Marvel: Sin Lord

The HEMA club was tucked away in an unassuming brick building on a quiet side street. Its sign, weathered by years of sun and rain, read "Iron Edge Academy" in simple black letters. Inarius stood outside, staring at the door. His nerves buzzed, his palms sweaty as he adjusted the strap of the worn-out backpack slung over his shoulder.

This was it.

He pushed the door open and stepped inside, greeted by the metallic clang of swords clashing and the low hum of conversation. The air smelled faintly of sweat and oiled leather, and the walls were lined with racks of wooden training swords and heavier steel replicas.

A group of students was practicing footwork in one corner, their movements precise and deliberate. In another, two people sparred under the watchful eye of a tall, broad-shouldered man with short-cropped black hair and a neatly trimmed beard. His sharp eyes and commanding presence made it clear he was in charge.

Inarius hesitated, feeling out of place in his second-hand clothes and scuffed sneakers. But he reminded himself why he was here—he needed to get better, stronger. This was the next step.

The man noticed him and walked over, his boots echoing softly against the wooden floor.

"You lost, kid?" he asked, his voice firm but not unkind.

"No," Inarius replied, standing straighter. "I'm here to learn."

The man raised an eyebrow. "You're a little young for this. We don't do play-fighting here—it's real training, and it's not easy."

"I'm not here to play," Inarius said, meeting his gaze with quiet determination.

The man studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. I'm Alex, the owner. If you're serious, let's see what you've got. Follow me."

Alex led him to a corner of the gym where a few practice swords were laid out. They were made of wood but heavy enough to mimic the weight of a real blade. He picked one up and handed it to Inarius.

"Let's start simple. Show me your stance."

Inarius took the sword, his grip awkward but firm, and mimicked the stances he'd seen in videos online. It wasn't perfect, but it was clear he'd been paying attention.

Alex adjusted his posture, moving his feet and straightening his shoulders. "Better. Now, attack me."

Inarius hesitated. "Are you sure?"

Alex smirked. "Kid, I've been doing this for over a decade. Give it your best shot."

Inarius lunged, swinging the sword with all his strength. Alex sidestepped effortlessly, using his own wooden sword to deflect the blow.

"Too slow," Alex said. "Try again."

They went back and forth, Alex blocking every strike with ease. But as the session went on, Inarius refused to back down. He kept attacking, sweat dripping down his face, his muscles aching.

By the time they finished, Inarius was exhausted but still standing. Alex looked at him with a mix of surprise and approval.

"You've got grit," he said. "That's rare."

"So... can I join?" Inarius asked, his voice hopeful despite his fatigue.

Alex nodded. "Yeah. You're in."

Five months passed in a blur. Inarius threw himself into the training with an intensity that impressed even the seasoned students. He spent nearly all his time at the academy, practicing until his arms felt like lead and his legs could barely hold him up.

By the end of the first month, he could hold his own against some of the older students. By the third, he was outpacing them. And by the fifth, he was the best in his class.

Alex noticed the change, not just in Inarius's skill but in his demeanor. The quiet, guarded kid who had walked through the door had transformed into someone focused and driven. But there was something else, something Alex couldn't quite place.

One evening, after the rest of the students had left, Alex found Inarius still practicing. The boy's sword moved with precision, each strike deliberate and powerful.

"Inarius," Alex called out, breaking the rhythm.

Inarius stopped and turned, breathing heavily. "Yeah?"

"Come here for a second," Alex said, leaning against a rack of training swords.

Inarius walked over, wiping the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

"You've been here every day, longer than anyone else," Alex said. "Most kids your age have school, friends, family... but you're always here. Why?"

Inarius hesitated. He'd been careful not to talk about his life outside the academy, but Alex's question felt different—genuine.

"My dad died before I was born," he said finally, his voice steady but soft. "Car accident. And my mom... she died of a drug overdose a few years ago. I live in a shelter now."

Alex's expression softened. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's fine," Inarius said quickly, looking down. "I just... this place is the only thing I've got. That's why I'm here all the time."

Alex was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Thanks for telling me."

The next week, Alex pulled Inarius aside after class.

"Listen," Alex said, crossing his arms. "I've been thinking. You're working hard, and you've got a lot of talent. But you can't keep living in a shelter. It's not right."

"I don't have a choice," Inarius said, frowning.

"You do now," Alex replied. "I've got a spare room at my place. It's not much, but it's better than where you are now. What do you say?"

Inarius stared at him, stunned. No one had ever offered him something like this before.

"Why would you do that?" he asked cautiously.

"Because everyone needs a chance," Alex said simply. "And you've earned it."

For the first time in a long time, Inarius felt something he hadn't allowed himself to feel—hope.

"Okay," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Alex clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Pack your things. You're coming home."

That night, as Inarius lay in the bed Alex had set up for him, he stared at the ceiling, a small smile on his face. For the first time, he felt like he had a place where he belonged.