Hey Friends!

Thanks so much for the support so far, especially to everyone who gave me feedback on the story. This chapter is a bit longer as we're approaching a sort of crucial point. Chapters in the future will gradually transition to more plot styled text, rather than backstory backboned structure I'm leaning on now. I'll also attempt to incorporate some humor possibly as the plot progresses right now. Chapters will also be longer, but they will take a bit longer to write.

Anyways, it would mean alot to me if you guys could review it and let me know what I did well or what I could improve on so we can all make this story better as it progresses. I hope to make this story as good as it can get of all the readers who come out to support. Anyways, enough of my blabbering, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

The wind breezed smoothly through the sunny afternoon, gently brushing against the huts and the trees. Sunlight slanted across the rocks and the windows, illuminating the dwellings of the Rakkor. Though everything seemed to be at ease, the day was far from an idyllic peace.

Pantheon leaned against a stone wall, the slab of rock cool against his skin as he closed his eyes.

As expected, his ritual was passed with ease, almost shaming the reputation of difficulty that the Rite of Kor had accumulated throughout the years.

It had been swift. Pantheon had been placed against another young Rakkorian fighter known as Cassius. By all standards, Cassius was certainly a brave and adaptive warrior among the Rakkor, but the gap of combat ability between Pantheon and him was simply too great to bridge. It was clear that he was a strong warrior, but under the expanse of Pantheon's immense prowess, he was reduced to nothing more than mere fodder.

The match itself, could have been nearly described as almost pitiful. Though Cassius had tried as hard as humanly possible to hold out against Pantheon's onslaught, it was simply too much for the lesser warrior to withstand. The seemingly endless flurry of strikes and blows bore down on the young Rakkorian, until his own feet and the muscles in his arms gave out beneath him and he lay breathless on the dirt beneath their feet. But for his valiant performance, Pantheon had granted him honorable and quick death, quickly ending his life with a slash of his sword.

Pantheon, no stranger to blood and death, was not bothered by what he had done. It was not of his choice to kill Cassius, but it was simply a tradition that he had to complete. For a paragon such as himself, he could not be concerned over such trivial things.

But what had shaken Pantheon was his recall of solemn-faced Leona standing among the other Rite candidates, watching him as he stood triumphantly above the body of the slain Cassius. What she felt, he did not know, but Pantheon knew Leona well enough that many thoughts were scrambling through her mind. But what direction the revelation would steer her still remained to be seen.…

Pantheon's eyes snapped open as he heard the footsteps of several Rakkorian guards approach him. One of them, a large and brutish warrior, cloaked in the ceremonial armor of the Rakkorian Elder Guard, signaled for Pantheon to follow them.

Following in silence, the small group ascended the set of stone stairs, stopping in front of a pair of large wooden double doors.

They led him to a marble platform, which was above the arena where he had fought his Rite of Kor. The giant guard gestured at Pantheon once more, signaling him to step forward. Glancing around him, Pantheon slowly walked and came to a rest in the center of the marble white plateau. He noticed the Elders were converged in a semi-circle, sitting only a few meters away from where he stood. From his position, Pantheon could make out the faces of several of the Elders he knew, among them, the face of Elder Aurelius who gave him a small nod of recognition. Pantheon also had a clear view of the large expanse of the other Rakkor that had come to spectate the Rite. Hundreds of Rakkorians had crowded into the arena, eager to see the emergence of the tribe's strongest fighters. Men, women, and children alike all watched the Trials in a trance of fearful admiration.

The crowd of Rakkorian spectators stood silent as Pantheon knelt before the council of Elders. There was a tense moment, as Pantheon felt the eyes of several Elders burn themselves onto his head, as if they intended to rip the thoughts from huis brain by sheer willpower. Then, an Elder wrapped in a white robe in the center of the group spoke first, a gravelly tone booming across the arena, making its voice heard clearly to all in the arena.

"Rise, warrior of the Rakkor."

Pantheon lifted his head, rising to his full stature as he stood to face the Elders once more.

"It is with great honor that we congratulate you for successfully completing the Rite of Kor. You have proven yourself beyond a doubt that you are worthy to wield the relics of the Rakkor. And now it is your destiny to bring glory to the very art of war with these tools, like many of your ancestors have done before you."

