The combat amphitheater. It was where the acolytes of the Towers honed themselves in combat, and that was about as much as I knew about it. The hexagonal arena was entirely domed by sparkling, metal-reinforced glass. The hovering island it sat upon was much larger than any of those that the other individual towers rose up from--and it showed in the sheer expansiveness of the amphitheater.

"They call this place the graveyard," a girl said from beside me.

It was the strawberry brunette who'd complained about Professor Elrica's teaching the day before. She was more noticeably taller than me when she was standing up, and at least seventeen.

"They do?" I asked her, wondering if she'd sought me out or not. "Who?"

"The older apprentices. It's bespelled," she said. "They say it can bring people back to life."

"The arena?" I asked. "That's possible?"

"Only if they died here. I've been asking around with the other nobles, the smarter ones anyway," she explained.

"In case of accidents?" I ask.

"No," she said, her tone a bit tenser. "It seems to happen a lot."

"They kill us on purpose?" I asked, and my heart grew a bit restless.

"I think... supposedly, they have us kill each other," she said.

"I'm sure they have their reasons," a strong and familiar voice came from behind us.

"Garron," I said and felt my spirits raise a bit.

"I'm not so sure dying is good for anyone's psyche," the brunette replied.

"Hello, Peregrine," he said, then turning his gaze to the girl beside me. "Have you ever died?"

The brunette pursed her lip, for a moment, in what might have been nervousness or annoyance. "Have you?"

"Maybe it's just the unknown of it that we fear," Garron said. "We could be getting that out of the way here."

"It can't be pleasant," the strawberry brunette posed.

"No, but it may be good to get that out of the way too," Garron replied in a confirming manner.

The strawberry brunette sighed. "You're very much playing the stoic there."

"I am rationalizing," Garron said. "If it turned mages mad, surely they wouldn't keep this place in use."

"You have a lot of faith in authority," the girl said.

"I have little, but some still in the learned," Garron said.

Her tone shifted up. "That's a little better then."

"Your name?" Garron asked her.

Her mouth twitched up at that. "Kara."

"I am Garron," the broad teenager replied, introducing himself in kind even though I'd already said his name aloud. "You are of the Flameheart family?"

"You know your peerage?" she asked, as if reassessing him.

"I do," he replied. "It pays to know who is around you."

"Is it rude to say your eyes look smarter than the rest of you?" she lightly jested.

Garron laughed, his stoically calm facade cracking. "No. I take no offense."

Her unease was trailing away now too, and she was smiling. "I assume you two know each other then?"

I glanced between the two.

"Some," Garron looked to me.

"Garron's been nice to me," I said.

"You like kids?" she asked him, with an interested tone.

I didn't take offense. I was younger than them. Not much offense, anyway.

"I like those who have a trustworthy air about them," he said.

"Oh?" Kara asked. "How do you decide that?"

"By watching," he said. "You do it by talking and mingling, correct?"

She kept smiling. "There's watching involved too."

"You're better equipped for the mingling than I," he said.

"You are very straightforward," Kara observed aloud, "but you can speak well."

"It is trained and not born," he admitted. "A skill. Just like your flattery."

Kara shirked a bit, but in an almost interested way. "I can't watch too and also comment on it? Do I have to avoid the latter to preempt jabs from you?"

"No. You may," Garron replied. "I would not deprive you of your mingling."

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Kara made a humming noise. "Then mingle more kindly with me, please?"

Garron inclined his head. "As you wish, but the class begins soon, I think."

I turned my head from the two to the sight of three figures descending the great, climbing stairs that led down from a huge observatory box positioned within the arena's stands.

The lead figure was a well-muscled man, who was less broad than Garron but a lot more experienced-looking. As he came closer, I could see that his skin looked more like white-hued stone than actual flesh.

The two following the man, who I definitely assumed was the master of our class, appeared to be a year or two older than either Garron or Kara. One was a blonde-haired, very lithe-looking male adorned in plain but well-crafted armor; he held an agile-looking glaive in his free hand. The other person was female, her hair was long and braided tightly, her body adorned in split robes, and she carried one stave of orange wood and another of dark brown.

The gray-tinged, almost militaristic-looking elder of the trio stopped in front of all of us students. He remained silent, patiently awaiting our attention. The pair behind the master mage seemed poised for something, each in their own unique manner; the girl appeared intently annoyed, while her counterpart projected serene focus in a lethally calm manner.

"Thank you," the older man said in a firm voice as we quieted down; his storm gray eyes scanned us without flickering. "I'm your combat instructor. You will call me Master Steelvein. I won't ever be giving speeches."

He let his very brief and concise introduction settle in before continuing. "I have two third-year students behind me. Luke Stormwind is my apprentice. Alara Daegon ranks first among all the apprentices. They will be dueling today to settle an issue and a wager. If Luke loses, then he leaves this institution. If Alara loses, then she gives something precious to Luke. You will all be watching, and maybe then you'll understand some things afterwards. Now all of you move to the stands." He then turned his attention to both of the third-years in turn. "Apprentice Luke, Apprentice Alara."

Luke nodded at his master, but Doran Steelvein did not nod back. Alara, for her response, merely turned and marched away towards the other end of the arena before her counterpart did much the same.

