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An older cousin of mine used to drag me to the gym while being in charge of watching me. My half-hearted attempt to pass the time on the shiny, strange equipment soon lost novelty. Boredom prevailed. During these long periods of people-watching, I learned two important life lessons.

The first insight taught me that girls didn’t want to be bothered while working out. Their radioactive stares stopped males in their tracks. Others ignored even the most innocent of questions. Most guys, having learned their lesson, never crossed boundaries again.

The second thing I discovered involved weight-lifters not fitting the jock-alpha male stereotype, at least not in the gym. I expected to see high-fives, bravado, and loud laughter amongst the beefier gym members, but their behavior reflected precisely the opposite. Instead of peacocking and testosterone, the social dynamic resembled a public library. Gyms were quiet. Weightlifters concentrated on their workouts with their eyes cast downward, and everyone respected each other’s personal space. People acted shy and overly polite, bearing nervous smiles and deferential nods. Their routine appeared as introverted as any activity I’d seen. Everyone lost themselves in the zen of their headphones.

Weightlifters were nerds. Not in the sense that they played games or quoted obscure fantasy shows, but their dedication to reclusive activity formed a subculture of its own. The world of nerds stretched further than I realized. Nerds came in different flavors. Art nerds, math nerds, and sports nerds rarely mixed, but their activities, not personalities, separated them.

Dino Marcello de Piane behaved like a nerd. He acted like an alpha nerd in his element, but this still counted as one of my tribe.

I cut him some slack and stopped being uptight about his constant criticism. Weathering his critiques forced me to focus on my technique while everyone else enjoyed their lessons.

We exercised until Dino moved sparring locations. “Let us adjourn to the arena—the whetstone of reflexes.”

I lowered my voice so only Fabulosa could hear. “Do you understand him?”

Fabulosa ignored my question. “The arena is a safe place to fight. Instead of wooden boffers and practice equipment, you’ll fight for real. Your opponent can’t kill you. Duels end when someone reaches one health point—after which you’re forced into performing a Rest and Mend. But even then, you’re immune to damage until you reach full health.”

An interface window appeared, asking if I wanted to participate in a duel with Dino.

I accepted.

Fabulosa sat down in the front row of the stands. She folded her arms and rested her chin on her chest. Her nonchalance didn’t bode well for me—as if the duel’s outcome rendered only one foregone conclusion. She called out her best advice. “Fight like you’re fighting for your life.”

Twenty-three seconds later, my knees collapsed into a sitting position, and I performed a Rest and Mend. My health rose from 1 to full. I’d lost my first duel to Dino, who hadn’t received a single point of damage despite my best efforts.

Dino beckoned me to join Bernard and Blane, who looked excited to train with me. “We must begin with footwork techniques for standing, and when we have mastered the fundamentals, we shall graduate to moving from side to side.” He shifted his weight from one foot to another as if illustrating a foreign concept. “We call this dodging.” His expression showed no hints of sarcasm.

I sighed and went along with the program. I dodged back and forth as I’d seen in boxing movies.

“No, no—no!” Dino smacked the side of my leg when I side-stepped. “Keep feet close to the ground! Caress the floor with your toes. Show the earth you mean her no harm. Don’t hop about like the squirrel who forgets where he buries his nuts! Be frugal with movement, for there is strength in stillness. Every motion opens potential exploits. And watch your opponent’s eyes—the eyes betray intent.”

I mimicked his motions.

He didn’t stop me, a sign of progress, but his criticism never faltered. “Where is the balance? Lower your hips! How can one hold a heavy weapon if one doesn’t bend his knees?”

And so, my lessons in standing began.

One of the odd things about Dino involved his inability to eat. Considering the man compared nearly everything to food or wine, it seemed peculiar. Yet everyone ignored the idiosyncrasy.

Fabulosa once tried taking her meal into the battle college to keep Dino company, but he chased her out. The fastidious trainer criticized her for bringing food into his facility, and she never tried it again. She admitted it would have been weird eating in front of him anyway.

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“You’re doing well.” Fabulosa’s comment seemed to come out of the blue as we walked to the town hall for dinner.

“How can you tell? All he did all day was correct my breathing and standing. It’s like I was born yesterday.”

“You’ll be thankful when the pace picks up. If you’re not using your diaphragm correctly, you’ll get fatigued. And fatigue costs health in long battles.”

“As opposed to not using my diaphragm? Is there another muscle down there that I’m not supposed to use to breathe?

“Of course not. It’s just you need to be conscious of it. When you’re aware of your breathing, you can regulate it better, and you won’t have to gasp for breath later on.”

“I don’t know about that. If all I do is focus on breathing, how am I going to avoid something, like, I don’t know—a poison dagger?”

“Patch. There aren’t any poison daggers in the battle college. And the point is to pick up good habits, so you don’t have to think about them during combat.”

I guess that made sense. It still annoyed me we focused on minutiae instead of combat maneuvers.

