Orin of Myrin is a monster.

That was the thought that cut through the consciousness of Berthold Gaius as the black blade of the Scarred Knight smashed against the haft of Sylvani, Berthold's Emerald Spear. His eyes widened as they met the green of Orin's one, the grin on the face of the Venosian causing Berthold's heart to hammer as he struggled to hold his position and not fall back.

Orin spun in place, lashing out with his blade as he moved. His smile never shifted. It was a feral thing, one which promised nothing but blood and death to everyone around him. Unfortunately, that terrible intent was now focused solely on Berthold, who spun Sylvani in hand as he attempted to ward off the dogged pursuit of the Knight of the Princess.

He had heard the stories. He just hadn't believed them to be true. Sara was right.

“Berthold!” Kidis roared within him even as she continued to feed him more Aurum. He felt his Resonant Gift, the one created for him by his sister, match Kidis' shout with one of its own as magma poured through Berthold's veins. He continued to ward off the assault as best he could, but already he was flagging. Orin of Myrin wasn't giving him a second to think, to strategize. It was a never ending assault, his sword singing as each impact caused an eruption of silver sparks, “Push him back!”

“I'm trying,” Berthold spat back into the privacy of his mind as he narrowly avoided having his head removed. He swung Sylvani in a long arc, hoping to create some distance but it did nothing to deter Orin of Myrin. The Scarred Knight leapt over the attack as though it were nothing at all, putting him inside of Berthold's range and forcing the giant to retreat that much faster, “He's reacting too quickly!”

Berthold finally managed to create some distance and used Sylvani at the limit of her tremendous range, thrusting forward rapidly and pushing his Gift of Speed to the limit. His Speed Gift may not be Resonant, but it was his strongest after Strength. His Wind affinity lent itself well to bolstering the ability and he felt the Element whirl about his soul. His raging emerald flames dancing in an unseen breeze.

Yet every attack missed.

Berthold couldn't understand it. He was stronger, he was faster, yet he was still missing. Orin moved his body moments before the attacks struck home, almost as though he knew where the spear was going to be before Berthold himself did. Those he couldn't avoid, he blocked or knocked away. Berthold's Strength was greater, true, but the difference was not so much as to dismiss Orin's Gift entirely. He clearly had a better handle on the tremendous power Resonance afforded him than the son of Gaius and he was taking full advantage of that fact.

The giant felt helplessness wrap around his heart, his eyes flickering down to his belt buckle. The circular disk was grey in colour and covered with small symbols which seemed to glare right back up at him, mocking his weakness. He gritted his teeth and hardened his heart even as his resolve began to waver. He wouldn't lose this fight, he knew that totally and completely. The manner of his victory, though, would either mark this day as one of the greatest in his short life as a warrior, or one of the most shameful.

Would his sister look at him with pride after the battle was done? Or disgust? He didn't want to know the answer to that question. In fact, the very thought of it filled him with self-hatred and pity for his own plight.

But, as he knew better than most, you couldn't have everything.

He could feel his father's stare on the back of his head, could feel the disappointment that radiated off of him in waves. It wasn't a new emotion for Roman Gaius. He was quick to punish failure, and his son most of all. Even if Berthold won this fight under his own power, his father wouldn't forgive him for the poor showing. Here he was, a Knight with a Resonant Gift, getting beaten back by a foreigner. It didn't matter that Orin of Myrin was whispered of in the capital. It didn't matter he had fought and killed Knights who had graduated the Hall in the past. No, what mattered to his father was what it said about the family. About the name Berthold had been forced to carry all his life.

The House of Gaius did not know the meaning of failure. It was a tumour to be excised, a fire to be quenched. A throat to be cut. Those words often dripped from the poisonous tongue of Roman Gaius as Berthold trained in the sweltering Yelesi sun. His back aching, screaming to catch every breath as his father looked upon him without mercy or remorse. He needed to break him, Roman would often say, to reforge him as the greatest Knight the world had ever seen.

Berthold had believed Roman's words once. Long ago, when he was young, he'd admired his father for his tenacity, for his ambition, for his strength as a warrior. That had changed when he met Sara, when she showed him there was another way, a better way. That he could live a life free of cruelty and fear. That he could be loved, could be acknowledged.

It had been two years since he'd heard the words, two long years since he'd felt any sort of peace. Berthold had been returning home from training when he'd spotted Sara, absent May, walking towards the fruit fields about a mile away from his family estate. He don't know why he did it, but he followed her. It was almost instinctual. If he was asked the why of it he would only shrug and shake his head at his own foolishness. She caught sight of him soon after. He was hardly conspicuous, his sheer size taking all manner of subtlety out of his attempted stalking. Instead of running him off with derision and anger, as so many others did, as he deserved, she'd called out to him with a smile on her face.

He hadn't known it at the time, but that simple act of kindness, that one, perfect smile, had ended a lifetime of loneliness.

