CHAPTER 68: THE ECHO OF IMPACT

The crushing weight of Torian’s blade was absolute. It was the weight of the mountain, the weight of the North, pressing down on a single point of failure.

Dain Ragnor was buried to his knees in the shattered earth of the Proving Grounds. His arms, holding the tower shield above his head, were numb, the muscles trembling so violently they felt like liquid. The hydraulic hiss of Torian’s pistons was a constant, mocking sound, a machine screaming its dominance over flesh.

"Is that it?" Torian roared, his face inches from the rim of Dain’s shield, spittle flying. He put his full body weight behind the thrust. "Is this the famous Shield of Azurefall? You’re just a doorstop! Break already!"

Dain grit his teeth, blood leaking from his nose and dripping onto his tunic. His vision was tunneling, gray spots dancing at the edges.

"I... am... holding..." Dain wheezed.

"Holding what?" Torian laughed, a harsh, metallic bark. "You’re holding onto a ghost story! You think because you survived one demon you can stand against me? Look at you! You’re buried!"

Dain looked. He saw the ground swallowing his shins. He saw the horrified faces of his squad in the stands. Kaelan was gripping the railing so hard his knuckles were white. Ilya had turned away.

Walls don’t hit back, the old logic whispered in his mind. Shields just hold.

But the logic is wrong, a newer, warmer voice countered. Energy doesn’t disappear. It has to go somewhere.

Dain remembered the alley in Sector 4. He remembered the Void Hand. He remembered the feeling of Kairen’s golden warmth flooding his chest—not a gentle warmth, but a roaring, explosive heat. It hadn’t just protected him; it had pushed.

Stop soaking, Dain thought, his eyes narrowing. Be a mirror.

"You talk too much," Dain grunted, shifting his grip.

Torian frowned. "What?"

"I said..." Dain inhaled, filling his lungs with dust and resolve. "GET OFF ME!"

He didn’t try to lift the sword with his muscles. He didn’t try to stand up.

He released.

He triggered the latent ability of the Ragnor bloodline, the ability he had unknowingly tapped into in the alley: Kinetic Reflection.

His tower shield, battered and dented, suddenly flared with a blinding, golden light. It wasn’t mana; it was pure, stored impact. The runes on the front of the shield, usually dormant, screamed to life.

BOOOOOM!

It wasn’t a push. It was a detonation.

A massive, golden shockwave erupted from the face of the shield, directly into Torian’s sword. The force was the sum total of every hit Dain had taken in the match, compressed into a single millisecond.

Torian’s eyes went wide. "Wha—"

He was launched.

The massive, armored tank of a boy, who weighed nearly three hundred pounds in his plate, was blasted backward as if he had been hit by a siege cannon. He flew through the air, his sword ripped from his grasp, his arms windmilling.

He crashed into the dirt twenty feet away, bouncing once, twice, before sliding to a halt in a cloud of dust.

The arena went dead silent. Even the wind seemed surprised.

Dain stood up. He pulled his legs out of the craters they had made with a wet sucking sound. He shook his shield arm, feeling the feeling return in pins and needles. He was panting, his chest heaving, but he was standing tall.

"I told you," Dain rumbled, his voice carrying across the silent pit. "I am not a wall. Walls don’t hit back."

In the stands, Kaelan let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. "He did it... he actually pushed him back."

"He didn’t push him," Ilya whispered, her eyes wide. "He reflected him. That’s... that’s high-level physics."

Across the ring, a pile of gray armor stirred.

Torian Ironheart pushed himself up. His chest plate was dented—a perfect impression of a shockwave. His helmet had been knocked off, revealing a face that was bruised, bleeding... and grinning.

It was a savage, bloody, ecstatic grin.

"Hah..." Torian wheezed, spitting out a tooth. "Hah! HAHAHA!"

He stood up, wiping blood from his chin. He looked at Dain with a terrifying intensity. The arrogance was gone. The bullying sneer was gone. In its place was the pure, unadulterated lust for battle.

"You hit back," Torian said, his voice thick with admiration. "You actually hit back. Finally! A fight!"

He walked over to his massive broadsword and picked it up. The steam engine in the hilt was sputtering, damaged by the blast.

Torian ripped the engine cover off with his bare hand, tossing the brass plate aside. He reached inside the mechanism.

"Torian!" Headmaster Joric shouted from the balcony, leaning over the rail. "That engine is unstable! Do not engage Protocol Red! It is a mock battle!"

Torian ignored him. He twisted the limiter valve until it snapped off in his hand.

"It stopped being a mock battle five minutes ago," Torian growled, staring at Dain. "This is respect."

HISSSSSSS!

Steam erupted from his armor, but it wasn’t white anymore. It was angry, pressurized, scalding red. The mana crystals on his sword flared, turning from white to a deep, unstable crimson. The heat radiating from him distorted the air.

"Protocol Overdrive," Torian announced. His skin flushed red, his veins bulging against his neck. He was pushing his magitech—and his body—to the breaking point.

He pointed his sword at Dain.

"One hit," Torian said. "Everything I have left. Against everything you have left. No blocking. No dancing."

Dain looked at the steaming juggernaut. He felt the golden fire in his own chest, the battery Kairen had left him. It was dwindling, but there was enough for one last stand.

He gripped his shield with both hands. He slammed the edge into the dirt, angling it forward like a battering ram.

"Come on," Dain whispered.

"CHARGE!" Torian roared.

