"She's certainly... enthusiastic," Seph said, watching the woman on the sands below throw her fists into her opponent like her life depended on it.

Her skin was a deep, rich brown, her eyes a molten gold, and her tightly curled black hair sat atop her head in a haphazard sling. Seph was surprised to see her using packing twine to encircle her hair instead of a leather strip, as was more common in the outer rings. Her clothes followed the same ragged theme, a mishmash of different fabrics and stitching coming together in a lightweight covering that somewhat resembled standard pit-fighter's garb. It looked to Seph like she used every chip she could towards nutrition.

The woman was half a head taller than Seph, and though she didn't have Nax's build, she wasn't far off. Ripcord muscle covered her frame, and the duo watched as she pounded her opponent into the sand with wild abandon.

"Yes!" She screamed, jumping in the air and pumping a fist. "Oh! Sorry, Hawe. I got a little carried away." She reached a hand down towards the boy in the sand, and he flinched before returning the gesture. Seph watched as the woman practically flung the boy - Hawe, she'd said - to his feet. "Good spar!" She exclaimed, her smile infectious.

Hawe chuckled ruefully, rubbing his chest where a particularly vicious blow had gotten through earlier. "Good spar Lume. I swear you get stronger every bout."

"I'm eating well," Lume said shyly, her boisterous demeanor drying up in the face of the boy's praise.

Seph snorted at the display. "She's strong, I'll give you that," he murmured to Nax. "But why her? There are hundreds of fry waiting to step into the pit that are stronger than her. And I didn't see her defend a single strike. She just overwhelmed him."

Nax shook his head. "Her physical gifts are the price of entry. They're enough, which is all I need. Look at her, Seph. She spends every single chip she has on making herself a better fighter. She doesn't waste anything on frills or lucky charms. She's been with the fry for a quarter cycle now, and she's the only one I've seen who doesn't spend her chips on pleasure. Either she loves fighting more than anything else in this world, or she's more motivated than anyone I've ever met. I can use whichever one it is."

Seph could see it. Nax was an incredible teacher, that was true, but his most valuable insights were nearly impossible to intuit. They had to be earned, through both tireless effort and painstaking resolve. Seph had tried to learn at Nax's feet, and though he had motivation in spades, he'd never had the gifts to make fighting a reality. Lume was talented enough that she had a chance where he didn't. "You think you can turn her into a fighter people will believe might beat a Lithium?"

"With me ringside? I think so. Besides, when did you last see one of the fry pick up a sparring partner after knocking them down? If we're pulling someone out of this place, shouldn't it be someone we're proud to help ascend?" Nax folded his arms in front of his chest as he gazed at the rest of the fighters struggling to make their way into the pits. Surestrike's carnacle-shell mask swiveled across the sands, the rough exterior contrasting with Nax's oiled grace. "She's everything we're looking for. I can teach her to block kicks and throw punches. I can't teach will or kindness. Damn good thing she has both."

"I see it," Seph conceded, hands clasped behind his back while he stood at Nax's side. His mask was composed of driftwood, a smooth facade with a simple two holes cut for the eyes, and a mane of kelp escaping from the back to conceal his hair. "So it's her? You want me to tell Verrin?"

"We talk to her first. I'm not drafting anyone without their approval."

"Of course," Seph replied, feigning offense. "After we speak to her. But Nax, look at her. I'm not sure she's ever said no in her life. She could barely look at the kid after he complimented her."

"Don't confuse shy for weak Seph. Some of the best pit fighters I've met wouldn't be able to look you in the eye. When it comes down to it, people show you who they are, and she just did it in the sand." Nax turned, studying Seph through the mask. "This isn't about when I tried to train you, is it?"

Seph remained silent, thanking the Fortress that his mask concealed his face.

"There's no shame in not being a fighter, Seph. You don't have the tools. Once your crucible ascends, you'll have a body that can keep up with your brain." Nax turned back to watching Lume. "A head start doesn't always mean you win the race. And everyone finishes eventually."

"I hear you." Seph leaned against the railing, his kelp mane undulating in waves behind the pale wooden mask he wore. "We'll pull her after her next spar."

----------------------------------------

The day began well enough for Lumellin. She woke up with a roof over her head, her morning meal was hot and filling, and she'd finally wrestled the stitching on her leggings into something resembling a seam. When Clubs came in to talk to them, she'd been unworried. He'd told them there would be a few spectators at this morning's sparring, trainers looking for a fighter to lift into the ring.

