The Shift from Celebration to Reality
The cheers and music of Selection Day had long since faded, leaving only the relentless grind of steel against steel, the ragged gasps of warriors pushed beyond exhaustion, and the unyielding voice of Harper commanding them forward.
It had been weeks since Kairo, Solomon, and Vera had assumed their new roles.
Weeks since their world had shifted from celebration to survival.
Gone were the grand feasts and royal toasts.
In their place was grueling training, aching muscles, and the constant reminder that their titles meant nothing without the skill to back them up.
Kairo rolled his shoulders, sweat dripping down his back as he forced himself to stay standing. His entire body burned from training, each muscle screaming in protest.
But Harper wasn't done with them yet.
Across from him, Solomon crouched low, dodging a flurry of strikes from his sparring partner. His usual calm composure was slipping, frustration flickering across his face each time he barely managed to react in time.
And Vera—her knuckles were coated in hellfire, eyes blazing as she struck down one opponent after another, but even she was beginning to slow, the sheer intensity of the drills forcing her to reconsider her reckless style.
Harper stood at the center of it all, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
He wasn't a drill instructor.
He was a predator watching prey struggle to evolve.
"You're all placeholders," he called out, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. "That means you're supposed to be the best this kingdom has to offer."
His gaze swept over them, filled with judgment.
"But right now? I don't see warriors. I see a bunch of idiots wasting their potential."
Kairo gritted his teeth, clenching his fists.
Solomon exhaled sharply.
Vera rolled her shoulders but said nothing.
They all knew what was coming next.
Harper stepped forward, stopping directly in front of Kairo.
"You first," he said, voice flat. "Since you're the one who's supposed to be leading this mess."
Kairo forced himself to meet Harper's gaze, his body still recovering from the latest round of combat drills.
"You rely too much on your raw energy output," Harper stated. "Strength is great. But strength without control? That's just a liability waiting to happen."
Kairo wiped sweat from his forehead. "It works."
Harper tilted his head, amused. "Oh yeah? Sure. Until you run into someone who can actually fight. Then what?"
Kairo said nothing.
Harper scoffed.
"Let me put it another way," Harper continued. "You throw lightning, ice, wind—whatever's convenient. You treat your abilities like a blunt instrument, instead of a weapon with precision."
He gestured toward the sparring ring.
"You're a hammer. And I need you to be a scalpel."
Kairo exhaled sharply, trying to keep his frustration in check.
"Fine," he muttered. "Then how do I fix it?"
Harper smirked. "Glad you asked."
He turned away from Kairo without answering, his gaze now locking onto Solomon.
Solomon's Fatal Flaw
"You," Harper said, his smirk widening. "Genius boy."
Solomon arched an eyebrow but didn't react.
"You think like a strategist," Harper continued, "but that's your problem. You think too much."
Solomon's expression didn't change, but Kairo knew that hit a nerve.
"You predict movements, but you don't react fast enough. You hesitate. You analyze. And in real combat? That hesitation gets you killed."
Solomon's eyes narrowed slightly. "Thinking strategically is what keeps people alive."
Harper smirked. "No. Winning fights keeps people alive. And if your enemy moves in a way you didn't calculate? Then what?"
Solomon stayed quiet.
Harper gave him a satisfied nod. "That's what I thought."
Then, without warning, Harper stepped forward and swung a fist at Solomon's face.
Solomon reacted—but a second too late.
The punch stopped an inch from his jaw.
"Dead," Harper said simply. "If I was your opponent, you'd be eating dirt right now."
Solomon exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening.
Harper pulled back, his expression unreadable.
"Good news is, you're not hopeless," he said. "We're going to train your instincts. No calculations. No overthinking. Just pure reaction."
Solomon nodded once. "Understood."
Harper grinned. "Glad we're on the same page."
Then, he turned toward Vera.
"You," Harper said, staring Vera down.
Vera rolled her shoulders. "Let me guess. I'm too aggressive."
Harper snorted. "You overwhelm people with brute force, but you don't think about team coordination."
Vera crossed her arms. "So? I don't need a team to win a fight."
Harper raised an eyebrow. "You're right. But you need one to win a war."
That shut her up.
Kairo and Solomon both turned to look at her.
Harper took a step closer, his voice lowering slightly.
"Raw strength is great," he said. "But if you burn through your stamina too fast? If you fight like you're the only one on the battlefield? Then your people die. And that's on you."
Vera's expression darkened.
