It was the coldest day in a desert, the thirty-first of forgiveness, when a hooded man buried in a crowd found himself very very alone. His bullet steps pierced through the frigid alley. He couldn’t stop now. By the way his breath frosted and his fingertips shivered, his very heart would have crystallized the moment he gave in to the exhaustion.

He was a ghost in his own funeral. A phantom who’s opera had forgotten. Who was he now? Playing a quick sidestep, he managed an exit into an empty alley. He smiled to that. The prince always said he’d find some luck one day.

The prince…

He thought of the boy amongst his foreign foray. He had been nothing before he met Sol. Truly nothing. He would have been better off buried in the sands. But since then, he’d found a new way of life. Much a kin to the alley he navigated then. Yet all ways in life had eventualities. He cursed softly at the sight of mudded bricks. A forced end to his sudden retreat.

A pair of steps approached. He reached for his blade.

He cursed again for not noticing earlier. He had been followed since he left the academy. It was his own folly for letting his assailant get that far.

The steps painted a face for itself and he recognized the muzzle instantly.

“It’s been three years, hasn’t it?” mused the approached. His voice had completely changed. It was deeper now. It had a growl to it.

The cornered mouse drew the rest of his blade. This was a battle he would not win. His opponent flashed a long blade in kind.

No thought the man as he charged his opponent headlong. He would try his best to cripple the man and at the very least warn them. He would warn them if he managed to escape. Warn them if he had to with blood. Warn them if he had to with his corpse. Warn them.

His body slid to the bottom of the other man’s pommel. The battle was over before he realised it began.

He coughed out blood and convulsed like a wounded animal. His foe must have thought it unsightly, for a moment later, he simply shook the defeated man off his blade, promising his blood to earth below.

Footsteps. The man, now on the ground, blinked his eyes as time began to slow. He could make out the silver lined boots of his murderer as they paced away. Step after step, those heavy things played a peculiar beat. His murderer had a limp. The man choked on his own blood gurgling out, he felt the hot it further curdle in his chest. Time slowed, the pain vanished. He could smell the crisp spices wafting from a nearby restaurant. He knew that place. Loved it. It served his favorite kebabs.

Again he coughed and his head rolled to a meek puddle by the tip of his nose. His eyes fluttered. Time fell away. A single drop of crimson the last he saw as it dipped into the puddle below…

…

Drop

It was a tincture of pure golden red, one hot to the touch, a feature that proved all to spoken for by the drifting fog it emitted. He never drank tea, though the woman insisted he should. She had just finished serving it after all. He tried not to focus on her. It felt strange seeing someone for the first time in person, yet knowing exactly how it felt to wear their skin.

“Pardon da tea. It’s been a while since I’ve had a guest.”

Cirin reached for the cup, but stopped himself before he grasped it. He fell back in his cushioned chair.

His eyes shifted to hers before flinching away, “He was shirtless da last I saw of him.” He managed. “You wa all he talked about befa dey arrested him.”

“tank you.” She said simply.

“Dis isn’t kindness.” Asserted the boy, “Just a favor I had ta return.”

His eyes wandered to a portrait of Mehpit, a younger Cassal, another man two heads taller than Cassal, and a strange silver haired girl. They seemed happy.

“Sa I heard ya be starting at da academy soon?”

“Yes, today actually.”

“Den, would you accept a gift?”

She’d started moving before he could answer.

He tried his best to follow her as she darted out the room into the next. Cirin spoke between the clanks and shuffles of drawers, “As I said befa mon, I dun need tan-”

Mephit popped out the room a minute later, choosing to produce a dimpled smile where she stood.

“Yes. Yes!” She beamed, nodding to herself madly, “Dis’ll fit ya perfectly.”

Finally, she revealed what she had been hiding the entire time. Cirin’s eyes widened. A desert long coat, a coat the color of sand. It was worn, but it still could do more of a job than his battered down leather vest could do any day. On top of its tailored in frontal scarf, it possessed a defensive plate solely tied to the right shoulder. The coat itself stretched far enough to reach the waist on the far end, while the back end continued much further. The back, as Mephit quickly revealed, bore leather straps made for strapping weapons, while the twin tail tips of the coat were crested with silver lining.

“I… I can’t accept dis. It must half an Ir atleast.”

“Mo.” Smiled Mehpit, “But do not worry, now dat my cousin is free- mo free dan he was befa- I needn’t worry about da sum I was saving ta buy him back from Jegga. Dis coat was neva ours anyways. It belonged to a friend of ours when he was younga. He was an excellent fighta such as yaself, sa please take it.”

