This content may include mature situations, which may encompass scenes depicting teenagers in adult situations including alcohol consumption, strong language, and suggestive situations. Additional, more specific warnings will be provided at the start of chapters if deemed necessary. Reader discretion is advised.
Chapter Three-Rivalries
Riven found himself seated on the cold, unforgiving floor of the orphanage—a place that had encompassed his entire childhood. A peculiar sense of unreality tugged at him, teasing the possibility of this being nothing more than a dream. Yet, every nuance in his surroundings, each tangible detail, defied such a simple explanation.
The walls, still draped in that same dull, uninviting gray, emitted an aura of desolation that was all too familiar. The years of countless children passing through had left their mark, with scuff marks and faded crayon drawings forming an intricate tapestry of memories. Even the air remained thick with the enduring scent of mildew, a reminder of the dampness that had always plagued this place.
He gingerly shifted his weight and the wooden floorboards beneath him groaned, almost as if they resented his presence. Each minute detail, from the peeling paint on the walls to the well-worn furniture, remained a vivid reflection of his past. It was as if he had been transported back in time, back to those days he thought he had left behind.
A soft breeze brushed against him, causing the curtains nearby to sway gently, their tattered edges whispering secrets of the countless stories that had unfolded within these walls. The room seemed suspended in time, frozen in a moment of nostalgia. Abruptly, a sharp, stinging sensation pierced his hand, and he glanced down in reflex. Clutched tightly in his grip was a pocket knife, its weathered handle fitting perfectly in his palm. He had sliced his palm open with it, the crimson drops welling up and dripping onto the worn wooden floorboards.
His confusion deepened, for he knew he had made the cut intentionally. Yet, his hands appeared oddly foreign, smaller than he remembered.
Perplexed and with blood trickling down his wrist, he extended his wounded hand, unsure of his next move. It was then that another hand with a cut of its own, fresh blood glistening, slapped against his and interlocked their fingers. A jolt of recognition surged through Riven as he realized the purpose of this act—he was forging a blood pact.
A voice, distant and long-unheard, reverberated through the room, further entangling him in this surreal journey. It was a whisper from the past, a voice filled with a mixture of innocence and longing, calling out to him from the depths of his memories, beckoning him to remember what he had long buried. His own voice spoke as well citing the spell.
"By our blood, we seal this pact,
Bound by oath, our spirits intact.
In darkness and in light, we share,
This bond unbroken, beyond compare"
Riven's eyes snapped open, and for a brief moment, he found himself suspended in the hazy abyss of confusion. His heart pounded fiercely against his chest, and the room around him seemed to warp and waver, blurring the lines between past and present. It was as if time itself had momentarily lost its grip on him.
As the seconds ticked by, the familiar contours of his dorm room gradually came into focus, anchoring him back to the tangible reality. With a sigh of relief, he realized that what had gripped him so intensely was nothing more than a dream. More precisely, it had been an unpleasant echo of a memory from a bygone era. A memory that he had long sought to bury beneath the veneer of his present life.
This had been happening more and more frequently recently. But tonight's dream had been the most clear and vivid one so far. He could almost still smell the blood and feel the sting of the cut. He held up his hand and examined the old scar that ran across his right palm. A bitter feeling burned in his throat as he thought of his childhood idiocy.
Riven couldn't pinpoint the exact catalyst for these intrusive dreams, but they seemed to have sprung forth shortly after Mirta's ill-fated tarot reading and her ostensible "vision." There had been an eerie resonance in her words, an inexplicable connection that had struck a nerve deep within him. Now he was plagued by these unwelcome glimpses into his life before Red Fountain. The harder he tried to suppress these memories the more they stubbornly surfaced. Clawing their way back into his consciousness, as if they were insistent on being remembered.
His therapist had offered a suggestion—urging Riven to document these dreams, believing that perhaps they held clues to a hidden truth his subconscious was desperately trying to convey. But Riven had no intention of heeding that advice.
There were things from his history that he had deliberately left behind, sealed away in the recesses of his mind. He believed there was nothing left for him to gain from these painful memories, and their resurgence only stirred up emotions and regrets he'd rather forget. So, despite his therapist's well-intentioned counsel, he clung to the conviction that some doors were best left firmly closed, even if they occasionally rattled in the dark corners of his dreams.
