As Rick biked back to the Refuge, he felt as though he was on the precipice of something. Twice in his life, he'd taken a risk and soon regretted it. Both of those times, he'd come out of the fires stronger, but he reminded himself that he wasn't protected by any force of destiny. He could easily have ended up crippled or ruined. Taking unnecessary risks was senseless.

Of course, given the level of competition he'd seen, there was a good chance that he wouldn't even qualify to participate in the Showdown. But if that was true, he'd want to know, rather than have it as an empty hope in his past. Uncle Alan had been a pit fighter once and always told stories of how he could have made it big if only he'd made slightly different choices...

That was about as grim a future as being crippled.

When Rick got back, he only had enough energy to do his usual exercises and a small amount of research online. His biggest concern was the exact characteristics of the Showdown, and though the internet wasn't always a reliable source of information for high end lucrim events, it was better than nothing. Everything he read suggested that it was cutthroat, but not literally - the events were too public for that. Many of the competitors became celebrities, with all the attention and endorsement deals that came with that.

Just looking over their profiles, Rick realized that that life held no appeal for him. Somehow it all made him even more tired than before and he collapsed into bed and slept dreamlessly.

The next morning, he woke unnaturally early again, but he felt refreshed. Rick scouted an unusual route, hoping to catch Delsin off guard, but couldn't find the old man. He also ran into nothing that required any work from him at all, every empty hour reminding him that he needed to make a decision.

When he took a break for lunch, Rick decided that he was being stupid by going it alone and got out his phone. He actually had two messages from Melissa that he'd missed while his phone had no service: an article about YLAA developments and an animated hamster smashing bricks with its head. Rick sent her back info about the Showdown and asked to chat, but she was busy.

His sister would get back to him soon enough, so after that he left a message with Uncle Frank. As usual, it was difficult to get a hold of their uncle. From the last time they'd spoken, several months ago, it seemed that his job was getting steadily more difficult and the trend was expected to continue for potentially several years.

There was no way of knowing when he'd be replying, then. Rick paced around his cabin for a while, considering his options. He wanted to go walking, but he'd quickly lose phone service, and he needed that to do more research.

Just when he was about to leave, Melissa texted "Don't make any terrible life choices without me!" Rick smiled and replied with "I'll save you some meth" before heading to the main office.

It was closed, since Adsila and Wemilat had left for lunch, but he had his own key. Using the better connection in the main office, Rick sat down and began to delve deeper into the research.

The reason the rumors were unclear seemed to be that the Showdown operated differently in different regions. There was a public sphere that seemed clear enough: competitors had patrons or sponsors and competed for prize purses in a wide variety of categories across the globe. But how exactly they connected to their sponsors and event rules varied widely. Events in the USA were corporate, but Europe had entirely different rules, the Siberian events were secretive, and the Nokan Showdowns had a reputation for ruthlessness.

More troublesome, he got the sense that there was a deeper sphere. It wasn't merely celebrity, there were greater players keeping score across the events. There he found only rumors, from reasonable-sounding speculation to full on conspiracy theory.

That was what bothered him. Many of the Showdown competitors were essentially just athletes, and some were wealthy enough to be their own brand. But those who worked for some other power... he wasn't sure what rules they played by, but he couldn't trust them. Perhaps the Showdown would be safer than the past events he'd encountered at the highest levels, but in the beginning he would be relying entirely on the mercy of institutions.

And he didn't trust institutions.

Just as Rick was getting frustrated, he heard the door. Adsila first locked herself out, realized he'd unlocked the door, then came in. She tossed her keys onto the counter and glanced at him. "Something go wrong?"

"Nah, just wanted to talk to you more about the Showdown." Rick put away his phone and got up to follow her into the back hall. "I'm not sure how much you know as a fan, but I've been trying to look up more."

"Oh, that interested you?" Adsila gave him a surprisingly broad smile. "I hoped it might. Yeah, I was really into the Showdown when I was younger and I still keep up with it."

"Do you know how success is measured? It isn't all just money, is it?"

"Oh, definitely not. Some factions even scorn the money side of it and make it all about honor."

"But you can't eat honor. How does it actually work?"

