem fragile. The sight of it was enough to make Akash's blood quicken with anticipation.

"One final test," Jassin said, leveling the blade.

Akash grinned, drawing his own resin-infused sword. Crimson threads shimmered faintly within the steel, swirling like captured fire. Holding it in his grip, he felt a calm certainty settle over him. This would be his moment.

The rain began to fall as they faced each other, droplets tapping softly against their blades.

Then, they clashed.

Jassin moved like a shadow, his strikes precise and unrelenting. Akash met him blow for blow, his resin-infused blade groaning against the Annealed metal. Sparks erupted where the weapons kissed, the sound of their duel sharp and clear against the rhythm of the rain.

It was less a fight and more a dance, each movement deliberate, each strike calculated. They tested each other, probing for weaknesses, laying traps, and countering in kind. Jassin pressed forward, his blade flicking under Akash's guard like a serpent.

Akash's muscles burned as he deflected strike after strike. He countered with a swift lunge, forcing Jassin back for a fleeting moment. For the first time, he saw a glimmer of acknowledgment in his teacher's eyes.

Finally, Jassin stepped back, sheathing the Annealed blade. "Good. You've done well. I won't risk your blade breaking against mine."

Akash couldn't hide his grin, though he quickly rubbed at his eyes as rain blurred his vision. No one had ever praised him like that before.

"I'll beat you one day," Akash said, his voice brimming with determination. "And Fallen. And Dante. And Veneres. Anyone who challenges me."

Jassin's lips twitched in a faint smile. "You've years to go before that day comes."

He glanced at the sky, rain running down his weathered face. Then, softer than before, he added, "Walk with me, Akash. Before the siege begins."

Akash hesitated, his heart swelling at the unexpected invitation. "Yes. One last time before everything changes."

Jassin turned, his voice quiet but heavy with meaning. "That is what I dread most."

Fallen made to follow, but Akash raised a hand, his tone firm. "No. Only Elys can come."

The rain continued to fall as Akash and Jassin walked together into the fading light.