There are two kinds of great fighters. Those who love fighting. And those who despise it.

- An old saying of the Daishinrin Masters

“And you’re absolutely sure that’s the guy you talked to?” Miles asked for the third time.

“Yes!” Raziel hissed in annoyance. Up on the stage, a young dwarf with a patchy beard was levitating stones the size of his head and throwing them at one of Baromah’s students. The student, a younger elf, dodged the attacks with no trouble at all. Ichiro stood in a far corner of the stage watching carefully, unlike most of the crowd. The displays from most of the prospective students hadn’t been very impressive and this was turning out to be no different.

“I don’t know if you want to take advice from that guy,” Keira said with a grimace in Hiro’s direction. Hiro was actively ignoring the fight, focused more on his dumplings. He licked his fingers after each and then wiped his hand on his ornate robe.

“You said that it was a good plan,” Raziel said. “You wanted to help me with it.”

“That was before I saw where it came from.”

“It came from one of the eight grand masters of the daiwhatsits. That’s good enough for me.”

Keira looked from Raziel to Hiro and back again.

“Maybe he is the right master for you.”

Raziel rolled his eyes. Back on the stage, the dwarf was letting the rocks sink back to the stage, one by one. He was covered in sweat, clearly trying, and just as clearly failing, to control the tremors running through his body. The dwarf had pushed himself right up to the brink with what he could do. Now all that remained was to stop or go over the edge.

Raziel understood how he must feel. None of those rocks were incredibly heavy on their own but lifting all of them at once would be a significant strain. Using them to attack someone was undoubtably impressive to people who’d never been in a real fight with magic. But the student he’d been attacking hadn’t been touched and wasn’t even sweating. The dwarf’s display just hadn’t accomplished much. The student was looking from the dwarf to Ichiro, clearly wondering who would stop the fight first.

The dwarf stood there huffing and puffing. For a moment it seemed he might rally and continue but when he took a step forward his legs wavered and he nearly fell. After regaining his balance he gave Ichiro a nod to signal he was done. The crowd was mostly silent but a few people clapped. The dwarf looked more embarrassed than encouraged by the scattered, polite applause.

Up on the pavilion, Baromah turned first to Mori and then to Hiro. The three of them spoke briefly to one another. Mori’s disinterest was evident but Hiro hadn’t even watched. He’d become engrossed with a dragonfly that had landed on the foot he rested on the arm of his chair.

Now that Raziel was seated he had a better view of the three masters than he had from the top of the arena. Master Baromah looked like a living tree. His skin was bark, his beard a tangle of wiry roots, bound into order with a metal cylinder at the base. His eyes and mouth were filled with swirling orange light as though he were filled with living fire.

Master Mori, seated to Baromah’s right, was an elf like Master Hiro. Baromah was literally wooden but Mori could have been carved from stone. His ink-black hair was pulled back in a small tail so tight that it seemed like he was wearing a black cap. His hollow cheeks and deep-set eyes gave him a skull-like aspect. When he spoke he didn’t turn his head so much as a millimeter in the Baromah’s direction. He kept his gaze forward and Raziel felt sorry for the dwarf squirming under his eye.

Hiro meanwhile just looked bored and hadn’t even been watching the presentation. Anyone would’ve looked more human next to Mori’s grim visage but between his often broken nose, fuller features, and general behavior, he just didn’t look like a master should. When Baromah turned to speak to him he only said a few words and idly waved a piece of fried dough like he was warding off a fly. Ichiro waited nearby with his head bowed as they spoke. After Hiro waved Baromah off, the gholam master spoke briefly to Ichiro.

Ichiro returned to the center of the stage near the dwarf. As he did, the dwarf straightened and bowed to Ichiro much as Ichiro had to the masters. Ichiro did not return the gesture. His face did not look unkind as he spoke but there was no mercy there either.

“The masters invite you to return for the next test.”

The dwarf bowed again but he did not have enough beard to conceal the way the muscles in his wide jaw clenched at the words. He gathered his stones, letting them float in the air and drift behind him like a mother duck leading her young. The effort of doing so was turning the dwarf’s face purple but he refused an offer of help from the student he’d been fighting. Raziel felt his stomach drop just a little as the dwarf left.

