Chapter 11 (Aftermatch)

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The lesson's energy lingered as Jarvan guided us to a quiet courtyard, its cobblestone floor flanked by ivy-covered walls. The space was intimate yet open, the perfect stage for Fiora's fiery determination.

She wasted no time, stepping forward with her wooden sword already in hand. Her movements were sharp, practiced, and full of purpose.

"Alexander," she said, her voice steady but carrying an unmistakable edge. "No more excuses. Let's settle this."

Jarvan glanced at me with a grin, his arms folded as he leaned against one of the courtyard's pillars. "Well, you heard her. Humor us, Alexander—it's only fair."

I exhaled, studying Fiora's stance. There was no denying her resolve. And truthfully, I was curious.

"Very well," I said, retrieving a training sword from the rack nearby. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

Fiora smirked, her grip tightening. "Just try to keep up."

The duel began with a flash of motion.

Fiora's first strike came fast—too fast for most to counter. But I wasn't most. My blade met hers with precision, redirecting her attack and forcing her to reset.

Her next strike came from below, aimed at my ribs. I stepped aside, deflecting her blade again, then countered with a feint that nearly caught her off guard.

To her credit, she recovered quickly, her movements sharper, more refined than I had anticipated.

"Not bad," I admitted, sidestepping another swing. "You've got speed, and your instincts are solid."

"I'm not here for compliments," she snapped, her strikes growing more forceful.

I let her press the offensive, watching her technique unfold. She had the raw talent, no question. But she was still unpolished—her balance wavered when she overextended, her footwork left openings.

Yet, beneath the imperfections, there was something undeniable: potential.

A gleam in her eye, a fierce smile that broke through her frustration—she was enjoying this. Not the struggle, but the challenge. The clash of wills.

"You're holding back!" Fiora growled, her frustration boiling over. "Fight me seriously!"

"Careful what you wish for," I warned, my voice calm but edged with finality.

I shifted my stance, raising the intensity. My blade moved faster now, each strike deliberate, each parry designed to disrupt her rhythm.

Fiora faltered, her breath coming harder as she tried to match my pace. But it was no use. With a calculated twist of my wrist, I disarmed her, her sword clattering to the stones.

Before she could react, I stepped forward, placing the flat of my blade against her shoulder—a silent declaration of victory.

The duel was over.

Fiora sank to her knees, fists clenched as she glared at the ground.

"Again," she demanded, her voice low but seething with determination. "I'll do better. I just need another chance."

I lowered my sword, letting the weight of my calm gaze settle on her.

"No," I said simply, offering her my hand. "You're not ready."

Her head snapped up, anger flashing in her eyes.

"Excuse me?" she hissed.

"Your technique lacks precision," I explained evenly. "Your strikes are aggressive, but they leave you exposed. You have potential, Fiora. Immense potential. But what you need isn't more duels."

"What I need," she spat, swatting my hand away as she rose on her own, "is someone who takes me seriously."

"Then prove you're serious," I replied, meeting her glare. "Channel that frustration. Control it. When you've done that, I'll be waiting."

The tension between us hung heavy, but before Fiora could respond, Jarvan clapped his hands, breaking the moment.

"Well, that was entertaining—she did way better than I anticipated." he said with a grin. "Fiora, if you're truly serious about training, I might have a better solution."

Fiora turned to him, her expression still stormy. "What solution?"

Jarvan's grin widened as he leaned in conspiratorially. "My birthday is in two weeks. The Laurents are always invited, but you've never come.. join us this year. It's the perfect opportunity to ask father for permission for you to train with us, formally."

Fiora frowned, skepticism flickering across her face. Suddenly, her eyes lit up in realization. "If the king orders it, my mother won't be able to argue. Then I could train freely."

Jarvan continued, his tone confident. "Consider it your chance to prove you're ready."

Her eyes narrowed, considering his words. Then, a slow smile spread across her lips, fierce and full of resolve.

"If it means getting stronger, I'll be there," she said.

Jarvan clapped her on the shoulder, grinning. "That's the spirit!"

Fiora turned to leave but paused, casting a sharp glance over her shoulder at me.

"You'll pay for this… oversized braggart." The words were clipped, her frustration visibly tempered by an underlying determination.

'Oversized what?'

Jarvan looked back at me with a smirk.

"You've got a way of bringing out the best in people, don't you?"

"Or the worst," I replied dryly, though a faint smile tugged at my lips.

Jarvan chuckled. "Either way, I think Fiora's just getting started."

I nodded, my gaze lingering on her retreating figure.

"So do I."

