Mattiew had reason to believe a bar of iron had been wrapped around his head with nothing but a hammer and lots of effort as he woke up.

His fingers brushed against his face and met layer upon layer of bandages. At least there weren’t any openings in his face. Perhaps whichever medic healed him managed to stop his complexion from being permanently shaped like a rotten apple.

“Mattiew?”

Mattiew craned his neck to look at his wife. Her eyes were weary from either not sleeping enough, crying too much, or both.

He reached his hand out, his muscles weak with fatigue, “I’m here…I’m okay.”

Adriana grabbed his hand, “Gods and kings almighty, you fucking idiot!”

“Shit! Easy, honey.” Mattiew groaned.

“Sorry.” She pressed his hand to her lips, “Do you feel alright?”

“Better. At least I don’t have a hole in my face.”

“My heart, my love…” She gritted her teeth, clutching his hand with a vice grip. “You almost got yourself killed. What in Irkalla were you thinking?”

“It’s not like I did it for fun, Tulip.” Mattiew sat up without irritating the remnants of his wounds. “I won, right?”

“Well, Utica’s dead. And you’re not.” she muttered, “So yes, I’d say the victory is yours.”

He sighed, “How long was I out?”

“Only a few hours, thanks to the healers. Still…don’t ever do something that…asinine again! Understand me?” Adriana snapped, burying her face in Mattiew’s chest, “I fucking hate you!”

“Oh, come on now. Don’t say that.” Mattiew stroked her hair as she rage-sobbed into his linens, “Never again, queen of my heart. Though…to be fair, if I lost and lived, your parents would probably let that curse kill you. So never again unless you’re in danger. Okay?”

“But…but that’s all the time! That’s this whole damn tournament!” Adriana exclaimed.

“If you’re in danger, I’m putting my life on the line. That’s that. Nothing you can say or do will ever make me hate you enough to let you die. Okay?”

She calmed somewhat, trying to come up with something that would make him hate her that much.

“I…” Adriana sighed. “I’m sorry for saying I hate you.”

“I’m sorry for making you worry.” Mattiew said, “Though you could make up for it by getting rid of this lumpy pillow in exchange for your…frankly exquisite bust.”

She scoffed, covering her chest with faux indignation, “Watching you try to be smooth in this condition is like watching a turtle try to flip itself over. But this counts as one of your requests from the Preliminaries.”

Adriana took her boots off and slid into bed behind Mattiew, her arms open. Mattiew laid back, his head resting against her chest. A sensation of warmth spread throughout him as she wrapped her arms around his collar and held him tight.

“Mm…You’re so soft.” Mattiew partially hummed. “Like a…huh. I don’t have a comparison.”

“That’s why we invented the word ‘incomparable’.” She almost cooed as she cradled him.

“This…isn’t our room. Where are we?” Mattiew asked.

“A guest room at the house. Father didn’t want your blood gunking up his floors.”

“Typical.”

“Oh, you’re famous now.”

“I’m what?” He looked up at her.

“Only an hour or two after the fight, there was a poll and you’re one of the top ten favorites to win.”

Mattiew tried to laugh, but only ended up in a cough fit and a lot of pain.

“Take it easy…” Adriana stroked his head through the fit, “You alright?”

“Yeah.” Mattiew groaned, “Now, what’s this about being among the favorites to win?”

“Mm. You actually have a really good brand so far, despite the Trial of Passion. They’re calling you the Vagabond King already.”

“That’s hilarious,” Mattiew smiled, “I’d laugh if I could.”

“I think I laughed enough for the both of us.” Adriana’s fingers started to rake through his hair. “Though the whole hero of the people thing isn’t going over well with Nobles. I don’t know what’ll come as a result of them.”

“Bah. Who gives a shit about what they think. Still…having the Scourgers on board because of the whole for-the-people thing is bad enough. What if…what happens if I win?” Mattiew asked, “If more people expect me to-”

Adriana kissed him on the forehead, “Don’t think about it so much, my little morsel. I’ll be at full strength once this is over. It’ll be my turn to save you then. Assuming the worst.”

