Chapter 31 – Crossing the Limit
Snow covered the ground in a thin, even layer.
Trees ringed the clearing like a familiar cage. Dry branches overlapped at the edges, sealing it in silence.
This was where their training always returned. The cold air lay still, undisturbed by wind.
Zyon was already there.
He stood at the center, staff held in one hand, its lower end resting against the snow at a slight angle. His posture was neutral, his weight evenly balanced.
His stance was calm and restrained, inclined more toward defense than offense, as though waiting for something to come to him.
Facing him stood a tall, solidly built young man. His muscles were trained without excess.
Years of practice had carved strength into his frame. Black hair, calm blue eyes, pale skin beneath the mountain cold.
A faint current of wind moved around his steps, subtle and nearly imperceptible, correcting his distance before he even had to think.
He stopped at the precise distance. No signal. No opening words.
This was not their first duel. It simply continued.
Zio moved first.
His step was short and fast, aided by just enough wind to shift his position half a step to the left. His body remained low and stable.
He came in head-on.
Ice formed in his right hand, thin and dense, extending like a short blade.
It was not aimed at a vital point, but along a line meant to force a reaction.
A thin layer of water wrapped around the blade, maintaining its shape and pressure.
The strike passed extremely close.
Zyon did not dodge immediately. He read the direction and intent behind the attack. His eyes stayed calm, his body moving only as much as necessary.
When the tip of the ice nearly breached his personal space, his staff moved.
A single, small motion.
The tip of the staff touched Zio’s side, just below the ribs, with a tap so light it barely made a sound.
Zio had already pulled his body away before the impact could fully settle.
The wind carried him backward, fast enough to avoid any follow-up pressure.
He had not misjudged the distance. He was only half a step too late.
Zyon remained one step ahead, but the margin was shrinking.
Zio did not repeat the same pattern.
He moved sideways, advanced, then stopped abruptly.
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The wind assisted with short repositioning, no more than a single full step. Each shift altered the angle of attack.
Compressed water shot forward in quick bursts, aimed at Zyon’s legs and side.
Zyon responded with a brief sidestep. His staff tapped Zio’s wrist just as the second ice form began to take shape.
The tap was enough to disrupt concentration, causing the ice to crack before it could fully form.
Zio retreated half a step, then attacked again from a different angle.
Small shards of ice scattered outward, water following, creating a blind angle.
The wind drove Zio’s body in from the right, searching for an opening.
Zyon rotated a quarter turn, his staff striking Zio’s shoulder, then his knee, breaking the rhythm before momentum could form.
No two exchanges followed the same rhythm.
At times Zio forced Zyon to step back. At others, the attacks stalled at a certain point.
Wrist. Shoulder. Knee. Always just enough to break the flow before it could take shape.
Zyon’s steps grew shorter, more controlled.
His staff was always aligned with the line of attack.
Zio was not cornered. His breathing remained steady, his expression focused.
Still, he had yet to push Zyon far from his position.
Zio attacked without hesitation.
Water snapped forward in a narrow, pressurized line, enough to force Zyon into a quick response.
Zyon’s staff blocked, the brief collision knocking its tip off-line for a moment.
Zio slipped into that opening, fast and low. A rough ice blade formed.
Zyon’s staff met it again, closer this time.
Snow split between them.
The pressure did not lessen. It grew tighter, heavier.
Zyon did not retreat, but his feet shifted.
Zio pressed again, alternating strikes, without waiting for results.
Zyon’s staff was active nearly every second, delivering precise taps that always intercepted Zio’s line of attack.
Neither of them spoke. Only the staff and cracking ice filled the space.
Staff strikes and shattering ice echoed as the northern light began to fade.
Zio was still standing, his breathing now slightly ragged.
His knees had begun to tremble faintly.
This time, he did not attack from close range.
His hand rose, an ice spear forming in his right hand.
He lowered his body, his left hand pressing against the ground.
From his left hand, dense crystal crept forward toward Zyon, forming a mound that blocked the path.
Zyon struck the mound with his staff.
The crystal shattered into fine fragments.
Zio emerged from behind, ice spear poised to thrust.
Just before the strike could land, the staff was driven into the ground.
An invisible wave erupted, slamming into Zio.
He was thrown back a considerable distance. The barrier did not feel like a wall, but like a mountain dropping into his chest.
Zyon stood calmly, his staff resting against the snow. His breathing was steady.
“You’ve already crossed the boundary of humanity,” he said shortly, his tone flat. “It’s dark. We stop here.”
Zio remained on the ground. His breathing was steady, his body aching but controlled.
He rose slowly, without expression.
The snow thinned beneath their steps as Zio and Zyon left the clearing.
Scattered ice fragments and orderly footprints marked the afternoon duel, but the clearing swallowed the noise again, broken only by the sound of steps pressing into thin snow.
Zio walked slowly ahead of Zyon, his knees still faintly trembling, his breathing controlled.
His hands were clenched tight, holding back the last remnants of strength from the final attack.
Occasionally, he glanced back, as if leaving the duel buried in the snow behind him.
Light from the cabin window reflected off the snow, signaling that evening was nearly over.
Zio moved on, carefully restraining the remainder of his fatigue.
They entered the cabin without words. Warmth enveloped them, a stark contrast to the cold outside.
Zio removed his cloak and brushed snow from his hair, his breathing gradually returning to normal.
That night, the cabin was quiet. Zio sat near the fireplace, firelight reflecting in blue eyes dulled by exhaustion.
The sound of a door opening came from Zyon’s room.
Zyon stepped out, then sat on the bench beside Zio.
“This is for you,” Zyon said, tossing him a bundle of dark travel clothes.
“Thank you,” Zio said, catching the bundle.
“Your current clothes are worn out. Consider it your seventeenth birthday gift,” Zyon continued.
“My task is finished. I didn’t make you strong.
I only made sure you don’t get yourself killed.
When the world tries to kill you, that part is your responsibility.”
Zio nodded.
“Make sure you remember everything I taught you.”
The night grew darker. Zyon stepped back into his room. The sound of the door closing was different from before.
Zio lay down on the small bed, his stiff body finally resting. His gaze drifted to his raised hand, holding the pendant.
He didn’t need it anymore. Still, it had carried him this far.
This was not the end, but he felt somewhat prepared for whatever awaited him.