Lumellin knew she was not the most talented fighter, the strongest, the fastest, or the smartest. But she worked harder than any two fry put together, and she knew things the rest of the fry did not.

How to take care of herself, and how to eat.

It didn't sound glamorous, and in truth, it wasn't. But wars were won and lost on vulcanite's stomachs, and that's what the pits were: a war.

Lumellin had learned that the hard way in her early months here in Tuwallo. Her people roamed the rainforests of Omata, and though life was hard, she had a community. In Tuwallo, everyone always seemed to be trying to step on each other. When she'd come to the fighting pits, she'd thought it would be like life among the Ojentus, everyone training together, making each other better at the end of every day. Reality had struck quickly.

She spent her first few weeks receiving beatings that would've killed most of her fellow tribespeople. The other fry here seemed to delight in annihilating the sparring partners they should be learning from. She'd had two boys spit on her in the early days, accusing her of wasting valuable sparring time.

When she surpassed them, she resisted the urge to do the same.

But despite the abuse, she had grown to love it here. Fighting in the sands, striving every day to better herself, using her mother's knowledge of herbs and food to make herself the strongest she could be. She rose quickly, though she was years from reaching the top.

Today she had been looking forward to stepping out into the bright Tuwallo suns. Her training group only had a single fighter who looked down on her for her tribal heritage, and a few of the others had even started asking about her diet. Not to mention, Hawe had been making eyes at her for days. That warmed her more than she'd expected. But, before they'd gone to spar, Verrin had come to speak to the fighters.

"Children!" Verrin had said, his jowls flapping as he made himself heard amongst the fry. This facility housed almost two hundred souls, and when Verrin spoke they listened. "We have a special visitor today! Surestrike has decided to accept an apprentice, to train them for the pits! He has come today in hopes that one of you will impress him."

Verrin paused, the portly man sweating in the heat of the training hall. "One of you might be the next Surestrike, should you have the resolve," he intoned, and Lumellin could see the eyes of the fry around her gazing into the future with visions of grandeur.

The man had gone on, but Lumellin had floated in a sea of thought through the rest of his speech. She was too focused on Surestrike.

He was practically a god to the fighters here. The man's carnacle-shell mask was well-known throughout the fry, and some of Lumellin's wardmates even had artist's renditions of his fights hanging from their walls. But for all his glory, Lumellin had never seen one of his bouts. Most of the fry bought Surestrike tickets when they could, but Lumellin had promised herself she wouldn't waste chips on pleasure.

She was regretting that decision now.

"Hawe," she said, the smaller boy blushing as she grabbed his arm. "Surestrike. Is he as good as they say?"

Hawe laughed like she'd made a joke. Something in her face must have told him the truth, though, because after a moment his amusement turned to incredulity. "Are you serious? Lume, he's the best fighter the pits have ever seen. I watched his bout against the Lithium. Swear to the Fortress, I've never seen anything like it." The boy shook his head, locks of hair bouncing as he did. "I'd give my left arm to train under him. Fight hard today, Lume. This is our chance."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

And she had. She'd beaten everyone they'd put in front of her today, but she knew it wasn't enough. There were still a dozen fry better than her in this ward alone. She'd been lucky not to run into them, but even the fights she'd won had been closer than they should've.

Her last fight today was with Jesso, and to say she was dreading it would be an understatement.

Not because Jesso was a threat. The man had been a bottom-tier fry for near a decade now, which was exactly the problem. Anyone with eyes could tell Jesso would never fight in front of an audience. The man was a brute, and somehow even after nine cycles in the wards, he hadn't sifted a grain of technique. No one knew why he still had a room at the ward while hundreds vied for the openings every cycle, but none of that mattered in the spars.

The real issue was that Jesso had fits. He'd go after opponents following losses, screaming in incoherent rage at his defeat by a fry ten cycles his junior. They'd had three broken limbs this cycle from Jesso's rages once the rules of a spar no longer protected his opponents.

And now Lumellin was facing him. She sighed, staring across at the giant of a man as she shook her limbs out.

Jesso was quiet as a whisper, his fists held in front of him like a statue. His eyes were dull now, but Lume knew that once the spar began they'd burst aflame.

"Begin!" Their adjudicator shouted.