“Well, I’ll be counting on you then.” Mattiew sighed. “You know…if it weren’t for all these bandages, I’d ravish you.”

“I take it you want me to do the ravishing tonight?” Adriana smirked.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” Mattiew pursed his lips.

“I was always told that men looked down on the idea of their wives taking control.” Adriana mused.

He scoffed. “I wouldn’t call people who do that men.”

“Are you sure you can even handle me on top in this state?”

Mattiew hesitated, “You’re smart. You’ll figure something out.”

Adriana huffed. “Fine. I’ll have fun with you in other ways…”

***

Alo’aharu wished they could sleep. Then they wouldn’t have to hear the noise.

They were both so loud.

They stared at themselves in a hand-held mirror, their brow furrowed. There was something…wrong about the luxurious clothing their masters had afforded them. Something wrong with the lack of a collar around their neck.

These decadent robes of black, purple and blue that now wrapped them were customary for Arcane Elementals. They supposedly loved to indulge in excess and vice, on account of their short lives. The gold armbands and jewelry adorning them gave them an air of regality that…that shouldn’t have been there.

But then again, Alo’aharu had spent countless hours toiling away for their position of luxury. Lord Callione was very clever to implement a way for slaves to gain more accomodations and prestige. Alo’aharu had gone so far as to become a servant rather than a slave.

Most slaves the Calliones kept were mainly there to sell as sex slaves or work as such for their masters. Alo’aharu had no such option as an arcane elemental. Perhaps it was bias, but they saw that sort of thing as easy work. It left no fewer scars, but Alo’aharu had to do back breaking hard labor and hundreds of clerical jobs, managing the slaves. All while starving.

They were mistaken. Regality did suit them. They just weren’t used to it yet.

Though perhaps it wasn’t the luxuries of their person, but the living space they’d been afforded in the Calliones’ Veyshtari manor that gave them pause.

The manor was less a house in the Acernic sense and more of a wall of buildings and walkways surrounding a courtyard. The sunbaked plaster was a fresh change from the dark stone of the Keep.

Kalai ducked under the arched entry to the common room, “You think they’re trying for a child? In case Mattiew kicks the bucket?”

Alo’aharu scoffed, “Doubt it. Those two will start humping each other whenever there isn’t anything better to do. Or sometimes when there are better things to do.”

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“As opposed to you, who just…sits in the common room and looks at a mirror?” Kalai asked.

“I have no need of sleep.”

“And…there’s nothing else you’d rather do with your time?”

“Did someone ask me to do something?” Alo’aharu asked.

“No. I mean…what do you want to do?” Kalai asked.

“I…” Alo’aharu narrowed their eyes. “Free time is…has anyone told you about me?”

“That you’re a fake Kingmaker?”

Alo’aharu shook their head, “I mean before then.”

“Ah…no, I don’t think I’ve heard anything.” Kalai said, “Something I should know?”

Alo’aharu nodded, “I was…a slave to the Calliones. I was born twelve years ago from my progenitor and was taken into their slave pens before the end of my first month. I have been in their custody since.”

Alo’aharu wasn’t great at reading facial expressions, but they could surmise Kalai was a bit more than unhappy about this. Most were. But there wasn’t much any one individual could do about it, champion from the past or not.

“B-But, I am paid for my work now. I am allowed to live amongst humans. I am a servant, not a slave. I am more than happy to appreciate this freedom for what it is.” Alo’aharu said, “People call me by my name. I haven’t had to bow to anyone in weeks. I get fed well and have my own quarters. I even get to wear the silks of my people.”

Kalai scoffed, “Freedom?”

“Relative to slavery, yes.”

“Hm…A lot makes sense now.” She muttered, cupping her chin.

They didn’t like the look Kalai gave them. It was as though she was observing a constellation or a plant specimen. Not unlike the way potential buyers stared at slaves. Though lacking the depraved glint of perversion in her eye.

“Not to change the subject, but what do you know about maps, Alo’aharu?”

Alo’aharu noted the bundle of papyrus scrolls the Champion had been carrying as she laid them out on the darkwood table between them, unraveling one map of the Eight Empires.

