The clearing was now nothing more than a field of ruins. The training ground bore the scars of years of clashes, but today, the air buzzed with a different kind of tension.
Facing each other: Aelric and Elric.
Their aura-infused blades shimmered like two stars about to collide.
Elric glanced at his sword—transformed.
It pulsed with him, as if it had finally found its breath.
"Your blade has evolved," Aelric said calmly.
"It reflects your tenacity… your determination."
Then, more solemnly, he raised his staff.
"One attack. If you manage to block it… I'll admit defeat."
Elric closed his eyes for a moment, gathering all he had learned.
"I'm ready," he said with steady resolve.
Aelric raised his staff high. The space around him seemed to twist, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
Elric instantly knew: he couldn't block this strike. It would crush him… or worse.
But he made a choice.
He observed. Memorized. And attempted the impossible—replicating a technique never seen before.
Father and son stood only a few meters apart, mirroring each other in near-identical stances.
A sacred, weighty silence fell.
Then, slowly, they lowered their weapons.
A breath.
Tension.
Aelric's staff split in two.
And Elric, completely drained, collapsed to his knees.
Aelric looked at him in silence. A faint smile formed on his lips.
"This kid… He replicated a technique he had only just witnessed… and broke my staff."
He scratched his chin, thoughtful.
"Well… I didn't use my aura, or even a quarter of my strength… but a win is a win," he said with a shrug.
He gently lifted his son, carried him on his back, and whispered:
"You've come so far, my son..."
This first victory marked the beginning of something profound.
For Elric… the real journey had just begun.