"The ravenous fire that crackled in your souls was one and the same, stoked by repressed fear and the overwhelming desire to survive in a world that only valued material power."
In their desperate battle to survive the harsh aristocracy, the desire...
It seemed that fate took many twisted liberties with your terrible plan.
"Where did you get that book?" Hyunjin's voice boomed like thunder in the space of the training court. He had his Kizāri drawn, and he stood in the center of the sand square as though ready to plunge into a fight. A real fight.
The air around him seemed to buzz and fizz, seething with an anger you should've expected. He wouldn't accept a so-called gift from a human, especially not one pertaining to his hidden magic. You had to choose your next words carefully.
Ah, but if he had expected you to give away your secrets, he was dreadfully wrong.
"Does it matter?" you shrugged as you stepped closer, fingers flexing with the crazed urge to grab your Kizāri and cross it with his. A lazy smirk drew itself on your lips. "If you don't want the book, you can give it back."
The Sōrsānt glowered. Your answer wasn't the one he was seeking, but you weren't trying to please him anyway. Tension twisted around the two of you, deafening in its silence. The yawning moments before the tempest.
You set foot in the square of pale sand, basking in the young morning sun as you dared Hyunjin's gaze with yours. If he wanted a fight, then you would gladly appease that wish. "It was quite costly, after all."
Snap! went the thin cord of tension, and Hyunjin's Kizāri glinted in the light as he raised it in a deadly arc. The air screamed. The first wind in the storm.
Your Kizāri was drawn in a flash, meeting his with a force that rattled your bones. Blood roared in your ears, fueled after days of dull practice.
You leaped away, swiveling alongside your Kizāri as you brought it down. Sand rose upon impact, a benevolent wave of pearly dust.
Hyunjin ran through it, swinging his weapon at you with familiar precision. Your Kizāris waltzed in the air, a blur of silver and black, clashing and separating and spinning to the macabre rhythm of the spar.
Oh, how you craved the thrill of a proper fight.
Hyunjin's Kizāri hooked around yours, and he pushed it against you, snarling, "Are you trying to get us killed?"
You propelled your weapon forward, freeing it from his trap and swinging it at his legs unsparingly. "Us?"
A laugh threatened to bubble up your chest, roused by the adrenaline pumping in your veins. "Don't assume that I did this for you, Sōrsānt. I gave you the book for the peace of my own mind."
Iron screeched against iron. Hyunjin was close enough that you saw shock flicker over his features before it melted into something darker. His Kizāri was in the air again. "I don't need your pity."
"No, you don't," you agreed, breathless as you evaded his blow and redirected your weapon. "What is it that you always say about us humans?"
You weren't waiting for an answer. "We are weak. Subject to the volatile tides of the heart."
Your Kizāris interlocked again, and with a pull from Hyunjin and a pivot from you, the spar came to a stop. Your Kizāri clattered against the floor outside the square. Hyunjin's was impaled in the sand some feet away. The two of you were left standing there, face to face, chests heaving and gazes burning.
Neither of you moved, and it felt as though the world came to a halt alongside that fight.
Hyunjin held your stare, and you held his. In a breath that seemed to encompass the two of you, you were almost equals in an impossible timeline. The ravenous fire that crackled in your souls was one and the same, stoked by repressed fear and the overwhelming desire to survive in a world that only valued material power. The very differences that separated him from you made you alike.
Yet, you refused to acknowledge that harrowing revelation. Hyunjin was nothing like you, and he would never be.
"Do with the book what you will," you spoke through gritted teeth, breaking the trance you were captured in. "This is not a favor."
After a moment that felt like an eternity, you turned away, knowing that the both of you reached a wordless, mutual understanding. You picked your Kizāri off the dark marble, tossing it over in your grip once, twice, before assuming your regular place at the square of sand.
You still had a tedious morning of training to go through now that your fit of violence had been quelled.
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