War was a game he knew all too well. And it required magic to really make a difference, to level a wave of enemies in a fight. He’d be dead without it.
Still...he knew this.
A blade in his hand.
A heart pounding in his chest.
He knew the steady pattern of steps and swinging, and it brought him back to the memory of who he wasbeforeSoraya.
Before her defecting.
Before his heart snapped in two.
Before, before,before.
He wanted to erase every part of it.
His emotions were drowning him, day and night, a new beast he’d never really known or understood until her death.
His own pain, his own mourning...even the strange waves of newfound desire he had, when the Raphonminder was near...
No.
He wouldn’t allow himself to go back to that feeling again. To darecarefor a woman who would never be his.
The worst part was how little he knew of her, beyond the fact that she was small, and dark-haired, and so much like Soraya...
It had dredged up thebeforenessinsideof him.
And he hated it.
He grunted as his next opponent left, cradling their arm—he’d broken a bone, no doubt, from the power of his swing. Thank the gods his blade was runed not to cut, or thenomageshe’d already faced would be piled up dead.
A small clearing was laid out in the middle of their camp, surrounded by pale tents and mud-splattered snow. A few of the Watermages had crafted blocks of ice for the crowd to sit on, and nearby, a war bear roared hungrily, awaiting its nightly meal of fresh-slaughtered meat. There were no servants here, no one waiting on his every need.
A far cry from the Citadel’s halls. But Arawn didn’t mind it one bit.
It was simplicity of thenomagesthat he came for.
It was the thrill of winning a fight, even if it was against someone untrained...because it reminded him that he wasnotweak.
He wasnotuseless.
He was still a warrior, even without his famed flames in his hands. And he would force himself to train like one, to remain honed as one, until the gods gave him back his magic.
They will,he thought, as the snow poured over him and his hand flexed over the pommel of his sword.And when they do...the darksouls don’t stand a chance.
He needed to unleash himself upon them.
He needed tofight...the way he once had.
Anothernomagesoldier entered the ring. Arawn readied himself, shaking the snow from his shoulders. It only took three swings of his blade before the man bowed out, not wanting to be the object of Arawn’s rage.
“Next!” Arawn barked.
A boy, hardly even a man yet, stepped into the ring.
And the fight began.
