By sun, by moon, by stars above, the Great River’s flow whispers to us, the silent passage of time.

- Unknown.

I saw a man bedecked in the finery that only true wealth could buy, perched atop a raised box near the arena and looking out as the competition unfolded. His skin was pale, too pale by far to be local born, and he had that foppish air about him, the kind that brought to mind those pampered little lapdogs the monied people in my old world loved to dote upon. For a moment, his gaze was fixed on me, appraising, judging, before dismissing. Whoever the fellow was, for some reason or another, I found him to be exceptionally irritating.

I drew in a breath, slow and deliberate, fighting the urge to let my irritation show. Memories flickered in the back of my mind, conjuring up the winding path that had led me to this moment. Aelayah had tried to play her hand with practiced subtlety. Officially, I was no champion of the Salahaem in the Festival, not in name. Aelayah had put forth another candidate.

If I triumphed, she would claim it was her plan all along, that I was her true champion hidden in plain sight. The credit, the glory, all would be hers to bask in. But if I were to fail? Then her House would lose nothing, her prestige untarnished, her place secure.

Unfortunately for her, the other candidate had already been knocked out. But, perhaps, this too was part of her plan.

Added to all of these annoyances, my last part had been particularly vexing. This was because I had to lose, but it cut deep that my opponent had crowed his victory like a fishwife at a market stall.

I had found myself facing an old man, which in itself was surprising enough, but his movements betrayed none of the frailty his appearance suggested. He moved with a vigor and speed more fitting for a man decades younger. His snow-white hair, neatly combed, covered ears thickened and misshapen, the telltale signs of a lifetime spent in fights. And yet, he preened like some vain rooster, stroking the long beard that cascaded down to his waist, all while introducing himself in a reedy, quavering voice as Tai-san Chan, feigning weakness and frailty. It was a name that I would not forget anytime soon.

Tai-san had praised me throughout the bout, complimenting both my Strength and speed while going on about the gifts of youth. He had done while all the running a hand narcissistically through his beard, it had been supremely annoying. The old man simply could not stop giving me unwanted advice about my form and footwork. Yet, at the same time, he lauded the fact that I had been able to come so far without a good teacher, pointing out an imaginary flaw here and there.

Now… that felt like an insult to Fen’s memory. Fen may have been many things, but she had been a somewhat effective teacher.

It was a complete and total farce, and had it been beneficial for me to lose that round I would have very much liked to have ground his face into the stone floor of the ring.

But, why did I have to lose? Why did I not choose the simple path and win myself a place on the next stage? The answer was simple, I wanted more experience points. If I lost this bout I would join the loser’s bracket to fight for my place. In short, I could finally let loose and grind up some experience points.

So, I forced myself to put up with the Tai-san’s fellow incessant chatting, feeling myself growing more angry as the fight progressed. Indeed, even the audience was laughing.

Laughing at me, the bastards. A part of me swore to make them pay, to make them all pay for this humiliation.

I watched as he shifted his stance, his posture suddenly open and vulnerable—a clear trap meant to lure in the inexperienced. Fine, I thought, let's end this.

Charging forward like a wild bull, I abandoned all pretense of form and control. If I was going to lose, I might as well go down with some flair. Tai-san met my attack with a technique resembling the Millstone, a form to divert and use an opponent’s force against them. His hands made a circling motion, redirecting the energy of my reckless rush. I almost flew out, essentially launching myself out of the arena, resulting in a ring out and my defeat.

Tai-san accepted his victory with humility and even offered me a hand up. Face burning red and glad for the face covering that I wore, I spitefully slapped his hand away, as I got to my feet.

“You have potential, young one. I could take on one such as you under my wing. You are welcome to be my apprentice,” he offered in his sing-song voice, waving to me as I walked away seething on the inside.

For reasons beyond my ken, this dialogue choice of silence actually rewarded me.

You have gained 1 Wisdom.

Simmering with anger, perplexed, and flummoxed, I waited in a cool room beneath the arena with some of the other fighters. Many were engaged in friendly banter, but one look at my expression kept everyone at a distance. Moments like these made me wish Elenora were here to attend to me. She had feigned illness—or perhaps it was laziness—claiming that the sun didn't agree with her. A part of me couldn’t blame her; the harsh sun of Al-Lazar was unforgiving on a woman’s skin.

Annoyed, I decided to go half-heartedly over my Status.

Progress was slug slow. Gritting my teeth, I resolved to channel my frustration into what was to come, promising myself that I would tear them apart. Alone with these violent thoughts, I passed the time until Larynda waved and walked up to me.

“I’m up next!” she declared with a wide smile.

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I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I struggled to muster any interest. Still, I made an effort.

“Who are you up against?” I asked, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Milli,” she replied.

I gave her a weak smile. “The young girl from the Guild? Can you win?”

“Yes! Oh, and just so you know, she hates being called 'girl.'”

A sigh escaped me. “Good. You are much stronger than her. And, what else am I supposed to call her, then?”

“Her name, for a start,” Larynda suggested, shrugging nonchalantly.

I stayed quiet, unwilling to engage further.

"Umm, want to... go up and watch?" she asked, her voice unusually quiet.

I sighed, weighing my options. "Why not? It's better than sitting around here with these losers," I replied, earning a slew of dirty looks from those around me. What did I care? I wasn’t here to make friends.

I climbed the well-worn stone stairs with Larynda, leading back to the fighting ring. It always puzzled me why such a place was called a ring, despite it being quite obviously a square. Was it because of language drift, with the term lingering in common usage even in this completely different world? Or perhaps they were using the word in a context I had not considered.

Oh, how the mind wandered in such times.

As we reached the top, I shaded my eyes from the sunlight streaming through one of the tall arched windows. My gaze fell on the square stone fighting ring, and I couldn’t help but marvel at the effort it must have taken to cut and transport such massive blocks of solid granite.