"I can't claim to to know all the details, but I can definitely do better than random people on the internet." Adsila moved to her office computer and began typing in book titles. "I got most of this information from these books, to be honest, so if you want to read them yourself, you won't really need me."

Rick stepped up beside her to look at the titles. "But I assume you can summarize? It might be time-sensitive."

"Oh, you're that interested?" Adsila glanced at him with a spark in her eyes. "I thought you might want to try it, since it seemed like your sort of event. The Showdown is one of the last areas where they don't really care about your qualifications, just merit. So for someone like... wait, sorry, is that dickish of me?"

"It's not a big deal. But you're delaying long enough you're making me wonder if you don't actually know."

"Sorry, no." She took a breath and refocused before speaking in her usual calm voice. "The ultimate goal of most people in the Showdown is to receive official recognition, which is added to a permanent card. If you finish an event in the top three, of course you get a seal to mark your victory. But every major power and institution is also capable of bestowing seals upon anyone who catches their eye. Get the right seals and you can open major doors for yourself."

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

"That sounds like a resume to me." Rick frowned at the thought, but Adsila just rolled her eyes.

"If you want to be utterly boring about it. I personally love the idea, because it makes for such great stories. For example, there was a huge Showdown event last generation where a bunch of disciples from the world powers were fighting each other. The projected winner of the melee was the disciple of the World Sculptor, but everyone else teamed up against him. Particularly the disciples of Tsar Chernobog, who eventually brought him down early on.

"In a normal event, that would just be bad luck and he'd get nothing. But Tsar Chernobog eliminated his own disciples for cowardice and bestowed his personal seal on the World Sculptor's disciple. Nobody really cared who won, all of the attention was on the crazy skills the disciple displayed holding off everyone else."

Listening in silence, Rick found himself strangely adrift. He knew the titles Adsila mentioned, but they were historical figures, not people he expected to actually get involved with real life. Even though he knew there were plenty of immortals still around, filling the top ether tiers of society, they were so far beyond him that he rarely gave them thought, any more than he thought about horse breeding, gold-plated toilets, or living on the moon.

"Oh, come on." Adsila regarded him sourly. "That didn't do anything for you? I think it's a nice story."

"I don't think I'm going to be getting a commendation from a world power any time soon." Rick gave her a weak smile and shook his head. "But I appreciate you explaining it to me. I imagine there are much less impressive seals that could still be useful for someone like me."

"Right, exactly. Of course, the first step is just to get a card, and even getting in is difficult."

"What kind of card do you mean? Like this?" Rick pulled out the business card he'd been given and Adsila whistled as she took it carefully and looked it over.

"This... no, it's not an official participant card. If they haven't changed the rules, passes like these are a one time opportunity that expires once the Showdown moves on. The real cards stay with you forever, even if you leave the Showdown. It's as good as a diplomatic passport in almost every country! Still, it's nothing to sneeze at! You have a weird knack for catching people's attention, Rick."

Ignoring her compliment, back-handed or otherwise, Rick instead focused on her earlier statement. "What did you say about leaving the Showdown? Are you allowed to just walk away?"

"That's how it works in theory. If you're in debt to your sponsor, or a slave or something, of course it doesn't work that way." Adsila handed the card back to him and shrugged. "But yes, people retire all the time. It's considered shameful, as the purpose of the Showdown is supposed to be to reach the absolute peak of lucrim achievement. But if you've acquired some good seals, you could easily retire and coast on those as a personal trainer and the like."

"Hmm. I guess if there's no risk, I should at least try to compete."

"That's the right attitude!" Adsila playfully hit him in the stomach. "I don't think there's any way I'd see you at the main event, but if you qualify and follow the world tour... who knows, maybe the next time you come around, you might be a celebrity!"

Rick put the card away and shook his head. "That eager to get rid of me, huh?"

"Just something to think about." Adsila looked like she was about to say more, but just then Delsin stuck his head in the office. He was also starting to say something, so the two just stared at each other in a brief moment of awkwardness. Rick stepped into it quickly.

"Delsin, I was wanting to talk to you."