For a moment, it seemed like she might argue.
Then, she took a slow breath, rolling her shoulders again.
"Fine," she muttered. "Teach me to be better."
Harper grinned.
"That's the spirit."
If Harper's evaluations were brutal, his training regimen was hell.
The moment he was given full control over their development, he wasted no time dismantling their comfort zones.
Their mornings started before dawn, when the air was still crisp and cold. No grand feasts, no royal treatment—just exhaustion, bruises, and a drill sergeant who seemed to enjoy watching them suffer.
Harper wasn't training them to be strong.
He was training them to be unstoppable.
Harper's first order?
No abilities.
No lightning, wind, or ice. No raw elemental force to overpower his opponent.
Just his bare hands and a combat dummy that fought back.
"This is stupid," Kairo grumbled, shifting his stance. "Why wouldn't I use my abilities in a real fight?"
Harper, standing on the edge of the training circle, smirked.
"You think your abilities are a strength, but right now? They're a crutch. You rely on them too much, so we're taking them away."
Kairo gritted his teeth. "Fine. Then what am I supposed to do?"
Harper gestured toward the modified combat dummy—a towering, metal-plated construct that responded to movement with strikes of its own.
"You're going to fight this. Until you figure out how to move without relying on energy blasts."
Kairo scoffed but stepped forward, throwing a punch at the dummy's center.
The moment his fist made contact—
A counterstrike slammed into his stomach.
Kairo gasped, stumbling back. "What the hell?"
Harper grinned. "The dummy is enchanted. It reacts to sloppy attacks. Try again."
Kairo growled, regaining his stance.
Fine. He'd adjust.
He lunged forward again, faking a left hook before twisting into a right cross.
The dummy blocked effortlessly.
Then it punched him in the ribs so hard he felt the wind leave his lungs.
Kairo hit the dirt, groaning.
A snort of laughter came from the side.
Kairo twisted his head, spotting Solomon watching with an amused expression.
"Shut up," Kairo grumbled.
Solomon raised a hand in surrender, but the smirk didn't leave his face. "Hey, I'm just impressed. You lasted a whole five seconds that time."
Kairo flipped him off before pushing himself back up.
Harper, ignoring their exchange, walked over to Solomon.
Solomon had seen what Harper had done to Kairo.
He had assumed his training would be different.
He was wrong.
"Blindfold," Harper ordered, tossing him a strip of cloth.
Solomon caught it but hesitated. "You want me to fight blind?"
Harper shrugged. "No, I want you to learn how to stop relying on sight."
Solomon raised a brow but tied the blindfold on.
"You process fights like a chess game," Harper continued, circling him like a predator. "But when you can't see the pieces? You freeze."
Solomon took a slow breath.
"Your solution is to blindfold me?" he asked flatly.
"Yup," Harper said, almost too cheerfully. "And also?"
The sharp whip of air was Solomon's only warning.
A wooden staff smacked against his thigh.
He hissed, stepping back.
"That was slow," Harper commented. "Too slow."
Another strike came—this time from the left. Solomon barely managed to raise his arm in time, blocking it with his forearm.
"Better," Harper said. "But still too calculated."
Solomon forced himself to listen.
To feel.
Harper circled him. The soft crunch of boots against dirt. The air shifting just before—
Another strike.
This time, Solomon twisted away instinctively.
A grunt of approval from Harper.
"Good. Now keep up."
From a few feet away, Kairo—still recovering from getting beaten by a dummy—watched with an amused expression.
"You look ridiculous," Kairo called out.
"At least I'm not getting punched by a training dummy," Solomon shot back, narrowly avoiding another strike.
Harper ignored their exchange and turned his attention to Vera.
Vera was already rolling her shoulders, eager to fight.
But Harper had other plans.
"This isn't a solo fight," Harper said, gesturing toward the two warriors beside her. "This is a team-based exercise."
Vera frowned. "Why? I don't need—"
"Yes, you do," Harper cut in. "Because if you try to win this alone? You lose automatically."
Vera's jaw clenched.
Fine. Whatever.
The match began, and as expected—
Vera rushed forward, hellfire coating her fists.
She expected her teammates to follow.
They didn't.
Which meant she got surrounded.
Which meant she got overwhelmed.
And just like that?
Her team lost.
Harper sighed dramatically. "Wow. That was terrible."
Vera clenched her fists, frustration burning beneath her skin.
"Again," she growled.
Harper grinned. "Now we're getting somewhere."
