My simplest fear is of the future. I will be weakened in my new state, but by the “Gods,” I will need to be rid of this body before it withers to dust. The time has come, and I shall celebrate the first true ascension in the finest way possible, in blood.

I've been playing with the thought, and Bacchus himself agrees. I could simply allow slaughter any time, though the politics as they are wouldn't be worth the headache. Since it won’t matter after the third day, I may as well push for blood in the sands of the arena. As a boy, I fancied such stories, and even if I have enjoyed the sight in the past, it has been a very long time. Yes, let me cheer the dawn of a new world in the way of the ancients. Let me greet this next life with the very first gift Bacchus gave to mankind. Such is only proper. Let us enjoy this thing that violates all of nature, let us spectate and wonder at the perversion to life. In the Colosseum, let the rabble enjoy the sight of their destination before it all goes to hell.

Mortality is such a fickle thing.

Helping Clarice was a sudden joy to Dorian. He ate early and was comforted by her company. As he finished the dishes, she took the liberty of looking over his wound. It had been healed completely, and even if he missed some time, it wasn't so bad as it could have been.

He wasn't ready to see the other trainees, and he wasn't really ready to see the person that had dug her way in to his mind. Firstly, he felt like an idiot for getting hurt so early in the training and was sure that he'd have even more work to do before it was done. Secondly, he hadn't met with any tutors yet, though he was sure he'd have plenty of work to catch up on. Finally, upon hearing that Brother Michael hadn't returned yet, guilt blossomed in Dorian's core as he was sure it was his own fault.

With a full belly, Dorian left to his chambers. As he descended the stairs, he nearly bowled Sister Brenda over as he took a turn along the inside railing of the staircase. Instead of running her over, he sidestepped but landed poorly, stumbling down half a flight of stairs before settling.

“Master Dorian, what in the name of Kressor do you think you're doing. He may favor the gamble, but sprinting down the stairs isn't something worth gambling over. Let’s see you, then.” She came over, helping him to his feet.

“Morning Sister, I apologize for my haste. I wanted to get back to my rooms before the others woke.”

She pursed her lips for a moment as she inspected him, then grabbed the nape of his neck to inspect the damage. “The scars on your shoulder look worse than this one does now. It was a near thing, you know. Brother Michael was worried sick, said he pushed you too hard too soon.”

Dorian shook his head, “not so.” His breath caught for a moment, then he said, “I mean to say, I was fine up to the point in which the bar broke.”

She looked him in the eye, seeming contemplative. “Come, lets head to your chambers. We have some studying to do before training begins.”

As they headed that way, she popped her head into a doorway, a startled shriek echoing from behind the door. “Calm yourself girl, I need you to bring breakfast for three to Dorian's chamber.” There was a muffled reply, acquiescence in the girls tone.

Resuming their walk, Sister Brenda informed him of the plan and updated him on a few other details. Brother Michael would be back after serving a short time in penance. Dorian's total recuperation had apparently taken a sight bit less than he had thought, wherever he had gone had given him plenty of rest but had aged him. Regular healing had been administered, and according to Sister Brenda, he was lucky to wake at all. When Dorian protested that Master Flint had said it would only be a few months, she had dutifully informed him that Master Flint was a “heartless bag of spiteful scat” and had apparently always hated Brother Michael. This surprised Dorian, as he didn't think that Master Flint had enough inner fire for such an emotion. When Dorian expressed this to his teacher, she had laughed so loudly that she had to cup a hand over her mouth, the unladylike snorts that followed only emphasizing the outburst ever more.

Finally, as only a few days had passed in the training grounds, he would have the opportunity to stay a bit longer and train with the next cycle. It would be good for him, mostly to catch up with the others in his group, but also because their fighting styles would be a little different than his own.

He wondered aloud why he hadn't ever met or even heard of the other classes, to which Sister Brenda expressed that each of the age groups were kept to their own sections for good cause. What was that cause? “Nothing that need concern you.” Where were the other two? “In another part of the Monastery.” How many people were in the Monastery? “A whole lot.”

Finally, and to his surprise, Sister Brenda expressed the plan for the following weeks. He would get additional tutoring from her personally, this wasn’t an exception as Brenda was his personal tutor. What surprised Dorian was that Sister Brenda would be instructing the staff as well. As they sat, the Sister seemed to recall something.

“Oh, that’s right. I’m glad you’re awake, you need to write your name on this.”

Sister Brenda reached into her robes, pulling out one of several slips of paper and handing it over. Dorian glanced around for a quill. Spotting one alongside a pot of ink, he brought them to the small desk he assumed was meant for private study.

