The Trap of False Fame

Kain Rivel paced his shack, the dual axes clanking in their harness by the door. Sleep had eluded him since Leon Valtor's departure yesterday, the protagonist's glare burned into his memory. "We're not done, Rivel," Leon had said, marking Kain as an enemy. All because of a fluke axe swing and Mya Seraphine's twisted favor. In The Blade of Eternity, Leon was a hero—noble, unstoppable. Now, he saw Kain as a rival, a fraud stealing his glory and Mya's attention. Kain wanted none of it.

"She's going to get me killed," he muttered, coughing into his sleeve. Mya's promise to "handle" Leon echoed in his head, her voice both soothing and sinister. He'd heard her outside last night, sharpening her sword, humming a tune too close to his shack. She wouldn't die—wouldn't let him die either—just chain him to this nightmare.

A shout jolted him. "Kain! Out here!" Tobin's voice boomed. Kain groaned, peering through a crack. The square swarmed with villagers—and strangers. Travelers in cloaks, merchants with carts, even a bard strumming a lute. Word of the "axe hero" had spread, and Rivermist was cashing in.

"No," Kain whispered, grabbing the harness. "I'm not facing this." But Tobin kicked the door open, dragging him out, axes and all.

"There's our man!" Tobin roared, shoving Kain into the crowd. The axes swung, nearly tripping him as cheers erupted.

"Wolf slayer!" a merchant yelled, waving a coin pouch. "I'll pay to see those axes dance!"

"They don't dance!" Kain rasped, hefting one. It wobbled, slipping from his grip and thudding into the dirt. The crowd gasped, then clapped.

"Such control!" the bard cried, scribbling notes. "A humble master!"

"I'm not—" A cough doubled him over, and Tobin steadied him, grinning.

"See? Fights through sickness!" he said. "A legend!"

Kain wanted to scream, but a shadow shifted at the crowd's edge. Mya emerged, her silver hair catching the sun, her sword gleaming. The villagers parted, awed, as she approached.

"Busy morning," she said, her smile sharp. "Your fame grows, Kain Rivel."

"My doom grows!" he snapped, yanking the fallen axe up. "This is your fault! Fix it!"

"Fix it?" She tilted her head, stepping closer. "I made it. And I'll make it bigger." Her fingers brushed his harness, tightening a strap. "Leon's coming back. We need you ready."

"Ready for what?" he yelped, the axes dragging him off-balance. "He'll kill me!"

"Not if I'm here," she said, her voice low. She turned to the crowd. "Kain trains today. Watch."

"No!" he shouted, but the villagers cheered, dragging benches to form a ring. Mya pulled him to the center, her grip firm.

"Strike me," she said, raising her sword. "Like yesterday."

"Yesterday almost ended me!" he rasped, lifting an axe. His arms shook, the blade dipping. "I can't—"

"Do it," she cut in, her eyes glinting. "Or I'll make you."

Kain groaned, swinging the axe. It grazed her sword with a weak clink, the force jolting him back. The second axe slipped, flying into a merchant's cart, shattering a crate. He stumbled, coughing violently as the crowd roared.

"He's unstoppable!" the bard sang, strumming faster.

"Unstoppable at failing!" Kain wheezed, retrieving the axe. Mya laughed, sheathing her sword.

"Better," she said, circling him. "You're learning."

"Learning to die!" he snapped, but she grabbed his wrist, pulling him close.

"You'll live," she whispered, her breath on his ear. "I'll make sure of it." Her smile turned predatory. "Leon won't touch you."

"He wants to!" Kain pleaded, but a horn blared, cutting him off. The crowd turned, gasping. Leon rode in, armor gleaming, his horse snorting steam. His blue eyes fixed on Kain, cold and hard.

"Rivel," he called, dismounting. "You again."

"Not by choice!" Kain yelled, the axes clanking as he backed away. Leon strode forward, ignoring the crowd, his hand on his hilt.

"Your fame's a lie," Leon said, stopping feet away. "And Mya's wasted on you."

"She's not—take her!" Kain rasped, but Mya stepped between them, her sword drawn.

"He's mine," she said, her tone icy. "Challenge him, and you challenge me."

Leon's jaw clenched. "You'd pick this weakling over me?"

"He's more than you see," she said, her smile twitching. "Leave, Leon. Or test me instead."

Kain's heart raced. "Don't fight! I'm not worth it!" But Leon drew his sword, pointing it at Mya.

"Then prove it," he said. "Him or me."

Mya lunged, her blade clashing with his in a shower of sparks. The crowd scattered, screaming. Kain staggered back, the axes tripping him. He hit the ground, coughing as steel rang out. Mya moved like a storm—fast, relentless—but Leon matched her, parrying with fury.

"Stop!" Kain shouted, crawling away. "I'm not fighting anyone!" But they ignored him, locked in a duel he'd sparked. Mya glanced at him mid-strike, her eyes possessive.

"For you," she mouthed, driving Leon back.

"For me?" Kain wheezed, the axes pinning him down. "I'm dead either way!"

Leon roared, pushing Mya off. "This isn't over, Rivel!" he yelled, mounting his horse. "I'll bury your myth!" He rode off, dust swirling, as Mya sheathed her sword, unruffled.

She knelt beside Kain, brushing dirt from his face. "He's gone," she said. "For now."

"For now?" Kain's voice cracked. "He hates me! You made him hate me!"

"Good," she said, her grip tightening. "Enemies sharpen you. We train tomorrow."

Kain sank into the dirt, the axes glinting mockingly. The crowd reformed, singing his "victory." Mya's shadow loomed, unyielding. Leon's grudge—and her obsession—buried him deeper.