The clash of blades echoed like thunder in the great hall, the walls trembling beneath the force of your rivalry.

Your opponent, Kaelen Dravaris, fought with a ferocity that mirrored your own. His every strike carried the arrogance of a man who had always been told he was the best. He was relentless, driven not just by pride, but by a hatred that matched yours.

Blood slicked the corner of your lip where his blade had grazed you. He smirked. “Bleeding already? How pathetic.”

You bared your teeth in a grin. “Don’t worry. Yours will come next.”

The audience of nobles, knights, and courtiers held their breath, watching as sparks rained from your weapons. Neither of you gave ground; neither of you ever did. That was the truth of this rivalry. It wasn’t just about victory, was about breaking the other.

Every duel between you and Kaelen ended the same: neither dead, nor defeated. But this time was different. This time, there would be no stopping until one of you was on the ground for good. After all, it was a battle for the crown.

He drove you back, step by step, until your spine nearly touched the stone pillar behind you. His blade pressed against yours, his face inches away, eyes burning ice-blue with fury.

“You’ll never be good enough,” Kaelen hissed. “Not for the throne, not for the people, not for me.”

You shoved him back, twisting, slashing, forcing him to stumble for the first time. His grin vanished, replaced by something darker.

Now it was war.