A carriage sped toward the city, its beast panting under the considerable weight it bore. The driver, visibly nervous, cast furtive glances behind him, uneasy about the two imposing passengers occupying the vehicle's interior.

The passengers were Tawnylon and his son, Thamuz, who had hired the transport to visit Vixkard in the city. The carriage's interior, though spacious, barely accommodated the two burly travelers.

“Did you bring enough clothes and everything you need?” Tawnylon asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. “Remember, we’ll be staying in the city for several days.”

Thamuz responded by lifting a sturdy leather bag resting between them, shaking it proudly in front of his father while flashing a grin.

“Everything essential is here, but are you sure Mr. Vixkard will let us stay?” Thamuz asked with some concern. “You haven’t even spoken to him, and we don’t know if he’ll welcome us.”

“Stay calm, son,” Tawnylon replied, intertwining his fingers serenely. “He’ll have to take us in; according to what you told me, he offered to train you in the shamonak. And if there’s one thing Vixkard values more than his drink, it’s sharing his knowledge of this discipline.”

The journey continued as the carriage jolted under the weight of its occupants. Thamuz, peering through the window, spotted a group of Zarakel’s soldiers entering the majestic city. Among them were several shamonak fighters of considerable repute, including one he recognized from unofficial street fights: Bastion, nicknamed “the Living Dead.” The group comprised nine fierce warriors.

“Where could they be headed?” Thamuz inquired curiously.

“If they’re traveling with Zarakel’s escort, they’re likely bound for his barracks,” Tawnylon explained, directing his gaze to the same scene. “Given their level, they’ve probably been summoned for a special event or perhaps to face his son.”

“Ah, Gigantino,” Thamuz murmured, recalling his defeat against Zarakel’s heir. “Have there been any updates on the next match?”

“No, Armesto hasn’t received any messages lately. According to rumors, no one has seen Zarakel since your fight with Bhaxmunt,” Tawnylon remarked, shifting in his seat. “He’s probably secluded in the depths of his castle, scheming something.”

The carriage entered the area designated for transport vehicles and goods, a more accessible zone reserved exclusively for commercial traffic.

“Where did you arrange to meet Vixkard?” Tawnylon asked.

“According to what he told me, he lives in the upper section of the city. He mentioned placing a rock or some glowing marker to identify his home,” Thamuz replied.

The carriage came to an abrupt halt, and the driver opened a small hatch to address them.

“My apologies, gentlemen, but my beast is exhausted from the journey. If I continue, it might collapse. At least I’ve managed to bring you to the entrance of the upper zone,” the driver explained, as the labored breathing of his steed was audible in the background.

Thamuz and Tawnylon nodded understandingly, paid for the service, and descended from the vehicle. They watched as the carriage departed, the beast now walking at a more relaxed pace. Turning around, they surveyed the path ahead.

Before them rose a steep incline, resembling a hill of considerable height. Houses were strategically spaced, separated from one another to prevent overloading the terrain.

“Well, our adventure begins here,” Tawnylon remarked, crossing his arms as he looked at his son. “Would you like to ride on my shoulders?”

“What?” Thamuz asked, bewildered. “Why would I want to do that?”

“You know, for a father-son moment. I remember when you were little, you loved sitting on my shoulders while we climbed hills,” Tawnylon explained, placing his hands on his hips as he gazed at the slope. “Besides, it’ll be good exercise for me to regain some vigor. You’ve put on quite a bit of weight.”

Thamuz looked at his father with a mix of confusion and amusement at the unusual request. But understanding his father’s desire to share time together, he exhaled softly and nodded.

“Excellent!” Tawnylon exclaimed, crouching down until he was nearly touching the ground. “Come on, climb up, son.”

Thamuz complied, positioning himself behind his father and grabbing onto his back before settling onto his shoulders. Once Tawnylon felt the full weight, he slowly stood up, securing his son’s legs firmly.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked.

“Yes, perfectly,” Thamuz replied, holding onto his father’s head for balance.

Tawnylon began the ascent with surprising ease, as though carrying a child rather than a sturdy young man. Thamuz, meanwhile, kept his hands on his father’s hair, feeling its softness and finding a certain comfort in the position.

The steep slope posed a challenge for ordinary people, who often relied on individuals of exceptional strength to transport them, whether in carriages or improvised means like carts. Some even resorted to using slaves to aid them in their climb to their residences.

However, Tawnylon ascended with apparent ease, his breathing barely labored, unbothered by any obstacle or discomfort as he steadily advanced up the incline.

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Suddenly, Tawnylon felt a gentle tug on his hair. Looking up, he saw Thamuz pointing with his finger.

“Look, Father, there’s the glowing stone,” he indicated.

Tawnylon followed his son’s direction and saw it clearly: a stone shining with remarkable intensity, even under the bright midday sunlight that bathed the city.

They made their way toward the marker until they reached Vixkard’s house, just as Thamuz remembered it. Tawnylon crouched again and gave his son’s leg a pat, signaling him to climb down.

Once on the ground, Thamuz took the initiative and circled the house, searching for the entrance, while faint panting noises came from within, as if someone were exerting themselves physically.

“Come, Father, I think I found the entrance,” Thamuz called, stopping in front of what appeared to be the main door.

Tawnylon approached and knocked with his knuckles. From inside, the clatter of dishes and cups falling echoed, as though someone had stumbled over them in their haste.

The door creaked open slowly, and behind it, Vixkard’s head emerged, peering cautiously at the visitors.

“Who’s there?” he asked warily.

“It’s me, Mr. Vixkard, Thamuz. I’ve come with my father, Tawnylon,” Thamuz replied.