It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, dark wood, polished smooth, with shelving built into its “L” shape, tucked neatly into the corner of his spacious room. The numerous drawers made finding anything a chore, but eventually, he located some parchment as well, knowing she'd likely demand he take notes soon enough.

Dipping the quill into ink, he pressed the tip to the slip of paper. The moment it touched, the paper shifted, from bleach white to light gray, then to an even deeper Shade.

By the time he found the drying sand, sprinkled it over the ink, dusted it off, and handed the slip to Sister Brenda, the paper had gone completely black.

She stared at it, her brows slowly knitting together.

“Dorian… are you channeling your Shade?”

He shook his head.

“Try again. And this time, make sure you’re not touching your Gia either.”

Dorian blinked. He hadn't realized he was. He had been running Gia through his eyes all morning, so naturally that even he hadn't noticed.

Nodding to Sister Brenda, he took another slip.

Much like before, the paper began to shift. The pale surface darkened, graying until it turned completely black. He hadn't even gotten as far as writing his name before the ink was unnecessary.

Sister Brenda frowned down at the slip, then at him.

“I'm not amused.”

“I swear, I'm not summoning anything, I'm not even touching my Primes.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment.

Dorian, twiddling his thumbs a bit, said, “what's it for anyways?”

Looking pensive she replied, “it's for the raffle. The chosen to take the place of the next elder. Everyone must, even those that come to the Grand Tournament. I guess it'll have to do.” She kept the blank one but tossed the one that had his name on it. Dorian was going to point this out, but she began the lecture so quickly that he had to drop everything to take notes. Then, the tedium began.

A few hours passed, and they only took a break for breakfast. Since Dorian had already eaten, and didn't want to lose it all when it came time to start running, he simply kept to his notes. Sister Brenda, for her part, provided a book from her pocket, expressing which diagrams to copy out as she ate. The proficient woman ate standing, pointing out parts of the copy he was making and how he should emphasize this or that in relation to his Prime in Cultivation. Technically, what he was copying was the “Growth Rate Exponential relative to Investiture.” The chart was fascinating, and being the excellent teacher that she was, she had shown her theorized cause for his blockage. As more was invested, the rate of “Culted” growth was increased. Dorian's problem was that he couldn't get past a certain threshold of investiture, which explained why she had been trying to accelerate the growth of his Gia potential. It made sense, he supposed, though why she hadn't simply explained this sooner was beyond him.

Finally, hand cramping, she waved to him to stop taking notes. Though he didn't like the idea of running shortly, he was happy to give his mind a rest and simply let his body do its thing. Exercise was natural, and though he could be lazy about it from time to time, once he got going it was the easiest thing in the world. He liked to think of himself like a rock rolling downhill. Once it was moving, gravity did the rest, and there really wasn't any stopping it.

She instructed him to get ready, mentioning that she’d be doing the same, and to meet her in the sparring chamber for stretches in half an hour.

Now that light from the hall seeped under his door, he had a better sense of the time. Even so, he searched the room for an hourglass, just to be sure. Time was a tricky thing when you lived inside a mountain of stone.

Down to shorts and his undershirt, he headed out a little early. He figured a bit of extra stretching wouldn't do him any harm. Besides, he didn't really know Alex or Gavin all that well, but figured it was in his best interest to make friends. He'd be spending a lot of time with them for the next few years, or months, or whatever it was. Thinking about time bubbles made his head spin, so he let it go and led with the best intentions.

Upon reaching the room, he found he was alone. He came to the center of the padded area, looking up at the air ducts, he was grateful for the fact that the room didn't stink like the hall did. As he was stretching the other two showed, surprise written clearly on their faces.

“Didn't think we'd see you again.” Alexandria said.

Gavin nodded, “didn't even know if you'd survive. I've never seen so much blood.” He paled a little as he recalled the memory.

“I've never seen Brother Michael look so concerned. I wish you were awake to see it, he shook getting you on to his shoulder.” Laughed Alexandria. “But he managed it. I'd have just dragged you.” She said this with a shrug, and Dorian did all he could not to glare at her for it.

“Yeah, you should have seen it, Brother Michael picking you up and hauling you like a sack of potatoes. It would have been funny if he didn't look so wretched about it.” Gavin looked at Alex for a moment then they both burst out laughing.

Dorian, instead of running his mouth, smirked slightly and nodded his head. He continued his stretching, making sure he took extra time for his calves. There is something very awful about having to run, but having to run once you've pulled a calf muscle was sheer agony. When he raised his head again the other two were looking at him.

Dorian lowered his brow and said, “I don't know the routine here, I didn't make it through the first day.” He looked at them flatly, not giving rise to their chiding. So, what if Brother Michael cared? Gods forbid anyone show him anything resembling that.

They seemed uneasy as they hadn't gotten the response they expected.