Restless and unable to control the barrage of thoughts, he lay there, tossing and turning, a prisoner of his own mind. Eventually he gave up on the possibility of sleep and sat up rubbing his eyes with a yawn. With a gentle rustle of sheets, Riven swung his legs out of bed with no real direction or purpose in mind.
Stepping into the dimly lit common room, only faint outlines of the dorm's features were discernible, concealed in an enigmatic darkness. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a hushed, silvery glow that formed otherworldly patterns on the walls.
At Red Fountain, each dorm room followed a similar layout: a shared common area, a communal bathroom, and three bedrooms for the current semester's occupants.
The common area's centerpiece was a sunken living room, a few steps lower than the surrounding space. Plush, oversized couches upholstered in rich leather flanked the sunken area, while a low wooden coffee table stood at its heart. On the table, a few well-placed books, magazines, and a forgotten game of solitaire hinted at the shared pastimes enjoyed by the dorm's residents. Several plants also resided there, belonging to Helia—though technically, they were the cherished possessions of his girlfriend, Flora, who entrusted him with their care.
A compact kitchenette nestled in a corner of the room, providing sustenance for late-night cravings and quick snacks. It was equipped with a microwave, a fridge stocked with cold beverages, and a coffee maker that perpetually brewed the aroma of fresh coffee into the air.
Helia's door was shut tight, a sure sign he was sound asleep. Meanwhile, Timmy's door was slightly open, and a soft light spilled out from inside. Riven decided he might as well see what the resident geek was up to so late at night.
The bedrooms, although a bit on the cozy side, had a surprising roominess to them, all thanks to a massive skylight that took up the whole wall across from the door. The window poured in tons of natural light, making the space feel wide open and bright. Right then, it was merely a giant mirror reflecting a starry night sky.
The other two walls were loaded up with shelves and drawers, giving you plenty of spots to stash your stuff. Books, trinkets, and all sorts of personal things were lined up neatly on the shelves. A comfy twin bed was snuggled up under the overhead shelves. On the other side, a big desk sprawled across the remaining wall, providing plenty of work space.
Timmy, the perpetual night owl, remained hunched over his computer, utterly absorbed in his work. His trusty headphones securely covered his ears, and his screen had been set to dark mode, a gentle concession to protect his eyes during these long nocturnal stretches. Timmy had a habit for burning the midnight oil, often immersed in one project or another.
The room was dimly lit, save for the soft ambient glow emanating from Timmy's monitor. Riven approached his friend, gently tapping his roommate on the shoulder. Timmy jolted slightly, peering up from the light of his monitor he removed his headphones and blinked, adjusting to the sudden transition from the screen's stark glow to the dim room.
"Hey there, Riven. What are you doing up?"
"Just can't seem to find any sleep," Riven admitted, taking a seat in the second chair Timmy kept available at his desk.
"Ah, that's rough," Timmy said sympathetically. "Have you tried counting sheep?"
Riven rolled his eyes. "I'm not a child, Timmy."
Timmy shrugged, "Well, it's my go-to when I can't sleep."
Riven couldn't help but let out a hearty snort, finding the thought of Timmy attempting sleep rather amusing. Timmy was a unique breed; he functioned for days on minimal sleep and enough caffeine to knock out an elephant, only to eventually crash for a solid twelve hours.
Riven grabbed one of the many fidget toys Timmy had, a cube where every side held a different activity. Timmy turned his attention back to his work, leaving his headphones off as an open invitation for further conversation.
One thing Riven had come to like about Timmy was that he never pushed Riven to talk, they could just sit in quiet companionship. Among the current members of their squad Riven was surprised to find how close he had become to Timmy. Initially, their vastly different personalities had led to a somewhat tumultuous start. Timmy's nervous, geeky energy often collided head-on with Riven's assertive and upfront demeanor. Yet, against all odds, it was their matching intellect and antisocial tendencies that became the glue that bonded them.
Riven fiddled with the cube for a while and considered confiding in Timmy about what was bothering him. Maybe his therapist was right and talking about the dreams would help. Riven quickly shook the thought away, that was dangerous territory to enter and Riven wasn't sure if there was anyone he would feel comfortable discussing something so personal with.
"Maybe I'm just too wound up recently." Riven said finally, a hint of frustration in his voice.
Timmy nodded understandingly. "Yeah, I know the feeling. Sometimes, no matter what you do, you just can't shut off your brain. Maybe you need to do something to tire yourself out, like go for a run or do some push-ups."
Riven arched an eyebrow skeptically. "At this hour?"
