The intense fluorescent lights above the cage cast harsh shadows in the dimly lit warehouse. The dull roar of the surrounding crowd filled Zeirdin’s ears. The size of the crowd fluctuated over the past three hours since his arrival in the warehouse. He guessed it averaged at around two hundred. Zeirdin shifted his weight from one foot to another. He stood face-to-face in the cage with his final opponent of the day. Match number four. In front of him stood a youth around his own age. He wore ragged street clothes and a gray bandanna on his head that stopped around above his eyebrows.

Quil stepped up the stairs and into the cage. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the 16th match of the day! I am your host Quil. We have an exciting match coming up. Wearing the gray bandanna, we have Harkin! With a respectable combat score of 55, this will be his first match! Will he live up to the high bar for rookies his opponent has set for him?” Harkin scowled at Zeirdin. Zeirdin ignored the foul look he received, instead opting to blankly stare at a corner post of the cage. Grrrrrrrr. Zeirdin put a hand on his stomach. It had been nearly a day since he ate anything. Zeirdin tried to earn the favor of the crowd in his previous matches in an attempt to squeeze out more prize money. His efforts were rewarded by a 5% increase in winnings.

Quil waved his arms around enthusiastically, “Wearing no shirt or shoes, we have The Grot, Zeirdin! Some say he was raised by qelgs, others say he emerged from a cave one day. With a combat score of 70, this mysterious ill-tempered rookie has remained undefeated so far! Don’t get on his bad side!” Zeirdin rolled his eyes. He had no idea who made up his backstory and nickname already but they sucked.

“BEGIN!”

Harkin brought his hands up past his chin in the most decent guard Zeirdin had seen so far. “I don’t care how many times you’ve won, I’m going to break you, bitch,” Harkin spat. Zeirdin didn’t know what he’d done to get Harkin so riled up. Zeirdin covered his mouth with his hand as he yawned half on purpose. The crowd loved his poor sportsmanship and attitude, however, Zeirdin wasn’t planning to put on a show this time. He was hungry, tired, and desperately wanted to take a bath. He was covered in the dried blood of his opponents, and the already healed scabs on his knuckles were itchy. Zeirdin taunted Harkin with a few goofy faces, prompting the thug-like teen to charge him in anger.

Zeirdin had a dilemma. Did he want to completely humiliate his opponent by incapacitating him in one move? Harkin had decent fundamentals and such a defeat might cripple his development. Another thought crossed his mind. Why the fuck would I care? And so the decision was made, a warm meal, bath, and bed sooner. Harkin began his assault, sending a jab, cross, and hook at Zeirdin face. None connected. Zeirdin’s agile feet moved rapidly. Before Harkin could properly react, Zeirdin had lined up a nasty solar plexus uppercut.

Zeirdin knew that his natural muscle strength, even without lovac had reached the upper limit of what was humanly possible. It was probably a side effect of consuming mana-dense creatures and frequent intense lovac use. Not wanting to cripple the teen he used no mana. Zeirdin stepped diagonally and threw a precise uppercut. Instead of driving it further forward the way, he stopped his fist before it sunk in too far, snapping it like a whip. This let Harkin still absorb the energy of the blow in a controlled manner. The dull fleshy whack of Zeirdin’s fist against Harkin rang out. Simultaneously, Harkin quickly wheezed as all the air in his lungs was knocked out. He crumpled to the floor, clutching his chest as it heaved futilely. He wouldn’t be able to breathe for only a minute at most. Zeirdin knew from experience.

Harkin glared at Zeirdin from the ground, rage in his eyes. Only a small portion of the crowd cheered. These were the people present during his previous matches he guessed. They probably won a few dynats. Harkin struggled to get up but failed. After a count of 20, Zeirdin was deemed the winner.

“T-that was short,” Quil quickly regained his composure, “Anddd, our winner is Zeirdin!”

***

Only a few people walked on the side street. Fog hung low to the ground, hugging it like a blanket. The neon lights from the signs and buildings diffused beautifully within the vapor. Damp air clung to Zeirdin’s skin. He twiddled the chrome card in his hand as he walked. 63 dynats were his total winnings. While more than 50 was a lot in Lestag, dynats seemed to have less buying power in Tennia, which concerned him slightly. The cheap-looking shirt and jacket he bought cost 25 dynats. Zeirdin’s stomach growled. He needed to find dinner. Food carts were much less common in Tennia.

It was half past seven and the sky was just as dark as at noon. Zeirdin ventured further and further from the main road, avoiding large businesses. He was looking for somewhere that looked like served edible food. The hole in his stomach grew bigger which each step. Zeirdin felt empty and tired. He stopped in front of a blue house that was converted into a restaurant. It was two stories tall and had no metal pipes, wires, or anything of the sort covering it. The dim sign read “Away with December” in cursive yellow letters. Zeirdin was charmed. He walked up the steps and opened the door. Zeirdin was immediately greeted by a cozy atmosphere. There were no neon lights in sight; the room was primarily lit by the fireplace in the back and candles. Wooden benches were placed around the room, each with a candle and flower vase. The restaurant was almost empty, there were only three other people in the room. Zeirdin took a seat.