“The world looks a lot different from my time and it never occurred to me in the past to know what has become of my empire. Typically, I take a more active role as my King’s aid, but Adriana seems to have that covered for the both of us.” Kalai chuckled.

Alo’aharu sat up and observed the map. They knew very little of maps without a formal education. But they knew enough to point out the lands of the notorious Tsengol Empire.

Alo’aharu pointed to the area around Saryngolia, northern Veyshtar, and eastern Gozark.

Kalai sat in silence, staring at that area on the map. Then she snickered, “It’s so small! Really? That was it? I was barely bigger than Gozark!”

Alo’aharu furrowed their brow. This woman was strange…

“If ever this whole pact thing collapses and I am summoned once again, I look forward to conquering this world.” Kalai’s grin turned into a maniacal smile.

“You…you don’t mean that, do you?” Alo’aharu laughed nervously.

“Of course I mean that. I’m ecstatic I only conquered so little. For what is a conqueror without lands to conquer?”

Alo’aharu tried to let the topic go.

“This is what I wish to do, Alo’aharu. I will see every part of this world, overcoming the challenges of kings and emperors along the way.”

“I’m sure it is a worthy aspiration.” Alo’aharu said.

“And you don’t have one?” Kalai asked.

“No.” Alo’aharu shrugged.

“You have to have one. Everyone wants something. No matter how petty, they do.”

Alo’aharu had asked themselves this question too many times. But what was the point of having an answer when it would never come to pass?

“I…I have an answer. But it’s irrelevant. Even if I want it, it’s impossible. Even for a free man.”

“If it’s so impossible, why don’t you tell me?” Kalai asked.

Alo’aharu didn’t answer.

“Maybe it’s because you actually think you can achieve it. But it’s too risky to say.”

The elemental again refused to provide any form of confirmation or denial.

“You know, whatever it is, you may want to get yourself out of this whole slavery-with-extra-benefits deal.” Kalai said, “The Calliones will only treat you as more than an animal so long as you serve their interests in the Bellirex. Your freedoms, your food, your clothes, everything is a carrot that your masters can take away at any time. Be wary for when that time comes.”

Alo’aharu narrowed their eyes at Kalai. How could she fathom to demand that they ask for more when she knows nothing of what it’s like?

“You know what? I’m satisfied.” Alo’aharu crossed their arms, “This is more than I’ve ever had and I am grateful for it.”

Kalai sighed, but didn’t push further, “If you so insist.”

They sat up and started to make their way from the common room.

“But Alo’aharu?”

They stopped.

“Be on the lookout for a purpose that values you higher. You never know when that chance will slip past you.”

***

Mattiew splashed in a mud puddle as he hit the ground. The pouring rain chilled him to the bone, but his chest was still warm with rage.

“And don’t you EVER interrupt me while the shop is open!” Nothon Nikoliades snapped as he slammed the door to the butcher’s shop in Mattiew’s face. His voice came muffled through the wooden portal. “Ratty little pissant…”

Mattiew pushed himself to his feet, his hands balled into fists. But there was no way for him to even phase his lard-filled brick of a father.

He spat and rubbed his thumb against his split lip. It wasn’t that bad. At least he hadn’t lost any teeth.

“Pig.” Mattiew scoffed as he placed a protective hand over the prize beneath his shirt.

He looked in his shirt, at the sheathed bronze knife with a blade as long as his hand.

They said the Cudean public education system helped keep kids off the streets. But for Mattiew, it made him a criminal. He had no hope of success in academia. And his father…well, he didn’t even want to remember Mattiew’s existence. Or the whore who’d gotten pregnant with him.

Mattiew ran through the rain as he wove in and out of the side streets and alleys of Cudea.

He descended from the marble sprawl of the city, towards the busiest port in the world, Cudea’s harbor. As he made his way down the cliffside, he stared out at the Central Sea.

The waters roiled with the storm as if locked in combat with the sky all along the rocky shores that stretched into the darkness.

Mattiew would’ve joined a merchant’s crew years ago if he knew anything about sailing.

His teachers always sang the praises of great explorers who ventured into the wildlands and travelers who devoted their lives to gathering knowledge from every corner of the eight empires.

