After hearing the news of another Chosen coming, Ethan had barely stopped himself from running to the Palace. He’d heard enough from passersby to know the Arinae royals weren’t expected for another day or two, but he was infected by the manic energy of the locals, as everyone seemed to be moving around at double speed, preparing in any number of ways.

Given the excitement, it was all the more disappointing when he'd been turned away at the palace gates. A knight he didn’t recognize had been told to expect Ethan, and had informed him–in an unpleasant tone–that someone would ‘likely’ come by to ‘collect him’ tomorrow. Ethan had no choice but to turn back, deciding to get some early rest after his few days away.

He grabbed some extra food and drink from the merchants on his way home, and ate it while walking. Once inside his small room, he only took the time to dramatically cross out the terrorvermis from his planning wall before collapsing into bed. His body ached from a dozen injuries, and he was glad for the much-needed time to heal. As he closed his eyes, he saw Tomo’s small form, standing vigil.

Ethan spent the next day waiting to be ‘collected’. His body was feeling much better, but he held back on the physical training, instead beginning more intentional work on control of his spirit in the Astral. Apparently discipline was the single greatest factor, as his Astral presence would always fundamentally be a representation of himself.

By the time the sun was setting, Ethan was growing irritated. He didn’t like being so kept in the dark. This was doubly true now, as he suspected another Chosen would be exactly the kind of incredibly rare person who could see his Bonds. In a foul, impatient mood, he found himself leaping to investigate when he heard a commotion outside.

People were once again moving quickly through the streets, and Ethan followed the general flow to the market, his curiosity rising. He found himself being unintentionally folded into another crowd, and was preparing to get the hell out of there–having no interest in witnessing anymore Church atrocities–when two dozen knights came walking toward the square from the direction of the palace.

They were organized into files, with an elaborate carriage of gold and green in the center of them. Having spent time as a guest of the royal family, Ethan recognized the colors as indicating at least one of the royals was inside. He was about to pester a neighbor for details when the front ranks of the procession broke away.

Several knights jogged forward, pushing people back and calling out orders. “Make way for the king!” one shouted with a loud, feminine voice. “Clear a path to the Arena!” Ethan was once again caught up in a small wave of people shuffling and forming into a semi-organized group, and gritted his teeth at the uncomfortable familiarity.

Like everyone else, he watched the carriage make its way through the square, the knights forming a living barrier against the crowd. Once it had passed, he saw a large group of more plainly dressed people struggling to keep up. They were a collection of servants, handlers, and cooks; everything the royals would need to keep the royal family happy in the arena.

Walking amongst them was an unexpected figure. Dressed in plain clothes, arm strapped to his chest as always, was Valanor. Ethan hadn’t seen the man in the weeks since his recovery, and wasn’t sure what the right social etiquette was given their extremely specific relationship. He wasn’t surprised, however, when the man turned and looked directly at him.

Valanor’s face was impassive, showing none of the fury he’d demonstrated on their Hunt, nor the melancholy he’d expressed while drunk. He simply stood, and stared for a long moment, before giving the tiniest nod of his head, indicating the direction the royal procession had gone. Ethan took the cue, squeezing through the crowd to join the knight, and falling into step beside him.

At first neither spoke, there was both far too much to say, and nothing at all if you looked at the situation differently. Ethan was struck, though, by the odd familiarity he felt walking next to the man. Despite the danger the Dusk rank warrior represented, you felt safe when he was around. He was like a large, angry wall you wanted to shelter behind.

“What is all this?” Ethan asked after a time.

“Prince Calevaro must demonstrate his new Bond in the arena, before our guests arrive. The populace must see their Chosen.” Ethan nodded, not sure what to say to that. He did need to see the prince in action, so he continued alongside the knight.

They walked in silence for half of the ten minute journey. The sun was setting, and Ethan became distracted by the many colored magical lights decorating the arena, looking almost like spotlights created from massive flaming cauldrons. When Valanor finally did speak, Ethan almost didn’t notice.

“So what are you?” the man asked abruptly. Ethan looked over. The knight had stopped shaving his head, and some silver was coming in with the black. How old is he really? Ethan wondered, thinking back to what Tomo had explained about Bonds stretching out lifespans.

Ethan resisted the hundreds of jokes warring in his mind, resolving to change their dynamic if he could. “You mean my class?” He couldn’t help but let out a sigh. Even after using his new abilities, saying it out loud still felt off somehow. “Apparently, I’m an Assassin.”

Valanor didn’t respond right away, looking deep in thought. Finally he spoke, still in a neutral tone. “Not many of those in Viridus, probably the wrong Bonds for them. I knew a couple though, over the years.”

“Really?” Ethan asked, genuinely excited.

Valanor’s face fell slightly. “Knew, a couple,” he repeated. “Difficult class.”