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“Welcome,” A middle-aged woman walked over to his table and set a menu down in front of him. She wore a kind expression with light brown skin and graying hair. “Just holler if you’re ready to order. I’ll be back to help you in a few,” She returned to the kitchen. Zeirdin looked over the menu and had trouble what to choose. Judging from the contents of the menu, which was primarily Heonli cuisine, the owner was probably from Southern Laurentia. His mouth watered at the items on the menu. The woman returned while Zeirdin was still entranced with the menu. His first warm meal had to be perfect, he decided.

“You ready to order?” She asked as he put down his menu.

“Uh, yeah.”

She pulled out a notepad from her apron, “What can I get for ya?”

“I’ll take the butter chicken special with a side of chicken stew, valley steak cooked medium well, two extra servings of purple rice, and a Hamali salad,” The woman furiously scribbled on her notepad, trying to keep up with his order.

“You must be very hungry,” She smiled. Zeirdin’s stomach growled loudly at the right time. “Today’s a slow night, I’ll be back with everything in 15, hon.” The next 15 minutes were the longest minutes of Zeirdin’s life. He could feel his stomach contorting and slowly shrinking inside of himself. Zeirdin distracted himself by staring into the candle flame in front of him. The small flame danced upon a tower of yellow wax, the slightest air current sending it into a frenzy. It was mesmerizing. The woman came back with large three plates and set them on his table before turning around, “Coming back with more.” Zeirdin’s mouth filled with saliva. Never before had food looked so appetizing. She quickly returned with the last two dishes.

“Thank you,” Zeirdin quickly said before digging into his food. The golden chicken and orange sauce gleamed in the firelight as he voraciously shoveled it into his mouth. He tried to savor every bite but his stomach demanded more. The tender chicken melted in his mouth with the sauce. Each bite was heaven. Nothing had ever tasted this good in Zeirdin’s life. After the butter chicken was gone he went for the Hamali salad. Exotic multi-colored leaves, nuts, and fruits were covered in a gentle savory sauce that harmonized with the vital tangy flavor of the salad. The large bowl of salad was empty in a minute. Next, he began gobbling up the chicken stew. Despite having the same primary ingredient as the butter chicken, the meat had a vastly different flavor. It was even creamier and he didn’t even have to chew. The soft potatoes, carrots, and other vegetables melted in his mouth. Now all that remained were the bowls of rice and steak. With each mouthful of purple rice, he took a bite of steak. The rich flavor of the steak blended perfectly with the spice that flavored the rice. Each plate was eaten clean. Zeirdin sighed as he patted his stomach in satisfaction.

“That would be 13 dynats,” Zeirdin was surprised. It was more than what a meal of this magnitude would cost in Lestag, but also less than he expected. “Yeah, sorry hon, prices of ingredients have been going up, thanks to the gangs.” Zeirdin fumbled around in his pant pocket for his chrome card before handing it to her. “Would you like to donate a dynat for the medical of a young woman? A random stranger saved my only daughter from the Ravers but got hurt badly,” The woman’s facial expression grew somber.

“I’ll donate two,” Zeirdin said mellowly.

“Bless your kind soul. Chrome reader’s in the back,” She said before turning around. “Poor Lumia girl, borrowed from the wrong kinda people,” She muttered. Zeirdin heard this and jerked his head. Did I hear that correctly?

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Zeirdin called out. “What’s the name of this girl?”

She turned around, “Ah, her name’s Lumia, you know her?” Zeirdin’s eyes widened for a second. Was he not going to be all alone on Floor 5 after all?

“Actually, I do. We traveled together a couple of floors back. Do you know where I could talk to her?” He asked.

“Give me a moment,” She went into the kitchen before coming back and handing him his chrome card. “Follow me,” She said, opening a door on the far wall. It revealed a stairwell and a hallway. “My name’s Rauli, what’s yours hon?”

“Zeirdin.”

“Well, Zeirdin, Lumia has been staying here with me and my daughter for the past month or so,” Rauli explained as they walked up the stairs. Each of their steps creaked. The stairs were dimly lit by candles that were attached to the walls. At the top of the stairs was another hallway with two doors on either side. Yellow light streamed out from under one into the dark hallway. Rauli knocked on the wooden door, “Lumia hon, a friend is here to see you,”

“Tell them to leave if they’re one of Lyra’s men, I still got two weeks,” A tired muffled voice called back through the door. It was undoubtedly Lumia’s voice.

“He says his name is Zeirdin,” Rauli replied. A brief silence followed.

“What? Come in.” The surprise was evident in her voice. Rauli opened the door and Zeirdin followed her in. The room was lit by a single bedside lamp. Clothes and equipment were scattered on the floor here and there. In the bed reading, a book sat a girl about Zeirdin’s age. She had silver-gray hair and deep blue eyes. Yep, that’s Lumia. The surprise on Zeirdin’s face exactly mirrored Lumia’s. Her hair was disheveled and she was a little pale, with dark circles under her eyes. The two stared at each other in disbelief.

“I’ll leave you two to catch up,” Rauli said kindly before making her leave. She closed the door behind her quietly.

Lumia broke the silence first, “What-how, are you alive?”