"Shoot, boy," Elias hissed, his face flushed with the rare sting of imperfection. "Or are you waiting for the wind to apologize for your lack of talent?"
The arrow soared, caught the thermal, and slammed into the dead center of the bullseye, splitting the air with a definitive thwack . The silence was absolute. Kaelen had won.
The silver trophy stood between Kaelen and Elias, not just as a prize, but as a mirror reflecting two very different kinds of hunger.
In that moment, Kaelen realized that if he won, he would be doing exactly what Elias had done: tying his entire worth to a piece of metal and the roar of a crowd.
"I didn't win because I'm better than you, Elias," Kaelen said quietly, turning to walk away without the prize. "I won because I was willing to lose. You’re still at the line, even though the match is over."
Kaelen left the silver behind. He had entered the trial to save his name, but he left having saved himself from the pride that had nearly swallowed him whole.
Elias walked over, his face a mask of cold fury. "You got lucky."
