╚╩╩╩╝ Hazel ╚╩╩╩╝

All things considered, the first round was very lackluster. There were no big, outstanding battles and nothing of note happened aside from Malcolm’s flashy abilities catching people’s attention. Tomorrow, though, the battles would become much fiercer as most of the weaker fighters had been weeded out.

After the first round came to a close, I looked for Malcolm, but couldn’t find him. He looked concerned about something after our match, but it didn’t look like it was too big of a problem, so I let him be. Now, I regret not talking to him.

Leaving the coliseum, it was plain to see that the excitement hadn’t waned in the slightest. Everyone around chatted about who they had seen and who they were going to fight tomorrow. Looking over my revised bracket, I couldn’t help but agree with their sentiments. There were going to be more than one fight per bracket with notable fighters.

In fact, I was set to fight someone who had done very well today. It would no doubt be a difficult battle, but I was confident in my abilities.

The sun neared the horizon as I walked back to my apartment. I had one stop before I went home, though.

For a little under a year, I’ve had this constant itch to fight. I kept it down for so long, but the urge never went away, growing stronger as the days passed. Then, a little more than a month ago, I decided to scratch that itch. Close to the women’s dorms sat a small building. Inside this building were a dozen small rooms with a hanging bag full of sand.

Day after day, without fail I would visit this room and work my body until I was either drenched in sweat or so tired that I couldn’t hit the bag again. It was more than freeing. In these minutes when I let loose, a weight was ripped off of me.

Seeing me step through the door, the old man who maintained the building greeted me with a smile as he tossed a bundle of gauze through the air. Catching it with ease, I thanked him while wrapping the gauze around my fists. The first time I’d done this, I didn’t know about the wrapping and my knuckles split open.

Entering the first room I saw, I stared at the sandbag and furrowed my brow, my mood turning sour. In my eyes, what hung in front of me was not a sandbag, it was my father.

“You stupid- hic brat.” He growled in a drunken stupor. “Why didn’t you- hic stay where I told you!”

My breath caught in my throat. I could feel panic slipping into my mind steadily. I was a little girl again, standing alone in our home, starving, cold and bitter. Death stole my mother, then the tavern stole my father. Every day he would come home, drunk enough that he could barely get through the door.

“You’re just like your mom.” He slurred. “You always leave… Just stay where I put you!”

He would enter a drunken rage whenever he found out that I left our home. I would have listened, but I had no choice to. I would have died from starvation if I didn’t leave. I worked for a tailor and helped spin wool and flax for them. Most of what I made was spent on the meager food that my father and I ate, and then he would take the rest and spend it at the tavern.

“If I didn’t leave, then we both would have died!” I shouted at him. “You never cared!”

I ran forward and slammed my fist into the sandbag, watching it rock back and forth just like dad did stumbling home.

“Then you left me, just like your mother.” The phantom grimaced. “Just like her. You’re just like her. Just like the stupid woman.”

“I’m not stupid!” I roared, letting loose as I pounded the sandbag repeatedly. It took an enormous amount of self-control to not let my aura out. Emora frequently warned against letting my emotions control me. These frequent outbursts helped me control. “I’ve worked so hard! They say I’m smart. That I have so much potential.” I stopped swinging, my chest heaving as I sucked in air. “I have people who care about me now. I have someone special.” I paused, frowning. “Mom always told me about love. But I can’t see how she could have loved someone like you.”

After going long enough that I could barely feel my arms, I stopped. I’d shouted and screamed at the sandbag until my throat hurt. Thankfully, the walls were thick, and nobody really came here at this time of day. Tipping my head to look up at the ceiling, I sighed and lifted my hands up to my face, wiping away the tears that had stained my face.

I needed a nice, cold shower.

Leaving the room, I quickly unwrapped my hands and tossed the gauze back to the old man. My knuckles hadn’t split, but they were bruised purple. The old man nodded to me just as I left.

The sun had set beneath the horizon, leaving the campus only the light of the moon. High in the sky, it sat full and looming, alone in the darkness like a white spot on a black canvas.

Staring at the bright moon, I started to cry again.

I want so much, but I can’t get any of it. No matter what I do, I just can’t.

Sobering myself, I trudged to the women’s dorm and went to my dorm.

Harper, my roommate, was in the living area reading something. Seeing me enter, she quickly set her book down and sped into her room. Not wanting to bother with anything else, I marched into the bath.