He went back to the field the next day, and the day after that. They would speak for a time and Berthold would return home. They moved through the same social circles, but they never acknowledged one another in public. It became their own secret. Every day they would meet and talk. Berthold had never had a friend before. He had those who hung off his family's name, hoping to earn the favour of the future head of the Gaius household, but he'd never had someone he could truly confide in. Sara became that for him, in more ways that he could have possibly imagined. They became friends. Soon that transformed into something more, something Berthold never thought he would have, nor expected. He fell in love with the daughter of his father's greatest rival.

It was the greatest and worst time of his life. He often found himself wishing, in the dead of night and the darkest reaches of his heart, that he'd never followed Sara August into that field. The pain of imagining what could have been had he been stronger, was almost too much for him to bear.

Which was why he was so confused when, at the beginning of their match, she walked towards him with favour in hand. It was green, the colour of his soul, and inscribed with the initials S.A at the hem. She'd tied it around his arm, fingers lingering on his darkened skin as her eyes met his.

She was as beautiful as she always was. Bright blue eyes and shining hair that was draped around her shoulders in soft, alluring curls. Her dress added to her figure in a way that drew Berthold's eye, even though he knew he shouldn't. She made his facade slip once more, the mask he wore to hide the pain, the anguish. She was walking, talking reminder of his failures.

“Be careful,” Sara whispered, her cheeks flushed as her gaze ran over his face, “Lady Vera herself says he cannot lose this fight.”

“Sara-”

“I saw him spar with Lencel this morning,” Sara rushed on, hands trembling, unwilling to let him speak until she'd said her piece, “He was so fast, Berthold. I've never seen someone move like that, not even father. You must be careful.”

“Sara, please-”

“The stories are all true, Berthold,” Sara muttered insistently, desperately, “Lady Vera and Lady Annabelle all but confirmed it. They say Orin is the greatest swordsman they have ever seen.”

Berthold glanced at his opponent then. Orin of Myrin stood before the savage looking woman who had threatened to kill the giant only hours ago. The Princess of Venos herself watched the pair as they talked, her golden eyes moving over to meet his for a split second before Berthold looked away. There was something unnerving about that glare, something which made his spine tingle with danger. Orin of Myrin hugged the woman in front of him, holding her close as the Princess finally took her eyes off of Berthold and Sara, aiming at a fond smile at the embracing duo.

“Who is she? The woman with him?” Berthold muttered back to Sara, though he hated himself for doing so. He had a million questions he wanted to ask, a million answers that he needed to hear, but he denied himself once more. He didn't deserve her.

“Lord Orin's protector and his match in battle,” Sara said, her eyes flickering over to where the three stood on the opposite end of the arena, before she chuckled, “She terrifies me.”

“I will win this, Sara,” Berthold said, both to appease her clear concern and to apologise for what the outcome of such a victory would wrought, “I cannot lose.”

Berthold's fingers brushed against his buckle involuntarily, pulling Sara's eyes down to look. Her eyes widened at the Inscription she saw there. She took his hand in hers. Her trembling becoming all the more pronounced, “Don't do this, Berthold. Whatever you are planning, it won't be enough. I spoke with Vera, I know what he's done, who he's fought. You must concede.”

“I cannot,” Berthold said softly, enjoying the feel of her fingers against his, “Father wishes it so. I don't have a choice.”

“There is always a choice,” Sara's voice was choked with sobs as her eyes shone with tears, “Don't get hurt for this... not for something so small, something so meaningless!”

“There is nothing meaningless about this,” Berthold's eyes moved to the still unresponsive Kidis, “I am the one doing this to her. I won't run away from it.”

“This isn't about you and you know it,” Sara snarled, “Act the heartless fiend all you want, but we both know its a lie. You can leave him, Berthold. Get away from Roman before he poisons Kidis like he did you.”

If only things were that easy, “I wish I could.”

“You believe you have no way out, but you do!” Sara said, raising a hand to touch his cheek, “You have me. Please, Berthold-”

“Why do this now, Sara?” Berthold asked, fighting against his own tears that threatened to fall, “You shouldn't have come down here. I'm fighting Rig, Orin of Myrin is only a stand in. People will talk, they will disparage you for not standing with family.”

“To the Spirit with that nonsense,” Sara replied stubbornly, “Standing with Rig will not change the outcome of this fight.”

The giant was strangely stung by her words, wounded by the totality of the statement, “Do you truly believe I am that weak? That I would lose that easily?”

“I believe he is that strong,” Sara insisted, “He bested you easily in the market, Berthold.”

“With fists, not weapons and not as Knights,” Berthold felt his injured pride rise within him like some terrible serpent, striking back in protest at her words, “I can beat him.”

Sara looked at him then, a strange mixture of pity and longing in her eyes that stung Berthold's hearts, “If only you were this sure when you met with your father to discuss us.”

The memory was painful, but at her reminder it rose to the fore. He'd discussed it with Sara at length. She was going to tell her father about their relationship and he would speak with his own. He had never felt more sure about anything in his entire life. He'd met Roman in his study and told him everything. For nearly ten minutes, Roman didn't utter a single word before getting to his feet and offering Berthold a choice, one which damned him either way: Abandon his name or abandon the girl.