Lumellin tore off towards him, not content to let herself be placed on the back foot. Jesso did the same, and his gaze sharpened as he breathed in the thrill of the fight.

Lumellin kept her head, knowing she could pick the larger man apart. She opened with a feint toward his nose, a ruse that wouldn't work against anyone well-trained enough to see her feet were too far back for her fist to reach his face.

Jesso leaned back like a drunkard on a fishing boat, his hands flying forward to ward a blow that never came.

The moment he obstructed his own vision, she fired a kick at his side. Her shin impacted his torso with a sound like a thunder ape cracking open an ironshell, and he folded over like he'd been swatted by a leviathan.

She didn't give him time to groan. Before Jesso could reset his guard, Lumellin's rising knee hit his chin. Jesso dropped like a puppet with its strings cut, and Lumellin finally let her breathing return to normal as the thrill of the fight left her limbs.

"By the Fortress, Lume," Hawe said. "What was that? I haven't seen you drop someone like that since Devvy grabbed you four moons ago."

"This way he can't have one of his fits," Lumellin replied, the venom in her voice rising in a way she wasn't proud of. Hawe had been on the receiving end of one of Jesso's tantrums, and she knew herself well enough to see her judgment was clouded.

She leaned down and turned Jesso onto his left side, placing him in the position her mother had taught her to recover. The fight's adjudicator walked over, blowing a shrill bone whistle to call one of the medics to the pit.

"He breathing?" The man asked. He squatted down next to Jesso to feel his pulse.

Lumellin nodded.

"Pity," the man snorted, rising from his crouch.

Before Lumellin could reply, she heard a soft impact in the sand behind her. She turned, eyes rising until they met with the carnacle shell mask the newcomer wore.

"Why did you turn him?" Surestrike asked, his voice surprisingly soft compared to what Lumellin had imagined.

"In case he vomits. He should still be able to breathe."

Surestrike nodded, shaded eyes roving over Jesso's fallen form. "Where did you learn that?"

"My mother," Lumellin replied.

The man stayed silent, clearly inviting her to say more. She didn't.

Surestrike chuckled softly. "I've seen you fight before. This is the first time you've looked angry. It's good you didn't kill him. You won't have the memory haunting you when the moon is high."

Lumellin thanked her mother silently for blessing her with her dark skin. She knew her rising blush would have shown without it. "He's a slipfish of a man, and he hurts more fighters after spars than he does during." She frowned. "But he doesn't deserve to die for it."

Surestrike looked at her for a moment, and though she couldn't see his face, she thought she could sense his approval all the same.

"I would speak with you if you'd allow it, Lady Ojenta. Clubs has given us one of the interview chambers."

Lumellin nodded, and before long she was sitting at a small table across from Surestrike. He was eerily still as he spoke.

"I'll have to ask for your patience. My companion should be here shortly." Surestrike was seated in a lounging posture at the stone-carved table, and though it looked casual she couldn't help but feel like she was back in the jungle, being stalked by a whisperclaw. The massive cats were as silent as their namesake and some of the deadliest predators in Omata's jungles. There were rumors that the Fortress had slain a Gallium whisperclaw to push himself over the same precipice.

Surestrike reminded her vividly of when she'd found herself alone in the jungle as a girl. The sound had ceased around her, even the trees stilling. Most coastal folk thought whisperclaws were named for their tendency to move in silence. The truth was that the jungle stilled at their passage, the rest of its occupants gripped with fear at the great cat's approach. When she'd been left alone near one of the beasts, she couldn't remember being more terrified. She'd never even seen the creature. It had simply moved on, most likely already sated for the day. Her mother had cried for hours, and Lumellin hadn't been permitted out of her sight for most of a cycle.

The man across from her brought those feelings back to the fore. She couldn't see him breathing. He was a statue of flesh, a pond of still water, and his tranquility made her feel frantic by comparison.

Before she lost herself studying him, the door swung open into their shared room. Someone in another mask, Lumellin was amused to note. This one was smaller than Surestrike- significantly so, she was surprised to note- with a mask made of driftwood. He carried a sheaf of papers, a luxury she was unsurprised Surestrike's associates were able to afford.

"Apologies for being late! Verrin is practically salivating, so he waylaid me while I was getting my notes." The man - or boy, maybe, if his stature and voice were any indication - sat beside Surestrike with practiced familiarity.

"I'm sure Lumellin will forgive you," Surestrike replied.