"It's worth a shot." Timmy answered. He clicked around a few times before unleashing a whirlwind of furious typing. Timmy's lengthy fingers danced across the keyboard with such lightning speed that Riven couldn't help but wonder if he was actually transcribing words or summoning some digital incantation.
"Yeah, it might be," Riven replied, though he harbored doubts about its effectiveness. He added, "Thanks," with a hint of gratitude in his voice.
Timmy paused his typing long enough to give Riven a quick, warm grin. "Anything to help a fellow insomniac."
Riven looked over the chaos of Timmy's cluttered desk, scattered with scraps of paper, pens, and various electronic gadgets. He couldn't fathom how Timmy managed to work amidst such disorder. His own desk also held a great many things but it was still organized and clean.
"So, what's your latest project?" Riven inquired, nodding towards the computer screen in front of Timmy.
Timmy's face lit up with pride. "I'm actually building a game from the ground up. It's still in its infancy, but I'm pretty excited about it."
Riven was begrudgingly impressed by Timmy's technical skills. Timmy was always tinkering with computers, whether for gaming or programming, so game creation didn't come as a surprise.
"That's cool. What kind of game is it?"
"It's a puzzle-adventure game set in a post-apocalyptic world," Timmy explained. "You play as a survivor who has to navigate through various challenges and obstacles to reach safety. I've got some really cool ideas for it, but it's still a long way from being finished."
Riven leaned forward, his eyes bright with interest. "What kind of challenges do you have in mind?"
Timmy's face lit up as he launched into a detailed description of the game mechanics. Riven was amazed by the level of thought and planning that had gone into the project.
As they talked, Riven found himself getting more and more engrossed in the conversation, fascinated by the intricate details of Timmy's game. Ideas flowed freely between them, and Riven couldn't resist offering his own suggestions and insights, engaging in a spirited exchange with Timmy.
Despite the late hour, neither of them paid attention to the passing time. Their shared enthusiasm for the project rendered them oblivious to their fatigue. But eventually, weariness began to creep in. It started with subtle yawns and stretched-out limbs. They exchanged tired glances, realizing that they couldn't keep pushing themselves indefinitely. They knew they had to be responsible and get some rest.
Riven sighed, his voice husky from nonstop discussion and brainstorming. "You know, Timmy, as much as I'd love to continue, I think we're reaching the point of diminishing returns."
With a resigned sigh, Timmy turned from his computer and stretched his arms high above his head. "Alright, let's call it a night. I've made significant progress today. Thanks for all your input."
Riven nodded as he stood to leave. "Thanks for the distraction."
"Anytime, Riven," Timmy replied with a warm smile. "And if you ever need another late-night chat to chase away those restless thoughts, you know where to find me."
Riven smiled in return, grateful for the offer. "I'll keep that in mind." As Riven made his way towards the door, he glanced back at Timmy's computer screen, where the virtual world of the post-apocalyptic game still flickered. "I can't wait to see this game when it's finished," he said with a genuine enthusiasm.
Timmy grinned, the weariness momentarily replaced by excitement. "I'll be sure to show it to you once it's ready for a test run. Have a good night, Riven, and try to get some rest."
With a final nod and a weary but grateful smile, Riven stepped out of Timmy's cluttered workspace, leaving behind the late-night brainstorming session and the comforting knowledge that, even in the darkest hours, there were friends like Timmy who could help chase away the insomnia-induced worries and provide a much-needed distraction.
Bloom sat in her stifling classroom, the dull hum of fluorescent lights above doing little to alleviate the tension that had gripped her. She found herself absentmindedly tapping her pencil against the aged wooden desk, the rhythmic sound serving as a desperate attempt to drown out the whispered conversation behind her.
The subject of the day's gossip a howlign storm in her ears, a relentless gale of rumors that showed no signs of abating – the latest tabloid news concerning Prince Sky and Lady Diaspro. Bloom couldn't escape it, no matter how hard she tried. Even within the confines of her classroom, the drama followed her like a bad haircut.
It seemed as if the entire world had been ensnared by the tantalizing web of speculation and innuendo spun by these so called insider reports. Prince Sky had vehemently assured Bloom, time and time again, that any encounters he had with Lady Diaspro were entirely professional in nature.