“I can’t.”

“You’ll need it fa da academy.” She insisted, pressing the coat against his chest.

Seeing the plate glimmer made Cirin reconsider. Eagerly, he took the coat from her hands and slid it overtop his head. The arms fit well, as did the chest for the most part just passing his waist, but the tail ends nearly touched the ground.

“Ya said dis’ll fit me perfectly?”

“I’d say in tree years it should, but ya neva know how ya kids grow dese days.”

There was a knock on the door and Mephit rose her brows.

Cirin bowed to Mephit, “Dat be fa me I tink.”

He managed to leave after promising to return. Mephit insisted upon it and sicne she had given him his second priciest possession he had no choice but to oblige.

“Sa she just gave it to you?” Asked Taba in disbelief.

“Afta I told her about Cassal, yes.”

Taba glanced at her own dirtied tower priestly robes, “Must be nice.” She sighed.

“I want to join the academy to!”

Cirin smiled at his imp of a charge before relapsing to the growing road ahead of them. They were not far from the academy grounds now.

“I dun tink dey’ll let eight year olds join, mon.”

“Actually, that’s not entirely true.” Corrected Catherine, “Entry into the academy may be done as soon as six years of age and on top of that, the academy boasts a variety of different types of learning apart from fighting. Sol doesn’t have to fight either. Those who prove frail are often exempt from fighting all together.”

Sol nearly leapt after hearing that. Catherine had become his new found hope.

“It’ll be tough.” Warned Cirin.

“How would you know, degenerate? Ya be just as new as he is.”

Cirin tossed the count a telling glance, “I know cause da old mon told me once. Something I’m sure he dun tell ya.”

Taba crossed her arms and puffed.

“Besides, da old mon was trained here. So I’d tink dey use da same methods as him.”

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“Azhar taught you?”

For once, Cirin found himself staring back at the estranged Bahar following them. The man had little to no presence after his encounter with the drunk swordsman.

Cirin nodded and Bahar let out a taunting howl.

“What?” snapped Cirin.

Bahar calmed down to that, shaking his head as he spoke, “Noting. Masta Azhar was different from da udda students at da academy. For one, he neva trained wit any of dem.”

“But-”

“He taught himself.” Entertained Bahar, “I was very young when I heard tale of him, but I remembered his name well.” Bahar breathed in and settled his eyes on Cirin, “He won all da tournaments.”

“All of them?!” scoffed Catherine, “I believe your facts are wrong, good sir. Not one student has ever won every tournament in the course of his or her term. That would surely been noted in the records, which I have so dutifully taken care as to read.”

“Hmm ya be right. He won all but one. He lost da second to a man named Jaffan.”

“Ya seem ta know a lot about dis.” Edged Cirin.

“Ofcourse I do, ya wretch. Dose tree wa da reason I spent ten years- ah, yes. I’m not supposed ta talk about dat. Damned drunk.”

“I don’ recall those conditions.” Admitted Catherine.

“Dey wa added latta. Da monsta woman told me personally. But enough of dat. Look here. Dere lies da academy.”

Cirin craned his head. The first thing he saw were two granite pillars that remained attached by one of the many arches of the Bazaar. Beyond that stretched a brimming courtyard. Eight perfectly trimmed hedges of fighters hugged either side in a symmetric split whilst a wide assortment of arid flowers showered the feet of those unnamed heroes. A strikingly white pathway cut through both side and a magnanimous construct hid itself within a clutch of houses at the end of the path. That was the academy. Cirin could scarcely make out an even larger wall stretching behind it.

“Ah, da arena. Dat brings back memories.” Reminisced Bahar.

“Administration should be at the front.”

Cirin had come to be weary of the word ‘administration’. Long had it meant the often useless expenditure of time. Memories of waiting in long lines and listening to begrudgingly long words grappled his mind as he wafted passed the heavy academy doors.

He imagined it was no different. Cirin blinked. The first of his imagined grievances was proved wrong the moment he laid eyes on the sole creature behind the table and moreso the lack of a line.

“Ah, Cirin and Taba I assume?” she started, “Come dis way, ya two are ta give an entrance speech at da current assembly.”

“I will escort dem, Moria.”

“You.” Said Cirin at once.

“Little pup.” She bowed.

His ruby eyes scanned the twig of an instructor from top to bottom. Sijas Ka Re. She wore loosely held breeches and a sleeveless white shirt. Her fists were wrapped dirt stained bandages. Somehow, she had managed to be more of an enigma than Manama.

