“Show me what you’re made of, Harux!”

There seems to be no limit to Ode’go’s unwavering confidence. Pacing back and forth, the two engage in what seems almost like a dance, moving in and away from their initial positions. Here begins the careful game of wait, a tug of war involving two fighters’ initiative, with none willing to give surrender.

Then, a blur of movement.

Harux’s sword arm straightens, his blade aiming for Ode’go’s cheek. Only instead of committing fully, he then withdraws his blade, bringing it back to its initial position.

In other words, Harux feinted.

With a thrust that lacked footwork, Harux executed a strike that, while lacking the force to inflict decisive damage, served to assess his opponent's fighting style.

However…

What Harux didn’t know was that his enemy chose not to react at all. In place of any defence, the catboy’s grin only widened as if saying, ‘C'mon, you don’t want to end that quickly, do you?’

“Wow…”

Throughout it all, my heart races with anticipation. When you watch two fighters, much less two skilled ones in action, it’s the equivalent of watching a game of wits, physicality, and composure all in one. Several students, besides myself, had come to watch, too, standing on the sideline, debating over who’d win and what’d happen next.

“Ce-”

Harux’s mouth motions to speak. But, his incantation is cut short. Ode’go, without missing a breath, steps in and closes the distance. Now on the defensive, Harux sweeps his blade diagonally and, aiming to intercept his enemy, bears his weight down Ode’go’s collar.

The clash of their two blades reverberates through the air, a metallic resonance not unlike a ‘shng’, ensuing in their wake. It becomes apparent now that Ode’go has done the impossible. With his elbow outwards and his blade pointing up, the catboy has Harux’s blade caught within the serrations of his dagger, trapping it in a bind. Then, in seamless fluidity, Ode’go steps forward and grabs at Harux’s wrist with his left hand, thereby trapping his sword, before advancing again, only this time transitioning from a grab into an arm lock.

The visual therefore is as such.

Ode’go’s left arm is wrapped around Harux’s elbow, and his right, having relinquished control of Harux’s blade, instead goes for his throat. That’s when, Harux, seeing no other way out, tucks his chin and, all of a sudden—bites into Ode’go’s dagger.

“You’re a born survivor, Harux!”

Unable to reply in words, the elf boy does so in a single sharp exhale.

“Ah!”

Until this moment, the two have fought, standing, feet resting firmly on the ground. The dynamics now change. Putting his right foot forward, Harux hooks the inside of Ode’go’s leg and, in less than a second—brings them both falling to the ground. Within that infinitesimal fraction of time, the elf then draws a weapon from his behind with his open right hand and, as they hit the ground, closes it into Ode’go’s throat. It becomes evident that the weapon is a thin, double-edged dagger, and more than that, it becomes evident that the two are in a stalemate.

Though Harux has a dagger to Ode’go’s throat, so does he, having changed course from teeth to the neck during their fall. And while one can make the argument that Harux has a free hand to cast magic, having relinquished the use of his scimitar mid-fall, the argument loses ground when you realise that in the span to cast a single spell, that both of their blades would’ve carved into each other’s flesh.

So, just like that, the battle ends.

“What do you say, Harux, how about we call it a day and say we ended in a draw?”

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“Sounds good!”

The elf withdraws his blade and moves off Ode’go. Likewise, the catboy does the same, pulling back his blade and, for a few seconds, chuckles, eyes gazing into the wooden ceiling. Whatever feelings their draw has brought him, it’s clear that anger or sadness isn’t one of them.

“Harux,” Ode’go heaves out. “You’re pretty good.”

The same sentiment carries to Harux. Judging by the gentle sway of his body, the focus of his eyes, and the minute movements in his facial muscles, I can tell. The aftermath of their battle leaves only joy in the elf, removed completely of any ill-will whatsoever.

“Yeah,” Harux replies, crouching down to pick up his scimitar. “You were pretty strong too.” The elf then sheathes it, keeping it within the black lacquered scabbard by his waist.