“First, we take to the circuit. One at a time though since we won’t have an instructor until after we get through the obstacle course. We do the weight training later now.” Gavin said as he did some stretches. Dorian nodded but kept his peace as he twisted back and forth warming up his lower back. Finally, after an awkward silence, Alex gestured to a tall hourglass on the wall that had etchings in it for each of the hours. Why the other chambers didn't have one, he didn't know, but it was nice to know what time it was for a change.

Coming to the beginning of the circuit, Alex explained. “You went through this once, but with Brother Michael. I don't know why, but Gavin seems to get out first every time. I think he knows a shortcut, but he won’t tell me where to find it.”

Gavin snorted, “just because you can't keep up doesn't mean you have to make excuses.”

“Whatever.” She replied and dashed down the hall, lights flashing on and winking out as she disappeared around the slightly curved hall.

“Honestly, I don't even try to beat her out. For the last two days though, I make it out first and I never once pass her. Not really sure how that works, but I'll be laughing at the end of the run. Good luck in there, try not to stop. Who knows what's creeping in the dark down there.” He smiled, like an asshole, and left loping easily down the hall.

Looking around, seeing that no one was there, he used his Gia sight to peer down the hall. There were runes everywhere, and as he took to a soft jog, he spotted something odd. The runes weren't just everywhere, they were shifting. As he came through a section, he spotted multiple hallways. Just as he had spotted them, something shut his sight off completely. It was such a jarring feeling that he stopped abruptly. Walking backwards, he felt a definitive shift. He accessed his Gia again, looking around. The shadows in this place were odd, sometimes in places for no good reason. This he chalked up to the Shade that was apparent in the runes, the technum present could appear that way. As he looked behind himself, he spotted a large gathering of shadow. As he peered at it, it shifted. Only as it moved did he realize it resembled the shape of a man, the shift was the tilt of a head.

Dorian ran. Ran like he never ran before. The fear enveloping his insides gave him energy he didn't know he had. Even if he couldn't summon his Gia any longer, he didn't care. He didn't want to see what that was.

For a long time, the rhythm of his breath, the plodding echo of his gate, and the sweat rolling down his face was the only thing that punctuated the passage of time. When the exit finally grew near, he sprinted so hard that he almost knocked his fellow combatants over as he came barreling out of the hall.

“Kressor's own, man. Watch where you're going!”

Dorian was trying to catch his breath as the other two mocked him for how long it took him to finish. He was embarrassed and breathing heavily. Looking around, there was kind of platform with a pump. He grabbed a bucked that sat to the side of it, filled it, and drank as much as he could before he had to take a breath.

“Did you two see it?”

“See you having a heart attack? Yes, you're hard to miss.” Alexandria said, snickering as she put her arms out like she was holding up a huge belly.

Still panting, nostrils flared and brow bent, he stared at her. He was sick of people treating him like this.

Smirking but holding her glare, Dorian said, “aren't you original.” He turned, stalking off to the obstacle course. If what he saw in there was real, he'd keep it to himself. If Kressor himself was haunting those halls, he wouldn't be surprised. If the other two didn't want to treat him with any decency, then they could rot for all he cared. He didn't know what it was, but something about the circuit was deeply unnerving.

Pissed off, he came to the obstacle course. The first bar was gone, replaced with a much thicker steel rather than what had been there before. As he came up to the jump, he noted a stain on the stone floor. He inspected it, finding bits of rust surrounding the area. From the bar snapping?

Figuring the other two were still having a laugh, Dorian wasn't going to wait. Bad enough he was behind, even more so that he wasn't going to do well on this as it required a certain level of acrobatics that he simply never had nor cultivated. Rather than giving the others something to laugh at, he started.

Leaping out, he swung successfully, rounding forward to the sets of bars that inclined up and down. Doing as he had seen done, only taking a moment to get the hang of the motion, he surged up and down, coming to a wall with a rope. He climbed, finding little spots here and there to put his feet. At the top he could see the rest of the course. He had work to do.

Some time later, after vaulting walls, swinging along between structures and falling on his ass half a dozen times, he was passed by the other two. Sometime after that, he finished the course, the last thing a flat slate wall with protruding bits to grab on to. He failed six times before he finally figured out where to place his feet to get to the top. The experience was exhausting, but at the same time he felt a certain smug pride. He wasn't a runner, wasn't any good at acrobatics either, but despite this he had finished. The Gods didn't give him that, it was something he had to take for himself, and he had.

The other two contenders were waiting for him. The course had circled back around, ending by a locker. Some fifty yards from there was the sparring room from before. Even from this distance he could see some figures there, though he couldn't make out any details.

“Come on all ready. They're waiting for us.” Alex called.