Yet the tabloids, hungry for sensationalism, relentlessly churned out articles laden with unfounded allegations. Photographs of Prince Sky and Lady Diaspro, taken out of context, were carefully curated to suggest impropriety. There was no concrete evidence to support the scandalous claims, but that didn't deter the media from weaving their own narrative, spinning a web of speculation and innuendo.
In her heart, Bloom believed Sky. She trusted him completely, and his explanations had so far held strong against the tempest of salacious headlines. Still, the constant onslaught of clickbait articles gnawed at her trust. Every day there seemed to be a fresh headline proclaiming exclusive insider information or a tantalizing scoop about the alleged affair.
Bloom's irritation began to simmer and then boil as the two girls seated behind her continued their relentless chatter. Their hushed voices seemed as if they were deliberately attempting to pierce through her patience. "It's true! King Erendor himself said it!" one of them whispered with a degree of confidence, as if she had witnessed it herself and not just read it in a gossip rag.
Bloom couldn't contain herself any longer. Frustration coursed through her veins, and she spun around in her chair, leveling a withering gaze at the gossipmongers. In that moment, the girls were visibly taken aback, their eyes widening as if they had been caught off guard by Bloom's direct confrontation. However, their expressions swiftly transformed, morphing into masks of feigned innocence.
"Bloom, pay attention!" Professor Avalon's voice rang out sternly, causing Bloom to snap to attention. A flush of embarrassment colored her cheeks as the surrounding students couldn't help but stifle their laughter at her momentary lapse.
"I understand that readjusting after a break can be challenging, but you'll need to re-engage with your studies if you want to unlock your full potential as a powerful fairy," Avalon reminded her, his tone a mix of understanding and insistence.
"Sorry, Professor," she muttered, her gaze fixed firmly on her desk, feeling her cheeks grow warmer with every passing second.
"Now as I was saying," Professor Avalon said, clearing his throat.
"Enchantix is the most powerful fairy transformation," the professor explained. "It's only achieved by those who have shown great courage, compassion, and sacrifice. It's a transformation that can only be earned, not given."
Bloom's curiosity was piqued by the mention of Enchantix, and she sat up a little straighter in her seat. Avalon wrote several points on the board as he lectured.
"Enchantix also grants the fairy with a unique fairy dust that has immense healing properties. This dust can heal injuries, illnesses, and even nullify dark magic. It can also be used to purify polluted environments and heal damaged nature. With Enchantix, fairies can become healers of both people and the environment."
"Professor?" A student with bright blue hair raised her hand and caught Avalon's attention.
"Yes, Miss Luminara?" replied Avalon, turning his attention to her.
"I thought Enchantix could only be achieved by sacrificing oneself for someone from their home world." Luminara stated confidently.
Bloom's heart sank at Luminara's words. If sacrificing oneself for someone from their home world was a requirement for Enchantix, then Bloom knew that she had little chance of earning this new transformation. After all, Domino and all its people were gone - there was no one left from her home world to save.
The professor nodded sagely. "Yes, that belief was held for a long time. However, recent discoveries have revealed that the requirement is not quite as straightforward as we once believed."
"What do you mean?" Another student asked.
Avalon paced the room, his long coat trailing behind him
"It's a little difficult to explain," he began, "but the home is where the heart is, yes? Just because you were born on one planet doesn't necessarily make it your true home. Furthermore what if you were to sacrifice yourself for the greater good of the entire universe? Would that not count as saving someone from your home world? Or would it be nullified because it wasn't a direct sacrifice for an individual?"
Bloom felt a sense of relief wash over her. Maybe she did have a chance at achieving Enchantix after all. The professor continued to jot down his ideas on the board, while Bloom and her classmates eagerly scribbled notes in their notepads, trying to keep up with the lecture.
"Now that leads us to what 'sacrifice' could mean. Despite how most fairies think you do not have to offer you life in order to earn your transformation. However it is also not as simple as, say, giving up a favorite possession. Whatever you offer up as sacrifice has to mean something, and it has to be given completely, without expectation. If you go around putting yourself in harm's way just to earn Enchantix, you will never earn it."
Avalon observed the expressions of bewilderment and confusion on his students' faces as he lectured on the complex concepts he was trying to explain. He knew that these were not easy ideas to understand, and that it would take time for his students to fully grasp their significance.
"Remember, sacrifice and home are deeply personal concepts," he said, trying to clarify the meaning behind his words. "It's okay if you don't fully understand them yet. What's important is that you think about what they mean to you, and how they relate to your journey towards Enchantix."