He bit his lip and glanced in Miles’ direction. There he saw his own worries mirrored. So Raziel put on a smile and leaned around Roland to tell Miles,

“You’ll have a better plan than throwing some rocks at your opponent.”

Miles returned the smile as best he could. It made Raziel hope that his own smile wasn’t so obviously forced.

“I probably wouldn’t have gotten them up in the first place,” Miles said. His tone aimed for self-deprecating but it felt too honest to be a joke.

“Which is why you won’t be lifting stones,” Roland said. Miles opened his mouth to answer that but shrugged and conceded the point instead. Raziel waited, hoping Roland would say something to him as well but no reassurance came. Maybe he’d hidden his need for it too well.

Up on the stage, Ichiro called student after student. Every student bowed to the masters and tried to show off their skills. The first three that followed the dwarf didn’t even get the kindness of being asked to return for the next test. Ichiro instead told them that none of the masters had space for them at this time. Somehow, the idea of a gradation of failure had never occurred to Raziel and as potential student after potential student was rejected, his insecurity grew, until it felt like a glass that was full to the top and might spill over with just one more drop. Raziel hated it.

More than a dozen hopefuls failed before a tall, willowy elf girl took the stage and Raziel instantly knew she had what the others lacked. As a human boy in Mori’s red and black took the stage, Raziel wondered why there were none of Hiro’s blue and white students besides Ichiro. The girl and the boy bowed first to the masters, then to Ichiro, and then to one another. Ichiro raised a hand in the air, looked from one to the other, and then, sliced his hand down between them with a shout.

The pair moved with speed that once would have shocked Raziel. But now he’d seen people who were faster and moved with deadly purpose rather than for exhibition. Raziel was able to follow the fight just enough to see that the girl was hopelessly outclassed. Mori’s student wasn’t moving faster than her. He was intentionally matching her. Raziel had heard poetic descriptions of fights that looked like dances and even seen some that seemed to match that but never to this degree. The girl was leading the dance, her opponent responding, not with the intent to harm her but to push her. And through the entire fight, though some vicious blows fell on her and though she never landed a solid strike of her own, she never wavered. Instead, when she was pushed, she pushed back, straining with everything she had to show everything she was.

When the Ichiro called for the fight to stop Raziel was certain what he’d hear from the masters. And he knew the reason that he was certain, was that she was certain. That was the real difference between her and those who’d come before. In her mind, the entire fight had been a formality, a foregone conclusion.

And she was correct. When Ichiro went to speak with the masters Baromah and Mori barely said a word before nodding to him. An enthusiastic cheer rose from the crowd but Ichiro hesitated, looking to his own master. Though there wasn’t an iota of change in Ichiro’s expression, Raziel still felt that there might be something hopeful there. Hiro didn’t seem to notice any of it however as he was busy digging at the corner of his eye with a finger and flicking away whatever he found there.

Ichiro bowed and returned to the girl. As he did, two students near the stage broke away from their fellows and came to stand on either side of him. One wore red and the other green and both held a folded vest in their school’s colors.

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“Masters Baromah and Mori have both decided to extend you an offer to become a part of their schools.”

The girl couldn’t hide her ecstatic grin as she bowed to him and then without hesitation took the green vest. The student in green left the stage with her while the student in red returned to his place among his fellows around the stage. Raziel couldn’t be sure from so far away but he thought he saw a spark of annoyance on master Mori’s harsh face.

More students came and fought. For every ten or so, one might receive an offer. There didn’t seem to be any obvious pattern in who earned the masters’ favor. The more Raziel watched the surer he became of what he’d seen with the first girl who’d been accepted. It was that sense of belief in their own abilities that seemed to garner the masters' attention.

As far as Raziel was concerned, Keira and Roland were absolutely going to be offered a place in a school, if not both schools. Keira had the kind of force of personality it took to win an argument with a brick wall. Roland on the other hand could probably walk straight through that brick wall like it was a spider’s web. Raziel couldn’t see how that would be possible without the kind of conviction the masters were looking for.

Hoeru… Hoeru was Hoeru. Raziel knew he’d find a way to get in if that was what he wanted. He just wasn’t sure that was what Hoeru actually did want.

Miles was in the worst position of all of them. There were many words to describe Miles. He was brilliant, thoughtful, and dedicated to learning in a way that Raziel could barely believe, let alone understand. But self-confidence was not among those admirable traits. Even as they sat there, Raziel could practically hear the panicked monologue running through Miles' head at every moment, desperate for something to grasp onto, to give him what he would need to succeed here.