I picked up my griffon in the roundhouse before we got our food. As Beaker outgrew his basket, he became louder and sometimes screeched in my ear when I picked him up. He learned to climb my arm and sit on my shoulder even though the perch offered little room. Thankfully, my mithril chain mail gave his claws something to find purchase as he clung to me.

When Fabulosa appeared in the roundhouse, my Familiar clamored on her arrival.

I mentally scolded him. “Beaker, do not scream into my ear. That hurts.”

Fabulosa ruffled Beakers’s chest feathers. “How big do you think he’ll get—big enough to ride?”

“I don’t know. Beaker’s mother looked pretty big.”

“Yeah, she was. But aren’t female birds usually bigger? Isn’t that a thing?”

I shrugged. “No idea. That’s more of a question for….” I trailed off after realizing I almost finished my sentence with the word “Charitybelle.”

Fabulosa saw it on my face. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay. I know Charitybelle is alive and well in Southern California. Who knows? Maybe she’s working on a tan. I’m just getting used to not having her around.”

“Yeah, I miss RIP and the girls. But cheer up. You have a whole new lifetime to spend with her when the battle royale ends. One where you won’t need to dodge poison daggers.”

I gave a weak laugh. “Yeah, and who knows? Maybe we’ll get to play this game again one day. That’s yet another lifetime, right?”

We sat at our usual table and ate our stew. I set Beaker and his sampler bowl beside me on the bench, and he picked through the variety of food in his bowl. I’d given up chiding him over dropping unwanted food on the floor—griffons simply ate that way. Every time he dropped something, he spoke in my mind. “Do not want.”

Yula’s pet dog, Mugsy, learned to sit beneath Beaker and gobble down anything my finicky griffon discarded. Mugsy patiently waited for whatever dropped next and kept the floorboards clean. I suspected Beaker dropped things on purpose, but the bits of food fell in such small quantities that it didn’t upset the dog’s health.

After dinner, Fabulosa spent evenings with Dino while Beaker and I relaxed on Hawkhurst Rock until the evening’s chill overtook us.

Since beginning my new training regimen, I rejoined the rest of the settlement at the roundhouse fireplace. In lieu of alcohol, we drank a warm tea that tasted vaguely of licorice and listened to stories and jokes until bedtime.

When I joined the fireside conversation, things got less silly, and the discussion shifted to practical matters about the town’s future. I played the role of governor, and everyone hung on my words. While I enjoyed their enthusiasm, sometimes their questions stifled me.

Hugo broached the subject of our recent trip to the dungeon. As an indentured servant from Grayton, life kicked him around enough to instill a fearless quality regarding social barriers. His lack of etiquette endeared him to the dwarves, who dove into personal questions and hugs with strangers.

Hugo cocked his head as if to study me. “There are rumors about a gnoll who knows about our location. Does that bother you?”

All eyes turned to me. The question became one of the sore spots of being a leader. I didn’t know how to discuss our town’s risks and dangers. Would it unnerve people if I spilled the beans, or should I play dumb? Should I mention Winterbyte’s obsession with the relic or her connection to the Grayton mobsters?

The conundrum resembled our varg problem. Yula predicted the wolves wouldn’t attack again until birthing their pups in the summer. While this gave us months to prepare, everyone worried about something we couldn’t change. But this relic presented another matter. If the kobolds tried to pawn it off on the orcs, it likely posed a danger to Hawkhurst. Regardless, I didn’t want news of it to lower our security rating and morale.

I answered honestly, without betraying my misgivings about Winterbyte’s escape. “There’s a gnoll who’s convinced that Fab and I took a cursed relic.”

Gunny, a collier, squinted as he spoke. “This relic—came from the lizard people?” His stories sometimes kept the crew in fits of laughter at night, keeping me awake when I retired early.

Ally nodded. “The lizardfolk. Aye, they predate everyone on Miros.”

I shook my head. “The lizardfolk built a temple around an ancient reliquary. The relic comes from the aquatic race. Remember when I mentioned the lobster-looking things with tentacles I’d seen in the worm room?”

Ally nodded. “But the lizardfolk are amphibious, perhaps….”

“Nah, the relic belonged to something in a lower room. I think they worshipped whatever lay inside the sarcophagus.”

I’d piqued Gunny’s interest. “Sarcophagus?”

“Yeah, that’s where we found the relic. It curses whoever carries it, so we let it be.”

I didn’t mention the magic aura or that turning it off involved one of our silver cylinders. The fewer people who knew the details, the better.

Hugo pointed at me. “So the gnolls can’t take the relic without the key?”

I answered with more confidence than I felt. “No. Only we can get inside.”

Hugo shrugged. “Won’t that lead them to us?”

Everyone’s eyes fell on me. “All of Winterbyte’s allies died before we arrived. She’ll need to recruit more help—which might take some time because she’s not the most trusting sort. But if there’s even a whiff of her in our neck of the woods, Hawkhurst won’t have to wait for an attack. I’m going after her.”

I couldn’t hide that the topic touched a nerve. After realizing I spoke to the fireplace flames, I gave the gathered audience a reassuring smile. “The only unresolved issue with Winterbyte involves dividing her belongings. We’ll take care of her.”