Dorian's blood was up. He still felt a small bit of accomplishment, but it dwindled quickly as he saw the other two waiting for him. Bad enough that it was so hard for him, but when the other two made it look so easy it made his small accomplishment feel like it was worse than nothing. Following that, their impatience towards him was something that set his blood to boiling. He didn't speak, just headed towards them.

“How'd you even make it this far, anyways? I didn't care to watch most of your matches.”

“Oh, I know that one. Not only did he get lucky against Ingrid, but he poisoned Danny beforehand. He told me all about it.” Gavin said.

This was something that set Dorian back on his heels. He had poisoned Danny? What the hell was this derelict talking about?

Nodding, Alex said, “makes sense. Cheaters never prosper, the Gods may gamble but they don't look favorably to those who stack the deck.”

Taking up his staff, the one that Brother Michael had fixed up for him, he grimly asked, “is Danny up and walking yet?”

Gavin actually glared at him. “Not that it's any of your business, but no, he's not. Maybe if you hadn't sat on him, he'd be here instead of you.”

Alex laughed loudly at this, Dorian's face growing hot. Dorian stalked away, doing all he could to ignore the two. It was good fuel, and he knew he'd need it.

As he stalked through the doors, all fury in his mind stopped, and his heart nearly leaped from his chest. Ingrid stood there, staff in hand, smiling as though there was a joke he simply didn't understand.

Dorian's tongue seized, and he was sure his eyes must be as wide as dinner plates for all the shock he felt.

Shaking her head, Ingrid said, “don't be so surprised. We did have a pretty good match.”

Dorian felt like he was out of his own body at this point. Numbly, he said, “uh, yeah we did.” He swallowed as he looked around.

Gavin came through the door behind him, talking loudly. The interruption seemed to pull Dorian out of the surprise, enough to make words work as they were intended. “What are-”

“The match we had.” She nodded, then shrugged, the braid on her shoulder falling behind her as she did so. “Sparring partners were picked relative to each. I'm your primary partner, and if you get hurt, your first replacement. We'll swap around, but I'm here with you.”

Brain dead, he muttered, “Oh,” then glanced around.

Atticus Weaver was there, along with another competitor he recognized but couldn’t name. She was a decent fighter, above average even, but petty as all hell. In fact, he was certain she’d been one of the ones who had scoffed at him at the start of this whole ordeal. His memory sharpened, and suddenly he recalled all the shit Ingrid had thrown his way. She hadn’t even known him back then, and if not for the experience of their match, the grudging respect they’d forged in the ring, he’d probably still see her the same way.

He realized now that, in his private thoughts, he’d allowed himself to imagine Ingrid as someone she wasn’t. He’d mythologized her, let himself see her as something untouchable. But the truth was simpler, she cared too much about what others thought. She was popular, yes, but she wasn’t above petty insults and mind games. She wasn’t just the smoldering, fiery soul who moved with the force of a thunderclap and struck with the grace of a raindrop. She was also the petulant asshole who had mocked his virility just to get in his head.

And, like so many others, she’d courted Danny’s favor. Probably used him as another rung in her climb up the social ladder.

The smoldering anger that he had before he walked in to the sparring chamber was back in full now. As his visage came back to Ingrid, her smile dissipated quickly.

“Attention, please, gather round. Today is our fourth lesson, we'll be taking to an aggressive stance, staff held just so.” Sister Brenda squatted down, placing the staff against her neck, using it as a lever and pressing it, she whipped out a series of high wide swings, following with jabs that varied high and low. “The benefits to such a stance are quick recoil times and freeing up a hand. If you find yourself too close, you can use your secondary to throw your opponent or push them off balance.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Dorian watched, wrangling his anger down enough to learn from the lesson was a struggle, but he managed. As he watched Sister Brenda move effortlessly through the forms, he wasn't as surprised as he thought he'd be. Something about her had an edge, and the fact that she could fight like this fit her like a glove. After she finished, she said, “pair off. Each of you move slowly, remember it isn't about the speed, it's about understanding. The faster you move, the easier it is to cheat yourself. If you can execute this perfectly at a slower rate, when you bring it to full speed, it will be twice as effective. I'll come around shortly.”

Each paired off, Ingrid leading the way over to the side of the room furthest from the doors. Dorian watched Atticus and Gavin, one playing dumb and moving slowly as the other made their way through the movements. When his eyes came back to Ingrid she asked, “do you want to go first?”

Her tone was odd in his ears, she sounded unsure. This wasn't like her, well, as far as he knew, and it calmed him a bit. He shook his head. “I'm good at playing dumb. You go first.”

She nodded once and took her stance. Dorian squared himself, taking a defensive posture. She moved slowly, levering her staff against her neck she struck out but not quickly. Dorian parried, and she used the rebound to set it spinning back at herself, switching hands as she did.