Vixkard remained still for a moment before swinging the door wide open, extending his arms in a welcoming gesture.

“Tawnylon, my old student, come here!” he exclaimed joyfully.

However, Tawnylon held his position, observing his former teacher with a neutral expression.

“Hello, Master. It’s been a while,” he said, crossing his arms.

Vixkard chuckled softly, lowering his arms in slight embarrassment and leaning against the doorframe.

“I’m glad to see you both. I suppose you’re here about the proposal I made to Thamuz about training him in the shamonak?” he inquired.

“Yes, my father is asking if we could stay here for a few days to train with you. It would be a great help,” Thamuz explained.

“Of course, come in. Tawnylon and I have much to discuss,” Vixkard responded, straightening up and opening the door wider. “I’ll show you your rooms.”

Vixkard led them through the house, guided by the soft chime of stone trinkets that marked the path. Thamuz and Tawnylon followed closely.

When they reached another door, Vixkard opened it, revealing a scene that left Thamuz stunned: in a small combat arena stood Korro, shirtless and wearing traditional shamonak pants.

He struck a massive stone—similar to the one Thamuz had faced during his early lessons with his father—with open palms. Korro's body glistened with sweat, and his palms bled from the relentless self-inflicted punishment.

Korro paused his training to glance at Thamuz, his breath heavy from exertion. They exchanged a silent nod of acknowledgment.

Inside the house, the atmosphere exuded both comfort and antiquity. Vixkard led them to their rooms. Thamuz curiously observed the simplicity of the quarters: the beds, though small, seemed functional with the right posture. The walls were adorned with mysterious symbols: triangles intersected by lines and circles bisected by horizontal strokes.

“These will be your accommodations during your stay. I’ll be outside, overseeing the training of my new... well, my former student,” Vixkard said before departing.

Tawnylon stepped inside and placed his leather bag in a corner, while Thamuz settled onto the bed, searching for a comfortable position.

“Everything remains the same as last time,” Tawnylon murmured.

Thamuz found his ideal posture, curled like the letter C, and noticed his father sitting on the other bed, staring pensively at the floor.

“What’s wrong, Father? What’s on your mind?” Thamuz asked with concern.

“Nothing significant, son. I’m just reflecting on the days ahead,” Tawnylon replied, leaning back. “Did you see the man training with the bonkam stone? He shows promise as a fighter.”

“Yes, that’s Korro, the ex-gang leader I told you about,” Thamuz explained, placing his hands behind his head.

“Really? It’s good he’s left that life for the shamonak. The criminal path is often a short one,” Tawnylon commented, staring at the ceiling.

Thamuz watched his father as he fidgeted with his fingers, recalling their encounter with Vixkard.

“Father, why did you reject Vixkard’s embrace? He must have felt bad.”

“It’s... complicated. I’ll explain when the time is right,” Tawnylon replied, standing up and stretching. “I’m heading out to the yard. Care to join me?”

“Of course.”

In the backyard, near the combat arena, they found Vixkard seated in a rocking chair, listening intently to the sounds of Korro’s training. Thamuz sat cross-legged on the ground next to him, while Tawnylon leaned against the doorframe. Together, they watched Korro’s relentless practice.

“Tell me, young Thamuz, what do you hope to learn from the shamonak?” Vixkard asked.

“Everything—every technique, every combat style,” Thamuz replied eagerly, turning to face him. “Can you teach me?”

“Without a doubt, and with ease.”

“I’ve taught him the basics. I trust you can refine them,” Tawnylon added, his arms crossed.

“Of course I can. If I managed to train you, Tawnylon, I can train anyone,” Vixkard said with a chuckle, rocking gently. “Thamuz, would you like to hear the story of how I met your father?”

“I’d love to hear it.”

Vixkard’s eyes twinkled as he began, “It all started when I was much younger. My stature was commanding, and my physique was the envy of many. People sought me out, desperate to train under me, aspiring to reach my level. But few could endure my regimen. Most quit, and some suffered injuries that ended their dreams. Then your father showed up—smaller than you, bruised and cut, his pale skin making him look like a ghost.”

“He must have piqued your curiosity,” Thamuz commented.

“Enormously. He had no home or known family, but in his eyes burned the unmistakable fire of a shamonak fighter—fueled by fury and a thirst for vengeance. I took him in and began to train him,” Vixkard said, laughing heartily. “In the beginning, he was outrageously rebellious. He ignored my instructions and fought his own way—with clenched fists, wild kicks, even headbutts, trying to use his horns as weapons. While that’s allowed in shamonak, it leaves you wide open to counters.”

Tawnylon chuckled softly, shaking his head as he walked further into the garden, eventually disappearing from view.

“One day, in a fit of defiance, he challenged me, boasting that he could defeat me easily. I took it personally, and when the duel came, I incapacitated him so thoroughly he couldn’t fight for two months,” Vixkard said, laughing harder. “But that completely changed him. He became calmer, kinder, and even stayed late to train. Then he entered the official matches, where his greatness began to shine. I took immense pride in having trained someone I’d consider my successor.”

"That's an extraordinary story. I hope you can do the same for me," Thamuz said enthusiastically.

"I will, with dedication and effort. But first, I must see how you fight," Vixkard turned his head toward Korro and raised his hand. "Korro, come here!"

Korro paused his training and approached, panting as he placed his hands on his waist and brushed a strand of hair away from his face.

"What do you want, old man?" he replied disdainfully.

"You see, Thamuz will be staying here to learn shamonak. I want to assess his skills, so from now on, he will be your training partner," Vixkard explained, intertwining his fingers. "I want to see you two fight right now."

Korro swallowed nervously at the request, while Thamuz flashed a grin.