He ran. The pistons in his legs fired like cannons, propelling him forward with terrifying speed. He was a runaway train of red steam and iron. He raised his sword, not for a slash, but for a thrust—a spear of vibrating metal meant to pierce the world.

Dain didn’t wait to be hit.

He charged too.

"FOR AZUREFALL!"

Dain ran, his shield held in front of him, a golden comet racing to meet the red meteor.

The crowd stood up. Elara leaned forward in her seat, her eyes narrowing. Kaelan held his breath.

They met in the center of the ring.

KRA-KOOOOM!

The collision was felt in the stands. The stone walls of the arena pit cracked. A shockwave of dust, steam, and golden light exploded outward, engulfing the entire center of the Proving Grounds.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the cloud.

"Did they kill each other?" a student whispered.

Then, the dust began to settle.

Two figures stood in the center of the crater.

Torian’s sword was buried halfway into Dain’s shield, the metal fused together by the heat of the impact. Dain’s shield was bent, warped around the blade, but it hadn’t pierced through to his body.

They stood chest to chest, forehead to forehead, leaning on each other for support.

Torian’s armor was venting the last of its steam, the red lights dying. Dain’s golden glow flickered and went out.

"Not... bad..." Torian whispered, his eyes rolling back in his head, a smile still on his face. "For a... turtle."

"You’re... heavy..." Dain mumbled.

They fell.

Not backward. Not forward. They simply collapsed sideways, simultaneously, landing in the dirt with a synchronized clatter of armor.

Neither moved.

The silence stretched for ten seconds. Then twenty.

"Medic!" Alistair shouted, vaulting over the railing.

The healers rushed in. They checked pulses. They checked eyes.

Headmaster Alistair and Headmaster Joric stood over the unconscious boys. Joric looked at the fused weapon—the sword stuck in the shield. He looked at the cracked walls of the arena.

Joric let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "Well. It seems the unstoppable force met the immovable object."

Alistair looked at Dain, pride swelling in his chest. "It seems so."

"The verdict?" Joric asked.

"Both incapacitated," Alistair said. "Simultaneously. Neither can continue."

Joric nodded. He turned to the crowd.

"DRAW!" Joric bellowed.

The stadium erupted. It wasn’t the partisan cheering of before. Both sides—Azurefall and Iron-Clad—were screaming. They were cheering for the fight. They were cheering for the sheer, brutal spectacle of it.

Squad 7 rushed the field. Lia was already casting healing spells on Dain. Kaelan looked at the fused shield and sword, shaking his head in disbelief.

"A draw," Kaelan whispered. "Two wins. Two losses. One draw."

Ilya looked at the scoreboard. "We didn’t lose."

"No," Kaelan said, looking at the Northern students who were now helping carry Torian away with looks of respect. "We didn’t. And I think they know it."

Far away, in the wind-scoured Echo Canyon, there was no draw. There was only a boy and a mountain.

Kairen Zephyrwind was on his knees, blood dripping from his mouth onto the stone. His throat felt like it had been shredded by glass.

"Stand up," Vanamali commanded.

The Sage stood ten feet away. Hovering in the air around him were three massive boulders, each weighing as much as Torian’s armor.

"I... I can’t," Kairen rasped, clutching his neck. "My voice... it’s gone. It hurts."

"Your voice is flesh," Vanamali said, his tone unyielding. "The Command comes from the Will. From the Essence. Pain is just information, Kairen. Ignore it."

The Sage flicked his hand.

The boulders flew.

They didn’t float this time. They were hurled. Three massive projectiles screaming through the air, aimed directly at Kairen.

Kairen’s eyes widened. He had no sword. He had no shield. If they hit him, he would die.

Dodge! his instincts screamed. Run!

No, his soul countered. A King does not dodge.

"Use the Essence!" Vanamali shouted over the wind. "Don’t ask them to stop! Forbid them from moving!"

Kairen remembered the golden light of the Solar Plexus. He remembered the connection of the Heart. He pulled it all upward, forcing it through the raw, bleeding chakra of his Throat.

He didn’t try to shout over the wind. He became the wind.

He opened his mouth. He didn’t just make a sound. He projected a Law.

He looked at the boulders, hurtling toward his face.

"HALT!"

The word ripped out of him, a visible, distortion-wave of blue and gold energy. It slammed into the air.

SCREEEE.

The sound of physics breaking.

The boulders didn’t slow down. They stopped. Instantly.

They froze in mid-air, three feet from Kairen’s face. They vibrated violently, caught in the grip of his command, struggling against his will, but they did not move forward. Gravity pulled at them, momentum pushed them, but Kairen’s word held them in place.

The wind in the canyon died. The dust settled. The world held its breath.

Kairen stood there, his hand outstretched, his eyes blazing with a terrifying, regal indigo light. He wasn’t asking the stones to stop. He was telling them that movement was forbidden.

"Drop them," Vanamali whispered.

Kairen exhaled.

The blue light in his eyes faded.

The boulders dropped like stones, crashing harmlessly to the ledge at his feet.

Kairen collapsed, falling onto his back, staring up at the sliver of sky between the canyon walls. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe without pain. But he felt a new sensation in his throat—a cool, humming vibration.

Vanamali walked over, looking down at the boy who had just shouted down an avalanche.

"The Fifth Seal is open," the Sage said softly. "You have found your Voice."

Kairen closed his eyes, a faint smile touching his bloody lips.

He had spoken. And the world had listened.