From the sidelines, Kairo and Solomon exchanged a glance.
Kairo smirked. "I think this is the first time I've ever seen Vera lose at something."
Solomon nodded. "Cherish the moment. It won't last long."
Vera shot them a murderous glare, and they immediately pretended to focus back on their own training.
The sun had long since started its descent, casting long shadows over the training grounds. The air was thick with exhaustion, sweat, and the lingering energy of another relentless day under Harper's rule.
Kairo, Solomon, and Vera had barely remained standing by the time Harper finally let them breathe.
For the first time all day, there was silence.
Kairo wiped his forehead, pushing damp hair back as he exhaled. His body ached everywhere—muscles sore, knuckles bruised, joints stiff from dodging, rolling, and getting slammed into the dirt more times than he cared to count.
Solomon, though equally exhausted, still had enough breath to shoot him a smirk.
"At least you lasted longer than the dummy today," he said.
Kairo glared. "Shut up."
Vera stretched, rolling out her shoulders. "That's the longest Harper's ever let us rest. I'm almost touched."
Harper, who had been standing at the edge of the field watching them, finally spoke.
"Kairo. With me."
Kairo blinked. "What?"
Harper was already walking toward the exit.
"Walk and talk," he said. "There's something we need to fix before tomorrow."
Kairo groaned but followed, his legs protesting every step.
Solomon called after them. "Try not to die."
Kairo flipped him off without looking back.
As they walked, Kairo kept waiting for Harper to start talking.
But he didn't.
Not right away.
Instead, he led them through the training facility, past the sparring fields, past the barracks where other warriors were tending to their wounds, until they reached the outskirts of the armory.
Finally, Harper stopped.
"You need a weapon," he said flatly.
Kairo frowned. "I have powers."
Harper sighed. "I know. And you use them like a sledgehammer. Which is exactly why we're here."
Kairo folded his arms. "I don't see the problem."
Harper gave him a long, unimpressed look.
"Alright," he said. "Let's break this down. What do you do when someone counters your lightning?"
Kairo shrugged. "Use wind."
"And if they counter your wind?"
"Ice."
"And if they counter all three?"
Kairo hesitated.
Harper nodded. "That's the problem. You rely on power exchanges, not fighting ability. You assume your elements will cover for you, but when they don't, you're stuck."
Kairo exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "So you think a weapon is the answer?"
Harper smirked. "No. I think discipline is the answer. The weapon is how you learn it."
Kairo was quiet for a moment.
Then, reluctantly, he gestured toward the armory. "Fine. So what, you're gonna pick something for me?"
Harper shook his head. "Nope. We're going somewhere better."
Kairo raised a brow. "Better than the armory?"
Harper turned, already walking again.
"The best."
The moment they entered the blacksmith's forge, the heat hit Kairo like a wave.
The air was thick with smoke, molten metal, and the rhythmic clang of hammer on steel.
At the center of it all, standing over an anvil, was a massive, barrel-chested man with arms like iron and scars from decades of work. His back was turned to them as he worked a glowing piece of metal, sparks flying.
Harper didn't bother announcing their arrival.
The blacksmith spoke first.
"Harper." His voice was deep, gruff. "You're back early."
Harper smirked. "Figured I'd bring someone who desperately needs help."
The blacksmith finally turned, sharp, steel-gray eyes locking onto Kairo.
Kairo felt like he was being analyzed down to his bones.
"Hm." The blacksmith studied him for a long moment. "What do you fight with?"
Kairo hesitated. "Uh… lightning, wind, ice—"
The blacksmith snorted.
"That's magic. I asked what you fight with."
Kairo bristled. "It's still a weapon."
The blacksmith ignored him, already turning toward the weapon racks. He ran a hand along the displayed blades, spears, axes—stopping only when he reached a set of weapons hanging on the far wall.
He pulled them down.
A pair of curved chain blades.
The metal gleamed under the forge's firelight, wicked and deadly. The chains attached to the hilts were wrapped in dark leather, thick but flexible.
"These," the blacksmith said, tossing them to Kairo.
Kairo caught them—and immediately felt the awkward weight.
They were lighter than expected, but the movement felt foreign, unnatural.
Kairo frowned, twisting the blades experimentally.
Harper smirked. "You like 'em?"
"I don't know yet."
The blacksmith grunted. "Then learn fast. You won't get another set."
The Return to the Training Facility – The First Lesson
By the time they got back, the training grounds were empty.