Dorian did the same in turn, mimicking the movements as they went. The flow of it felt so natural to him, like he'd done this all before. Before he knew it, they were practicing back and forth, slowly gaining momentum. Time passed, and the tension he felt started to disappear. Calmed by the movements, his mind clearing of all the chaos that usually dwell there.

Out of nowhere, Sister Brenda asked, “what do you think the disadvantages to this are? Dorian? Ingrid?”

Ingrid looked to Dorian, uncertainty on her face. Dorian turned to Sister Brenda and said, “lack of stability. Great to throw someone off balance or if you get through, trip them or hit them in the head, but there's no meat behind the blow. A solid block deflects most of the benefits to the attack.”

Looking a little surprised, Sister Brenda said, “yes. Exactly that. Well done, please continue.” After a while, Sister Brenda came back, adjusting their feet and stances. In turn she called them back, showing them a few other things they could do from the stance and how to transition in and out of it. For whatever reason, it all made perfect sense to Dorian. The transitions, the angles, what's worth the effort and what isn't. Where and when he should shove his opponent back with his free hand or grab them, where to place the staff to trip an opponent or leave them stumbling. Finally, sparring started in earnest.

For three minutes, Ingrid and he would bout in a race to score points. Then, each of the partners would move down a line as the three primary combatants stayed in place. They would repeat this for the following six rounds with little more than thirty second rest. At this point, padded leather helmets were passed out. Dorian struggled with the clasps, leaving Ingrid smirking before she asked him to lean down so she could help. He heard one of the others snicker something but with Ingrid's face so close to his own, he was scared to even breath wrong. Her hands weren't dainty things, they were strong as they secured the helm to his head.

When they started, Ingrid was a whirlwind. Her braid shadowed her, her movement firm yet graceful. Dorian wasn't fully in the fight yet when she took him once in the shoulder and another in the shin. The pain that lanced through him was muffled by the smirk on her face. Dorian rose to meet her, and in a furious exchange landed three to her two before the three minutes were up. Their eyes locked, normally Dorian would find an excuse to glance away, timid as he was. This time, however, he held it with a stone certainty that there was a fire between them, a certain something that couldn't be said, only experienced. When she left to face against Alex, Dorian couldn't be certain, but he thought she was blushing.

Next, he faced Atticus, and if Dorian was being completely honest, the man's skills were a bit of a joke. He almost laughed when Atticus tripped over his own feet but instead held his staff up in a defensive posture. Dorian could be cutthroat as the next, but he felt a bit of mutual respect was more appropriate. Atticus, for his part, never scored a touch on Dorian, and even if Dorian knew he could have thrashed the poor guy, he held back enough to salve some of the guy's pride. Still, when the three minutes were up, Dorian was helping Atticus to his feet, having scored at least seven points against him. Maybe more, but at a certain point, keeping track was meaningless.

Next came the tawdry princess, whatever her name was, her garb was of some fine material that had been died a bright yellow with deep purple accents. The whole thing shouted “look at me!” For all that, she wasn't half bad, but didn't hold a candle to Ingrid. She tried, making loud noises as she struck out, but for all her loud look and behavior, she left nursing a fresh bruise on her upper thigh. Dorian defended all but one strike, meanwhile scoring at least six points. He smiled the whole time, as he thoroughly enjoyed the competition, but she only scowled at him for the exchange.

Ingrid returned, looking a little more worn. Dorian wasn’t sure he looked as tired as she did, full-contact sparring was exhausting. Still, they fell into rhythm effortlessly, moving as if they’d trained together for years.

As always, Dorian was in awe of how she closed the distance. She surged forward like she had wings, then darted back so fast that his staff met nothing but air. She had an impressive lead before he finally started his comeback, but time ran out before he could fully catch up. By his count, she won the round five touches to three.

Breathless but grinning, they laughed over the exchange. As she turned to leave, Dorian extended his staff, and she tapped it once, acknowledging him with a simple, unspoken gesture of respect, before sprinting off to her next match.

By this point, Dorian felt like he was glowing. The quarterstaff in his hand was light, as was his heart. His match against Atticus wasn’t much of a challenge, so he took the opportunity to weave in the day’s lesson, testing its effectiveness in real combat. To his surprise, it worked seamlessly. Even though Atticus had just been taught how to counter it, Dorian still wiped the floor with him.

Tabitha fared no better. At least, he assumed that was her full name, he had overheard Gavin calling her "Tabby."

She didn't score any points against him in that round, she seemed exhausted. Dorian was feeling it too, but not near so much as her. Between that and his attempts at the newer fighting stance, he only scored three points against her, though if he were being honest with himself, he could have brutalized the young woman. He was pretty sure that it was his own guilt acting up for having bruised her upper leg in their last match, he was there to learn not harm.