Thank you Valanor, I’ve missed your pep talks. “I guess I can see that,” Ethan agreed. “I can do a ton of damage at the start of a fight, then I kind of…flounder for a while. Desperately trying to stay ahead, and stay alive, until I get a chance to use another heavy hit.”

Valanor grunted a small laugh. “That’s the way it is when you don’t have all your abilities yet. You just need the right ones to round yourself out. I was the same. Two defensive Familiars, I couldn’t kill a damn thing.”

“So it gets better?” he asked. The knight gave a noncommittal shrug, and Ethan ventured a better question. “If it’s not a sore subject, how did your other Assassins make it work?”

“Neither did, not entirely at least. Problem with Assassins is they have big strengths and big weaknesses. You lean too hard into the strengths, and sure, you can take down half the monster’s in the kingdom in one good strike. But the other half will kill you a second later.”

Ethan made a face. It was possible that he’d pictured himself one-shotting every monster he came across some day, and hearing how that path ended was sobering. “What’s the alternative?” he asked.

“Other way isn’t as dangerous. You try to shore up your weaknesses every way you can. Focus on abilities that keep you alive,” Valanor replied.

“There’s a ‘but’ coming.”

“But, then you give up the true power of the class. At that point you’re just a mediocre warrior,” he gave Ethan a serious look. “Mediocre warriors die all the same, just in different battles.”

“So what’s the right move?” Ethan asked, struggling to hold in his bitterness. Anyone else he’d think was purposefully trying to discourage him, but Valanor’s brand of spite was far more direct than that.

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“Finding a team is a good bet for any Hunter. People to watch your back,” he looked at Ethan with a small smile, “or people to hide behind. But if you’re trying to be exceptional, the only real path is strategic cycling.”

“Cycling again, Glenn mentioned that. At first I thought it was just swapping affinities, but there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

They were almost inside the arena by that point, slowly following behind the small crowd of palace support staff. Valanor didn’t answer right away, though he appeared to be thinking. “You’ll get a proper education in cycling tonight,” he said. “The prince knows his craft well.”

They were soon walking through the massive stone entryway that led inside the arena. Valanor quickly broke away from the royal carriage, taking a set of stairs that led to the lowest level of the stands. Ethan stayed with him, and they sat together, looking across the vast circle of sand as it waited for battle.

People began funneling in minutes later; clearly word of the prince’s imminent battle had gotten around. Ethan and the knight sat in silence that wasn’t entirely uncomfortable, waiting for the battle to begin. It ended up taking over half an hour, which was apparently considered quick, and people were still trickling into the stands when the announcer came out.

This time it appeared to be some kind of royal cryer, as he was dressed in the livery of the palace. “Welcome, to all citizens of Viridus!” he called out, magic amplifying his voice. “Tonight we are honored to host an extraordinary event, as the Peoples’ Chosen has finally returned from the Great Hunt!” The crowd erupted in furious cheers, slapping the stone benches to add to the volume.

The announcer gave the crowd a few moments to celebrate, gesturing to a covered section of the stands where the royals were sitting in far more comfortable accommodations. When the noise had died down, the announcer continued. “Tonight we will see our brave prince demonstrate the mighty abilities of Flagras, against a uniquely dangerous enemy. I bring you…Santaurus!”

As Ethan had seen once before, a large gap in the sandy floor opened up like a drawbridge, and a massive monster charged out. It was even bigger than the lutumstrider Ethan had faced with Glenn, and had to be bordering on Dusk rank. It had the general appearance of a bull, with oversized black horns and similar bulky musculature.

It was different, however, in that its flesh was scaled, like a reptile, and it was clearly of the Earth Affinity. It was continually stomping its broad, camel-like hooves while flicking its tail in anger and irritation, and small dervishes of swirling sand would appear and drift outward. Only the enormous chains clamped onto its horns held it in place.

“Is a sand monster an intentional message to Arinae?” Ethan asked, remembering their upcoming visitors were from a desert kingdom.

“Well spotted,” Valanor replied, leaning forward against the stone rail that separated the stands from the fighting pit.

“And now, good citizens, please welcome your new Chosen, Prince Calevaro!” Again the crowd exploded in cheers. The announcer was dashing out of the arena as the prince walked in. The young warrior was wearing the same deep purple armor he’d worn each time Ethan had seen him, with his twin longswords already drawn.

If the prince was concerned by the prospect of fighting a magic bull the size of an elephant, he didn’t show it, merely squaring off with the creature. He was standing with one sword pointed forward, and another balanced horizontally behind him, his knees slightly bent as he prepared for the battle ahead of him. Valanor smiled at the sight, then leaned in so Ethan could hear him over the crowd.

“Cycling. Yes, it’s about moving from one Bond to the next, allowing each Familiar to rest, and your mana to renew, but that’s just the basics. Watch the first move.” As if on queue, the Prince’s blades burst alight, electricity flowing down their lengths. He shot forward like a spear, while simultaneously the chains fell from the santaurus.