Standing on the grey surface was Melliana, the ‘Dark Elf’ Blade Dancer and Silver-ranked adventurer, waiting for Larynda with her arms crossed. She was dressed similarly to my ward, in a light brown tunic, loose baggy pants, and soft shoes—almost like slippers—provided by the Festival. Many fighters chose to forgo the shoes, preferring the grip of bare feet on the solid stone, and Melliana had so chosen to do so.

Her eyes widened for a moment, as she saw me wearing Larynda’s borrowed headscarf. Luckily, however, she did not recognize me, the man who had thoroughly humiliated her on our first encounter. I hoped so at least.

The blonde half-elven girl went up the shallow stairs of ring, giving me a wave back. This would be an interesting fight, if I was honest with myself, for I had never seen the young mage use her magic without the aid of Seal or staff. But, would she be able to use her gifts at all?

Crossing my arms, I sat down on a free bench by the ring as the arena above me began to fill up with the teeming, eager hordes.

“No, hard feelings if I wipe your face all over the flow,” jibed Melliana in a disarmingly pleasant voice, her tone at odds with her voice.

“Yeah, apologies if I break something or two, Melli. You know how I can be when I take things seriously,” Larynda shot back with a fixed smile on her face, gritting her teeth.

The judge stood at the edge of the arena, eager to get this fight underway. He grumpily signaled for the two girls to begin with a wave of his sword.

Melliana and Larynda bowed at the hip, a surprisingly graceful motion of mutual respect, before settling into their fighting stances. Melliana’s posture was relaxed, most of her weight resting on her back leg, her feet forming an L shape—a stance that spoke of a striker. Larynda, by contrast, sank lower to the ground, hands outstretched in a grappler’s stance. It reminded me of the way Kidu fought—grounded, steady, and ready to seize any opening. They seemed as diametric opposites, one pale and blond, the other dark-skinned with silver hair. The air between them was charged, each woman studying the other with the intensity of two warring and rival cats.

I was surprised for I did not think the smaller girl had the weight, build, or Strength to be a successful grappler. Not to mention that Melianna had half a head on her in height.

It was Melianna who moved first, her eyes narrowing as she sprang forward with explosive speed. The Blade Dancer launched a kick that arced through the air in a wide sweep, slicing toward Larynda’s head. Larynda ducked just in time, almost as if expecting the blow. However, Melianna's foot landed with a graceful pivot, her body shifting effortlessly into another spin. This time, her other heel whistled toward Larynda’s midsection.

The smaller girl stepped back, eyes never leaving her opponent, her lilting voice rising in a soft chant. The dark-skinned girl moved with the grace of a breeze, circling her, searching for an opening. Her next kick was higher, an elegant arc like a dancer’s leap, before snapping into a brutal strike aimed at Larynda’s shoulder. It was swift and flashy, but calculated with precision.

Melianna had given her rival too much time. Larynda braced for impact, blocking the blow with one arm and giving out only a grunt in pain. Water began to condense around her, seemingly drawn from the air itself, and a misty aura enveloped her. Hastily, too hastily, she extended her free arm and launched a ball of magical water toward her opponent’s face.

But Larynda was not the only one who could predict her opponent’s move. Melianna bent over backward, the ball of the water just clipping her shoulder as she backflipped out of the way.

A Water Ball? A Waterball!?The half-elven girl knew better magic than this. Was she holding back because Melianna was her friend, or was this the limits of her ability without the foci of her craft? A part of me felt cheated of the spectacle of her using a more powerful spell and I hissed in frustration.

Undeterred by the magical assault, the Blade Dancer struck out a series of punches, careful to not be caught. The smaller blonde girl seemed to be getting overwhelmed and her rival smiled a victorious grin, launching a snap kick at her.

Larynda, however, had seen her rhythm. She stepped in, too close for Melianna to extend fully. The striker twisted, her knee coming up sharply toward Larynda’s chest, but Larynda caught it, twisting her body to absorb the blow and wrench Melianna off balance.

The momentum shifted. Melianna spun out of the grip, launching another kick—this time a vicious flipping forward and launching a downward axe kick that would have broken the bones of Larynda's shoulder if she hadn’t rolled out of the way. A glimmer of frustration flashed across Melianna's face as her foot landed on nothing but smooth, hard stone.

No doubt wanting to keep up the pressure, Melianna leaped forward, another high kick aimed for Larynda’s head, but this time, Larynda ducked under and surged forward. Her arms wrapped around Melianna’s waist in one fluid motion, locking her in. The taller girl struggled, twisting her body to break free, but Larynda simply would not let her go. She dropped her weight, hooking one of her legs and pulling Melianna to the ground like a wolf with a deer.

The moment they hit the floor, Larynda moved like the water that was her element, her arms snaking around Melianna’s limbs, locking her in a submission hold. She twisted one of her arms even as she had a knee on her shoulder. The Blade Dancer’s breaths came out in rapid bursts as she fought against it, her legs kicking, trying to free herself, but Larynda’s grip tightened with surprising Strength. Slowly, the fight drained from Melianna as she felt the pressure mount, the inevitability of her defeat pressing down like the weight of the earth.

With a frustrated scream of pain and anguish, Melianna tapped the stone floor and shouted, “I yield! Damn you, Lynda! I yield! I yield.”

The blonde half-elven girl looked at the Judge who cut down with his sword, acknowledging her victory.

Larynda smirked as she let her opponent go. “You owe me lunch,” she added sweetly as she raised both her hands above her.

The crowd went wild at the girl’s victory, and the young Mage basked in their adulation.

It was then that I noticed a familiar necklace of fangs around her neck. My little ward had been cheating.