House of Judgement - 02

The ice-wolf lunged, its massive body a blur of white fur and glinting claws. Aden's heart leaped into his throat as he threw himself to the side, the wolf's jaws snapping shut mere inches from his face.

He could feel the heat of its breath, the foul stench of rotting meat, and the cold, cold chill of its icy aura.

The Bloodfrost Pits stretched out around them, a sunken arena of frost and sand, the ground treacherous beneath their feet. The walls of the Argent Sanctum loomed overhead, the sapphire light of the runes casting long shadows across the pit.

Aden's sword flashed in the dim light, the blade chipped and scarred from countless battles. He struck at the wolf, his movements a dance of deadly grace, but the beast was too quick, too strong.

Its claws raked across his armor, sending sparks flying and leaving long, jagged gashes in the metal.

'Think, Aden, think!' he screamed at himself, his mind racing. 'You know this story! You know the wolf's weakness!'

But the knowledge felt distant, like a dream half-remembered. The wolf was real, solid, its weight and power bearing down on him like an avalanche.

The wolf lunged again, and Aden barely had time to dodge before its claws found purchase, tearing through his armor and into the flesh beneath. Pain exploded across his shoulders, hot and sharp, and he stumbled back, his sword falling from nerveless fingers.

The wolf circled, its eyes glinting with malice, its muzzle stained with Aden's blood. It could smell his fear, his weakness, and it reveled in it.

'Fire,' Aden thought, his mind latching onto the memory like a drowning man to a lifeline. 'The wolf's weakness is fire.'

But he was no mage. His magic was weak, dampened by the Sanctum's runes. He couldn't even summon a spark, let alone a flame strong enough to harm the wolf.

'Way of Fire,' he realized, the memory surfacing from the depths of his mind. 'The only true powerful technique i know.'

But the Way of Fire was a technique for Peak-tier knights, those who had mastered their aura and their blade. And Aden was only a second-tier knight, his powers diminished, his aura a flickering candle compared to the bonfire it had once been.

'You can't do it,' a voice whispered in the back of his mind. 'You're not strong enough. Not anymore.'

The wolf lunged, its claws outstretched, ready to tear into Aden's flesh and end his life. And in that moment, Aden knew he had a choice. He could give in to the voice, to the fear and the doubt. He could let the wolf win, let the story end here, in this frozen pit, his blood staining the sand.

Or he could fight. He could reach for the power he knew lay within him, the power he'd spent countless hours honing and perfecting. He could be the hero he'd always dreamed of being, the hero he knew he could be.

The wolf lunged, its claws tearing through Aden's armor like paper, sending him sprawling to the ground. Blood bloomed from the wounds, staining the frost-slicked sand a dark, ugly red.

Varek stepped forward, his hand reaching for his sword, his eyes filled with a mixture of disappointment and concern. "Perhaps this was too much," he murmured, his gaze flicking from Aden to the wolf and back again. "A second-tier knight against an ice-wolf... I may have overestimated him."

The wolf reared up for the killing blow, its jaws wide, its eyes glinting with triumph. Aden lay there, his body broken, his sword fallen from his grasp. He looked up at the wolf, his eyes wide and unseeing, his face pale beneath the smears of blood and dirt.

Varek's hand closed around the hilt of his sword, his knuckles white with the force of his grip. He couldn't let Aden die here, not like this. Not after everything he'd been through, everything he'd survived.

Ed wouldn't forgive me, he thought, his jaw tight. And I wouldn't forgive myself.

He stepped forward, his sword sliding from its sheath with a whisper of steel on leather. The wolf turned, its eyes narrowing, its muzzle wrinkling in a snarl.

And then—Aden moved.

His hand shot out, his fingers closing around the hilt of his fallen sword, the metal warm and solid beneath his grip. His aura surged to life within him, a searing torrent of heat and light, and he leaped to his feet, his face twisted in a snarl of his own.

"Way of Fire!" he roared, his aura exploding from his core, down his arm, and into his sword.

The blade ignited, flames licking along its length, the runes on the hilt pulsing with sudden, searing light.

The wolf screamed as the fiery sword plunged into its chest, the flames consuming its icy flesh, reducing it to ash and cinder. The force of the blast sent Aden skidding back, his nose bleeding, his body aching, but alive.

Varek stood there, his mouth agape, his eyes wide with shock. "That—that's not possible," he sputtered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You're not—you can't be—"

Aden struggled to his feet, his sword still clutched in his hand, the flames flickering out like a dying breath.

He met Varek's gaze, a weary smile tugging at his lips.

"Never underestimate a Vasco," he said, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.

Varek's eyes widened, a memory flashing across his face—a memory of another Vasco, another swordsman with the same indomitable will, the same unbreakable spirit.

"Ed..," he murmured, his voice tinged with something like awe. "Ed Vasco?."

Aden's smile widened, even as his vision swam, the world tilting beneath his feet. "I'll take that as a compliment," he said, his words slurring.

Varek was at his side in an instant, his strong arm wrapped around Aden's waist, holding him upright. "Come," he said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

"Let's get you to your cell. You need rest."

Aden nodded, his head lolling against Varek's shoulder as they made their way out of the pit. The other recruits watched them go, their faces a mix of shock, fear, and something else—something like respect.

As Aden collapsed onto his pallet, his body screaming with pain, his mind already drifting towards sleep, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of pride. He'd done it. He'd survived. And more than that—he'd changed the story. He'd taken a step towards the future he'd envisioned, the future he'd fought so hard to create.

'The real training has just begun,' he thought, a smile playing across his face as he slipped into the waiting arms of sleep. 'And I'm ready for it.'

If you are ruled by mind, You are a King.

If by Body, A Slave.