Extra's Ascent

"I'm with Dante on this one, Aldrich. Training is essential, sure. But overdoing it stretches your muscles far too thin. You should also factor in the constant mana flow coursing through your veins. I doubt you, of all people want to discover firsthand what happens when someone becomes overly dependent on mana augmentation without allowing their body the rest it needs."

Aydin voiced his opinion, punctuating his words with the rhythmic crackling of bones as he rolled his shoulders and stretched his limbs, each movement deliberate, emphasizing the human element behind his point.

"Yeah, yeah. Keep the critiques coming," Aldrich muttered, brushing off their words with a dismissive scoff.

They didn't get it, how could they? Both Dante and Aydin hailed from the two most prestigious clans on the continent. Their lives had been meticulously crafted from the very beginning, built atop foundations of privilege, bloodlines, and natural brilliance.

They were born to rise.

He wasn't.

And that, that was why he had to push harder, train longer, suffer more. If he wanted even the slimmest chance of standing on equal footing with them, he had no other choice but to go the extra mile. And maybe, just maybe if he gave it everything he had, he could someday surpass them.

So for now, what would they know of clawing one's way from the dirt?

"You hear that?" Aydin chimed in, voice light with amusement. "That's the sound of someone convinced all this training will eventually lead to something monumental."

He shook his head with a faint smirk. "Let's be honest, Aldrich. No matter how hard you push or how far you go, some heights remain out of reach. That's the difference between the naturally gifted and those who merely work hard."

It stung because it was true.

At Eldora, talent wasn't just admired, it was demanded. The institute didn't care how long you practised or how much sweat soaked your shirt. All that mattered were results, tangible proof of greatness. If you couldn't deliver, no one hesitated to cast you aside. Promotions came to those born for glory; demotions to those who dared reach above their station.

Aydin hadn't spoken out of cruelty. No. He spoke from a cold understanding of how the system operated, a grim reminder that hard work, while noble, was no substitute for divine lineage or raw potential.

Aldrich could grind until his bones turned to dust, but if he lacked the necessary pedigree? Eldora would eventually discard him like a failed experiment.

"Remind me again, Aydin," Aldrich said coolly, strolling toward the weapon stand with a quiet sense of purpose. "Are we here to train or to psychoanalyze my so-called addiction to training?"

His hand reached instinctively for the bow, his trusted weapon of choice along with the quiver slung beside it. Fingers wrapped around the smooth wood, finding familiarity in its weight.

"Well then," he said, his voice carrying a sharpened edge, "how about you show me what innate brilliance really looks like?"

He raised the bow and pointed it squarely at Aydin.

"Oho," Aydin chuckled, eyes lighting up with excitement. "Gladly."

He snatched a wooden sword with one hand, a compact shield with the other, stepping into position with confident ease.

Aldrich moved first.

A single strand of hair fluttered across his face, brushed aside by a sudden breeze, an omen of the clash about to unfold.

In one swift motion, his fingers reached behind him, drawing an arrow from the quiver. Even as he loaded the shaft onto the bowstring, Aydin had already sprung into motion, feet pounding the floor as he rapidly closed the distance.

They moved like dancers in a deadly rhythm, precision and instinct guiding every step.

By the time Aldrich had fully drawn his arrow, Aydin had already breached the gap between them, standing less than two feet away with his shield raised to intercept any projectile.

"You're quick," Aldrich observed, the tip of his arrow unwavering.

"And you're faster than I thought," Aydin admitted, impressed by the seamless draw and aim.

He lunged forward, trusting his speed to overwhelm Aldrich before the arrow could be loosed.

And in truth, his gamble wasn't misplaced. The shield covered his approach, and he tilted it aside the moment he reached his target. A mischievous grin flashed across his face.

"Boo!" he exclaimed.

But what he hadn't accounted for, what his overconfidence had blinded him to was that Aldrich Aldaman wasn't some easy mark to be rattled by a joke.

"Be gone with you," Aldrich murmured.

With minimal movement, he sidestepped, driving his foot into the exposed side of Aydin's thigh. The perfectly timed manoeuvre swept Aydin off balance, his right leg sliding awkwardly on the polished floor. His body lurched sideways, momentum betrayed by gravity and with an audible thud, he crashed to the ground.

From the corner of the training hall, Dante who had been sulking about being excluded from the bout exploded with laughter.

"What the hell was that?!" he hollered, doubling over. "All that posturing just to get flipped by a move straight out of kindergarten!"

His words only triggered another bout of laughter, the sound echoing like thunder in the otherwise silent chamber.

If Aydin hadn't taken offence from the fall, Dante's relentless mockery was more than enough to sour his mood.

"A- A slip!" Aydin blurted, scrambling upright. "That was a miscalculation, nothing more!"

He dusted himself off, brushing debris from his robes with exaggerated vigour.

"I misjudged my footing while going in for the strike. My muscle distribution was off, and I didn't anchor myself properly, which led to the fall."

The tone in his voice was defensive, though laced with forced calm.

"It was a fluke. A one-time mistake. Won't happen again."

Dante snorted. "Those are the famous last words of every guy who fails to deliver."

"True," Aydin conceded, brushing a hand through his hair. "But I'm not every man, now am I?"

He squared his shoulders, his voice rising with renewed fire. "I'm Aydin Astravon, heir to the Astravon legacy!"

The pride in his voice rang out like a battle cry, unwilling to let the moment end in humiliation.