Kai Morrison's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Kai Morrison had trained three years to join Wyldmere's elite duelists, and a stranger just called him a doll in front of the whole square. The man stood by the fountain, grinning. Derek Ashford. Every duelist in the city knew the name. He wore a red coat trimmed with gold, and he held a short sword loose in one hand, like it bored him. "Look at him," Derek said. He pointed his blade at Kai's face. "Soft hands. Pretty jaw. He polishes that sword to see his own reflection." The crowd laughed. A few people turned to watch Kai. Kai felt heat climb his neck. He knew how this worked. If he walked away, the story would spread by nightfall. The pretty boy who ran. No instructor would take him then. Three years of practice would mean nothing. "Then test me," Kai said. His voice came out steady. "Here. Now." Derek's grin widened. "First blood. When you quit, say my name so the crowd hears it." They cleared a ring near the fountain. Derek moved first, fast and loose. His blade snapped toward Kai's cheek. Kai turned it aside and stepped back. Derek laughed and came again, cutting low, then high. Each strike meant to shame, not wound. He wanted Kai to flinch for the crowd. Kai did not flinch. He had drilled these patterns a thousand times in the dark. He watched Derek's shoulder, not his blade. When the next cut came, Kai slid inside it. He let Derek overreach. Then he flicked his point across the back of Derek's hand. A thin red line opened. Blood dripped onto the stones. The square went quiet. Derek stared at his hand. His grin was gone. "First blood," Kai said. He lowered his sword. "Say my name so the crowd hears it." Derek's face darkened. He pressed his cut hand to his coat. "Lucky," he said, low enough that only Kai could hear. "You cut a hand. You think that makes you one of us?" He leaned closer. "The masters hold trials at the end of the month. I'll be there. So will every name that matters. Bleed me there, in front of them, and maybe I'll believe it." He turned and shoved through the crowd. People stepped aside for him, then looked back at Kai with new eyes. Kai wiped his blade clean. He had won. The square had seen it. But Derek was right about one thing. A street fight by a fountain proved nothing to the masters. The trial did. And now Derek would be waiting for him there, hand bandaged, pride cut, hungry for a rematch in front of everyone who could grant Kai his place. Kai sheathed his sword. He had a month to get ready.