Talent

The dust settled on the training ground as Varron approached Lucius, who was sprawled on the ground, his gaze fixed on the floor. The energy from their intense sparring match still lingered in the air, a silent testament to their fierce battle.

'Again.....I lost again.'

Varron looked down at his younger brother, noting the frustration and disappointment etched on his face. He extended his hand, offering to help Lucius up.

"Nice fight, Lucius," Varron said, his voice calm and steady despite the exertion from their match.

'How.....'

Lucius didn't take his hand. Instead, he pushed himself up, his fists clenched at his sides. He looked up at Varron, his eyes burning with a mix of anger and determination.

"How... How did you get stronger than me?" he demanded, his voice echoing across the training ground.

"I've been the one who's been training hard. I've been the one who's been pushing myself to the limit every single day,"

Lucius continued, his voice shaking with emotion. He thought that his hard work betrayed him more than anything.

"And you... you spend your days bullying others, not even taking your training seriously. So how... how did you become stronger than me?!!"

Varron, his expression is unreadable as ever, looked at Lucius. He understood why his younger brother was acting this way, why the frustration and disappointment were etched so deeply on his face. After all, in the narrative of their lives, he was the one who had written Lucius into existence. As his creator, he knew every facet of Lucius's character, every motivation, every frustration, every dream. He had penned each struggle, each triumph, each moment of despair and hope.

He was about to respond, to offer some words that might soothe or provoke, when a new voice cut through the tension.

"Brothers, are you both okay?" The voice was soft, filled with worry.

Varron and Lucius both turned to see Isolde, their younger sister, rushing towards them. Her golden hair was flying behind her, her eyes wide with concern. She was looking at them, her gaze shifting between Varron, standing tall and seemingly unaffected, and Lucius, still on the ground, his body language radiating defeat.

The sight of her brothers, post-battle and visibly exhausted, had clearly alarmed her. The training ground, which was usually a place of practice and learning, had been transformed into a battlefield, bearing the marks of their intense sparring match.

Caught in the aftermath of the intense sparring match, Isolde pushed past her uncertainty. She moved with purpose towards Lucius, extending a hand to help him rise from the dust-laden training ground.

"Brother Varron, the sun sets.It is time for us to retreat,"

she said, her voice a steady beacon amidst the tension.

Her demeanor was polite, a stark contrast to the strained atmosphere. Her fear of Varron had begun to dissipate, replaced by a cautious understanding. Her core magic had sensed the shift in Varron's aura, from a stormy, impenetrable black to a lighter, more approachable shade.

As Isolde and Lucius began to depart, the sound of Varron's voice halted them.

"Hard work? Do you believe that merely dancing with your sword each day will forge you into a warrior? Ever heard that talent can overshadow hard work? What are your thoughts about that considering your situation right now?"

Lucius spun around, his eyes ablaze with defiance.

"What are you implying? That you're blessed with more talent, and that's why I fell? Do you expect me to swallow such a ludicrous notion?"

Varron stood unmoved, his voice as cold and unyielding as a winter's night.

"Lucius, what I'm suggesting is that you're pouring your sweat and blood into hard work, yet you're blind to the talent that lies within you."

"What do you mean?" Lucius asked, his voice echoing in the empty training ground.

His brows furrowed in confusion, his mind trying to decipher Varron's cryptic words. He felt as though he was lost in a maze, with Varron's words serving as both the guide and the enigma.

Varron let out a sigh, the sound cutting through the silence like a sharp knife. His usual cold demeanor was tinged with an unusual hint of impatience.

"It's your core magic, you idiot," he said, his voice ringing out clear and harsh.

"The one you've conveniently forgotten to train."

Lucius blinked, taken aback by Varron's words. He felt as though he had been struck by a bolt of lightning.

"My... my core magic?" he repeated, the words sounding foreign as they left his lips.

Varron nodded, his gaze fixed on Lucius. There was a hint of disappointment in his eyes, a rare show of emotion from the normally stoic man.

"Yes, your core magic. You don't even realize how powerful it is, do you? You've been so focused on physical training that you've completely overlooked your greatest asset."

"Lucius, you've been blessed with a core magic that's far more potent than you realize," Varron began, his voice steady and serious, yet laced with an undeniable urgency.

His eyes, usually as cold and unreadable as a winter sky, held a glimmer of intensity that Lucius had rarely seen before.