Starting with a cold shower, I let the water run over me, trying to wash the depression away. To help, I kept lying to myself, saying that it didn’t matter who I was, or where I came from. It helped, but the darkness still loomed in the back of my mind. Changing the temperature to warm, I filled the tub and let myself relax.

Raising my hands to my face, I examined the splotchy bruises covering my knuckles. They had become quite tender in the short time since I had let them rest.

Closing my eyes, I took a slow, deep breath and activated my aura. The indigo color wrapped around my body, coloring the water and hardly illuminating the dark bathroom. Then, I focused and pulled at something with my mind. Eventually, a stream of red started flowing inside of the indigo of my aura. This stream ran up one arm and wrapped around my hand, covering the bruised area. Through the transparent light, I watched as the bruises began to fade. Then, after the bruises had healed completely, the red strand rushed over to my other hand, repeating the process before it retreated back to where I had pulled it from.

This string of red aura was special. It could heal wounds and ease pain, though the process was slow and subtle. It was helpful in many, many ways. I wasn’t sure where it came from, but the benefits outweighed any risk.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

My head lolling against the side of the tub, I groaned and unstopped the top. The tub was very comfortable, but sleeping in it would not do good things.

Drying off, I wrapped my hair in a towel and dressed myself before collapsing into bed, almost instantly falling asleep. Before finally drifting off, an image rushed into the forefront of my mind. It was a couple nights ago, when I left the ceremony with Malcolm. Standing casually, his reddening hair tied sloppily into a tail, his eyes like blue gemstones shining in the light of the moon. It made my heart race then, and it continued to do so every time I remembered it.

“I’m hopeless, aren’t I?” I mumbled to myself.

I was then inside my mindscape. It was the usual grassy field surrounding a picnic table. Dropping into one of the chairs round the picnic table, I set my head on the table’s cool surface and sighed.

“Hopeless is not the word I would use.” Emora spoke with a chuckle. “For the other, however, the word is apt.”

“He still isn’t doing anything?” I asked, lifting my head to look at them.

Emora sat opposite my seat, sipping on some imaginary drink from an imaginary glass. They had fiery hair that shifted from bright red to pink very slowly and eyes to match its color. I had tried to determine whether they were a man or a woman, but so far I hadn’t been able to figure it out. Everything about them said man and woman at the same time, which was very confusing at first.

“He remains just as stubborn and determined to ignore my words.” Emora spoke, straight-faced. The being was hesitant to allow any emotion show when first we met. Now, however, they were more comfortable, saying that I had enough control that the mindscape no longer relied on them for it to stay formed.

“And there’s nothing I can do to help?” I asked for the umpteenth time.

“If the full force of my power is to be yours, then you both need to accept it of your own volition. If you help him, then it will hinder him.” Emora repeated the familiar explanation.

“It’s just so frustrating.” I grumbled.

“Frustration is normal.” They stated. “These emotions are being amplified by my powers. It will become easier to control as you grow, though it will also increase in strength.”

“I understand.”

“On that note, how has your practice with my powers progressed?” They asked, digging into some imaginary veal.

“Pretty well. I can control it, though it takes some time to pull it out. I honestly wish there was more for me to use.” I answered, staring hungrily at the fake meat.

“More power will become available as you grow, and also when the other accepts. My power for you is being limited by his unwillingness.”

I sighed, wishing that Malcolm wouldn’t be so stubborn, but the thought of him, just like every time before, brought out that memory of him the night of the ceremony. Feeling the heat in my face, I hid my head and groaned.

“He will accept my power eventually. The boy is simply being cautious.” Emora explained. “Caution is a good trait to have. A trait that you share with him. He, however, is far less trusting than you.”

“I get it. I need to be patient.” I mumbled, still trying to hide my embarrassment.

“You also need to have more confidence. Nothing good can come from telling yourself that you are less than you.”

It felt like I was being lectured by my mom again. The memories were faded and distant, but the feeling was still there. It felt nice.

The rest of the night passed as I went over all of the notes I had taken for the fights. If I could find him tomorrow, then I would have to share them with Malcolm.

Morning came, and I unwrapped the towel from my head and tossed it in the laundry basket and got dressed. I couldn’t quite place why, but today felt great.

One aspect of the red strand that Emora had told me about seemed a little odd. Summoning my aura and pulling out the red strand, I ran it up into my hair and felt it move quickly, untangling any knots or snags. With it done, I ran a brush through my hair just a couple times before I was done. People often asked me how I kept my hair looking so nice, but there was no way I could tell them how. Something about the red strand kept my hair looking better than the girls who would spend great amounts of money and time trying to accomplish the same thing.