The white robed elder turned to Aurelius, making a small gesture towards the other Elder.

Aurelius stood from his seat, facing Pantheon, meeting the familiar gaze of the young warrior.

"Pantheon, for your ability in combat and your victory, we bestow upon you the legendary Spear of Ajax and the infamous Shield of Aegis. These legendary weapons have been used by many worthy Rakkor in the generations of the past; and now you shall inherit their legacy."

Elder Aurelius, gently holding the weapons wrapped in a smooth ceremonial cloth, presented them to the Pantheon, "These are now extensions of your body. Passed through the generations, they have always served their wielders well. If you should never cower in the face of opposition, if you should never falter when the tribe calls upon you, if you should never relent in the worship of combat, then these relics shall become the instruments in which you will paint the world in a new light. Use them wisely and bring the Rakkor honor with every blow you strike and every strike you deflect."

Aurelius saluted Pantheon and returned to his seat in the council of Elders. Pantheon quickly examined the weapons that had been given to them. The shield itself did not seem to of anything particularly special, but it resonated with a feeling of solidarity, as if there was so much more beneath the surface that held the shield together, rather than bonds of simple golden steel. Though the shield had likely been through innumerable battles in the past, it did not seem to give any indication of crumbling beneath the hands of its wielder anytime soon. It was, without a doubt, a worthy weapon.

The spear, held in his other hand, gleamed with a feeling of sharpness. The silver point was sharpened to a deadly point, and Pantheon had little doubt that it would penetrate anything he thrust it at. The smooth wooden handle that ran beneath the tip seemed to be more archaic, yet very sturdy in his grip. It might have been used and tested for many years, but it was undoubtedly still very reliable, and it would serve him well for the years to come.

Pantheon proudly brandished his weapons in the air, the crowd of Rakkor roaring their approval.

Another Elder, this one a smaller figure with a raspier tone, quieted the crowd. When silence was achieved once more throughout the stadium, his slithery voice was projected throughout the the stadium.

"Now, we shall move on to the next trial." Pantheon turned to go, once more beginning to pass through the large doorway in order to descend on the stairs once more. "For the next combat trial, it shall be Leona against Titus," Pantheon froze, "Prepare yourselves to fight for this shall-!" Pantheon did not wait for the Elder to finish, quickly running for the compartment where all of the Rakkorian candidates for the Rite were gathered. He heard the crowd shuffle in excitement for the next match and his heart was loud in his chest, beads of sweat trickling down from his head onto his cold relics of war as his feet pounded against the marble floor. He needed to get there, now.

Leona inhaled a nervous breath. She shifted against her armor and gripped the leather handle on her sword tightly. She could hear the murmur of the crowd outside and she could feel the electrical tension that swam through the air. Sunlight shone upon her face through the openings of the iron gate, illuminating her features. This was it. This was where she had to overcome or die. This was where she could not fail.

The gate opened and she stepped forward onto an arena of sand and dirt. All around her were the hundreds of Rakkorians cheering and watching as she approached another figure opposite to her. Leona stopped within several meters of the warrior, gazing at him.

She did not personally know Titus very well, though she had talked with him on several occasions in the past. He was a fierce warrior with a short and stocky frame and often quick to anger. As a warrior, he was relentless, often aggressively seeking combat with his peers either to prove a point or simply to improve his own arsenal. And often times, he could be seen practicing his swordsmanship, until his blade nearly became a natural extension of his body. A very skilled fighter, Titus was not going to be a very easy opponent to handle.

They saluted one another as per the Rakkorian tradition, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. For a brief moment, Leona though she saw a glint of regret in his eyes, but before she could ascertain as to anything further, a gravelly voice rang out.

"Participants! Now, you shall fight for the glory of the Rakkor and its ancestors. Die with honor and win with grace! Begin the match!"

As quick as a flash, Titus drew a wicked blade from his hip and lunged at Leona. She reacted just quickly enough, drawing her shield to her body and blocked the blade from severing her in two. Titus swiftly moved and readjusted for several more quick strikes, his blade crashing once more against the metal surface of Leona's large shield.

Leona fell back, blocking strike after strike that rained upon her in a flurry of offensive madness. Titus advanced upon the young woman, showing no signs of indication of letting up his assault of blades.

