Azvalath jolted awake from a nightmare he couldn’t remember. He sat up on his cot and rubbed his eyes. They were wet with tears. He was grateful, then, that he couldn’t remember the dream. It must have been horrible.

On the floor by his bed, Jai-Lag rolled over, still sound asleep. The sabretooth cat usually stayed with him at night, probably because he was quiet and didn’t snore, at least not to his knowledge. Azvalath didn’t mind. Jai-Lag was fine company. Better than a human roommate.

He lay back down and tried to fall back asleep, to no avail. The most recent brands on his arm itched like there were ants under his skin. He scratched them to the point of clawing the scabs off. Dark blood stained his fingernails.

Azvalath thought about Xigon and his thousands of brands, thousands of tiny scars etched into both arms. Not even Qila had that many. It had always confused Azvalath, yet in all his years here, he had never dared to ask about it.

He got up, stepped over Jai-Lag, and left his room. Now was as good a time to learn as any, and he had other things on his mind as well. Xigon would almost certainly be awake. Willing to listen was another question, but Azvalath figured it was worth a try.

Xigon’s study was only a stone’s throw down the hall, but it took him a long while to work up the courage to give the master’s door a knock.

“Come in, Azvalath.” There was a slight strain in Xigon’s voice.

Azvalath entered and found his teacher sitting on the floor. His shoulders were tense, and his hands were clenched up. His lantern had gone out. Azvalath looked down. “Everything all right?”

Xigon patted the floor next to him. “Come talk to me.”

Azvalath sat down beside his master. His spine tingled as Xigon’s eyes landed on him. He tried to relax but couldn’t calm his nerves. “Hard night for you too?”

Xigon shrugged. “You didn’t come here to hear about my problems.”

“Actually, I did,” said Azvalath. “I want to know about your scars.”

Xigon’s head turned. “Really? You’ve never asked before.”

“I never thought you’d tell me anything,” said Azvalath.

“You’ll never have the answers to questions you never ask.” He picked one hand up and flexed his spidery fingers. “To start, I have a question for you. Look me in the eyes.” They made eye contact and Azvalath’s skin crawled. “How do you feel?”

“Uncomfortable.” Azvalath didn’t have to think for a second.

Xigon nodded. Then he lifted his goggles up onto his forehead and dimmed his eyes’ glow. “How about now?”

Azvalath relaxed. “Better.”

“Why?” Xigon asked.

“Your power is sight-based,” said Azvalath. “And I know you’re blind as a mole.”

“Which implies on some level that you’re always afraid of me harming you,” said Xigon. “How logical is that fear?”

“Considering the heart attack you gave me a few days ago, I’d say it’s justified,” said Azvalath. He chuckled even though he didn’t find it funny.

“Perhaps,” said Xigon. “Though the fact remains that I’ve used my power to help you far more often than I’ve used it to harm you.”

Azvalath raised an eyebrow. “What are you getting at?”

Xigon reached toward his student, then hesitated a moment. “May I?”

“Go on,” said Azvalath, not entirely sure of what was coming.

The instant the master’s hand touched his, a wave of calm swept over Azvalath. Pain and stress he hadn’t even been aware of before all vanished. He felt secure, like nothing could harm him at all.

Xigon spoke to him through the tranquil haze. “Now I’m curious, Azvalath. Most likely, you won’t remember this moment nearly as well as you remember me giving you a heart attack. Why do you think that is?”

“Fear sticks around.” Azvalath closed his eyes. “What’s this have to do with your scars, though?”

“Everything,” said Xigon. “Fear is a powerful teacher, but too often, it misguides us. For many of the lives I’ve taken, it was fear that drove one or both of us straight into the fire. Not the rational fears that shield us, but the ones that devour us.” He let go of Azvalath’s hand.

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Azvalath opened his eyes. The calm faded. He tensed again. Frustration welled up inside him. “What the hell are you afraid of? You’re like a god, Master.”

“No, I’m a staring demon. A nightmare made flesh. Sin given eyes.” Xigon lowered his goggles again. “You see, the reason I’ve been so harsh with you is because you and I have the same problem.”

Azvalath brushed a strand of brown hair out of his face. “What do you mean?”

Xigon looked down. “Bloodlust.” He clenched his hands together. “I feel many things when I fell someone. Shame and pity, yes, but also pride. A vile satisfaction before my humanity comes back to crush me.” He shot Azvalath a glare that made his spine tingle. “Only you haven’t been crushed yet. The punishment I inflicted was only a warning.”

“And no one’s going to crush me,” said Azvalath. He crossed his arms. “I won’t let them.”

“I used to think the same,” said Xigon. “And then I learned what becomes of we demons who would lift ourselves above others.”

Azvalath scratched his head. “And what’s that?”

Xigon looked like he was about to explain, then paused. He pursed his lips together and his eyes went wide. For a split second, he looked vulnerable, painfully human. Then his gaze hardened again. “Like I said, crushed.” He squeezed his spidery fingers together. “And I never want to see it happen to you.”

