Aelric's challenge struck the festival square like a destruction spell. His call was met with a stunned, suffocating silence. He felt the weight of the village’s stares pressing down on him, but he did not waver. His chest heaved, pulse roaring in his ears, but he stood firm.

His mother was shaking his hand at his side, her face pale with horror. “Aelric, take it back!” Her voice was sharp and desperate. "Take it back now!"

“Aelric,” he father said. He looked old then, older than he ever had. His expression was tight with worry.

But Aelric could not stop now. The injustice burned too fiercely. The betrayal, the years of Brint’s mocking, the struggles his family had endured. He couldn’t let Brint take Feyna from him.

He gritted his teeth and raised his head high. “Brint, son of Brant. By my right as an Earthborn of Village Alden, I challenge you to a duel!”

The villagers reacted now, gasps rippling through the crowd. A challenge was no light matter. It was an invocation of ancient tradition, a call that could not be ignored. Aelric knew that Brint would have to face him as an equal at last.

Feyna stood motionless, her hand still clasped in Brint’s. Her face was a storm of emotions—shock, embarrassment, something else he could not quite read.

Brint’s stood tall, his expression hard but well controlled. The moment stretched, the village square holding its breath as one, waiting to see how he would answer.

Chief Clarity stepped forward, her face composed not unlike Brint’s. "Are you certain you know what you are doing, Aelric?"

Aelric's throat felt dry. He fixed his gaze on Brint, deliberately avoiding the burning stares of his parents and the other villagers.

He felt his mother trying to pull him down from the bench, but when she could not match his strength, she turned to the chief. "Chief Clarity, you must stop this."

Chief Clarity turned her eyes back to him. “Aelric?”

“I’ve made my challenge, and I stand by it.”

Chief Clarity’s brows drew together as she studied him. The silence of the festival crowd pressed in, thick and expectant.

"What are your terms?"

Aelric took a deep breath, steadying himself. His heart pounded, but his words were clear and sharp.

"If I win the duel, Brint must renounce his marriage proposal to Feyna. He may marry any woman he likes, but not her!"

A ripple of murmurs swept through the villagers. Feyna still looked stunned. Her parents standing behind her now were scowling so hard Aelric thought that they would issue their own challenges. Most of the villagers seemed stunned or shocked. There was only one smile present on the square and it was drawn with ruby lips beneath the hood of the Ascendant.

Brint’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. His usual mocking gaze burned with something darker, more dangerous. Aelric felt the weight of it pressing against him, but he did not look away.

Chief Clarity turned to him. "Do you accept this challenge?"

Brint stepped forward, squaring his shoulders, his voice dripping with poison. "I accept. And I promise you, Aelric, you will pay for this humiliation."

Chief Clarity nodded. "You may state your terms, equal in measure."

Brint's smile was cold. "I want Aelric banished from Village Aldin. Permanently. He is to be cast out, never to return. His name struck from our records. He will be nothing."

A strangled cry erupted from Aelric's mother. Her hands flew to her mouth, tears already streaming down her cheeks. The sound was raw, primal—the cry of a mother watching her son destroy himself.

His father's hand reached out, gripping Aelric's arm. His voice was low, urgent. "Think carefully, son. This is your entire future you're risking."

Aelric felt his whole body tremble. But he remembered the strength of the Bestian woman. The unshakeable quality of her eyes. He did not hesitate.

"I accept."

✣ ✣ ✣

Aelric watched as the villagers moved with practiced efficiency, clearing the harvest festival square. Wooden benches scraped against packed earth, tables shifted to the edges. Chief Clarity supervised the transformation, her weathered hands directing the men who dragged furniture aside.

Someone had produced a chunk of chalk. Its powdery white stood out against the hardened dirt ground. A wide circle that went edge to edge of the square was drawn. The dueling ring.

Aside from the movements of the setup, the square was quiet. As if no one dared speak in fear of upseting a tradition as old as the village itself.

His father's hand gripped Aelric’s shoulder, pulling him aside.

"Son," his father whispered, his voice low and urgent, "you can still change your mind. This isn't the way."

Aelric's shook his head. "I have to do this.”

His father's grip tightened with worry. "The duel allows magic. You know your arcana is weak. He could hurt you, perhaps even worse. There are other ways to challenge Brint, ways that don't risk your life or your livelihood."