Ode’go, who by now had also gotten up, extends his hand towards the elf. Without hesitation, the elf takes it, finding himself pulled in, in the process. This, it becomes clear, leads to a hug between the two, with Ode’go patting Harux loudly on the back.

“You’re a good man Harux; fight hard and fight well, eh?”

“Uh huh!”

The two share in their brotherly bond for a few seconds, a display to which brings no small amount of reaction. A crowd of maybe a dozen bystanders clap for the two. Like me, they probably find the interaction quite heartwarming, no doubt appraising some unspoken sense of honour and camaraderie.

It’s only at long last, following a good ten seconds, that Ode’go breaks off the hug. He moves backwards, smiles, and issues one last gesture of his hand as if saying goodbye. I find him next to me now, all sweaty and wet.

“See you, Ode’go!”

Harux leaves the room.

“See you, Harux!”

Both me and Ode’go share a glance with each other, entrusting in some unspoken meaning through body language alone.

“So, you got it?”

I nod. In my hand is Harux’s phone, a small, rectangular, almost dissonantly modern thing which escaped him during their fight.

“When’d you get it?” Ode’go asks, his voice just above a whisper.

“When you two were having your bromance.”

In response, Ode’go smirks, laughing quietly in the process.

“You weren’t doing it intentionally, right?” I ask, genuinely curious.

He shakes his head. “Nope, just felt like expressing my respect, that’s all.”

“Good thing you did,” I utter, checking the phone for any passwords, only to find none whatsoever. “This phone’s probably our chance at getting the information we need”. Amidst our conversation, we find ourselves moved to the bench in the corner of the room, eyes set on the phone’s screen. “Let’s see.”

I check the messaging history on the phone. Immediately, a familiar name comes to.

‘Lucius Mortius’.

Harux’s latest contact. There’s no guarantee he’s necessarily the one behind it all, but we choose to check anyway, clicking away at his name. Reading through the texts, we quickly spot an interesting exchange of dialogue, conveniently without much in the way of searching.

Lucius [12/03/4020] 14:56: ‘So, did you manage to ask Yon?’

Harux [12/03/4020] 14:59 ‘Uh huh, Supreme Master Lucius’.

Lucius [12/03/4020] 15:00: ‘Good, then all is well’.

Not enough. We scroll further beyond, going through dozens of messages in some vain pursuit of legitimacy.

Lucius [11/03/4020] 11:13: ‘Damn, morgana’s such a bitch’.

Harux [11/03/4020] 11:21 ‘Huh’.

I flinch, an eyebrow raised in mild frustration.

“Asshole.”

Making a mental note to reprimand Lucius down the line, I then continue scrolling once more. Though the results have been lukewarm and, in some sense, unnecessary, with what we’ve already gathered, it stands to reason that there isn’t really anything to lose. That and, well, if it weren’t for the message slandering me, I’d probably be a little less inclined.

Selfish as it is, with me judging someone’s private messages and all, I’d say it stands to reason that anyone else in my position would do the same! I mean, who doesn’t want to know what someone else thinks of them?

Lucius [10/03/4020] 14:53: ‘Did the deliveries go through?’

Harux [10/03/4020] 14:58 ‘Indeed, almighty reverend Lucius.’

Lucius [11/03/4020] 14:59: ‘Good. You have done well as my assistant; as a reward, I shall give you my bananas…’

“This should be enough.” Ode’go lets out in a half-questioning tone, breaking into a smile as he struts about the place, humming to himself in a tone not so disimilar. With a wink, I both return the smile, and reply with a more then eager nod. Concurring with my agreement, Ode’go takes out his phone, and, speaking into its microphone, sends a voice message Ceylica’s way. Less than three breaths later, the catboy receives a reply—an exuberant, larger-than-life cartoon sticker of a man with a demon mask giving a thumbs up and a voice message that sounds a loud ‘KERETLEK’ (meaning I love you in Crilandese).

Ode’go’s cat ears twitch, “Let’s get the show on the road, shall we?” he says, then proceeding to call out a quick “Hey.” to the nearby medics, makes for the exit.