Duelborn

The morning fog still hugged the hills as Falchion Academy came into view. Its tall stone towers pierced the sky, and glowing lanterns flickered in the rising light. Flags flapped above the gates—two silver swords crossed over a burning star.

Even from far away, the academy felt powerful. Alive. Waiting.

A small carriage bumped along the dirt road toward it.

Inside sat a girl with chestnut-brown hair, green eyes wide as she stared at the enormous gates ahead.

Her name was Ravella Veythorn.

And she wasn’t supposed to be here.

Just two days ago, her sister Ithara—strong, skilled, and chosen to carry their family’s sword legacy—collapsed from a high fever that wouldn’t break.

And just like that, everything changed.

“You’ll go in her place,” her father had said. “You’re twins. No one will know. And the Veythorn name cannot afford to step away from the academy now.”

Ravella had stared at him in shock.

“But I don’t know how to fight.”

“You’ll learn. Or just stay out of trouble.”

He made it sound so easy. But Ravella had never even held a real sword.

The carriage stopped. A guard opened the door.

“Welcome to Falchion Academy, Miss Veythorn.”

She stepped down, legs shaking.

The moment her boots hit the ground, she felt it—the weight of the place. Of expectations. Of people who had trained for years to stand here.

Ravella was just a girl who climbed trees, ran through fields, and looked up at her sister like she was a hero.

Now, she had to pretend to be her.

Inside the academy’s main hall, students gathered in rows. Some whispered. Some smirked. Most of them were girls, dressed in the academy’s formal blue coats and silver boots, swords strapped to their backs.

At the front stood a woman with silver hair, tall and graceful, eyes like sharp glass.

Sylveris Greenwood, president of the academy.

She raised her hand, and the room went silent.

“To those who stand here today: welcome to Falchion. Some of you will rise. Some will fall. But every one of you will be tested. Not just by steel—but by who you choose to become.”

The hall echoed with applause.

Ravella clapped along, her smile forced. Her stomach twisted.

She spotted a serious-looking girl with short black hair standing beside the president. She didn’t smile. Didn’t blink. Just watched the crowd.

“That’s Tessa Highcut,” a voice whispered behind Ravella. “Her sword is faster than a blink. She’s the president’s shadow.”

Ravella turned. A small, excited girl with two high pigtails grinned at her.

“I’m Jyx! Just so you know, I’m basically the president’s second shadow!”

Ravella blinked. “Oh… okay.”

“You’re Ithara, right? Your name’s on the list. Guess you must be good.”

Ravella laughed awkwardly. “Something like that…”

After the ceremony, she was met by a quiet girl with long silver-blue hair and tired eyes.

“I’m Rin Ice, your roommate. I was asked to show you around.”

Ravella followed her through halls filled with banners, practice weapons, and students sparring in open courts. Sword strikes rang like music in the distance.

“There are only two ways to rise in rank here,” Rin explained. “Skill… and stars.”

“Stars?”

Rin pointed to a glowing pin on her back.

“Everyone has one. Win a duel, and you can take someone’s star. More stars mean higher rank. And a higher rank means your wish—whatever it is—might come true.”

Ravella raised an eyebrow. “Even crazy wishes?”

“Even those. If you earn enough stars, the Academy will grant anything.”

A loud boom cut her off. The ground shook slightly.

Rin’s expression changed.

“That’s a duel. Come on—over here.”

They hid behind a stone column as a crowd formed.

On the open dueling ground stood Vexa Emberfall, a third-year. Cold, calm, and alone.

She was surrounded by four challengers.

“Come on, Emberfall. Fight us already. You’re not even Elite anymore.”

But Vexa only sighed.

“Fine. Just don’t cry.”

In a blur of motion, she dodged and blocked each blow. She didn’t even draw her sword fully—only a few inches. That was enough.

She moved like water. Graceful, terrifying, unstoppable.

One by one, her opponents dropped to their knees, panting.

Vexa turned and walked away without a scratch.

“You’re wasting my time.”

Ravella was speechless.

“She’s incredible…” she whispered.

Rin nodded.

“Yeah. But she refuses to fight for stars anymore. Something happened last year.”

They kept walking. Ravella’s thoughts raced.

Could she really survive here? Could she really become like that?

When they reached the dorm, Rin stopped at a worn-out wooden door.

“Here we are. Don’t expect much.”

Ravella opened the door.

Her jaw dropped.

The room was a disaster—broken windows, dusty beds, cobwebs in the corners, and one very confident squirrel sitting on a pillow like it owned the place.

“…Seriously?” she muttered.

Rin shrugged.

“First-years get the worst rooms. It’s tradition.”

Ravella sighed, stepping inside. The floor creaked beneath her. She looked into the cracked mirror on the wall.

The reflection staring back wasn’t really her.

It was Ithara Veythorn.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s try not to die.”