"Unlike other element users, you possess the innate ability to perform Elemental Combat without the rigorous training that many others require. It's a rare gift, one that many would covet."

"But there's more to your core magic than just that," Varron continued, his gaze never leaving Lucius.

"Your elemental control isn't limited to a single element like most elemental users. You can control all four classical elements - fire, water, earth, and air.Sure they are weaker if compared each element to a single-element user,but this gives you a versatility and power that is unmatched by any of them."

He paused, allowing the weight of his words to hang heavy in the air between them.

"But now, your Elemental Combat is merely a shadow of what it could be, a Mediocre,thanks to your neglect of training. You've been so focused on mastering your swordsmanship, a noble pursuit indeed, but you've overlooked the vast reservoir of power that lies within you."

Varron's gaze hardened, his next words carrying a gravity that seemed to make the very air around them tremble.

"I have fought with another who harnesses an Elemental Combat technique far superior to yours, and she's just a commoner. That's the power of dedication, of harnessing and honing your core magic."

He looked at Lucius, his gaze unwavering, piercing through the layers of confusion and frustration that clouded his younger brother's eyes.

"Swordsmanship is indeed a noble's pride, but core magic... core magic is the essence of your very being. It's a force that when trained, can elevate you to realms of power you've yet to imagine. Both are crucial, both need to be honed with equal dedication."

Lucius looked down at the ground, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. He felt lost, like a ship adrift in a vast, uncharted sea.

"So what should I do now?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Varron looked at him, his eyes twitching in disbelief at his younger brother's question. His voice was harsh, a stark contrast to the softness of Lucius's question.

"Is that something I need to tell you, dumbass," he snapped, his words sharp as a whip.

"Go train. And this time, don't just swing your sword around. Focus on your core magic as well," Varron added, his voice cold yet filled with an undeniable truth.

Lucius stood there, his gaze fixed on the ground as he grappled with Varron's harsh words. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions - confusion, frustration, a sense of being lost, and yet, a spark of understanding. He felt as though he was standing at the edge of a precipice, with a vast, uncharted path stretching out before him.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he lifted his gaze from the ground. His eyes, usually filled with a fiery determination, seemed to hold a different kind of flame now. A flame of resolve, of understanding, of a new beginning.

"I see... I'll train. Both my swordsmanship and my core magic this time," he said, his voice steady and resolute. His words hung in the air, a silent vow to himself and to Varron.

A moment of silence passed before Lucius spoke again.

"And Varron," he began, his voice softer now,

"I may not agree with your methods, or your words, but I can't deny that they've given me something to think about."

He paused, glancing away for a moment before looking back at Varron. "So... thanks," he added, his voice barely above a whisper.

It was a simple word, but it carried a weight of gratitude. An indirect thanks, but a thanks nonetheless.

"Don't say something so cringe-worthy to me, or I might just smack you upside the head," Varron said, his voice as dry as a desert wind.

His eyes, usually cold and unreadable, were now dancing with a hint of amusement.

Lucius eyes twitching, crossing his arms over his chest in a show of defiance.

"That's gratitude, you know. You should be happy I'm thanking you," he retorted, his words carrying a mix of annoyance and begrudging respect.

Varron rolled his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

"I'd be more thankful if you just went away without saying another word," he shot back, his tone mockingly.

Lucius shot him a glare, his eyes flashing with a mix of indignation and stubborn resolve.

"I used all my courage to say those words, you jerk," he grumbled, his voice firm and resolute.

His expression was stern, a clear sign that he was not going to back down, despite Varron's relentless teasing.

Isolde watched the banter between her brothers with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"Boys, boys," she interjected, her voice laced with a hint of amusement.After all this is the first time she hearing this kind of conversation.

"Can't you two stop bickering like children, it's already late you know?"

Varron shot her a glare, his expression clearly showing his annoyance at being interrupted.

"We're not bickering, Isolde. We're just having a conversation," he retorted, his voice as sharp as a knife.

Lucius rolled his eyes, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"Sure, a conversation where Varron insults me when I try to thank him," he quipped, his voice light and teasing.

"With that kind of cringey words? It needs more than insults."

Isolde shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

"You two are impossible," she said, her voice filled with affection.

Despite their bickering, she knew that her brothers had each other's backs, no matter what.