“Follow me, children.” She instructed the two. She paused as more footsteps than she expected echoed behind her, “Just da two please.”

“It’ll only be a moment.” Promised Cirin.

Sol nodded with a moment’s hesitation and Cirin continued after the slender Sijas. A long hallway awaited them with a number of words written either side of the wall. Cirin squinted at those scribblings. Names written in old Arrag.

Sijas had noticed his acute curiosity, “Dis must be new ta ya. Sa let me explain ta ya what dis is about. Every new comer not inducted in da beginning of da term must give a short speech as to who dey are. Helps to shorten da gap.” She spied Cirin in particular, “Make it easier ta get friends.”

Cirin could see the considerably darker wooden doors now. He sighed as he spoke to no one in particular.

“I dun need friends.”

Cirin choked, glanced at Taba, and immediately edged away from her.

Sijas played a crooked smile, stopping briefly to push open the door, “Curious da bot of ya be saying dat.”

Cirin shielded his eyes from the ensuing light. Sunlight. He blundered forwards with Taba at his side. A few steps more and his feet turned to stone.

There, in front of him, spanned rows upon rows of tightly packed observers. Cirin bevelled his head around to get sense of it. It was a ring, a stadium with center held brazenly bare and dusty. It wasn’t on the scale of the messas or the towers but it seemed large enough to host the few hundred heads gathered there.

Sijas snapped her shoulders in place as she babbled, “I was giving a live demonstration for da upcoming tournament befa I caught word of ya arrival. Dere be four different groups amoungst da crowds.” She bounced her bony finger between the notable color variations in the seatings, “Black fa novices, gold fa intermediates, bronze fa advanced, and white fa experts. Coincidentally da rankings match fairly well wit da age groups. You two will start at gold.” She crossed her arms and balanced her head on one hand, “Hmpf. Dey make ya introduce ya selves in da place ya be needing ta fight in. It be poetic. Dis be ya first fight in a way.”

Cirin’s gaze shifted to Taba. She seemed just as uneased as he was. The girl lowered her shoulders.

“Just a basic introduction is needed?”

Sijas nodded, “Simple, eh?”

Taba looked up as if she’d actually considered it, but soon leapt back, shaking her furiously.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t! Dere are too many out dere. Hundreds of people I neva met.”

“Alright, den da pup goes.”

Cirin froze up. For the briefest of moments Taba glanced his way and he realised he only had one opportunity to spare himself. Taba had an awful habit of drawing too much attention. One he could exploit given the right circumstance.

“It-it be an easy task mon. I could do it any time.” He lied, “All ya need ta do is tell a lie sa outrageous no one will simply choose ta ignore what ya say. Do dat and da rest of any speech will just ya talking to yaself. Easy.”

He could feel the cold trickle of sweat lurch down his temple. At that moment his sweat told him that no one, not even Taba would’ve been stupid enough to believe his advice. Yet for once his sweat was wrong.

Taba slammed one hand onto the base of the other like a cudgel and nodded briskly at Cirin. Cirin could only smile dumbly as the girl sported a massive grin herself.

“But ofcourse,” Added Cirin, “dis only works if only one of us tells a lie. And only if dat liar goes first.”

“Dat’s all I need ta do?”

“Dat’s all.”

Taba swallowed a massive bit of air and marched forwards. Sijas made to follow her, but before she did, she paused and turned slightly to the boy.

“You intend ta use ya friend? Ya sure ya should be lying ta her?”

“She’s not my friend.” Asserted the boy.

Sijas shrugged as she turned back to the girl, “Dun blame me when dis works against ya.”

As if it would. Cirin fancied himself a master at besting the girl. He already defeated her twice in combat, and innumerable times in their various verbal bouts. Now was no different. He could see it render in his head. Taba would make a fool of herself and he would merely walk out there, say his name and leave. They’d all be distracted on the count to notice the quiet mannered boy. It was a prodigious ploy, as good as any the old mon would have conjured.

Taking more and more pleasure in his scheme the more he thought of it, Cirin ventured a little closer to the dusted ring. He watched as Sijas rose her hand to quiet the masses and levied her other towards Taba.

Sijas tapped her mouth and an wavering echoe flew through the ring. Cirin shifted. That was natural magic. The same as what Catherine used.

“Today, we be havin a new student join us.” Her voice was beaming yet as clear as if she was right beside him.