“An opener,” Valanor declared, and the prince’s blade lanced into the monster's side, causing it to rear back in pain. Calevaro continued his attack, appearing to spin in a whirl of blades, his attacks striking faster and faster. “A self-enhancement,” Valanor said.

“That ability speeds up his attacks, and will continue for a time even as he cycles.” The massive bull slammed back down into the ground, turning its recovery into an offense. The arena shook with the impact, and a blast of sand erupted outward. However, it didn’t touch the prince.

“That’s a closer,” Valanor said, his smile wider. The prince was more than a dozen feet in the air, having jumped above the counterattack. His blades were pointed downward and glowing dangerously, and Ethan recognized the attack he’d seen used against Flagras. Calevaro struck down like a bolt of lightning, his swords digging into the creature’s back as electricity raced across it like wildfire.

“That’s a transition point,” the knight said. “There are different types for each class, depending on the optimal way to use your powers. The Prince is a Skirmisher, someone who likes to move rapidly around the battlefield, dealing consistent damage between disabling the enemy.”

At first Ethan couldn’t even tell that the prince had cycled, as he rapidly slashed at the santaurus, electricity still dancing on his blades. But then he used another attack, moving around the beast at incredible speed as it tried to stomp on him with its massive feet. When Calevaro maneuvered behind it, he sliced out with both blades in a cross pattern, leaving thin wounds on the backs of the creature’s hind legs.

“Debilitation,” the shield knight said with pride. Sure enough, the bull had slowed, and looked almost pitiable as it struggled to spin in place and catch the rapid warrior. It managed to bend in just the right way at just the right moment, one of its enormous horns catching the prince by surprise, and sending him soaring across the arena.

Valanor shot to his feet, concern on his face, but Calevaro was up in an instant. His clearly expensive armor showed its value. Air began to visibly encircle the prince, while he remained where the bull had thrown him. The monster began to charge, its enormously muscled limbs still more than capable of building up momentum as it raced toward its prey.

When it had eaten half the distance, the prince shot forward as well, wind seeming to push him from behind. When they were only about twenty feet apart, he leapt into the air, blades slashing downward from above. They bit into the two horns, though they got lodged only a fraction of the way through.

“YES!” Valanor roared, then sat back down, grinning.

“Closer?” Ethan supplied, and the shield knight laughed, nodding. The bull was bucking now, as the prince struggled to hold on, but something else was clearly happening. “What’s he doing?” Ethan asked, surprised by the change in tactics. Calevaro had thus far relied on evasion to survive, and hanging from an enraged bull’s horns seemed like a sure path to death.

“Just watch,” Valanor replied, though his face showed some concern. Trying to look more closely at the figures flying back and forth across the arena, Ethan finally realized the man’s swords were glowing again, but they were red. Suddenly the bull came to a stop, letting out a pained roar. Lava was dripping down from the prince’s blades, falling onto the beast’s face.

He leapt off suddenly, landing gracefully some distance away, and the santauros’ immense horns fell to the ground a moment later. The lava had hardened, but its job was done, as the beast had clearly been dramatically weakened. Lightning flared to life on the prince’s blades once more, and again he rushed forward.

“It won’t be long now,” Valanor said, leaning back and letting out a sigh. “Did you get a good look? That’s what you’re striving for. That’s how true Hunters fight. You flow from Bond to Bond, each attack setting you up for the next.”

Ethan continued to watch, trying not to be too intimidated by the prospect of impersonating this man. “Isn’t that a bit limiting?” he asked. “I didn’t think it would come down to just a rotation.”

Valanor grunted. “You’ll have four abilities from each Bond, as well as four from your Soul Rune. Not to mention what you’ll gain from equipment, and your Familiar’s attacks. It’s not a rotation, it’s setting yourself up so that you can flow from moment to moment in a battle, using your judgment to determine the best action. You need to know the right abilities for each situation, and be thinking many moves in advance.”

Ethan considered those words as he watched the prince. Calevaro was always where he needed to be. His last move would invariably set up the next one, and they would even be chosen to counter or avoid the monster’s attacks. Valanor was right that the prince didn’t follow a set rotation, instead he always seemed to know exactly what to do next, and did it all while cycling through his bonds.

“I’m a long way from that,” Ethan said simply.

Valanor looked at him with open surprise. “You are,” he agreed.

“But I’ll get there,” Ethan said with a grin.

Valanor turned to look back at the battle, where the prince was obviously winning. He was quiet for a long moment, then stood up abruptly. “Come on,” he said to Ethan.

“What? Where?” Ethan asked, still trying to take in as much of the fight as he could.

“Hunter’s Guild. You’re buying me a drink to celebrate Prince Calevaro’s victory.”