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Two Weeks Later

Beneath a secluded noble residence in Demacia, I found solace in a subterranean chamber, fortified with reinforced walls and materials carefully chosen to muffle any external disturbances. This sanctuary, hidden from curious eyes, served as the perfect place for my experiments.

Standing in the center of the room, I summoned an aura of electricity. Blue lightning coiled around my body, snapping and sparking in rhythm with my controlled breathing. The faint hum of energy filled the chamber, a pulsing reminder of the raw power coursing through me.

With a deep inhale, I launched into a flurry of motion. My fists blurred as I executed a series of rapid punches, each strike accompanied by arcs of electricity. The air hissed with static, the ground beneath me buzzing as my movements accelerated. Kicks followed, each one leaving faint scorch marks where my feet made contact with the stone floor.

The electric aura heightened my reflexes and strength, amplifying every action beyond what my growing body could achieve on its own. Every fiber of my being buzzed with energy, but I knew this couldn't last forever.

I slowed, shifting my focus to a new test. Before me lay a solid weight of 100 kilograms, resting heavily on the ground. Bending down, I channeled more electricity into my muscles, feeling the surge of power course through me. With a deep grunt, I hoisted the weight above my head, my arms trembling slightly as the lightning crackled in protest.

For a fleeting moment, I felt unstoppable. Then reality set in—the strain was enormous, my body nearing its limits despite the enhanced strength. Letting out a sharp exhale, I dropped the weight with a dull thud and sank to the floor, sweat trailing down my temples.

"Not bad," I muttered between breaths, glancing at my reflection in the polished steel of the room's equipment. My body was lean but defined, the muscles of a child beginning to take on the form of adolescence.

"Nearly 1.40 meters tall," I noted absently. "At this rate, I'll outgrow this space before long."

Closing my eyes, I focused on calming the residual electricity crackling faintly around me. My muscles ached, my stamina spent, but I wasn't done. With deliberate intent, I summoned Kayle's celestial magic.

A warm, golden light emanated from my body, soothing the tension in my muscles and easing the strain. The healing properties of Kayle's power weren't instantaneous, but they were reliable, allowing me to recover enough to push further.

"The power of light," I murmured. "Resistance and healing. Limited, but useful."

As the golden glow continued to mend my fatigue, another aura began to emerge—a deep, shadowy violet layered over the light. Morgana's magic.

Where Kayle's energy felt restorative, Morgana's was defensive, forming a protective barrier just above my skin. The two magics intertwined, distinct yet complementary.

"They're not opposites," I realized aloud. "They complete each other."

Still, their effects were underwhelming. These copied powers were mere fragments of their true potential, far weaker than what the original wielders could achieve.

I stood, extinguishing the auras with a thought. My body felt lighter, though fatigue lingered at the edges of my awareness. The limits of my mana weighed heavily on my mind, a constant reminder of the gap between possibility and reality.

Reaching for a nearby water flask, I extended my hand—but instead of walking to it, I willed it to come to me. The flask floated through the air, carried by the invisible force of telekinesis.

I caught it midair and took a long drink, the cool water a welcome reprieve.

"Telekinesis," I mused, swirling the remaining water in the flask. "It's versatile. With enough mana, it could be used for so much more—flight, immobilization, even combat. But this world's dangers can't be underestimated. Overconfidence is death."

Setting the flask aside, I allowed my mind to wander. The thought of surpassing Kayle and Morgana lingered, tantalizing in its possibility. Though weak now, these abilities could evolve—especially with experimentation and time.

Returning to the center of the room, I summoned my electricity again, letting it hum and vibrate around me.

"There's a resonance," I murmured, my brow furrowing. "Their powers and mine… they respond to one another. Could it be celestial magic?"

The thought sent a ripple of excitement through me. Celestial magic was the most potent form in Runeterra, wielded by gods and capable of holding back the Void itself. If my lightning held even a fraction of that origin, its potential was staggering.

But such musings didn't solve my immediate problem.

I deactivated the electricity, my body sagging slightly as the effort caught up with me. My mana reserves were nearly empty—again.

"The real issue," I said aloud, pacing the room, "is storage. Every time I expand my arsenal, my mana proves more limited."

Artifacts capable of holding vast amounts of mana existed in this world, legendary relics of immense power. Yet relying on such items would be a fool's errand—they were rare, their locations unknown.

No, I needed something practical. Something I could create myself.

I turned toward a sketch pinned to the wall—a design I'd been refining for weeks.

"I need an armor," I concluded, my voice steady with resolve. "A vessel dense enough to store immense mana. A second reservoir to draw from. One that ensures I never run out."

The image in my mind was clear: a heavy, durable armor, forged to withstand the strain of battle and the demands of magic.

It wasn't just an idea—it was a necessity.

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