He could still feel them, the tears soaking into his skin. The meandering chill falling down and pooling at the junction between helmet and chest. The infinitesimal grit seeping through, staining, being washed away. And the seething burn of that chill being flashed to steam. Every fiber, every energy driven thread, every insignificant piece of Seth being wanted to break that helmet off. To show Para the true results of his infinite callousness. To tear him down from his high podium and make him feel every insult and indignity and utter bullshit disregarding of just who, just what he was trying to deny…! But… this seething burn, this fire inside drenched in sadness like jet fuel. It had to be kept down. It had to stay. And burn itself away in the quiet dark of that closed off suit.

A numb crater was cut out of his chest, his grip tightened of its own accord, his power flared the grit across his face away without a care for where it went. It wasn't bad enough to force him to face his past, but to not even accept the outcome that was necessary... It killed all the hope he'd built up till now. But still all of this had to stay its place. Melt down and snuff itself out. He couldn’t let his only quest in life become lost to a sacrifice he couldn’t have stopped. Couldn’t have fought even if he tried.

Heavy, falling steps trudged him on to his initial destination, Aegis lowering her shield as the danger passed. Her concern falling with, unaware but still fully aware. The stone protected bench creaked under the weight dropped upon it, holding but tensing those returning to it as well. His helmet hollowly clanking back against the wall, his will shattered utterly and tossed aside like trash. But sympathy still eked its way through that hardened baking metal. Even if it was all that could be done to help. At the very least... he got to meet his mom one last time.

But before he could cut the world away, for a moment of calm to rebuild what was burned to ash, he remembered. He still had his mother’s scarf. Metal scraped back up, release clicking and opened up the side chest panel. The hiss of heated air releasing in response. Seth went to reach in, but stopped just as depressedly quick. His hand, his armor, the margins of his frame. It was all still caked in black, still covered in his mother’s dust. That needed suppression strained, more constant reminders, more unneeded pain. But the other hand clamped over that gradient stain, stopped its shaking before it could will him to truth. It turned the gauntlet, drove that etching darkness away. The stained sheen clattering beside him as his bare hand reached in... and felt the soft fabric against his fingers. Felt his mother’s warmth on it, like she had just given it to him, like all this really was just the one dream gone on too long. But he blinked... and the fantasy faded.

It was just heated by the power surging through him. Spared by sentimentality and the Garkah pouring every bit of sympathy they could into him. Trying their best to make this suffering only last the briefest of moments. The reminder though… certainly helped. He pulled it out and unfurled it, wrapping it around his neck and letting it drape forward like a protective blanket. Now it really was all that’s left of his old life, a final relic of… of a time he could only really get back in vague feelings. Disparate pieces chunked together by similar emotions, most too tainted and forgotten to help him find solace in a past before all of this. But just enough to at least help him know he did what needed to be done. That this was an outcome given to him, given by love and not fought over in hate. He put his gauntlet back and sat back against the hard stone. The fights were going to start regardless of his existential gloom. So maybe they could at least help fill that crater in his chest back up.

“Alright Ladies and Gentlemen!! It’s time for the true heavy hitters to show their stuff!! First up, we have a match born of pure skill and martial prowess. A clash that has awaited this moment for far too long. For your hero to be I give you… KAZE!!!”

Seth didn’t even see Kaz leave the bench as he stood beside it, but the cheering denied him the quiet calm. So he had little choice but to watch through his still half broken view.

“And his challenger!! MAKANI SAMURAI!!!”

Suddenly sea grass green robes flowed swiftly down from the stands onto the arena floor opposite, right next to Seth. A solemn turn and nod of acknowledgement, one buried grief to another. The slight uptick of kindred depression pulled him off the wall, but he wasn't going to have much peace anyway. The other trainees were also picking up, eager to watch this fight knowing full well that Para was grievously underselling it.

As Samurai and Kaz began to take their places, both seemed to become more and more stoic with every step. They had planned and prepared for this fight for a long time. This was Kaz’s final test after all, so why wouldn’t it be his father who challenged him. Though Seth could feel something more in their movements, like this was more than just a test. Whatever this feeling was, it was going to have to come through the only medium available now. Sword vs Sword. In the circle, both stood across designated lines, the hardlight array burning proper marks for a fight like this into the sand. Both stood completely still, arms at their sides and flat footed, bereft of emotion. Of intent. An almost unnerving thing given Samurai's constant demeanor. The audience was hushed as the display held, no one knew when the fight would start, how it would start. And no one wanted to break this apprehension and spoil the moment. So of course Para had to interject like an asshole. Again!

“For those wondering what the rules of this fight will be… Well, the only ones who could decide this battle are on the field already. The only thing I get to do is say when they can start.”

The audience, the trainees, most everyone groaned at Para’s breaking of their anticipation. Though Samurai seemed to let slip a small smirk, maybe not fully able to hold back his enjoyment. A genuine feeling to top it off, nothing hidden to save face.