There were rumblings to that assertion. Quiet whispers that made Cirin curious as to what was being said.

“To commemorate dis inauguration, she’ll be givin us a speech.”

Sijas tapped Taba on the shoulder and retracted her arm almost mechanically as the girl jerked forwards.

“I-“

Taba cut herself off to the bewilderment of her own massive voice.

“I am pleased ta be joining dis academy.” Her voice beamed across the stadium. “My name is Taba of da Ashatar family, and I come her wit da hopes of becoming truly strong.” Taba bounced her eyes about and finally rested those golden specs on an unseen spectre far above Cirin, “But fo dat I need a challenge.”

That got the crowd mumbling. They were not prepared. Cirin smiled.

“In da coming tournament, I, Taba Ashatar, shall best all who challenge me.”

And that prompted immediate heckles from the crowd. Some even so loud as to reach the bottom delving ears of Cirin.

“Empire Scum!”

“Pick a fight wit one of us, pick a fight wit all of us!”

“Go back to ya dead sands!”

Sijas quieted them with one hand raised.

“She’s not done.” Echoed the woman.

“Aye I’m not. But ya lot will be. I am strong. Strongah dan ya. Strong enough not ta have ta go to dis academy.” Her words become flurried and zealous, “I will use da lot I defeat here as stepping stone ta finally best da only one I tink stronga den myself.” She flicked her hand in the one direction Cirin dared not expect. “Cirin, student of the dog of Lamonori. Apprentice of Azhar!”

There was a collective gasp and Cirin could only plant his face in his hands as it happened.

The crowd erupted into unkempt blisters of gossip, spreading like a wound that Taba so ungraciously gaped.

Sijas attempted to silence the crowd, yet it had no effect.

“It seems our second student has already been introduced.” She sighed, “So witout fudrah delay let me introduce…” she tapped her head a couple times, breathed in, bellowed as loud as she could, “CIRIN!”

That sent the stadium shaking. In its wake, the boisterous crowd was made nothing more than a pack of mutes. Cirin stumbled forwards into the sunlight. He held his hair down and drove his hands in his pockets as soon as he could.

Taba passed him by, feigning an agreeable thumb as she did. Cirin could only spit to the side. He didn’t need to look to know that everyone in that stadium had their eyes on him. Judging him.

He stood silently for several seconds once he reached the stadium’s eye. His heart ricocheted within him. His stomach twisted. Beads of sweat raced down his temple and his cheeks. He felt hollow. Weak… Without thinking he reached for his right shoulder and remembered.

With the world bearing down on him, the boy chose to push back.

“Everyting dat noble cur just said…” Began Cirin, his voice as loud as a god’s, “Is true. Sa let me clear one ting befa I continue.” He swept half the stadium with one hand, “I dun trust any of ya, and I doubt I will. Treaten me, or dose close ta me and I will cut ya down.”

Cirin fixed his collar and left to that. Only silence followed his wake. He paused two steps into his retreat. He narrowed his brows and gave the crowd a sweeping glance, “I will win dis tournament and any mo afta. Den one day I will be da strongest man in dis country. Dis I swear.”

Sijas did not speak up until Cirin had left the stadium, the wooden doors left flapping behind him.

Taba ran through those doors, prompting the poor thing to begin flapping once more.

“Did ya really just do dat, degenerate?”

“Hmm? I told dem what I tell everybody.”

“Ya just made enemies wit da entire school!”

“As did you.”

Taba crossed her arms, “I’m an outsider. You’re- you’re da student of Azhar! What ya say here carries mo weight dan what ya might realise.”

Cirin puffed and continued walking, “Den I’ll stay true to my word and best everyone of dem.”

“Ya be too bold fa ya own good.”

“And ya bee too stupid.”

“What’s dat supposed ta mean, degenerate? Oi, ansah me!”

Their cries shifted into nimble echoes as they vanished beyond the hallway. Unbeknownst to them, Sajis had been watching even then. She had done so whilst she leaned coolly against the walls.

A well built man brushed passed the door and stopped abruptly in front of the woman. He was a bull of a man, but one extraordinarily well dressed in his pressed black linen robes and white slacks.

“Sijas, what was da meaning of dis?” he questioned in his impossibly low tone. “Ya just sent two completely new students inta a packed arena of all places ta introduce demselves?”

“Call it a test.” Shrugged the woman.

The man sighed vigorously, choosing to rest his head on one arm as he questioned the lunatic, “And so? Did dey pass dis maddening test?”

Sijas smiled, and laughed, “not at all.”