Professor Avalon smiled and continued with a lighter topic. "Now, onto something a little more fun. As we can't simulate sacrifice in the classroom, we'll instead be exploring the spells that each of you could learn with your Enchantix. Please take out your textbooks to begin our study."
Bloom eagerly pulled out her textbook, her eyes alight with excitement as she flipped through the pages, taking in the beautiful illustrations and detailed descriptions. The shimmering and ethereal nature of the Fairies pictures captivated her. This was the way she had expected fairies to look when she was a young girl growing up on Earth, back when magic was just a distant dream to her.
As she read through the pages, she couldn't help but marvel at the complexity and intricacy of the spells. They were so much more than simple incantations - they required a deep understanding of magic and a true connection to the natural world.
After their class ended, Stella practically sprinted to Bloom's side, her eyes ablaze with righteous indignation. "Those bitchy little busybodies have some nerve!" she declared, casting a withering glare in the direction of the gossiping girls seated behind Bloom. The culprits shot Stella dirty looks but scurried away, more eager to participate in spreading gossip rather than defending it.
Bloom frowned unhappy to be dragged from her intricate Enchantix dreams and back down into the petty world of stupid gossip.
"I'm just so tired of all these baseless rumors about Sky and Diaspro, and everyone whispering behind my back," she groaned, her eyes rolling in frustration.
Stella's expression softened as she took a seat beside Bloom, offering a comforting presence. "You don't need to let those absurd stories bother you. Sky loves you, Bloom, and he would never do anything to hurt you."
Bloom sighed, acknowledging the truth in Stella's words. "I know, but it's just difficult to block out all the rumors and gossip."
Understandingly, Stella nodded. "I know, but must realize that people have an insatiable appetite for gossip, especially when it involves royals and scandal. It's simply not worth letting it upset you."
A weak smile graced Bloom's lips. "Thank you, Stella."
Stella grinned back. "Anytime darling. Now, about lunch..."
While Avalon dedicated his time to imparting the intricate art of Enchantix to the attentive fairies, the role of guiding young minds in the complexities of Battle Strategy fell upon the broad and capable shoulders of Professor Leonidas Ares, a venerable figure whose presence was nothing short of commanding within the halls of Red Fountain.
Professor Ares cut an imposing figure, standing well over six feet tall with a robust, broad-shouldered frame that cast a commanding shadow across the expansive lecture hall. The passage of time, evident in the lines etched upon his face, did little to diminish the impeccable condition of his physique. His form remained meticulously toned and fit, a testament to his extensive background in military training and a lifetime of battle-hardened experience. A neatly groomed salt-and-pepper beard gracefully framed his strong jawline, adding a touch of gravitas to the air of authority that perpetually enveloped him.
In the front row of the lecture hall, amidst the eager faces of his peers, sat Riven—a student whose consistent academic excellence had earned him a place among Red Fountain's elite. Typically, this was where he would be, meticulously recording every word of the lecture. However, on this particular day, his thoughts were anything but focused on the lecture. A myriad of distracting thoughts plagued his mind and his restless nights had left him exhausted, leaving him increasingly frustrated as it hindered his concentration.
Instead of taking notes he found himself zoning out, his mind drifting back to the memories his dreams kept dragging to the surface.
"Riven?" The resonant baritone of Professor Leonidas Ares sliced through the mental fog. It snapped Riven back to the present moment, jolting him from his stupor and forcibly reminding him of the lesson at hand.
Professor Leonidas had posed a question, and his unwavering gaze bore into Riven, a demand for a response. Inwardly cursing himself for drifting off, Riven realized he had no inkling of what the Professor had just inquired about.
Abruptly, the weighty wooden classroom door groaned as it swung ajar, unveiling the entrance of a young man. He stood tall and slender, exuding an innate sense of elegance. His complexion carried a sun-kissed hue, and a solitary braid cascaded down his back, showcasing his long, chestnut hair. Inquisitive gazes from the students fixed upon him as he blinked back with deep, cerulean eyes.
As the newcomer stepped into the room, a hush descended upon the room, save for the shuffling of papers and the occasional cough. In response, the young man met their scrutiny with a steady, though slightly nervous, countenance.
Professor Leonidas, his finely arched eyebrow raised in curiosity, was the first to break the silence. His voice rumbled with authority as he addressed the newcomer. "Can I help you?"