Azvalath flinched. His mouth opened like he was about to say something, but no words came out. He picked his hand up and put it on his master’s shoulder. When he felt Xigon shudder, his breath caught in his throat. It was rare to see even the smallest chip in Xigon’s armor, and as much of a gut-punch as it was, it was also beautiful. There was a human being behind those walls after all.

Xigon clenched his hand over his student’s. “Many of my scars were for you, Azvalath.” The icy calm returned to his voice. “Don’t make me regret them.”

He nodded.

Xigon gave his arm a pat and then forced himself to his feet. Azvalath got up and retrieved his master’s crutches. Xigon hooked them around his forearms and steadied himself. “Thanks. My sword too, please.”

Azvalath cocked his head.

Xigon imitated his expression. “You’re looking at me like I asked you to put a spoon in your eye.”

Azvalath grimaced at that mental image, then fetched Xigon his two-hander. The tall man strapped the scabbard to his back. The blade wouldn’t be readily accessible, but it was there for all to see, a loud message on its own. “Let’s wake the others,” said Xigon. “I expect everyone geared up and on the rooftop by sunrise. Including you. Get on it.”

Azvalath made haste.

He rushed through his preparations like his life depended on it. Azvalath slammed his door shut, changed his clothes, threw on his body armor and coat, strapped on his sword, shoved on his boots, and then panicked as he couldn’t find his left glove. He checked his pockets, his drawers, his bed. It wasn’t anywhere. Jai-Lag slept through all the chaos.

Finally, he resorted to the atrocity of waking up a sleeping cat. “Jai-Lag! Get up! Rooftop at sunrise!”

She yawned and bared her enormous fangs. When the sabretooth cat got up, Azvalath found his missing glove had been underneath her. He slipped it on and found that it was warm from Jai-Lag’s body heat.

“Quick, or we’ll be late!” Azvalath snatched up his beast mask and dashed for the stairs to the roof. The cat ambled behind him.

The masters were up there already. He caught the last bit of their conversation. “All right, after our prayer,” said Qila. Then she noticed Azvalath. “Good morning, Azvalath.”

Azvalath waved. “Good morning, Master Qila.” He glanced between Xigon and Qila and wondered what they were plotting.

Rizval came up next. They looked at Azvalath and scoffed. “You need to polish your armor.”

He shrugged. “If it does its job, who cares if it’s shiny?”

“I do,” said Rizval. “Crystallizing armor and beast masks is hard work, so at least show some appreciation.”

Qila held up her beast mask. It was the likeness of a stag’s skull with a triangular blaze carved into the forehead. “I appreciate you, Rizval. They’re beautiful. Have you taken Kolo’s measurements yet?”

“No.” Rizval shook their head. “Should I have?”

Jai-Lag headbutted Azvalath so hard he nearly fell over. He scratched behind her ear. Lalek stampeded her way up the stairs and pumped her fist in the air. “Who’s ready for today?”

“Not me.” Channei groaned behind her.

Kolo elbowed Channei. “Wake up!”

Channei flinched. “Easy there, little devil.” She turned her fox mask in her hands. “Will Yaya be joining us?”

Xigon shook his head. “She’s busy. Now gather around.”

Azvalath went to stand with Xigon. They all formed a circle. Xigon donned his mask, a fierce serpent’s head with the same triangular blaze as Qila’s. With that cue, Azvalath put his sabretooth mask on. Immediately, he felt stronger. He looked around the circle. Lalek looked back at him through a bull’s skull. Rizval now wore the face of a crocodile, and Channei a sly fox. Kolo had no mask of her own yet, only snow goggles. She quivered and stepped in to stand beside Azvalath. She looked ready to bolt or throw fists at any second.

On the masters’ signal, they all joined hands. Xigon spoke calm and clear. “Hear us, Iron God. Share with us your divine wind, the breath of life, a storm to bear this world anew.”

Qila spoke next. “Guide our hands, our hearts, our minds to the last light.”

Xigon let go of Azvalath’s and Qila’s hands, let his crutches drop, and drew his two-hander. Everyone froze and stared at him. Azvalath swallowed hard. This wasn’t part of their usual ritual.

Xigon glared through his snake mask at Qila. “Iron God, I sing my sword song for you.”

A challenge. A challenge. Azvalath’s mind raced. What was this about? He wondered whether to run like hell or to stay and watch the mayhem unfold.

Qila reached into her pocket and pulled out an ugly little skeleton puppet. It had the same stag-skull head as her mask. “Force is the loudest of pleas.”

Qila’s shadow twisted into the shape of her puppet, then stood up and took form. It towered over all of them, even Xigon. It stretched its bony arms wide. Claws like blades erupted from its fingertips.

“Get back!” Azvalath yelled. He pushed Kolo and Jai-Lag out of the way. The sabretooth cat yowled at him.

Kolo grunted. “What’s happening?”

Rizval grinned. “The spectacle of a lifetime.”

Azvalath watched the masters attack each other with everything they had. He’d seen it before, and it always terrified him, but Rizval was right about one thing. It was an unforgettable sight to behold.