But all his thoughts about his friend’s chances were just a way for Raziel to distract himself and he knew it. Over and over again he had to consciously slow his breathing, unclench his jaw and pull his hands apart from their white knuckle grip on one another. Not even the exhibitions onstage, a sight that normally would have had him fixated, could stem the tide of sharp, grey thoughts from pouring through Raziel’s mind.

If you fail, I’ll leave you behind.

“Roland Thorn. Please make your way to the arena,” Ichiro called. Raziel’s head jerked up and he realized he’d been staring at the ground through the last match. Maybe the last several matches.

Roland got up and the attention of the entire crowd shifted to him. Raziel couldn’t blame them. Roland was the type of person you couldn’t avoid noticing once he started moving. After you got to know him it was different but to everyone else in the arena, it must’ve been like a boulder suddenly standing and taking the stage. Roland wasn’t just big. He had a presence. His near-constant silence and deliberate movements couldn’t hide what lurked within him; a force like gravity.

Whispering broke out across the amphitheater as Roland passed, and while Raziel knew Roland had to be hating it, a part of him couldn’t help but feel proud of his friend. He knew this must have been hard for him. Roland had never liked fighting but during the battle in Peritura and at Kusa’s fort he’d shown that he had natural ability in spades. And as much as Roland hated being the center of attention, Raziel knew that what he was about to ask would blow the embers of those scattered whispers around the arena to a wildfire.

As with every prospective student before him, Roland and Ichiro greeted one another with a bow. And then Roland asked.

“I want to challenge Master Mori’s student, Daichi Miyata.”

And just as Raziel had expected, the noise from the crowd rose like a wind gusting through trees. Raziel heard Daichi’s name and people talking about Mori’s deal. It made Raziel wonder why no one had challenged Daichi up to this point.

Ichiro allowed this for a moment but only a moment. The crowd was chattering so loud that there was no hope that he would be heard if he spoke. He did not try words. A senior student of the Daishinrin did not need to shout down a crowd.

There wasn’t a sound as Ichiro drew up his power. The sky did not rumble with distant thunder. But all the same every person in that crowd felt the energy of the arena shift as surely as they would sense a cloud passing in front of the sun, stealing their protection from autumn’s chill. Silence fell. Not quiet. Silence reigned in the crowd, leaving only the distant sound of the waterfall. There was not a single person whose attention was not drawn to and held by the elf on the stage.

And then Ichiro let the moment pass and the chill passed with it.

“Master Mori?” he asked. Mori gave Roland a considering look and for a moment Raziel thought the master would say no. But as he looked at Roland a hint of a smile appeared on Mori’s face. It was not a happy smile. It was the look a tiger would turn on a deer with a broken leg. He nodded and all eyes turned to the students seated near the stage.

One student stepped out of the line and moved to the stairs. He, like many of the students, had his vest’s hood up and Raziel couldn’t see his face. From what he could see Daichi wasn’t particularly tall, maybe even a little under average in height. His skin was tan and the muscles in his arms and legs stood out clearly but no more so than any other student’s. Standing so close to Roland would make almost anyone look small but in comparison, Daichi looked downright puny.

Raziel felt something like a stone dropping into his gut.

There was no way this guy would be able to avoid Roland’s attacks for long.

Once the two were facing one another, they bent at the waist. The motion looked stiff and unfamiliar to Roland. Daichi’s was respectful, nothing more. Raziel wished he could see the boy’s face, his eyes.

They bowed to the masters and faced one another once again. Ichiro stood between the pair and raised his hand in the air. Roland shifted his feet and brought his fists up to near his stomach. It wasn’t quite a guard but he looked ready. Daichi barely moved at all. His hands stayed at his sides but he spread his feet out to shoulder width, one foot just slightly ahead of the other.

Ichiro brought his hand down. The fight was on.

And neither of them moved.

Raziel hadn’t expected Roland to be aggressive. It wasn’t his style. But Roland was ostensibly here to show his skills. He needed to be the one to move, to fight. And still, he was frozen.

“Get on with it!” someone in the crowd shouted. A few people laughed. Raziel leaned forward willing something to happen. Roland needed to move.