Finally, to finish their training session, they played “Ruler of the Ring.” It was a simple game, one of many they would play over the following months which effectively relied heavily on a simple concept. The one that won the exchanges stayed in the middle, each exchange was to three taps. The best got the most practice, if you wanted more you had to earn it.

Since Dorian had been out for a while, he was the last to compete. Ingrid, as the reigning winner, went first. She was relentless. Tabby and Atticus fell like wheat before the sickle, cut down with precision and ease. Alex put up more of a fight, nearly taking the match, but Ingrid edged him out with a narrow three-to-two victory.

By the time Gavin stepped into the ring, sweat gleamed on Ingrid’s brow, her chest rising and falling like a bellows. Any fool could see where this was going. And yet, exhausted as she was, she almost beat him. If not for a single misstep in a twist, she would have put him down like the rest. It seemed the queen of the ring had been dethroned. Gavin, standing victorious, looked all too smug about it.

All the while this had gone on, the others shouted whatever they liked. It made sense, in a way. In the Colosseum there would be plenty of distracting people. It was only logical that they trained for that as well.

“Come get your lumps, tubby.” Gavin said, and a few others laughed. “Maybe this time you'll be gone for two weeks, if your frail-” Gavin cut off as Dorian moved with a speed that belied his bulk. Using the new stance, not because it was advantageous but because he knew it would be mocking, he came in strong. It put Gavin on the defense, but more importantly, it got the guy to finally shut the hell up. He grinned at Gavin, which only seemed to infuriate the young man further.

He bellowed as he countered, lashing out three times, Dorian dodged the first two, but the third was swung wide directly towards his chest. With nowhere to dodge and his staff resting against his neck, he instinctively caught the swing with his open left hand. Dorian was just as shocked as Gavin was, but he didn't let it show. He gripped it tightly as Gavin pulled. Planting his feet, he pulled harder, until Gavin was leaning back entirely too far. Dorian let go, and watched as his opponent fell flat on his back. Dorian laughed, and so did a few others, though they stifled it quickly as Gavin glared daggers at them.

“You must be Danny's friend.” Dorian mumbled as he shook his head.

“What was that? What did you say, you stupid fat fuck?” Gavin shouted as he scrambled to his feet. His face was flushed, not used to someone like Dorian talking back to him.

Just like that, the fury was back on Dorian. It boiled in him, leaving him shaking to contain it.

“Well? You gonna do something or just stand there? Come on!” Gavin taunted.

Dorian walked calmly, circling around the other fighter. “You know why Danny lies to you?” Dorian feigned a step in, and Gavin about jumped out of his skin to block. Dorian began circling the other way, laughing as he watched Gavin twitch. Dorian lashed out in an obvious way, giving his opponent a false sense of security. His swings were half-hearted, letting them tap and darting back as Dorian weaved in and out.

“Good.” Dorian said, trying to calm the situation.

“What are you doing? Belly in the way of your brain?”

Dorian tilted his head, slowly. You give them the opportunity for kindness and camaraderie, they answer with bile.

“Fine then.” Dorian said, turning icy.

With cold calculation, Dorian swung with real force for the first time that day. It was an obvious strike, one that gave Gavin plenty of time to block, but Gavin hadn't calculated how much force Dorian could put behind a blow like that. When Dorian's strike hit, he rebounded, quick as a cat he struck again. Suddenly, the look on Gavin's face wasn't so mocking. Surprise at first, for the strength behind the first blow, shock that a second blow could come again so quickly, dread with the third as understanding washed over him. Every strike Dorian threw left the smaller man reeling. Dorian grunted, exerting himself in earnest. Gavin could barely keep his feet. That's when Dorian stopped flailing like an ogre and began incorporating technique alongside his powerful strikes. The results weren't surprising.

From the moment Dorian stopped relying on brute force alone and began seamlessly merging strength with technique, Gavin lasted, at best, five seconds.

The first strike didn’t rebound much, but the sheer impact sent vibrations rattling through Gavin’s bones. Even so, he held his ground, only for Dorian to circle back and drive a thrust so hard that, despite Gavin managing a parry, he still took a direct jab to the sternum.

When Dorian swept low, Gavin’s athleticism let him leap over it, but Dorian wasn’t some Gods-damned novice. He adjusted the strike mid-motion, catching Gavin’s ankle hard enough to send him sprawling. Worse, the force of the fall pitched Gavin forward, his face slamming into the floor. The crowd sucked in a collective breath.

Dorian turned, stance still sharp, heat still coursing through him. A slow smile curled his lips. “Next.”