He often wondered what it’d be like to live on his own, without a home or a destination. It had to be better than filthy, stuffy Cudea.

The harbor and the region of the city attached to it was rather different from the rest of Cudea. Instead of being constructed from marble and wicker, the buildings here were made from off-color limestone bricks and shabby wooden planks or scaffolds.

And if Cudea’s streets were winding, the dirt paths between buildings down here were a labyrinth. But a labyrinth that Mattiew had traversed many times.

He leapt off the stairs when the flat roofs of the nearest buildings were close enough. He crept across a chasm or two before slipping into the lattice window of an abandoned dye maker’s store. He was met by echoing laughter from the ground floor.

Mattiew shook what water he could off himself as he descended to the first floor, lit by a dim candle.

Ion, a boy much larger than Mattiew with an affinity for cruelty sat atop a wooden crate, telling a story to Dymas and Enyo, two twins, a boy and a girl, a year younger than Mattiew. They both were talented pickpockets.

“…And the fucker didn’t even know I’d taken the damn thing. They’d be better off letting a blind man guard their wares!” Ion cackled, causing Dymas and Enyo to chuckle with him. Ion glanced up as Mattiew jumped down. “Oi, Matty! Look at this.”

Ion got off his crate and slid the top off.

Mattiew’s eyes widened as he gazed upon its contents.

It was full to the brim with tin ore, only found in far off lands.

“Ancient Kings, Ion…where’d you find all this?” Mattiew asked.

Ion barked a laugh, “Some poor sod on the docks. I swiped it right out from under his nose! And he had enough gold on him to safely say he won’t miss it, so don’t get on my ass about it.”

“I won’t.” Mattiew promised, still staring at the ore. “What should we do with it?”

“I was going to ask you that.” Ion said.

“Maybe we can trade with Master Phairos for bronze weapons. Then we can beat those whoresons pickpocketing on our turf!” Dymas said. “Enyo and I jumped one today, but we didn’t have nothing to kill ‘em with.”

“Hey, I’m a whoreson.” Mattiew chuckled. “But we won’t have to worry about them for long. Look what I got.”

Mattiew pulled the sheathed knife from his shirt and took the bronze blade out from its holster.

The others admired the weapon as a bunch of shuffling footsteps came muffled through the walls.

“I’m gonna stick that brat on a spike…”

Ion’s eyes became dinner plates.

“You were followed?” Mattiew hissed.

“I wasn’t followed!” Ion snapped. “I-”

The barricaded door to the shop burst open, sending splinters flying across the room. Four men in leather armor and black linens spilled into the shop.

Mattiew couldn’t help but notice the weaponry strapped to their hips.

“Dak, I thought you said someone had their kid steal the crate for him.” One of the men scoffed. “I don’t see no mastermind here. Just a buncha street rats.”

A man with a bit of grey in his thick black beard frowned. “Just get the crate, ass.”

“This is our crate now, old man!” Ion shouted. “You’ll have to-”

The ringing of blades coming out of sheaths silenced the pudgy boy quicker than the lightning flashing outside.

One of the thugs planted his foot in Ion’s chest, kicking the boy to the ground with a chuckle.

“Hey!” Dymas started, but was cut off by a slap to the face that threw him to the dirt next to Ion. Enyo cowered as her brother fell.

Mattiew stared at his friends before gritting his teeth and glaring at the older man.

“What?” the man asked as two of his thugs picked up the crate.

Mattiew tightened the grip on his knife and rushed at him. He snaked around an attempt to grab him and made a gash in the man’s arm.

“Hah!” He barked. “You sure you wanna tangle with me, geezer? Your life worth that crat-”

Mattiew woke up to darkness.

He was twenty-five again. And naked for some reason.

There was no memory of this void from that night.

“Hello-”

“We are who am!” A million trillion voices echoed in discordant harmony all at once from every conceivable direction, sending Mattiew staggering.

“What the fuck!” He snapped.

“Heed us, child of the Survivor! For the horned one awaits! Don the circlet of infinite intelligence! Before She Who Kills the Cosmos awakens another Doomsayer!”