Finished, I left my room and spotted Harper sneaking out the front door. After our confrontation those weeks ago, she could hardly be in the same room as me. It felt like watching a mouse scurry away after catching sight of a predator.

Giving her some time to distance the two of us, I left.

Today’s lessons went by incredibly fast. Both teachers’ and students’ minds were preoccupied with the tourney to focus during class. Some of the teachers had even joined in on the early betting. One bet that I overheard happened to be on my match. Nobody bet on me winning.

I didn’t let this sour my mood, though. I went through the rest of day with a smile.

The time for the tourney soon arrived and I spotted Malcolm just as he left the other dressing room.

I rushed over to him and tapped on his shoulder. The boy quickly turned, startled, but relaxed when he saw that it was me. The knowledge that he could relax around me made my heart flutter, but I pushed those thoughts aside and pulled out my notebook and flipped to the page that had info on his opponent. His opponent was named Rita. She was a girl a year older than me, so nearly two years older than Mal. She had an indigo aura and was a Warrior.

“Thanks for the info, I’ll be careful.” He smiled after I finished reading the info to him, including what I could gather from her previous fight.

My heart fluttered again, watching him walk away. Then I turned my focus back to my notebook, flipping to the page for my opponent. His name was Isaac. He was a Warrior as well and also indigo ranked. Unlike Rita, though, he showed immense skill. The fight against his first opponent ended in mere moments. I had to be especially careful.

╚╩╩╩╝

Amara was the master of ceremonies for this round as well. Starting off, sections 1, 2, 15 and 16 all gathered on the platforms and completed their fights in just over four minutes. The same happened with sections 3, 4, 13 and 14. And finally it was time for section 12 to participate.

Standing on platforms adjacent to each other, Hazel and Malcolm squared off their opponents as they approached the center of the arenas.

Amara gave the call to start and every arena burst to life with movement.

After the fifteen seconds were up Malcolm’s opponent, Rita, immediately rushed toward him. She had seen his fight and knew that giving him time was the worst thing to do. The girl was small and agile, bridging the gap between them with incredible speed. She wanted to end the fight as quickly as possible, aiming for his chest, she threw her fist forward.

The fist didn’t connect, though. In the short moment before the punch would have hit, Malcolm dodged to the side, the attack grazing past him. He then pressed his hand on her back and grabbed at the cloth and threw her out of the arena, her momentum carrying her out as she landed hard on the ground.

Hazel’s fight, unlike the one that had just completed, was at a standstill. Isaac stood still, a smug grin spread across his face. It was similar to Warner’s, which made Hazel want to punch it even more. She had still not gotten over what had happened before. Being helpless like that had terrified her and still did. It was bad enough that she had to calm herself down whenever she ate in public, afraid that someone might have put something in her food.

Eventually, Isaac spread his arms out and mocked her silently, as if asking “what’s taking so long?”

Irritated, Hazel decided to make the first move, slowly approaching her opponent. Isaac twitched just before the two charged toward each other.

Right before she could attack, though, Hazel felt something wrong with her body. She lurched forward as her aura flickered and died. She was immediately met by Isaac as the boy threw out multiple punches in quick succession. The first was blocked by the uniform’s protection. The others were not.

Taking several, Warrior enhanced attacks, Hazel felt her ribs break, followed by her arm as she tried to protect herself.

“Enough!” The referee shouted, throwing himself at Isaac to stop his attacks.

The ref was too late, though. Hazel was beaten and bloody.

Seeing this, a fire lit inside of Malcolm. His arms started shaking. He wanted to tear the boy’s head off with his own hands. But he quickly realized how hurt Hazel was and rushed to her side.

Unconscious, she was hurried to the infirmary. Malcolm was forced out of the room as the doctors there began to work on fixing the broken parts.

Unsure of what to do, a nurse told Malcolm to go home.

It was still light out, but Malcolm ran into his room and threw himself on his bed. A storm was brewing inside of his heart.

╚╩╩╩╝ Malcolm Kiech ╚╩╩╩╝

In the mindscape, I screamed and cursed, hitting the walls as hard as I could, the room warping as I did.

Then, the copy appeared in front of me, a worried look on its face.

“I’ll do it!” I shouted. “Give me all the power you can!”

I stared down the copy, wondering if murdering the boy would get me expelled. Though I couldn’t care less right now.