Chapter 10: The Duel

The morning was cold, but the chill did nothing to distract Ori. He stood in the familiar clearing, facing Rost, the wooden sparring stick a comfortable extension of his arm. This was the moment three years of grinding discipline had led to.

Rost immediately noticed the difference. Ori’s face was entirely new this time. The shame, the anger, the haunted fear of the past were gone, replaced by a clarity that was frighteningly sharp. Ori’s mind was clear; he was ready to fight the opponent in front of him, not the ghosts of his past failures.

The duel began.

Ori fought with a quiet fury. Rost’s counters were devastatingly strong, designed to end the match quickly. Each solid strike from Rost’s stick staggered Ori, jarring his teeth, but Ori regained his footing instantly and continued his relentless assault. He was a stone in a fast-moving river, steady and immovable.

Ori was fighting with pure strength and surety. Between strikes, he was thinking, adapting. He began to target new locations, aiming to undermine Rost’s immobility, striking low at his injured leg, then immediately high at his shoulder—a constant, quick-changing pressure.

Rost, the master, reposted each attack, his wooden stick a blur of patient defense. The match was a stalemate of endurance versus skill, until Ori made his move.

Relying on his years of ingrained reactions, Ori deliberately opened up his right side, making his chest vulnerable for an instant. It was a risky, beautiful piece of calculated theatre.

Rost, sensing the fatal opening, took the bait and swung hard at the weak side. Ori was prepared for the attack beforehand. He dodged the swing, letting the stick hiss past his ear, and responded with a blindingly fast upswing that connected with a sickening thwack under Rost’s arm.

Rost froze, releasing the stick from his numb fingers. He stared at Ori, a flicker of profound satisfaction crossing his face.

“Well done, boy,” Rost breathed, retrieving his breath. “You win.”

A howl of pure ecstasy ripped from Ori’s throat. Jade cheered, leaping forward to embrace Ori with a strong, joyful hug.

Tez walked forward, a deep, proud smile on his face. He shook Ori’s hand, then pulled him into a tight, brotherly embrace.

“Into the fire we go, brother,” Tez murmured into his shoulder.

Ori hugged him back, smiling. He had won.

The afternoon was spent in simple preparation. Ori’s bag was already packed; he had been ready for the win. Tez, meanwhile, put their collection of onyx jewels—the spoils from their three years of fighting in the Southern Basin—into his own leather pouch. They intended on selling the stones for gold once they reached Sowden.

Rost stood stoically on the porch to bid them farewell. Ori’s excited grin began to fade into a look of sorrow. He was leaving Rost, his uncle, the last family member he had to cling to.

Rost looked at the three youths—Ori, Tez, and Jade—dedication etched onto their faces. He saw the fire of his sister in their eyes.

Rost’s stoicism softened, and he spoke, his voice carrying the wisdom of his years. “From the moment we meet someone else, we can never be alone. We are connected.” He saw sorrow in Ori’s posture. “Memories live on and endure far past the present. Don’t be sad, boy. We may be apart, but I’ll be here.” Rost pointed to his own heart and then to Ori’s heart. “With her, Klohee, and your training will be here.” He tapped Ori’s temple.

Jade was touched deeply by this—she felt the truth of never being alone after meeting someone. Rost’s wisdom resonated in her core, reminding her of her fateful encounter with Ori.

The three of them straightened up, the shame and uncertainty of the past finally replaced by a shared, unbreakable purpose. They turned down the road, heading toward Sowden.

~~~~~