Both fighters regained attention by continuing their pre combat ritual. They bowed to each other, hands still locked to their sides. Out of their bows, they finally took up fighting stances, moving in perfect symmetry of one another. Right hand gripping scabbard, left hand hovering over handle. Backs straight as boards, but footing finally displaying intent. Both had dropped their right back, still in complete unison, preparing to charge forward. The apprehension returned, now doubled in pressure. Everyone eyed back and forth between them, holding in their breath for the first strike to be struck, the grumbling at Para dying down as he finally raised his hand in respectful slowness. He panned back and forth between fighters, drawing it out as much as he felt he could get away with, as much as he could stand himself. All before waming that hand down with an echoing-

“FIGHT!!!”

The first strike was over before that echo even reverberated, both swordsmen suddenly in opposite places on the arena floor. The only thing satisfying all that anticipation was the impression of a saturating clang in everyone’s ears. Seth didn’t even catch everything that happened, only the barest frame of a flash of steel. Both fighters remained in unison, Kaz now on the left and Samurai on the right, until Samurai broke his stoicism to smile with pride.

“You’re certainly keeping up with me, but only just.”

Suddenly a slight shift in Kaz’s robe, a small cut at the right shoulder. Not deep enough to cut skin, but close, very close. Close enough to split a fine hair in half. Kaz looked over and back with concern, but not defeat, instead he met his father’s prideful smile with his own more reserved one. Suddenly a shift in Samurai’s robe, the same shoulder, the exact same cut. He looked down at his arm, surprise mixed with fatherly pride. And then he started to laugh.

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“Hahaaa Very well then, we are equal in skill. Let this be a battle of attrition then.”

With a slow smooth motion Samurai pulled his sword free from its scabbard, the arena lights reflecting off it like a lensed mirror, metal ringing its freedom. He held it sideways, edge facing his son, before twisting it upright. Right pulling it tight to that shoulder. Kaz followed suit, but broke the unison. He pulled the sword free with his left still, metal singing its part, but kept low and underhanded. With an equally smooth motion he shifted it to his hip, moving his right to the free end of the handle.

The short lived tension came and went as a burst of sand replaced Kaz in his position. He'd shot forward, a streak of fiery flowers flowing too fast to mack out, sword swinging up toward the expected downward reaction. That came in force, Samurai letting gravity and weight add to that expected strike. Kaz’s swing was off balance, outmatched, but that was his plan. As the metal rang again, Kaz stymied his swing, feet leaving the ground and grip shifted around. His sword became an axis. All the power and additions Samurai put into his strike transferred to his son as he let himself get knocked airborne. Kaz’s right foot coming right at his face as the two blades cut the ground. Just barely dodging back and shifting his own grip to turn his blade upright, his retaliation proved harder as Kaz’s foot stamped onto that reflecting sideways surface. He pivoted off his sword and stamped the other foot, full weight killing any swift reaction. With a forceful right hand shove, he freed his sword from underneath his father’s and swung it upward again. It was backwards, but it still held enough danger.

But this was not some paced battle of wills. His right flashed back from its hold, a new glare pulling free and singing too slow to match up. Its freedom refuted to the clang of dull meeting edge. A second sword, shorter and defensive. A matching pair. Both swordsmen locked eyes for a beat, the jovial atmosphere gone completely. Untenable stalemate concluded though, Kaz bunched back and leapt, adding distance and spacing to meet his father in this expanded paradigm. Samurai pulled his main sword up from the ground, whipping it out to clear the sandy sandal prints from its surface. Short sword moved out to his right in a slower yet similar fashion. He also seemed less than pleased he was forced to use it already. Kaz reacted in kind, drooping his sword down and shifting to his right side, and pulled free his own short sword, mirroring his father in stance.

There was no time for apprehension to build again before another burst of sand arose, this time green streaking to a blur. Samurai charging forward with both blades left to fall in line at his sides. Kaz didn’t move, he knew something. Before his father closed the distance, he leapt off the ground, swinging his whole body around. But his blades seemed to not follow the flow of that kelpy green. Flying their original momentum at his sides. Kaz finally reacted, pushing his foot out and bringing both swords up, pointed down, to meet an attack at his left. Just as Samurai rounded his turn, swinging both blades along with him. All four blades impacted together, a symphonic pound sign reverberated the arena and dazzling it with compounding reflection. Kaz was pushed back, leaving room for his father to complete his spin and rake that reverb away.

He swung about and landed on his other foot, long blade in his right pointed at his son, short one in his left and sideways over top. Kaz shifted his stance with his recoil, flipping his blades up on his grip. He held his long blade up and sideways on the right, but his short blade low and pointed by his left side, like he intended a proper stabbing.