From an outsider's perspective, it would have seemed that Titus held the advantage. He was certainly the aggressor, rushing forward with in an offensive fury as Leona blocked and rolled to avoid certain death. It seemed that Leona appeared to be unable to do a thing about the onslaught that befell her. But those in the audience who knew the two warrior's style of combat could tell that in reality, as long as Leona held out, Titus was at a notable disadvantage.

It had already been said that Titus is a warrior of aggression. That being so, he devoted much time to the art of offense, while paying little heed to the art of blocking strikes and dodging blades. What had resulted was as a fierce offensive fighting style coupled with a poor defense. Leona on the other hand had trained very intensely in developing her defensive prowess, which had become fluid enough to match even the blows of Pantheon. But Leona had also developed a sharp offensive skill of swordsmanship as well as the use of a dagger. She could play the aggressor as just as well as the defender. Titus could not. If his blows could not bring down the young woman with orange locks quickly enough, there would be no salvation for him; he would fall to her countermeasures.

Titus pressed on enduringly, using every style of offense and every type of strike that he knew, but nothing that he threw at Leona broke her iron hold on her shield. He knew he could not keep up with her for much longer and his frustration mounted as he pounded away over and over, but was met with nothing but the unfruitful sound of his blade meeting her shield. He kicked and stabbed but to no avail.

As he pressed on, one of his strikes that glanced off of Leona's defense slowed noticeably. In a flash, Leona took advantage of his momentary fatigue and slammed the shield into his upper body. He stumbled backwards, fazed by the push. But he would not fall to such a simple blow. Wiping blood from his face that had begun to trickle from where the shield had cut him, Titus drew another blade and charged towards Leona once more.

He wheeled towards her, determined to slice her apart. Once more, they resumed their dance of blade and shield, Titus hammering away as if his life depended on it, which in a sense, it did. He thought of nothing but crushing the woman in front of him.

In a desperate moment, he swung recklessly at Leona, hoping to catch her off guard as he advanced towards her. But instead, his futile attempt was met with a metal shield, throwing him to the dirt and sand beneath him. Leona capitalized quickly, slamming her shield into his hand, forcing Titus to drop his sword with a groan of pain.

Leona moved quickly to pin Titus underneath the weight of her shield. But as she attempted to step towards him, a dagger materialized from the hands of Titus and impaled itself upon Leona's shoulder. She grimaced in surprise, quickly stepping back to avoid being stabbed several more times. She pulled the blade from her shoulder. Luckily for her, it had not penetrated deep into her armor, but regardless, she would have to be more careful. If it had been any more accurate, it would have cut her neck, something that would have undoubtedly turned the tide in Titus's favor.

Titus stood once more, daggers in hand as he faced his opponent once more. He breathed heavily. His body was worn down by the blows placed upon him, crimson smeared upon his bruised face. He knew that death was the likely end for him against this opponent. Titus might have been a hot head, but he was no fool. He understood the immense skill she possessed above him and the talent she possessed for blocking any blows that fell upon her.

But if he were to die now, he would not die begging for mercy. Titus wanted die on his feet, daggers in hand as the light faded from his vision. It would be much more dignified for a worthy Rakkorian such as himself.

With a hardened resolve, he bellowing a battle cry, barreling once more towards the girl behind the shield. He charged forward without heed, determined to break through that infuriating shield with his last shred of strength. The dirt swirled around his feet as he bore down on Leona without the intent to leave her in pieces.

10 feet.

He gripped his daggers firmly, poising them to run right through her body. There was turning back now. Now was the time for ultimate victory, or an honorable death; nothing in between would suffice.

7 feet.

Leona braced herself for the vicious impact. Watching as the muscled Rakkorian came closer by the moment, she tightened her hold on her shield once more, knuckles turning white from the exertion. One way or another, the match would be decided here.

Now.

Titus and his daggers slammed into Leona's defense, the sheer momentum of his charge sent vibrations through her shield as cracks appeared in his dagger. Leona's arms shuddered as she held out against his crushing weight. Titus screamed in desperation as he pushed against her to break her defense, his dagger scraping violently against the metal.

But she did not break.

Gathering her strength, Leona shoved Titus away with a push of her shield, leaving him to fall backwards in a confused daze of frustration. Left defenseless, Titus could only watch as Leona delivered a ruthless kick to his stomach.