The young man extended a hand toward Professor Leonidas, offering up a folded note. The Professor accepted it with a nod, his eyes darting briefly over the contents.
After reading the note, Leonidas pivoted to face the assembled students.
"Class, this is Ophir," Professor Leonidas introduced. "He'll be joining us for the remainder of the semester. Ophir, please find yourself a seat."
Ophir's gaze swept across the room, taking in the sight of his future comrades, each donned in their specialized combat gear. His eyes settled on an empty seat beside Riven, and he made his way toward it, settling into his new surroundings with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.
Riven couldn't help but cast a sidelong glance at Ophir, his competitive nature instantly ignited. He had dedicated countless hours to earn his position as one of the top students in the class, and the prospect of a new challenger stirred a subtle but undeniable sense of rivalry within him.
"Let me rephrase the question for the benefit of our our new classmate." Professor Leonidas declared, his voice carrying a warm and inclusive tone as he glanced over at Riven, a playful wink hidden within his gesture. The professor's keen eyes had not missed Riven's momentary distraction, and he saw this as an opportunity to allow his student to regain his focus gracefully. Leonidas never sought to intentionally embarrass his students.
"How can a physical attack user, someone with limited mobility and no access to magical items, overcome a skilled magic user in battle?"
Riven's confidence swelled as he launched into his response without the need for his notes, the knowledge etched in his memory. "The key lies in astute utilization of the terrain and environmental factors," he asserted. "A physical combatant should keenly assess their surroundings, exploiting them to their advantage. This may entail the strategic use of confined spaces to restrict the magic user's movement or employing natural obstacles such as rocks and trees for cover. Additionally, the physical attacker can create diversions to disrupt the magic user's concentration, rendering their spellcasting endeavors more arduous."
A genuine smile of pride graced Professor Leonidas's face as he applauded Riven's well-thought-out response. "A truly outstanding answer," he declared, his eyes gleaming with admiration. Riven returned a satisfied smirk, grateful that he had not only redeemed himself but had also earned a commendation from his esteemed mentor.
"Excuse me, Professor?" Ophir's voice broke through the flow of the conversation, a note of confidence replacing the earlier nervousness that had clung to him.
"Yes, Ophir?" Professor Leonidas inquired, gracefully shifting his attention toward the newest addition to the class. He regarded Ophir with an encouraging nod, welcoming his input.
Ophir cleared his throat, ready to share his insights. His voice, though measured, resonated with a newfound assertiveness. "If I may, Professor," he began, "I'd like to complement my classmate's response."
"Please, go ahead," Leonidas urged, his interest visibly piqued.
Ophir took a deliberate breath before continuing, his words carefully chosen. "In addition to leveraging the environment, a physical attacker should also engage in proactive anticipation and counteraction of the magic user's spells. Ideally, the physical attack user should acquaint themselves with the array of spells the magic user is likely to employ in battle. Armed with this knowledge, they can prepare countermeasures to neutralize or deflect these spells effectively. For instance, carrying a mirror could serve to deflect or redirect spells, while the strategic use of smoke or fog might obscure the magic user's vision, disrupting their aim. Moreover, the physical attack user could employ tactics to lure the magic user into expending their magical energy prematurely, either by forcing them into a defensive spell-casting mode or by goading them into overconfidence, thereby squandering their precious spells."
A pleased smile graced Professor Leonidas's face as he commended Ophir for his thoughtful contribution. "A wonderful addition to the discussion," he praised, his eyes gleaming with approval.
Turning toward Riven, Leonidas's smile widened. "It seems, Riven, you've got some formidable competition in Ophir." he observed, appreciating the vibrant exchange of ideas unfolding in his classroom.
Riven gritted his teeth, feeling a surge of frustration at Ophir's impressive display of skill.
The bell chimed a short time later and Riven sprang from his seat without sparing Ophir a single glance. They were destined to be rivals, and he harbored no inclination to extend pleasantries.
Much to Riven's chagrin, fate had once again conspired to place Ophir in the same class.
As they made their way toward the Arena for their Combat Training class, Ophir engaged in casual conversation with a few other students, seemingly indifferent to Riven's presence. An unmistakable pang of irritation gnawed at Riven, but he maintained his composure, his steps purposeful and determined.
Cordatota's assistant, a talented warrior and weapons smith, named Marcus Jackson was the one leading the class today. With his towering height, toned muscles, and broad shoulders, Marcus commanded attention. Marcus kept his dark hair short and was always clean-shaven, a contrast to Cordatota's rough appearance. Together, they made an exceptional teaching team, with Cordatota specializing in physical combat and Marcus excelling in weapon usage.
