The training platform was still.
Two princes stood at opposite ends—identical in face, unequal in fate.
Daemon rolled his shoulder, wooden blade resting against his side.
Gabriel lifted his mock-sword and pointed it straight ahead.
"Let's not make it boring," he said with a grin. "Try to land at least one hit."
Daemon's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
A few soldiers chuckled.
Then—
Gabriel moved.
Fast.
Daemon barely twisted in time to meet the blow—wood cracked against wood, and the shock rippled down his arm. Gabriel didn't stop there; he flowed into a second strike, then a third, his form perfect, his speed unnatural for someone his age.
He wasn't holding back.
Daemon parried each blow but gave ground.
Dust rose around his feet.
So he's improved. A lot.
Gabriel's aura flared lightly—just a shimmer of solar gold rippling along his skin. Even without real aura weapons, his presence was heavy, confident.
"Still just watching?" Gabriel asked mid-swing. "Thought you wanted to see my strength."
Daemon blocked again—barely.
"You're stronger than before," he said calmly. "I'm just calculating the cost."
Gabriel lunged.
Daemon spun.
The wooden blades met in a thunderous crack, and this time, Daemon's feet slid back a full meter.
The courtyard gasped. Even Captain Veyne leaned forward slightly.
Daemon blinked once.
He could feel it in his bones.
Gabriel was no longer the scared boy with dreams.
He was a warrior. A chosen one.
Good, Daemon thought.
That makes killing you one day... worth it.
He flipped his blade upward, catching Gabriel's next strike at a harsh angle.
But Gabriel twisted and forced his weight down, locking them in a clash.
Face to face. Eyes inches apart.
"You're really not going to kneel, huh?" Gabriel whispered, breath steady.
"I never did," Daemon said.
Gabriel shoved him back.
Daemon hit the ground hard, sliding across the sand.
A few of the knights murmured again.
"First point to the Crown Prince!" one called.
Gabriel extended a hand toward Daemon. "Want to stop? Or are you just warming up?"
Daemon took the hand.
Stood.
Brushed off the dust.
And smiled.
"Now we're just getting started."
The dust had barely settled when Daemon lunged.
Not recklessly.
Sharply. With precision.
His blade struck low—Gabriel parried.
He twisted, moved to the side—Gabriel followed.
But Daemon didn't stop.
Strike. Step. Pivot. Redirect. Like a storm wearing down a cliff.
One mistake, Daemon thought. That's all I need.
Gabriel grunted, his smile gone now. "You weren't moving like this a minute ago."
"I was studying you."
Daemon's blade lashed forward, almost catching Gabriel across the ribs.
Gabriel stumbled—just a step.
Enough.
Daemon used the opening.
He ducked under the next swing, let his shoulder collide with Gabriel's stomach, and swept his legs out from under him.
Gabriel hit the ground with a hard thud, sand flying.
For a moment, the courtyard was dead silent.
Daemon stood over him. Wooden sword aimed at his brother's chest.
"Second point," he said quietly. "We're even."
Gabriel blinked up at him, stunned.
Daemon lowered his hand.
Gabriel ignored it—and stood on his own.
The final round began without a word.
This time, the brothers circled each other like wolves.
Daemon's grip was relaxed, his breathing calm.
But Gabriel?
His aura cracked.
A ripple of frustration leaked from him—subtle, but enough for Daemon to feel.
And that's when it happened.
Gabriel lunged with a roar—not calm, not royal—angry.
Their swords collided again.
And in that instant—
A burst of gold exploded outward.
The ground cracked beneath Gabriel's feet. Wind whipped across the courtyard. Soldiers were thrown back, shielding their eyes.
Daemon skidded back across the sand, boots digging furrows.
His chest ached—his muscles tensed. He tasted blood.
Gabriel stood tall.
Eyes glowing. Hair lifted by the force of his aura eruption.
His Astral Core had shifted.
He'd just broken through.
Third Star.
The solar energy around him crackled like a divine flame, even without a real weapon.
He looked down at his hands, shocked.
"I... I didn't mean to—" Gabriel started.
Then slowly smiled. "I guess I'm blessed after all."
Daemon rose to his feet, wiping the blood from his lip.
"I was wondering when you'd catch up," he said.
Gabriel tilted his head. "You knew?"
Daemon nodded once. "The moment you started getting sloppy. That much divine energy doesn't stay quiet for long."
Gabriel exhaled slowly. "I wasn't trying to win anymore. I was trying to prove something."
Daemon raised an eyebrow. "To me?"
"To both of us," Gabriel said. "You've changed. You're not the same brother I remember."
"Neither are you," Daemon replied.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
Not as children.
Not even as twins.
But as future Enemy's.
The echo of the final blow still rang through the stone walls of the courtyard as Daemon lowered his sword and turned away.
No one called his name.
No cheers.
Only the sound of footsteps—rushed, armored, urgent.
"Your Highness—please wait!"
Several knights rushed toward him, led by a cautious Captain Veyne. One reached out instinctively, trying to stabilize him as Daemon staggered slightly, his breath shallow.
"I'm fine," Daemon muttered, waving them off without meeting their eyes.
But they kept close, glancing between each other like they didn't believe it.
Good, he thought. Let them believe I'm hurt. Let them believe I'm weaker.
The warmth in his chest wasn't from exhaustion.
It was his core. Pulsing. Unstable.
He clenched his jaw and quickened his steps, ignoring the whispers and the curious glances of squires who now stared at him like he'd survived something he shouldn't have.
Gabriel remained in the courtyard, basking in the hum of divine energy still flickering across his skin.
The soldiers surrounded him with cheers.
"A Third Star awakening—during a duel?"
"A gift from the gods!"
Even Captain Veyne knelt briefly, offering praise. "Your Highness has truly been chosen."
Gabriel smiled humbly and bowed his head. "All thanks to my brother for pushing me."
On the stairs leading back up to the east wing, Daemon moved quickly, brushing past servants, ignoring the guards. His mind burned with friction—his Astral Core was roaring, as if two opposing rivers were trying to merge into one.
And then—
A voice stopped him.
"You were holding back," it said.
Daemon paused, halfway up the stairs.
He turned.
Standing beneath the carved arch of the garden wall was a girl in white.
Vivian Starling. The Duke's daughter.Gabriel's wife in his past life.
Her white hair shimmered faintly in the fading sun, and her ice-blue eyes locked onto his without fear.
"You didn't go all out," she added. "Not even close."
Daemon stared at her for a beat too long.
Then he smiled.
Slow. Sharp.
"Maybe."
He turned and kept walking.
But she called after him once more.
"I don't know which one of you is going to wear the crown in the end," she said. "But I don't think it'll matter."
Daemon didn't answer.
He reached his chamber and slammed the door behind him.
Dropped to his knees.
The moment his palm touched the floor, a wave of black-red aura pulsed from his chest.
He exhaled hard.
Not here. Not now.
He sat cross-legged and focused.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Control it. Bend it. Bind it.
His demonic Astral Core hissed inside him—still rejecting the holy residue that lingered in his veins from the temple.
You're stronger than before, he told himself.
So act like it.
The room dimmed as he drew the curtains closed with a flick of his finger.
Silence.
Darkness.
And in the center of it—Daemon sat alone, facing the monster in his soul, feeding it just enough to live... and not enough to take over.