Titus doubled over, pain blossoming through his lower body as his organs shuddered in a pain he never knew could exist. His mind was numbed with only the thought of agony in his system. He attempted once more to rise to his feet to face his opponent but a metal object slammed into his shoulder blades, cracking the two bone structures atop his body.

Titus screamed in pain. He collapsed and writhed on the dirt floor, unable to fight any longer as blood trickled from his shoulders where he had begun to bleed from the sheer impact. Pain racked his body and a grunt of pain left him as Leona kicked him onto his back so that he lay on the dirt, staring at nothing but her beautiful face and the serene blue heaven above him.

Titus was defeated. He could no fight any longer, his body unwilling to rise from the ground once more. All that was left was for Leona to do was end his life to receive her relics and gain the long sought recognition from the Rakkorian elders.

He closed his eyes, waiting for vindication.

From the candidate box, Pantheon watched as Leona stood over the broken boy.

She had done it. She had not fallen victim to her visions and ideas of mercy. She would triumph today on the field rather than lie broken in the dirt.

To him, it seemed that his worst nightmare had been successfully avoided. She was so close to absolution that he could already envision her relic ceremony before the elders.

So why was she still standing there?

Leona stood over the broken boy, gazing at the blood that trickled from his mangled form. It was sad to see someone such as Titus, a fine specimen of Rakkorian strength, degraded to a broken form among trash on the ground. But she had been given no choice. Or had she?

Regardless, Leona drew her blade, preparing to do her duty to the Rite and the Elders. She stood above him, light gleaming off the blade as it hovered above his neck, waiting to sever his connection to the mortal world. But before she did, she looked around her one last time.

All around the arena, the heavy silence of the spectators permeated all corners of the room. The watched in a solemn reverie as one of the elite warriors of the Rakkor lay on the floor, ready to be slain like cattle.

There were many faces of interest and seriousness and even glee, but Leona could only see expressions of sadness and forlorn from some family members and friends of Titus, most notably from Titus's parents, who watched her every move, unable to look away as she prepared end the life of their only child. She locked eyes with the mother of Titus. His mother gazed at Leona, her expression one of pain and suffering, but also of understanding. She knew this was only the way of things among the warriors of the Rakkor, but that did not ease the pain in her mind.

Leona's stomach churned at the sight. She gripped her sword once more, her muscles stiffening as she stood still, paralyzed by the sight set before her.

"What are you doing?" a voice croaked below her, drawing Leona's attention once more to the figure lying below her. Titus met her eyes, his face etched with shame and the pain of defeat.

"Please don't wait any more. Just finish the trial and end my shame. You know what you have to do Leona."

You have to do.

Have to.

The words echoed in Leona's head over and over. It seemed only logical that she complete the trial, one so near completion. With simply a single blow, she could finally gain acceptance from Elders and parents who had often told her she was too kind to be a great warrior. It would only take a moment, a fraction of the time she had spent preparing for this moment, to simply finish the deed. Besides, she had no other choice; Pantheon had warned her over and over that the only future for those who would evade the ways of the Rite would be a shameful death.

But as she lifted her sword once more, she remembered. Remembered the ideals in which she had learnt from the peers among the Rakkor who had never been strong in body, but strong in spirit. They had died a time ago from the harsh environment of the Rakkor, so Leona had embodied the ideas in which they had always stood for; friendship and kindness, even among the war embroiled culture of the Rakkor. She had always promised herself she would never break those ideals, yet here she was, abstaining kindness from sparing the life of Titus because she felt obligated by some sort of foolish tradition. What was she if she did not keep that promise true to herself? What right would she have to preach kindness and understanding if she herself killed her fellow Rakkorian for personal gain?

And in that moment of clarity, Leona made her choice.

She closed her eyes, allowing the sword to slip from her hand, letting it fall to the dirt beneath her. The blade clattered beside the wounded form of Titus, whose eyes widened at her implication. At this, Leona stepped back and turned to face the Elders.

She closed her eyes, ready to embrace the wind of fate that had begun to breeze through her armor.

Thanks for reading my friends! Sorry if you hate cliffhangers :C. Anyways, please be sure to let me know how I did, it would be greatly appreciated!

Until next time,

C. Geng