"Well, dammit." Delsin sighed and rubbed his shotgun's handle over his shoulder. "Guess I can't get out of this one. Step outside and let me talk to my niece a bit, then you can join me on the next patrol."

"Keep him from escaping out a window, Adsila," Rick said. She grinned and nodded, but then pushed him out so they could discuss tribal business.

Back in the hallway, Rick wandered to the lobby, his steps heavy. He wished he had someone else to talk to, but Wemilat was nowhere to be found yet. His phone had another playful text from Melissa, but nothing from Uncle Frank.

Left with only his own thoughts, Rick began to spiral into incredulity. All of this was absurd, some kind of fever dream. It was bad enough that he was considering trying to compete on the world stage, even if just the minor leagues of it. But what made it all utterly ridiculous was that he was doing it because of a damn dream. Though he still felt a flicker of the rage he'd felt in that dream, more than anything, he felt like a fool for letting himself get swept up in it.

Yet without something to drive him forward, he'd soon begin drifting...

"Alright, let's get this over with." Delsin slouched from the hallway after him with a scowl on his face. "Let's hear whatever adolescent nonsense you need to throw at me this time."

As if to stop him, Delsin set a brutal pace into the Refuge, leaving Rick panting as he struggled to keep up. He wasn't sure if they were even meaningfully patrolling anywhere, the old man was just trying to leave him behind. Yet Rick had a lot more experience moving over such terrain than he'd had a year ago, so he kept up, trying to draw enough breath to ask questions when he had his chance.

After a broad arc and the quenching of a small fire, they finally reached a hill near the center of the Refuge. There were no true peaks, but it had a bit of a view over the forests surrounding them. When Delsin stopped by the edge of a cliff, Rick caught up and was surprised by how little he needed to catch his breath.

"I'm dealing with some mystical bullshit." Rick had been thinking about what approach to take and decided that sincerity might backfire. "Before you mock, just remember that you sent me on an acid trip to a buffalo graveyard."

"Oh, fuck, I'm going to regret this." Delsin folded his arms. "But I know you don't give up. What is it?"

"Do you know of any trustworthy sources about dreams actually being meaningful? Normally I'd assume not, but I'm pretty sure I dreamed someone who I'd never seen in real life, then saw them the next day."

"Are you on the wacko tobacco, kid? You think you're some kind of hero to get mystical dreams?"

"I can't deny what I saw. Also, when I woke up, I was circulating lucrim as if getting ready for a fight, and I'd never done that before."

"Fine. What did you dream?"

"Well..." Rick took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I was standing on a skyscraper, over a city I don't know. There was someone there and I immediately hated him. It made sense to me then, but not in the way dreams usually make sense no matter what, it was as if I had memories of him. The reason I asked you is that you were there too, telling me not to fight. I tried to ask you why, but you wouldn't answer. Then you started taking off y-"

"Goddammit, kid." Delsin cuffed him on the side of the head, but Rick thought he caught just a hint of a grin. "Did you really set all this up just to get me back?"

In fact, Rick had been hoping to disarm the old man enough to get a serious answer to the question. He decided to stop playing around and just directly outlined what had happened, focusing on the events he thought couldn't be explained by the dream being meaningless. Delsin listened until he was done, then shook his head.

"If there are dreams that are anything more than the ravings of a sleeping brain, that's news to me. That sort of thing is spoken about in old tales, but not in the ones I'd trust. Either you saw him before or your brain forced a connection where none existed."

"So you think it's all nothing?"

"Well, not all. The fact that you were circulating lucrim can actually be easily explained: that's something that tends to happen once fighters get fully used to their combat cores. You dream realistically enough that your body starts actually using lucrim." Delsin chuckled at his expression. "Don't worry, you wouldn't actually use it in a way that could harm anyone, not unless you have much deeper issues."

Rick was actually more worried about spending lucrim in his sleep, but he could look that up on his own. Having Delsin confirm that there was nothing to it left him feeling more grounded, surprisingly. Attempting to enter the Showdown might be the right choice for him, but he wouldn't do it because of dreams or anything that ridiculous.

They chatted for a while longer before heading back. Just before they left, Rick found himself standing by the cliff one more time.