Both swordsmen finally attacked simultaneously, only charging in unison as their angles shifted. Samurai pulled his long sword back in order to jab forward, Kaz shifted his shoulder, but didn’t budge from his stance. Samurai left his left in place, a stern guard ready for anything. Under it all Kaz flip his short grip into a downward stab hold, but kept it low. As they reached each other Samurai loosed his jab, the flashing steel almost outpacing its own image. He twisted it mid jab, with force enough to cut the air into shining aerials.

But Kaz was ready for it, shifting his grip underhanded to match his shoulder. His long blade came up, but turned to meet Samurai’s jab, edge out and angled toward him. The jab glanced off, curved point ramping off slanted edge. Sparks sent swirling as metal roared, twirling around passed Kaz’s shoulder as the blade was blocked away. Through the slicing wind, Kaz brought his short blade up to stab. Samurai moved his own to block, a similar ramp to glance the blade away. But Kaz twisted in his movement, bringing the blade in near perfect parallel alignment with his father’s. He stabbed hard, but suddenly that blade was truly free, grip relinquished and sending it flying. Both blades running parallel, reflecting and amplifying their insistent glare. Edge aimed for the hollow guard at its end. As his blade slipped in through the space in the guard, Samurai’s hand relinquished its own grip, can’t be much of a swordsmen without fingers after all. A near perfect mirror, Samurai’s blade slipped into the opposing space on Kaz’s blade. They locked and slammed together, flipping end over end passed Samurai’s reeling shoulder.

But the distraction was successful. Kaz shifted his freed up left to his original blade, palm slamming hard against the guard. Samurai was still dealing with the fact his own son just threw a sword at him, only too late seeing what had actually been done. Kaz stepped closer and pushed up with both hands, edge raking up edge until it met its opposing guard. Samurai’s jab was too tight on his arm and forceful for his grip. His hand was twisted by his sword pressing against it, loosed just enough. With a forceful repose, Kaz hucked his blade and catapulted both reflective edges into the air.

Both fighters were disarmed, but Samurai still had the upper hand. His free left balled in a fist and raised itself high, set to strike down his son. Kaz’s follow through cut short as he shifted back toward his father, his own left held high. But he didn’t look up to see the attack coming for him, it was an afterthought. He put his other foot down, launching into his father, left held in line with his head. Both looked to be attacking in one final unison. But still Kaz was faster by just the barest hesitant sliver.

It was over, Kaz was going to finally hit first, either end this fight or push it to its most dire, but... that left flew passed his father’s head without even trying to strike. Instead it wrapped around him. His low right wrapping around his side. Samurai recoiled as Kaz’s head pressed into his shoulder, the force knocking the wind from his attempted slam down. It wasn't a strike Kaz was attempting... it was… a hug? Seth wasn’t expecting that. The crowd wasn't expecting that. Samurai was definitely not expecting it. His hesitation was boiling over, left still balled up but unable to loose. And something was catching in his throat…

'Wait… is he-'

“WWAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAHAAAA!!!”

Like an emotional damn bursting, Samurai started crying, tears flooding down his face like he’d never cried a day in his entire life. His arms fell to his side, all energy and fight sapped away.

‘S-sheesh was he holding this much sadness back this whole time?!’

The audience was flabbergasted, the ever smiling Makani Samurai was balling his eyes out like Sorrow was… No, this was way different. For one, Seth could hear Para gloating to the other Elite members.

“I TOLD you!! No one is that happy all the time!! NO ONE!!”

And on the other… These tears had real meaning behind them, not just frozen and forced emotion. Samurai calmed enough to look down and hug his son back, like he’d been unable to before. A green sea wrapping around those fiery flowers… and maybe staining them a bit in tears. The other trainees looked mixed, but understood what was going on. A few, mostly David, teared up as well. Seth was starting to feel a little jealous about not getting this kind of reaction for his fight, but only held it facetiously. Besides… this was their moment.

As Samurai finally calmed down to the point of comprehensibility he pulled his son off and looked him in the eye, pride and love showing through the still concerningly streaming tears. He grabbed his son's arm, turning him around toward the podium and the main audience and pulling it up high for everyone to see. Though this seemed a pretty damn subjective ruling, it laid its message bare, and Seth sure as shit wasn't going to complain about it. The audience erupted in applause, the trainees following suit. Seth tried to pull himself up to add into it, but all he succeeded in doing was falling back against the wall with his high and his empty helmet eyes smiling.

Para shook away his ‘told you so’ to retake his position among the applause.

“Ladies and Gentlemen… I give you SHIMAKAZE!!!”

The trainees started cheering louder, but all stopped completely in the tracks, those smiling shooting wide. All of them simultaneously looked up toward the podium above them, all blaring the same feeling.

‘That motherfucker.’

Para looked down on them, a wry smile that read loud and clear that “If you want your hero names, you have to earn them”. The trainees glared up, wicked smiles of renewed determination set against Para. All except-

‘...Guh fuck. I forgot to think of a hero name.’