His match with Ingrid was good, fast, controlled, precise, but Dorian was only getting started. He met her skill with raw power, knocking her small frame off balance and claiming his three points quickly. There was no sense in holding back for the sake of appearances.

Alex put up a fight, but between Dorian’s speed, overwhelming strength, and sharpened technique, she didn’t stand a chance.

With each exchange, Dorian refined his approach, realizing he had never truly leaned into his natural power. By adjusting his grip, he struck in rapid succession, each blow so heavy that even opponents with solid stances couldn’t hold against it.

The next hour left him grinning from ear to ear. From that day forward, the whispers and snickering from the other contestants disappeared.

This became his routine. For the next month and beyond, he stuck to the same rotation. Every two weeks, Ingrid would leave, replaced by someone only half as skilled. It didn’t matter. What mattered was his growing mastery of the battle staff.

In the interim, after Sister Brenda had caught him up on his studies, Ingrid took over, instructing him in both of his Primes. It wasn’t until later that Dorian realized the truth, she wielded an astonishing seven Primes. She was nearly a full-fledged Priorius, though, for reasons unknown, it was a closely guarded secret.

After he recovered from the shock, he was amused to find out her twin only had one Prime, and that was in the one Prime she didn’t possess. Perhaps his earlier theory about her snatching all the skills from him was correct after all. Still, Dorian was too afraid at first to act jovially towards her, their earlier exchanges leaving him incapable of trusting her out right.

One day, a few days before leaving, she looked up to him. Locking eyes, Dorian heard her voice in his head though he didn't see her lips move.

"I'm sorry. You're right. I did violate your privacy."

The admission stunned him. Dorian was absolute shit at understanding women, but even he knew there were lines you didn’t cross. Digging through someone's private thoughts wasn’t just wrong, it was vile. The thought of his innermost self laid bare without his consent left him feeling exposed, tainted. Of all people, Ingrid? Why are the Gods so cruel.

And yet, when they sparred, he didn’t need telepathy to understand her. In motion, there was a rhythm between them, a kind of unspoken harmony. Despite everything, he found himself thinking about her more and more. Maybe she wasn’t as petty as he had believed. Maybe she wasn’t as fickle either.

“I accept your apology.” He said, mostly because he couldn't think at that moment. She stood too close, her eyes were too blue, and the twist of her smile too perfect.

When she asked him to give back the page, he simply replied that he had already paid for it, that it belonged to him now, though they both knew what he meant. That he didn't mind her knowing his thoughts, at least for the time being.

The next time he saw her was roughly three weeks later. It was the first week he had outside of the training area. He spent as much time as he could with his friends and attending his classes. Still, the endlessness of the library stole his interest for at least one of the nights. He had found that he could get past most the wards now, could circumvent the age range. Or perhaps, he couldn't, and he had actually seen more than seventeen years at that point. He wasn't sure, but nothing could have surprised him more than Ingrid interrupting his reading as she waved away her friends. They looked at him disdainfully, but one or two of them actually sized him up a bit, like his existence wasn't a real thing until one of them had acknowledged him.

“What'cha reading?”

Dorian gave a soft smirk, as he was tired and frustrated. “I'm looking up two things, actually. I'm trying to find a history on Kraken, though it's taboo enough as is. I'm also looking up blockage, looking for anything resembling my issues.”

“Oh. Would you like a hand?”

“God's yes, but don't bother yourself. It's a fruitless thing really. I just like to give myself an excuse to get lost in here.”

“Yeah.” She said, looking around the vast reading chamber and the lower floors heading down to the entrance. “It is a fun place to get lost in. Want to see somewhere neat?”

Dorian tried to muffle his excitement, but realized it was pointless as she likely already knew. “Would I?”

They managed to get lost, as he called it, in the library. At first, it was happenstance—or so she claimed. They would stumble into the same section, drifting through aisles of ancient texts, brushing past one another in the tight spaces between shelves. The air between them crackled with the same energy as their sparring, a dance of movement and meaning, subtle and sharp.

She toyed with him, experimenting with her Technum. A gentle prod, a whispered phrase that left him either reeling with confusion or swelling with pride. She would tap into his thoughts at odd moments, teasing out his reactions with a knowing smirk. And he, in turn, showed her how to wield her Shade, guiding her hands, offering corrections with his own. She wasn't a quick study, even with their telepathic link, but she was determined. It was another dance, another game, and though she claimed to be the better fighter, here, she let him lead.

Still, when the lessons ended, she never truly left. She would linger in his orbit, claiming she had lost her way, and that they’d have to try again later. It was always said in jest, with a tilt of her head and a glance that lingered just a little too long. To his surprise, she did find him again. And again. Almost every time he came to the library, she appeared not long after, as if drawn by some unseen thread.