"Lume is fine," Lumellin interjected. "I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Why am I here? And what do I call you?" She asked, facing the driftwood-masked newcomer.

"Drift is fine."

Surestrike snorted, a grain of amusement leaking into his posture. "That's what you came up with? You took three hours for that?" He turned to Lumellin, the mirth in his voice shining through despite his cold mask. "You can call him Windbag for all we care. This is my assistant-" Drift smacked him here, slow enough that he should've been able to stop the blow - "and by that I mean my partner."

"You can think of me as the brains behind the operation," Drift said, dodging a languid return blow from Surestrike. "I do fight analysis and training regimens for Surestrike. And hopefully for you, if you'll have us."

"If I'll have you?" Lumellin laughed. "He's the best fighting Hollow in Tuwallo. If the rest of the fry in my ward found out I turned down an offer to train under him, they'd rip me apart and beg you to train them for the favor. Why would I say no?"

Surestrike and Drift exchanged a glance, their masked visages betraying little of their silent conversation. Finally, Drift spoke. "It's not quite that simple."

Lumellin felt her enthusiasm wane like a snuffed torch. "It never is," she sighed.

Surestrike chuckled at that. "Your words, the Fortress' ears. The official story is that, after reaching the summit of Tuwallo, I have decided to rest on my pearls and train a new generation of fighters. After all, what could a fighter hope to accomplish beyond what I've done?"

Drift began where Surestrike ended, so seamless it was almost as if they'd practiced it. "The truth, of course, is not nearly as tidy. The vulcanites here in Tuwallo have decided that Surestrike is no longer permitted to fight. The unrest after his last bout was bad enough that they made it clear to Verrin what would happen if he did."

Lumellin nodded. "I wasn't out that night, but I heard. It sounded like there was a war in the streets."

Drift nodded. "Near enough. None of the vulcanites want to deal with that sort of thing again. Exterminating Hollows is, apparently, distasteful." The anger in his voice at that surprised her, and she revised some of the less charitable thoughts she'd had of him so far.

"So," Surestrike resumed. "We have a problem. Namely, that I can no longer fight. Coincidentally, fighting is how I make chips. Windbag here works when he's not helping me train, but knowing a few big words and obscure Matini civil codes isn't the most lucrative in Tuwallo."

Lumellin was incredulous. "Wait... Are you saying that you, the most popular fighter in Tuwallo's history, are hurting for chips? How is that possible? You must make more on every bout than the average fry sees in a cycle."

"You would be surprised," Surestrike replied. "But that isn't the issue. We have enough to live on, that's true. Living isn't what we need the chips for. Or it's not all we need them for. There's a cause in the outskirts we support with funding from my fights, and we're also bringing funds together to pay for my ignition."

"You can't be serious. Ignition is absurdly expensive. I looked into it myself when I came to Tuwallo. The cheapest ignitor I could find was more than fifteen hundred chips."

"Gest is a charlatan," Drift replied. "The man swindles hopeful Hollows and then goes to a new city before they notice their crucible is still cold. The real number for ignition is closer to two thousand."

"Then you see my point!" Lumellin exclaimed.

"Suffice to say we've been at this for a while. Ignition is within reach, though it won't be in the next week." Drift glanced at Surestrike, and the fighter seemed to take it as a cue.

"That's where you come in," he intoned. The carnacle shell mask loomed large in her vision. "We have a way around the vulcanites. We can train a fighter under my name, have them follow in my footsteps while they rise through the arena. Then, when they've shown they're above the rest of the Hollows, the vulcanites make an example of them. Publicly."

Drift sighed. "I know it sounds foolish-"

"I'll do it," Lumellin interrupted, eyes burning with determination. She was gratified to see Surestrike look surprised for the first time today.

"Do you realize what you're agreeing to?" He asked, unnaturally still even as he leaned towards her in interest.

"If this is my only chance to train under you, then I'm taking it. Besides, you're not planning on sticking around that long right?"

Surestrike laughed, looking at Drift as the smaller man steepled his fingers together. "I told you she was a good choice."

Drift didn't return Surestrike's gaze, instead electing to study Lumellin. "You're right. We intend to milk Verrin and the vulcanites for all they're worth. And then, once they think the time is ripe to make you an example-"

"We won't be there," Surestrike interjected.

"I like it," Lumellin replied, the earlier fire she'd shown returning like a quiet ember. Her smile was radiant.

"When do we start?"