He didn't even think to argue. His father was always right.

Berthold made his choice. It was the only one he could make, in truth. He chose Kidis, chose to protect her from their father's influence. He had told himself at the time that Sara would understand. She would love others, find herself a fine husband. She had a loving family behind her, she didn't need him.

Every lie he told himself was another chain around his already fractured soul. In the end, he hadn't chosen Kidis. She was the excuse he used, the wall he hid behind. He chose his father over Sara. Chasing something that he knew would never exist.

“You could be so much more than this, Berthold,” Sara sighed even as she rubbed at her reddened eyes, “You suffer through this for Kidis, but look at her. She suffers right alongside you.”

With that and without another word, Sara turned and left. Berthold watched her go, hand partly extended as though to reach out for her, before it fell to his side once again. He turned to his sister to find her just as despondent as ever. She would fight with everything she had because she knew this wasn't his fault, wasn't his plan.

It wasn't up to Berthold. Fear of his father kept him in line, kept him from grabbing Kidis and running. He had come close so many times over the years. He and his sister had often discussed it within the silence of his inner soul, but something inside held him back, stopped him from attempting to move out from under the thumb of Roman Gaius. It was hope, a fleeting and helpless wish that things would be different in time. That it would be like when his mother had still been alive. Roman would smile again.

Stay strong, hold onto hope, all is not lost. It was a mantra he had spoken a thousand times and would no doubt do so a thousand more. Maybe if he said it enough, something would change.

“Berthold!”

Kidis' scream yanked Berthold back into reality, just in time to raise Sylvani and catch the edge of Orin's black blade on the haft. He watched, gob-smacked, as the sword actually cut into the shaft of his previously impervious Weapon. He felt the blow on his very soul, his emerald flames flickering violently as he pushed with everything in him to separate himself from the Scarred Knight.

“Not... Not possible,” Berthold spat out, disbelieving, as he met Orin's one, shining eye. The maddening grin on his face stoked the furious flames inside of him. That grin was a potent reminder of Sara's words.

'He cannot lose this fight.'

“Do not mock me!” Berthold roared and pushed with everything in him, calling to Kidis and demanding more from his sister. She replied with just as much fervour, pushing power into his limbs as he struck at Orin with a flurry of blows that sent shock waves across the arena. The cries of the crowd fell away as Berthold embraced his Element, letting his Gift of Speed soar through him, lightening his tremendous body even as he was turned into the embodiment of pure Strength.

Orin of Myrin wasn't using a Speed Gift. Instead he relied upon his own enhanced body from Bonding and sheer instinct. As far as Berthold knew, all he was using was Strength. At the beginning of the bout, the giant may have lost the initial engagement but he learned that his Resonant Gift outweighed Orin's. Not by as much as he had hoped, but enough to make a difference.

Yet he wasn't making any progress. Orin slipped blows that would have killed him if he'd been a hair slower and all while smiling serenely, his eye filled with a lust for battle. Sara was right: Berthold had never seen anyone move like this. He was all offence as he continued to encroach on Berthold's position. Even his defensive techniques seemed to be specifically geared to getting him close enough to use his sword.

The ethereal Weapon caused fear to run through Kidis and Berthold could understand why. It was like Orin was wielding a sword of black smoke, one which only solidified when it came into contact with his own Weapon. It was almost as if Orin was wielding a phantom blade that existed and didn't at the same time. The tendrils that drifted off and touched Berthold's hand didn't hurt him. Instead all he felt was cold. Such a cold that was indescribable, as deep as the void itself and just as unfathomable.

The giant warrior examined Sylvani during a lull in the combat, noting the chips that now ran along her length. He ran a hand over her suddenly weathered surface, fingers shaking as he did so.

“How can his Weapon be so much stronger?” Kidis asked, out of breath even in her spiritual form, “He's cutting Sylvani to pieces.”

“I know,” Bertrand grumbled as he hefted his spear once again. Orin of Myrin stood about ten feet away from him, as though giving him the chance to recover. Despite their battle having gone on for nearly five minutes, he looked like he'd just taken a stroll through the fields outside of Yelmora, twirling his black sword, his eye locked to Berthold's, “He is a great warrior. A greater Knight.”

Berthold meant it. He had few pleasures in his life, but combat was one of them. Since the first time he'd held a spear in his hand, he'd known what he wanted to be. Not a merchant, like his father, nor a politician. No, he wanted to be a warrior, renowned and respected for his skill. From one warrior to another, he had to admit that Orin was the better of the two of them.

“Then... maybe,” Kidis said hesitantly, a shadow of hope in her voice that Berthold knew he would have to quash before the fight was done. That, even more than speaking with Sara, broke him, “There is no shame in losing to such a fighter, Berthold. Maybe we should concede, like Sara said.”

Her brother grimaced, “You know we can't do that.”

“This is wrong, Berthold,” Kidis shouted, “Please, we can-”

“Enough!” Berthold closed his eyes and tried to still the pounding in his head, “I'm not giving up yet, Kidis. I won't use it unless we have to.”