“Fight!” another person yelled, followed quickly by someone else.

“If you’re not gonna do something, let someone else go!”

“You challenged him! What are you doing?”

More and more people yelling for Roland to do something, anything. Raziel didn’t know what Roland was waiting for, what was holding him back. Was it Roland’s natural reticence towards fighting? Roland’s eyes seemed locked on Daichi’s face. Was there something in Daichi’s eye’s stopping him?

The pressure built and built, the yelling grew louder and louder. Raziel wished Ichiro would quiet the crowd again but the older student didn’t move, his eyes locked on the space between Roland and Daichi. And then finally, Daichi moved.

It wasn’t much. Raziel nearly missed it. He just raised one hand a little and gave a little beckoning motion with his fingers. It seemed the permission Roland needed.

Roland stepped forward and raised his fists higher. His elbows tucked close to his chest and his fists in a tight guard near his face. He took a single step forward and it closed much of the gap between himself and Daichi. The crowd kept yelling for them to fight. Raziel’s breath caught in his chest, wanting to root for Roland and needing Daichi to beat his friend.

Roland exploded forward and swung at Daichi. Daichi stayed perfectly still, almost as if he hadn’t noticed Roland’s movement.

Roland’s attack passed through the space Daichi’s head seemed to occupy and yet nothing happened except a slight ruffling of the elf’s hood.

Roland looked from his hand to Daichi and back as if he wasn’t sure what exactly had happened. Daichi allowed this, standing statue still. But now he was clearly in Roland’s range, there could be no doubt about it and Roland fired off another attack.

Raziel just barely caught a glimpse of Daichi’s movement this time. He slid back with Roland’s punch so close it seemed Roland’s knuckles might’ve brushed the tip of his nose. Then, as Roland’s hand shot back, Daichi snapped back to the position he’d been in before the punch happened. A person could literally blink and miss it.

Confusion crossed Roland’s face. From so close, he had to be seeing Daichi’s initial movement with his punch as though it were connecting. But there was no impact and Daichi was still standing right where he had been.

Roland let out a grunt, one that meant something like, ‘huh, that’s interesting.’

Roland let loose with a volley of punches, one after the other, faster than Raziel had ever seen him move.

Roland’s strength was more than natural. Even the enhancement to physical strength and power that everyone gained through using magic was minuscule compared to what Roland was capable of. Because of that, Roland always moved slowly, carefully. He wasn’t fully in control of his strength and Raziel suspected he’d broken things more than once because of it.

On top of that, Roland hated fighting. Which made it particularly hard not to notice what a natural he was at it. His punches were swift, accurate, and smooth. Raziel knew that every single one could turn a boulder into rubble.

And he never once touched Daichi.

What Roland had in strength, Daichi had in speed and precision. As Raziel watched, the hope that had started to grow inside his chest with Hiro’s plan curdled. He wasn’t afraid that Roland would beat Daichi anymore. Raziel was sure that the he could move faster than Roland, at least for a little while. But could he move fast enough to catch someone who moved like that? With each of Roland’s missed punches, Basil’s voice poured ice into Raziel’s heart.

If you fail, I’ll leave you behind.

Roland threw punch after punch but he simply could not catch the smaller boy. Daichi only moved his feet to stay facing Roland. Beyond that, he simply stayed in place dodging and Roland might as well have been trying to punch the breeze for all the luck he was having.

So he stopped. Mid-combination Roland just paused and stood straight again. His massive shoulders were rising and falling with his heavy breathing but that was it. Raziel still didn’t have the right angle to see into Daichi’s hood but he could see Roland’s face. His friend was thinking. Daichi wasn’t attacking, so there was no reason for him not to.

Ichiro, standing a few feet away gave Roland a questioning look as if to ask, ‘are you done?”

Roland shook his head and returned his gaze to Daichi. Perhaps only thirty seconds passed but it seemed like an eternity to Raziel. The crowd had started to shout in annoyance again but Roland didn’t seem to notice. What was he planning?

Roland took up his stance again. Daichi remained motionless. Roland stepped in close and threw a looping overhand punch. Raziel had no idea what he was thinking. Anyone could have dodged an attack that obvious. Daichi just swayed back. But Roland wasn’t attacking Daichi.

Roland’s fist hit the ground and the entire stage trembled.