Shall We Begin?

Veylin's breath came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling in uneven tremors.

He lost.

His hands shook, his grip on his spear slipping, the once-familiar weight of it now feeling like a burden too heavy to carry.

His mind played the scene of lightning dragon cut in two over and over again like an endless cycle stuck in a loop.

And then—

"You lost. You lost against a kid? Hahahahaha…"

The voice coiled around his mind, an eerie, mocking laughter slithering into the cracks of his confidence like poison seeping into his veins.

"Even the technique given by your father wasn't enough to defeat him… So what can you do? Pathetic!"

The words cut deeper than any wound.

His father's technique—the legacy he had built his strength upon—had failed.

It was supposed to be unstoppable.

It was supposed to be enough.

But it wasn't.

It wasn't enough.