"Stormwind," Garron said the name aloud.

"Do you know him?" I asked my new friend.

"That is the brother of Cedric," Garron answered.

***

The arena was large enough that Luke and Alara looked considerably smaller down on the rock-interspaced sands. Garron sat to one side of me, with Kara notably having chosen to sit beside him.

"Cedric was talking about me not inheriting any land or titles, while he would," I said. "Why would he be so smug about that if he's the younger son? I mean, maybe he'd get something as an inheritance, but still."

"He is the heir," Garron told me.

"But if Luke is strong enough to challenge the top apprentice, why would he be disinherited?" I asked.

"Look at him," Garron said, in a completely nonjudgmental tone, "he is as tall as I am, but does his frame match his height? Does his face not look thin to you?"

Luke and Alara were on opposite sides of the arena, both standing atop strange sigil-carved stone platforms that were interspaced at random throughout the arena of the amphitheater. It was hard to see their finer features well from such a distance, but I could easily recall the exact moment I'd seen him before. The distance also gave a more bird's eye perspective to the older boy.

"He's sort of lanky, but the armor hides it a little," I said. "I don't think it's meant to, though; it's too light to be trying to add bulk."

"Did you also see his ears?" Garron asked.

I directed my mind's eye to what Luke's ears had looked like when I'd seen him before. I'd missed what Garron was talking about the first time, or hadn't really thought about it rather, but my born trait allowed me to perfectly restudy what I'd once seen.

In my reconstructed memory, I saw that Luke's ears were rather pointed.

"They're pretty sharp, but elves are supposed to have sharper ears than he does," I said. "He's not a wood elf either; I've seen one in person."

"A half-breed," Kara added in. "Cursed by the blade-ear's barbaric gods."

Garron's eyes shifted to the brunette, but his face didn't turn with them. "That insult?"

"What?" Kara asked.

Garron shifted. "I would be careful with it. Many of the sha'rivan would return it to you reversed or offer their blade instead."

I sensed a tension between them.

"What would they call her? A round ear?" I asked.

A number of surrounding students suddenly glanced at me. There was a startled disapproval on their faces. One scowling figure was about to open their mouth to speak, but Kara cut them off.

"He's a child, turn around," she said sharply. "He doesn't know."

I certainly didn't. It didn't stop the blush of embarrassment. Fighting monsters was one thing to be used to; being socially out of the loop was another.

"Then you should tell him," the girl who was still looking at us said, before her eyes glared at me. "And you should already know better. Who raised you?"

Garron stared stone-faced at the girl who had scolded me.

My own face was starting to turn a darker shade of red, this time from her not-so-veiled attack on my parents.

The blonde in question frowned and slowly returned her face back to the arena.

"That word is a slur. It is the rough translation of what the sha'rivan call their human serfs and servants," Garron told me, drawing my attention away from starring daggers into the back of the blonde's head. "There is bad blood in it; it often begins brawls, and it can cause pain to many who have a history with it."

"I really didn't know," I said.

"We know," Kara said, still somewhat scowling at the back of the blonde's head. "You do now."

"No one looked around when she said blade eared," I said.

"No, they did not," Garron replied, his tone seemingly meant to make a point.

"Because they're god-worshiping heathens and perfumed, bearded savages," Kara said.

Garron didn't ruffle, but he did appear as if he was considering whether or not to speak before he finally did.

"Do you not think the warbands of the high-elven princes don't say worse things about us?" Garron asked her.

"Do we see their entire race as slaves?" Kara asked.

"No, but you do see them incorrectly," Garron replied. "The sha'rivan do not worship gods. Their Dreamers are complicated things and they are chained and used, not worshiped. They also do not see all humans as slaves."

"Just the ones they've bred for how many eras I don't even know, until those people now barely remember how to be human at all?" Kara said, becoming much more tonally invested in her side of the conversation than Garron appeared. "And they still pillage the lands of those of us they see as not-slaves. They'd kill or indenture us all if they could."

"You paint with a wide brush," Garron said slowly; he did not seem mad, rather, he just appeared like he didn't agree. He was as unmoving as the earth, but just as unemotive and steady. "Not nearly all are killed; those not of the banda’far who are conquered remain free men and women."

"There's not enough of them to use a smaller brush; they're not varied or culturally diverse," Kara replied and crossed her arms, "and that's also the only reason they can't kill us all. They don't have the numbers, and they want what we can produce with our own."

"Numbers? Like your kind had with the sylv’enar?" Garron turned his head back forward as Master Doran Steelvein finished climbing into the observatory structure above us.

"My kind? I--" Kara started and then closed her mouth; some of her frustration seemed to go out of her. "I've seen what the elves do."

"You have seen some elves doing some things, Kara," Garron said gently.

"It's enough," Kara replied.

Garron nodded and appeared to respect what she may have seen, despite not knowing what it may be. "Perhaps."

"It is," she repeated.

Garron nodded again.

"I'm sorry," I said again.

"It's not your fault," Kara replied, still a bit withdrawn.

"I would not say it again," Garron said.

I leaned back against the stone row behind us. "I won't. I didn't know."

"We know," they said at the same time and then exchanged a conflicted glance.

As we three were speaking, the earth of the arena sands began to shake and rumble.