“It isn't our power!” Kidis shouted.

“I know,” Berthold murmured, “But this is for the family.”

Another lie he told himself, another twisted truth. Family above all things. Roman liked to say that, liked to pray on Berthold's loyalties. The young man knew what he was doing, knew that it was all faulty logic, but he accepted it anyway. Because past all the deceit, all the pain and fear, Berthold still held one idea closer to his soul than any other.

Roman was his father. He loved him. He wanted him to be proud.

“Ready, Berthold of Yelmora?” Orin asked, his smile gentler than it had been before, “You're skilled, but I think it's time we ended our dance for the crowd.”

“I couldn't agree more, Orin of Myrin,” Berthold said as he took a stance, “Let us finish this fight.”

Orin moved and Berthold went to join him. They met at the centre of the arena once more, their Weapons clashing as the final moves of their melee began.

Orin slashed for Berthold's head and the giant deflected, pushing the blade upwards as he aimed to slice through the Scarred Knight's feet with Sylvani. Orin hopped, narrowly avoiding losing his toes before unleashing three quick slashes.

The giant slid his hands towards the centre of his Weapon, allowing Sylvani to take the blows aimed for his fingers. The vicious strikes took chips out of his already injured Weapon and he heard Kidis gasp into his mind as the pain of it struck at her. Orin didn't let up for even an instant, thrusting the deadly point of his black blade towards Berthold's face. Relying on his incredibly enhanced speed, Berthold slipped the attack and jabbed forward with his spear. The attack was a blind one. In fact, he was already planning his next sequence, fully expecting Orin to dodge it. Only, he didn't.

A yelp of pain pulled the entirety of Berthold's focus. He caught sight of the Scarred Knight holding his side painfully and immediately went on the attack once more, hoping to take full advantage of Orin's weakness and put him down.

He may not win the fight, but first blood, it seemed, was his to draw. He wasn't proud enough to believe it had been skill and not luck that offered him the chance, but he aimed to make the most of the opportunity regardless.

He aimed another thrust for Orin's throat, which the Scarred Knight narrowly avoided before he bowled into the smaller man. Berthold smashed the shaft of Sylvani against his neck, lifting Orin into the air with the sheer momentum of his charge. The black blade in Orin's hand was suddenly flying through the air, absent its master, and Berthold felt exulted excitement fill his entire being.

Sara was wrong! He could win this! All it would take was one-

A punch to the face, powered by the Resonant Gift of his opponent, rocked Berthold, causing his focus to slip and his grip on Sylvani to loosen.

Another impact caused Berthold's head to fly backwards. Orin of Myrin had headbutted him with the equivalent force of a war hammer, but that wouldn't stop Berthold. No, he would win this fight with his own power, without having to rely on the tainted object on his belt. He had given in too easily, had doubted his own Strength when comparing it to the man in front of him. But Orin was just that: A man like any other. He bled and so he could be beaten.

With a roar of triumph, Berthold redoubled his efforts and secured his grip on Sylvani as he once more charged at Orin. He raised the shaft of his spear into the air, hoping to bring it down in one tremendous strike to end the bout.

“Berthold, stop!” Kidis' voice brought equilibrium and poise back to the giant as he blinked away the red that had began to fill his vision.

Thank the Spirit he did. He would've died otherwise.

Orin of Myrin stood before him. The weakness that Berthold had seen in him a moment before was gone, if it had ever existed at all. The smile on his face had returned and in his hand he held his re-summoned black blade. The tip of which was laying against Berthold's bare neck. It felt cold and warm at the same time, its touch making the hairs on Berthold's arms stand on end as he suppressed a shiver from running through his body. He knew that if he moved, Orin of Myrin could kill him. He knew at that moment he had been beaten.

The crowd went silent for the barest of moments, their breath held as they finally caught up with what was happening in the arena below. They erupted seconds later in a cacophony of cheers that hurt Berthold's enhanced ears. The official screamed something off to the side of the arena, but not a word of it reached the stunned giant, who continued to stare at the sword held in the hands of the opponent in front of him.

He had lost.

He felt his father's eyes.

“You truly are powerful, Berthold,” Orin said approvingly, wincing as he reached down to touch his side. The wound that had been there a moment before was already fading away, “Defensively, I think you're the best I've fought. The way you use the spear is unique, don't think I've ever seen it before. Thank you. It was a fine match and well fought. I learned quite a bit.”

Recollection of the end of the fight finally settled into Berthold's mind. His lucky slash leading him to his doom, “You goaded me into pushing forward.”

Orin chuckled, “I had to. I wasn't willing to test whose endurance would last longer. Giving you an easy target let you think you could win.”

“Then you exploited my eagerness,” Berthold let his tiredness appear in his voice then. Why? Why couldn't he have won as he was? Why was he never enough?

“I did,” Orin said with a smile, “The same thing's been done to me more than a few times by my S-... my protector.”