The sun had nearly disappeared, leaving behind the last remnants of golden light.
Harper didn't waste time.
"Alright," he said, stretching. "Let's get to work."
Kairo raised an eyebrow. "You mean tomorrow, right?"
Harper laughed. "Oh, that's cute. No. Right now."
Kairo groaned. "I hate you."
Harper smirked. "I know. Now, first lesson—"
Before Kairo could even blink, Harper yanked the chains attached to his blades.
Kairo stumbled forward, nearly eating dirt.
"What the hell?!"
"Problem one," Harper said. "You're treating them like normal swords. They're not. The chains mean you're always connected to them. And right now?"
He yanked again.
Kairo barely stayed standing.
"Right now," Harper continued, "they're controlling you, not the other way around."
Kairo gritted his teeth. "Okay. So how do I fix it?"
Harper smirked. "We're starting you on training mode."
Kairo blinked. "Training mode?"
Harper gestured toward his wrists. "The chains are strapped to you. No throwing. No mid-range attacks. You master close combat first."
Kairo's stomach dropped.
This was going to suck.
The first thing Kairo learned about the chain blades?
They had no intention of making this easy for him.
"Again," Harper ordered.
Kairo gritted his teeth, tightening his grip. He had already lost count of how many times he had been knocked down, tangled, or nearly taken his own head off.
The problem wasn't the weight.
The problem was control.
He swung the right blade in a wide arc—but the chain followed too slow, twisting unnaturally. His left arm pulled back at the same time, and suddenly—
The chains tangled.
"Shit!"
Kairo barely had time to react before the momentum yanked his arms together, nearly dislocating his shoulders. The sudden pull forced him to stagger, and he had to drop one knee to keep himself from face-planting.
Harper sighed, shaking his head.
"You're still fighting against them," he said. "You don't swing chain blades like swords. You flow with them."
Kairo grunted, untangling himself. "That's easy for you to say. I feel like I'm fighting my own damn weapons."
Harper smirked. "That's because you are."
Kairo rolled his shoulders, exhaling sharply.
Okay. He needed to adjust.
Harper took a step closer, lowering his voice slightly.
"Close your eyes," he said.
Kairo raised an eyebrow. "Are you insane?"
"Do it."
Kairo grumbled under his breath but obeyed.
"Now, stop thinking about attacking. Just feel the movement. The chains aren't an extension of your arms. They're an extension of your whole body."
Kairo inhaled, focusing on the subtle weight of the blades. He could feel how the chains followed his movements but also how they resisted if he forced them too much.
"Good," Harper said. "Now, open your eyes and try again."
Kairo swung forward—but this time, instead of forcing the blade to move, he let it follow.
The right blade whipped outward, the chain flowing more naturally than before.
For the first time, it felt like the movement made sense.
It wasn't perfect. Not even close.
But it was better.
Harper grinned. "There it is."
Kairo exhaled. "Okay. Again."
The next hour was nothing but repetition.
Kairo's arms ached as he continued adjusting, finding a better rhythm with every attempt.
Each time the chains tangled, Harper corrected him.
Each time his strikes went wide, Harper made him slow down.
"Precision over power," Harper reminded him. "If you can't land a strike, it doesn't matter how strong it is."
Kairo grunted, adjusting.
Slowly but surely, the mistakes became fewer.
He was still far from mastery.
But at least now?
He wasn't completely useless.
"Alright," Harper said after what felt like hours. "Let's see if you've actually learned anything."
Kairo blinked. "What?"
Harper smirked, pointing toward the far side of the training ground.
The dummy.
Kairo groaned.
"Seriously?"
Harper shrugged. "You lost to it last time. Think of this as your redemption arc."
Kairo exhaled, rolling his shoulders.
Fine. Let's do this.
He stepped forward, gripping the handles of his blades tightly.
The dummy stood still. Waiting.
Kairo moved first.
This time, when he swung—he didn't force it.
The right blade lashed out cleanly, the chain following its path with fluid motion. The dummy shifted, blocking instinctively.
But Kairo was already moving.
Instead of pulling the blade back in panic, he let the momentum carry him—twisting, redirecting the left blade mid-swing.
CRACK.
The strike landed.
Kairo grinned.
"Not bad," Harper admitted. "Not great, but not bad."
Kairo exhaled sharply, stepping back.
His arms burned. His legs ached.
But for the first time?
The blades felt like his.
Harper clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Good work. But don't get cocky. We've only just started."
Kairo sighed. "Of course we have."