Aelric turned, meeting his father's gaze directly. "Pa… don't you understand?" Aelric asked, his voice breaking slightly. "Don't you understand why I have to do this?"

His father was silent for a long moment. The muscles in his jaw worked. Then his look of worry was replaced by sadness as it made deep lines across his face.

"I understand," he said softly.

Elder Keen approached with a coarse hemp rope and bronze plate, coming to a stop beside him. His father still had his grip on his shoulder. Then slowly he let go and held his calloused hand to Elder Keen.

“Let me do it.”

Elder Keen nodded and handed him the rope. Aelric felt his father's touch, careful and deliberate as he tied the rope around his waist. His father's fingers trembled slightly as he worked. With quick but firm movements, he secured the rope and attached the bronze plate to the end. Then his father wrote his name on the bronze with a piece of chalk.

On the other side of the ring, Brint's father mirrored the action. His movements were sharper, more confident. When both fathers had finished, the bronze plates were hung loose just below their knees.

Chief Clarity came and tested the knot with rough fingers, checking its tension and security and the way it was bound to ensure the duel would be fair.

Then Chief Clarity moved to Brint's side, performing the same careful inspection. Aelric watched, his heart thundering in his chest. He tried to remember the stories of the village's duels, stories of farmers that risked everything to win a dispute. He used to love hearing them as a child and was able to recount each one, but now they felt vague in his memory. None could compare to the sharp reality that he now faced.

He wondered if this duel would one day be told too by the villagers. The day Aelric challenged Brint over Feyna's betrothal.

When her inspection was complete, Chief Clarity stepped to the edge of the ring between the opponents on each side. "The ropes are secure," she announced, her voice carrying across the festival ground. "The challenge is recognized."

Aelric stepped past the chalk line. The tension was tight in his chest and in the air. It was everywhere. He glanced across at Brint as he also stepped inside. The handsome boy wore a sneer that was almost eager. His voice cut through the stillness like a blade.

"This challenge of yours, Aelric. It’s a disgrace."

Aelric's heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his face as neutral as he could manage. He knew Brint would taunt him now. He always did.

"You think this is about honor?" Brint continued, his voice wet with contempt. "You bring shame on your family, Aelric. You bring shame to Feyna and me for challenging our betrothal. Worse of all, you bring shame to this village for ruining the Festival of Harvest. All for what? We all know how this will end. You know how it will end!"

The square kept its peace. The duel was a sacred thing between the duelists. No one would interfere now.

Aelric felt the weight of Brint’s words. They hit him harder than any of his barbs had before. And he knew that there was truth in his words. Aelric could not win this duel. Brint was strong in magic, so strong that an Ascendant had chosen him her pupil. Meanwhile Aelric had an arcumen of only two arcas. Everyone knew how weak he was, Aelric most of all.

But the thought of the Bestian woman returned to him. How she had reacted when the merchant struck her. How she had spoken to his father. It was something so subtle. Her reaction, so light, so mild. And yet, within her composure, her words, was an untold power.

Aelric thought he understood now why she had made such an impression on him.

Because despite the injustices she faced, she chose how she lived her life. And so he would choose how he lived his.

A strange calm settled over him, replacing the fear that had churned in his stomach moments before. He had spent his entire life avoiding confrontation, avoiding violence. He had let Brint and the others push him around. Let life happen to him instead of choosing how he would act.

Feyna had been more than just a lover. She was his connection to something better. His hope. And Brint had taken that from him. He knew by Feyna's reaction the marriage had already been set. The elders had known and approved of it. Even Elder Sharp had been aware. By all accounts, Aelric should have accepted his defeat silently.

But silence had been his companion for too long, and he was done having fate decide his future.

He looked down at the rope between his hands, his fingers rubbing against the rough hemp ribs. Then raised his head and met Brint's gaze, feeling something rise in his chest as tears welled in his eyes.

"No, Brint. You are wrong, this is not shame.” He held a hand to his heart. "Shame is having a paltry arcumen. Shame is being a burden to my parents. Shame is not having the courage to ask for Feyna's hand. Shame is the way this village sees my family because my father was born Mirebound. Shame is you choosing your envy over our friendship. That is why you are mistaken, Brint. Today, this moment here, is the first time I feel no shame." He grinned then, past the tears streaming down his face. "And it feels good."