Roman's eyes were hotter than any fire, digging into his back.

“I think you a good man, Berthold of Yelmora,” Orin said then, taking the giant by surprise as his attention once more focused on the Scarred Knight, “At the least, you're a good brother. I have a few sisters myself, back home. We do anything to keep them safe, isn't that right?”

“Yes,” Berthold said involuntarily, “Anything.”

Orin stepped forward then, banishing his black blade as the crowd roared around them, “But not at the expense of yourself. I saw Sara give you favour. She is a fine woman, one who deserves a fine man. Take it from someone who has been where you are: You can have it all, Berthold. You simply have to take the first step and to the underworld with anyone who stands in your way.”

Orin of Myrin smiled and clapped a hand on Berthold's shoulder, laughing as he waved at the crowd, “I don't want to talk your ear off, just something to think about. Now, I have some celebrating to do and I do hope you join us at some point. You and Kidis both.”

A spark of light emerged from Orin's chest, changing and coalescing into the form of the Princess Elora. She truly was as beautiful as the stories made her out to be. Once, when suitors were asked for, Roman had thrown Berthold's name into the mix to see if a match could be found. He was sure that every eligible man on the continent had been mentioned at some point, but in the end it was Cellus of Sind who won the hand of the Princess.

Only for her to fall for another.

The way the incandescent Princess, her hair whirling about her head like a golden halo, stared at her Knight caused a stab of pain to reach into the Berthold's heart. Sara had looked at him like that once. The Scarred Knight of Myrin returned his wife's stare with one of his own, filled with just as much love and adoration. Jealously struck Berthold like the most bitter of poisons, leaving a foul taste in his mouth as the duo turned to leave.

Roman's eyes were hurting him. Berthold could feel his father's implacable glare.

They waved at the crowd, laughing and cheering along with the hordes of Yeles as flowers were thrown into the arena. A cacophony of colour that caused the Princess of Venos to lean into her Knight, placing her head on his shoulder as they continued to walk away.

The disappointment, the dismissal. Berthold wasn't sure he could go through that again, wasn't sure he could turn around and see that look in his father's eyes. The disgust that marked him unworthy of his name.

He just wanted to see his father smile again.

“O-Orin of Myrin!” Berthold roared so loudly, it cut through the crowd like a white-hot blade, “Orin of Myrin!”

“Berthold,” Kidis was crying, struggling to talk sense into him even as she curled up inside of his inner soul, “Don't do this.”

The Scarred Knight and his wife turned curiously, gentle and kind smiles on both of their faces. They truly felt for his plight. He knew this and yet he couldn't stop. He could give any number of excuses why he felt it was the right decision, but only one of them was true. He didn't want to give his father any more cause to hate his useless son.

“I did not concede,” Berthold's eyes were glazed, filled with despair, as his fingers drifted down to his belt, “The fight continues!”

The swordsman's smile faltered, before returning in full, “I know the sting of defeat, Berthold. I promise you, if we fought for another round it would end the same way. We are done here.”

“We are not done!” Berthold hissed as he grasped onto the Inscribed disk, the pain that the action caused him mirrored by the quietly sobbing Kidis, “You were wrong about me, Orin of Myrin. I am not a good man.”

“Orin!” The scream came from the stands. The Scarred Knight's head whipped round to catch sight of a flailing Lady Annabelle who was staring intensely at the buckle of Berthold's belt, her eyes widening by the second as she snatched her sister's hand and began to turn into light, “Bond!”

Berthold didn't give him the chance.

The emerald disk cracked in his hands, the roar of energy that exuded from within was possessed of an nefarious intent, one which rolled out and struck the edges of the stands. The people of the audience were knocked back by the pure power that washed over them. Berthold watched as the spectators clung to each other. Their shouts of joy at Orin's victory now marred by sorrow as they screamed in terror, clothes whipping about them as they held on for dear life.

The Wind celebrated its release and Berthold was at the centre of its return.

The giant threw back his head, adding his own shout to the symphony around him as the wild energies inside the Inscribed disk struck his body, flowing directly into his soul. Kidis could only watch, struck with shock, as the Aurum contained within burst into Berthold's soul, pushing his Gifts to breaking point. It was uncontrolled, chaotic and seemingly without end.

His sister tried her best to direct the energy, to prevent it from causing lasting harm, but that was the last thing that Berthold was thinking about at that moment. He had done the unforgivable, all in pursuit of a father's love that he would never earn. All it had cost him was the last shred of his honour and dignity.

He looked to her in the stands as the pain of the Aurum within him went from agonising to just intolerable. He saw Sara staring at him, lips parted and eyes filled with despair. He saw himself reflected in those perfect blue eyes. A monster, unworthy of her.

As it should be.

“Berthold!” Orin's galvanising cry drew the giant's attention back to the man before him. The Scarred Knight stood in front of his wife, shielding her from the worst of the waves that exuded from the son of Gaius as the Princess clung onto her husband's waist, “What have you done!?”

What had he done? It wasn't supposed to happen like this. Activating the disk was supposed to give him a subtle influx of energy, nothing more. It was to refresh him, to make him stronger than he had ever been. This was too much. This shouldn't have happened!

Berthold looked at the people in the stands, eyes wide and filled with fear for their safety as he shared in their terror. The ravenous Aurum within his body was consuming him. He had no control.

“You cannot lose, Berthold,” Roman's voice brokered no room for argument, as it always did. Moments before the match was to begin, he had handed over the disk. There had been no need for its use against Lencel. Victory against the younger August had been all but assured through Berthold's Resonant Gift, but Orin of Myrin was another animal entirely, “You know how to use it, if the need arises.”

Of course, Berthold knew.

The disk that served as his buckle was a storage device, made with complex Inscriptions to contain the Aurum pushed into it. His father had been doing so for the last month, in preparation for its eventual use. He just hadn't thought he'd be forced to use it so soon.

Roman shared more than blood with his son, he also had the same Element of Wind. His Aurum was touched by the greater power of his affinity and thus only one with the same could hope to make use of the tremendous resource that had been stored within.

Roman Gaius was not a Master Knight. Far from it, he was barely more than a graduate. His storage of Aurum would seem paltry, laughable even, next to someone like Calliston August, let alone Lady Vera or Ursula, Raven of the Republic. But Roman didn't need to have such power with an item like this by his side. By filling it to the brim, day after day, Roman Gaius had provided something to his son that would have taken years to generate naturally.

The huge Aurum store of a Master.

The risks were many. There was a reason that storage devices like these weren't used. For one, the Aurum they could contain before fracturing was finite. If the capacity was exceeded, even by a small amount, it could combust and kill everything around it. Moreover, the Aurum within would, over time, become less attuned to the person who had released it from their own souls. It would become much like the Aurum that was created at the moment of Bonding, chaotic and without focus. It would burn the recipient of such a power.

Which was what was happening to Berthold now.

He could smell his burning skin, the sickening scent filling his nostrils even as he felt his flesh bubble. The raw Aurum of his father was too pure for a newly initiated like him. He would survive, he knew that much. But he didn't know how it would affect his soul, how it would affect his future as a Knight.

The longer he dwelt on such a thought, he found that it didn't bother him.

The power. Was this how it felt to be a Master? Berthold found himself thinking this as he commanded the world to slow and it did, his Gift of Thought turned up to its full potential as he looked around the arena. He didn't have long, he knew that much.

Lady Vera was currently facing off against a raven haired woman, whom could only be Ursula Magnus. Berthold hadn't seen her arrive but he knew that she would be watching, as his father had predicted. Ursula was already garbed in her Armour, covering her from head to toe with steel plate that shone with an aura of white light.

Behind the mightiest Knight of the Republic stood six others with Weapons already called to their hands. His father had foreseen this. Using the device wasn't expressly forbidden. Frowned upon, perhaps, and not in keeping with the sport, but definitely allowed. It had happened before, a hundred years ago, during a duel in which a combatant had used a similar method to win his duel.

“They will do nothing, Berthold,” Roman soothed his son's mind, “Not for the sake of some common trash from the backwater of Venos. You are a future pillar of the Republic while he is an enemy in the making. Vera will react, but have no fear. Ursula and her Ravens are always watching. She will not be allowed to interfere. Defeat the braggart and his bitch. For the family, for your name, for the Republic. A Knight of another country making fools of Yeles? Preposterous! Do it for Kidis, Berthold.”

For Kidis. For the family.

Berthold moved and the world shuddered at his coming. His Gift of Speed allowing him to move three times faster than he had once thought possible. He couldn't stop the smile from crossing his lips. It was like his body was finally listening to him, like his eyes had opened for the very first time.

He laughed into the open air, his previous thoughts dismissed as insignificant as the rush of power banished his rational mind. He moved his hands through the air, relishing in how free he felt, how unstoppable.

Kidis was speaking to him, her incessant whining droning on and on in his ear, but he ignored her in favour of the whistle of the Wind attuned Aurum. He was a Master, at least for the moment. He continued to laugh aloud as he ran around the arena, keeping an eye on Orin as the Scarred Knight attempted to keep up with him. It was pointless. Orin of Myrin was nothing to him now, a speck of dust before the might of a mountain.

Berthold watched as Princess Elora took the hand of her Knight, grabbing it in hand as light, pure and brilliant, began to emerge from her chest. Berthold shook his head at the arrogance.

Tearing across the sand, Berthold smashed into Orin's chest before the Bonding could be complete, throwing him clean across the arena and into the far stone wall with a sickening crunch. The giant snorted with derision as he came to an instant stop, the sands rising to announce his arrival. He glared at the broken form of the Scarred Knight, taking in the crooked neck, the snapped arms and askew legs.

“Weak!” Berthold snarled, pity and disgust on his lips. His voice sounded different, changed, “Is this the vaunted Knight of Venos?”

Part of him knew this wasn't who he was. Part of him knew that he should stop and listen to Kidis but he chose to ignore that voice. To bury it deep down inside of him. He was beyond such concerns now. Masters stepped on those beneath them. That was the way, that was his father's way.

He had acted the bully for so long, why not fully embrace it? Why not become who he was intended to be and stop acting like he was better than he truly was? To his fractured and Aurum damaged mind, such logic was sound.

“Orin!” The tortured scream of the Princess Elora caused Berthold to turn back and face her. Her hand was still extended, as though she was still reaching for her crushed and defeated Knight.

What a pitiful creature she was. Love was a crutch and a notion his father had long since disabused him of. He knew his place in this world and it was at the top, standing above all others. He reached for the Princess, aiming to snap her neck and be done with her pitiful crying.

“Berthold!” The shout cut through his reverie, slicing apart his fractured psyche, pushing the madness of the moment down as he hesitated, his hand inches from the Princess' neck, “Stop this!”

Sara was running towards him, scrambling across the sand as officials tried to catch her. She looked beautiful, even terrified as she was with tears streaking down her cheeks. A flash of blue light drew Berthold's eyes to the box seats above the stands. In that small compartment, a battle was taking place. The Ragoran who had accompanied Orin was currently fighting two Knights at once with a cold fury on his face, in complete contradiction to the fire that surrounded him. Lady Vera was on the opposite end, fighting twice as many opponents and Ursula besides.

She was winning, but that didn't matter to him. He'd kill her too.

The grizzled warrior, who was of a size with Berthold himself, was struggling in a battle of his own, but it wasn't with one of Ursula's Ravens. Orin's Protector struggled in his arms, foam at her mouth and madness in her eyes as she cried out in inhuman pain. Lencel and Rig were trying to help the large man and were almost cut to shreds by the daggers in her hands for their troubles. Her eyes were fixed to his. For the faintest of moments, he felt terror touch his heart. The darkness he saw in that stare, the violence that those steely eyes promised, temporarily made him forget his power. For a fraction of a second, Berthold thought he saw a shape flicker on her forehead, a circlet that resembled some kind of crown, before it was gone. Just as quickly as it had appeared.

“I... I must do this,” The thrill of the power returned as Berthold turned to smile up at his family box to see his father stare back down at him. Roman Gaius was smiling. Tears of pride rolling down his cheeks as he gazed down at his loving son. Berthold saw his mother standing behind his father, a hand on his shoulder and kindness on her face. She had returned. Everything would be alright now, “For my family. For the Republic!”

“No!” Sara's scream could no longer touch Berthold's mind. He was long past the point of sense.

Berthold summoned his spear once more and pointed it at the prone form of Orin of Myrin, who stared back at him with a half closed eye. The Princess was rushing towards her downed Knight but it was no use, she wouldn't be able to Bond before the attack hit. At least they would die together. There was some poetry to that.

The giant called to the Wind and it jumped to his attention in a way it never had before, almost as though it was begging to be used. Using Sylvani as a conduit, Berthold roared and sent an orb of pure, concentrated power towards the downed couple. The sheer force of the blast sending him skittering backwards before it struck and exploded into a torrent of biting, savage winds that spun as they reached high into the sky.

Silence befell the arena.

All watched in horror as the hurricane grew more powerful by the second. The people were fleeing, trying to escape as they pulled their loved ones along behind them. The towering pillar of destruction rose so high that it blotted out the sun itself. Berthold grinned up at it adoringly, his hands splayed as Sylvani fell from his grasp. He had done it. He had saved his family.

Then it was over.

At that moment, the power contained within Berthold abandoned him, fleeing just as quickly as it appeared. The last of the Aurum, the stolen power that his father had gifted him, released the warrior of its hold. He hadn't even had the chance to use a tenth of what was contained within the disk. He fell to his knees, exhausted, as Sylvani dissipated in a flash of light.

A collision knocked him onto his side, one which he had no way to defend against. He looked up to behold the towering form of Ursula, the Raven of the Republic, who was looking at the aftermath of his final, brutal attack. The Wind had torn apart the stone itself, and part of the stand behind it. The people had managed to move out of the way. At least, from what Berthold could see.

“What have you done!” Ursula of Yelmora grabbed the man by his lapel, lifting him into the air as she shook him violently with one hand. Before her, he was nothing more than a child, “Do you realise what you've done!?”

“I... saved... I saved Kidis... I...” Berthold blinked, confused as to why Ursula was so angry. He had never met her before, but she always oversaw the games in case of problems arising. He knew her reputation, knew that she was the strongest Knight in the Republic and served directly under the Senate itself. She served in much the same capacity as the First Knight did for Venos, though she was far from Vera's equal. Why was she looking at him like that? He had succeeded!

Then it hit him all at once. His mind suddenly snapped back into place and he saw himself through an unbiased lens. By all the Gods and the Great Spirit, what had he done? The giant cried out into the empty air, realisation striking him so hard that he was forced to turn his head to the side, bile pouring from between his lips and onto the sands below.

“Oh, brother,” Kidis spoke inside of him, “Why did you do this?”

Berthold sobbed at her words. The utter disregard for him contained within was more biting than any blow, more destructive than any Element. He moved his head to look to the stands, to the box where his father sat.

Roman Gaius sat alone. Berthold's fevered imaginings of his mother were just that. His father was not smiling but grimacing, his eyes wide and terrified, and that look was aimed directly at his son.

Berthold looked away as quickly as he could, before he could commit the look to memory. The shame he felt was compounded a hundred fold as he shook in the grasp of the Raven. He reached to Kidis, but she brushed off his touch. He looked for Sara only to find her in the arms of May, her head buried in her sister's shoulder as the youngest August sister glared bloody murder at the broken giant.

He was alone. Lost.

What had he done?

He looked to where the remnants of his final, brutal attack were finally fading away. A smog had been created by the raised sand and nothing moved within that cloud. Nothing could have survived such an assault. He had killed the Princess of Venos. This would mean war for the Republic. Berthold Gaius had damned his own country.

“Let him go, Ursula,” The voice was as death. Quiet and just as cold.

Vera of Myrin stood on the sand behind the Raven, her frozen glaive in her hand and, behind her, the prone forms of the Knights who had tried to stop her passage, “He dies now.”

“Wait, Vera!” Ursula said desperately, “We don't know what happened! Spilling more blood is not the answer to this.”

“I'm not going to kill him, Ursula. He will,” Vera smirked as she looked around Ursula to gaze at Berthold, nothing but pity on her face, “Did you truly think your borrowed power would be enough, boy? If you had killed the Princess, you would already be long dead. I would have seen to that.”

Berthold felt a gentle breeze touch his face, one which was not of his own making. He turned desperate, tear filled eyes to the other side of the arena, where the last vestiges of his summoned tornado were finally settling. His eyes were joined by a thousand others as the meaning of Vera's words all hit them them like a hammer blow. The crowd muttered, still half-terrified, still left in awe by the majestic violence that Berthold had unleashed upon them. The glimpse of a Knight's power they had been allowed to witness.

They were about to see another example.

The kicked up sand began to rotate, moving in slow, lazy swirls as a shadowy figure within the created fog pushed himself to his feet. Berthold felt himself freeze. Unable to move, unable to think. His soul felt a pressure press down on him that dwarfed the effect of leaving Sara, of failing Kidis. Even the thought of trying to kill the very man who now walked towards him was nothing compared to the raw pain he felt even looking at the shadow of the Scarred Knight.

Orin of Myrin walked free of the fog and the crowd gasped at his coming. Even looking at him hurt. His fine tunic had been ripped to shreds and his breeches hadn't faired much better, barely covering his modesty as he strode free of the cage that Berthold had tried to end his life in. He looked around the arena, his left eye glazed and unseeing even as his right blazed with such power that it made Berthold shiver uncontrollably. It was like looking into the heart of a storm. Lightning crackled across his swirling iris of black clouds. The smell of rain filled the air as the wind lapped at his feet, as though paying homage to the monarch who walked amongst them.

Then, finally, his unseeing stare found Berthold.

Orin's left eye cleared, his jaw clenched and his fists became so tightly wound that blood stained the sand from nails digging into the skin of his palms. He ripped at the rags of his tunic, revealing a body that was covered in scars of all kinds, now marked with new wounds that were still open and weeping. They were closing even as he stood there, already removing any shred of evidence that Berthold had attempted to hurt him at all.

The Scarred Knight of Venos didn't listen when Ursula attempted to speak with him, didn't heed the warnings of the officials as they screamed. Orin of Myrin response to all their queries was absolute in its intent and undeniable in its purpose. He raised a hand into the sky.

“It was her. It's always been her.”

Reality bent and then broke entirely. Laughter filled the air, forcing Berthold to look to the box above. The woman with the rough-cut auburn hair stared down at the figure of the Venosian Knight with a potent mixture of adoration and relief in her shining, steel eyes. Cheeks still wet from crying. She looked to the giant, her predatory grin filled with such bloodlust that it filled Berthold with raw, unadulterated fear, unlike anything he had ever felt before.

“First Sword.”

He wanted to run. If he could save Kidis, if he could do something right, then maybe he would be forgiven by the Spirit. But he knew seeking it from the man before him was an impossibility. The kindness he had seen at the conclusion of their match was gone now, replaced by a hatred so acute that it affected the physical world around the towering form of the Knight. Sparks of silver appeared on Orin's skin, as though something was begging to be released, something so hungry and terrible that it caused Berthold to weep.

The world seemed to bend towards Orin of Myrin, as though everything that was once far away now seemed within arms reach. A flash of light saw the coming of his brutal and beautiful Weapon. The black blade of his sword seemed both larger and smaller that it had before. It was an impossible sight and yet Berthold couldn't deny it. All he could do was stare as the sword formed. He couldn't move even if he wanted to. The Aurum he had used was not his and his body was broken as a result.

“Kidis... forgive me.”

Berthold closed his eyes.

“Rionna.”

Orin brought the blade down.