Riven had a particular fondness for Marcus, who not only had an infectious enthusiasm for the craft but also often invited students to his forge to create their own weapons and armor.
Ophir approached Marcus, handing him the same note that he had shown Professor Leonidas earlier. After quickly scanning the note, Marcus gave a nod of acknowledgement and sent Ophir to join the other students.
"Attention, Cadets!" Marcus' strong and commanding voice easily cut through the dull din of student chatter, instantly capturing their attention. "Gather around and listen up!"
The students promptly lined up at attention, just as they had been trained, eagerly anticipating their instructions.
"Today, we will be engaging in Knockdown Battles. Pair up with a partner and remember: our goal is not to inflict serious harm on each other. No full force strikes, and as soon as your opponent is down, the battle is over."
After Marcus concluded his instructions, the students quickly paired up, and Riven immediately made a beeline towards Ophir. Although Ophir provided competition against Riven in tactics class, Riven was confident that he could outmatch him in combat.
"You're partnering with me, new guy." Riven declared, pointing his finger at Ophir.
Ophir appeared taken aback by Riven's swift request. "Uh, okay, I suppose," he replied hesitantly.
The two boys stood facing each other, Riven's face contorted with determination and intensity, while Ophir seemed calm and composed. Riven's muscles were tense as he did a few quick stretches, mentally preparing himself for the upcoming sparring session. Ophir, on the other hand, seemed relaxed and at ease, taking deep breaths to steady his nerves.
When the signal was given, Riven charged forward, aiming a swift kick at Ophir's chest. But to his surprise, Ophir was not where he expected him to be. Instead, Ophir had sidestepped and spun around, delivering a powerful blow to Riven's back. Riven staggered forward, surprised by Ophir's quick reflexes and agility.
Gritting his teeth, Riven lunged forward again, aiming a punch at Ophir's face. But Ophir darted to the side, using his speed and agility to avoid Riven's attack. Riven was growing frustrated. He had expected Ophir to be an easy opponent, but instead, he was finding him to be a formidable adversary.
Ophir was not just quick, he was also clever. As Riven lunged forward, Ophir ducked and weaved, slipping behind him. Riven turned around, expecting to face Ophir head-on, but instead, he found himself face-to-face with an empty space.
Riven spun around, hoping to catch Ophir off-guard. But Ophir was already on the move, lunging forward with a swift kick that caught Riven in the stomach and left him momentarily winded. Riven realized he needed to refocus if he wanted to win this battle; Ophir was proving to be a formidable opponent.
As Riven continued to spar with Ophir, he tried to mix up his attack strategy to catch Ophir off guard. He threw a series of jabs and kicks, aiming for different parts of Ophir's body.
At one point, Riven managed to land a solid punch to Ophir's chest, causing him to stumble back. Riven seized the opportunity and followed up with a swift roundhouse kick to Ophir's leg. Ophir let out a grunt of pain and almost lost his balance.
Riven saw that he had a chance to press his advantage, and he charged forward with a flying kick aimed at Ophir's head. But Ophir was quick to recover and dodged the attack, causing Riven to miss his target and lose his balance.
Ophir took advantage of Riven's momentary weakness and launched a swift counter-attack. Riven tried to dodge, but Ophir's kick landed on his shoulder, causing him to stumble backwards. Riven quickly regained his footing and charged forward, his fists clenched, ready to land a powerful blow. But Ophir was ready for him. With a quick sidestep, Ophir dodged Riven's attack and delivered a swift kick to his back. Riven fell to the ground, defeated.
As he lay on the ground, catching his breath, Riven had to admit the new guy had skills. He had expected an easy victory, but instead, he had faced a worthy opponent.
Ophir offered his hand to help Riven up, which he begrudgingly accepted. "I like your style. Where'd you learn all this?"
Ophir smiled faintly. "I grew up on an island with no kids my age, so I spent a lot of time hanging out with the security guards. They taught me all their battle tricks."
Riven couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for Ophir. "Sounds kinda lonely." he said.
Ophir nodded. "It was, but at least I learned a few things that have come in handy."
"I'll say you did." Riven said with a laugh.
The two boys grinned at each other, their competitive spirits momentarily set aside. Maybe, just maybe, they could be more than rivals.