“Want to see something neat?” she would ask, her lips curled in that half-smile of hers.

“If we can find it,” he’d reply, grinning in return.

And so, they would get lost together.

Sometimes, they stumbled upon forgotten sculptures, their marbled forms worn by time but no less beautiful. Other times, they uncovered books older than dirt, filled with stories long buried beneath dust and disuse. Once, they found what must have been a luxurious chamber in some ancient era, though the centuries had not been kind. The silk curtains had long since rotted, the gilded furniture dulled and broken, but the remnants of grandeur still clung to the space. She ran her fingers over the cracked wood of an ornate vanity, while he traced the outline of a long-shattered mirror. In that moment, he wondered if she saw the same thing he did, something lost, yet waiting to be rediscovered.

The more they wandered, the more he understood. She wasn’t truly lost. Perhaps, she was looking for him.

As they continued deeper in to the maze of the library, he realized that he had no idea what time it was.

“Don't you think we should be getting back?” Dorian asked.

“Don't you think you have obligations to attend?”

Tilting his head and feeling confused, he asked, “what obligation would that be.”

“Oh, you know, super elite club, only the brave get to stay, et cetera.”

Realization dawned on him, but before he could voice anything she gestured to a far wall. Grinning, she asked, “do you want to go for a swim?” The stone melted away, leading to a long hall that ended at another stone wall. As they came closer, Dorian lighting the hall with his Gia, she waved a hand, and the stone melted behind them.

“This isn't a creepy form of seduction, is it? Because judging from how you get to know a fellow, I wouldn't be surprised.” Dorian commented.

Her face twisted in mock offense. “What-ever,” she said laughing, “just shut up, would you.” Dorian Grinned as he caught up to her. She turned to him, the look in her eye something he'd never experienced in his young adult life. He had no idea what it was, but it called him. A resonance that harmonized with his own. As he came close, the wall parted, and the sound of music filled his ears. He smirked as he heard her voice echoing through his head. “Not so easy as that.” He didn't understand how, but he knew she was laughing behind the words.

He entered the room to find Malik, Vinny, and several others. To his surprise, Jack was there, and the two bantered about the eve, having fun, drinking to their hearts content, and above all, living to the fullest while they could.

As his week came to a close, he spent his last night staying up entirely too late, playing cards with his friends and laughing easily. It was good to see Benny and Ken. Ken was quieter than usual, but Dorian didn’t think much of it, Ken could be that way from time to time. Benny, on the other hand, had begun to fill out, his once-lanky frame finally gaining enough muscle to make him look like more than just skin and bones. Along with this change came a profound revelation for Benny: women existed, and apparently, they were all he wanted to talk about.

Dorian didn’t mind, and he understood why Benny was so animated, but women, in his experience, were also a bit of a terror. Not in a bad way, quite the opposite. The problem was that Benny saw women the way one might see a sculpture, something to be admired, cared for, and appreciated, but ultimately a thing to have and protect. Dorian didn’t like that, for several reasons.

Firstly, he had been preyed upon, not in the way a man preys upon a woman, but his emotions and private thoughts had been laid bare, plundered without his consent. The experience had left him wary, unnerved at how easily something so personal could be taken from him. The way Benny spoke, it was clear he would have no issue with such behavior, whether being controlled himself or holding that control over someone else. Though Dorian had come to terms with his own situation, the fact that he had been unaware for so long still sat wrong with him.

The second reason, perhaps the more important one, was that women were nothing like statues.

They were like storms, wild, untamed, impossible to contain. You could admire them from a distance, marvel at their beauty, but above all, you had to respect them. A storm could sweep you off your feet, send you tumbling head over heels across the ranges, or leave you thunderstruck, knocked clear out of your shoes, wondering what in the world had just happened. They rolled in without warning, sometimes vanishing just as quickly, or lingering long enough to stir up whirlwinds that never quite settled.

Unlike statues, they were never still, never unchanging. And if Dorian was being honest, that terrified him. Not in the way one feared a blade at their throat, but in the way a man feared standing too close to the edge of a great precipice, staring into something vast and unknown. It was a fear edged with wonder, something that both unsettled him and made his heart race with the thrill of it.

Stagnancy was death, and if he ever met a woman who was unmoving, predictable, fixed like some polished stone, he doubted he’d have any interest.

There was already a storm in his head, one that left him restless, chasing after something he wasn’t sure he fully understood. And he was starting to realize that this particular storm had a bouncing braid, big blue eyes, and the worst laugh he’d ever heard.

He only had these thoughts because he thought he had left the little slip of paper in his rooms. He would never wax poetic like that outside of his head, nor would he ever have the testicular fortitude to say such things to a woman directly.

A shock ran through him when he heard Ingrid in his mind. