You grunt in pain, kneeling defeated on the floor. You're sweating, out of breath, trying not to show that you are gasping for air. Your shoulder is bleeding.

Everytime, you give it your all. But still... he stands untouched. He always wins. Always.

It's disheartening and frustrating. Whatever you do, you end up biting the dust. He stands there, arms crossed, studying you with a frown. There's not even a bead of sweat on his forehead. And that's the worst. He's not even giving his best. He humiliates you effortlessly.

"You're persistant, I'll give you that. But sometimes, will is not sufficient."

Prince Astreon watches you from a few paces away, his sword lowered, his posture relaxed. Not a scratch on him. Not even a wrinkle in his uniform. His golden hair catches the light like a crown, and his bored expression makes your blood boil.

You clench your fists. He’s not wrong. But hearing it from him, from the prince who’s never tasted defeat, makes it unbearable. He steps forward, the heel of his boot pressing into the dirt with quiet finality.

"You’ll never be a knight if you keep fighting like a peasant. You swing with emotion. I strike with purpose."

Then he leans in, just enough for you to hear the venom behind his words.

"You don’t belong here."

While you were fighting, a crowd of other initiates and instructors has formed around you. They all witnessed your pathetic fight. You can hear them whisper. You can feel their mocking gaze on you. It burns.

The Academy of the Silver Order is the most prestigious knight-training institution in the realm, where only the fiercest, brightest and most promising are forged into legends. You are now in your third year. And by all accounts, you are the top of your class.

But none of that seems to matter. Not since your first year, when the annual Trials pitted you against Prince Astreon. He was older, faster, and undefeated. The duel was brutal, and you lost. Badly. Ever since, no matter how well you perform, no matter how many instructors praise your technique, the shadow of that defeat clings to you. You are known not as the best of your promotion, but as the one who always loses to the "Crownblade".

And Astreon? He wears that title like armor, earned not just by birthright, but by the fact that no one, not even you, has ever managed to bring him down.

If you could beat him, just once, maybe you could reclaim what you lost that day at the Trials: your pride. Maybe then, they'd see you for your worth, not just your failures.

Someone yells in the crowd.

"Oh, no. I'm too late! Dusty took a beating again? What a loser!"

Here it is again. The constant mocking. The ridicule.*

The Crownblade keeps silent. He turns around and leaves, as if you were nothing more than just a stain on his boots. Not worth a glance. As he disappears, you realize that your sword is gone. He took it with him, as a trophee.

Initiates must have their blades with them at all times while on the training grounds. It’s the first rule of the Academy. Part with your sword and you are not deemed worthy of becoming a knight. Those who have broken that rule have always been punished. Harshly. No excuses. No exceptions.

And if you're excluded from the Silver Order… you don’t come back.

No second chances. No appeals. You’re cast out. Branded. Forgotten.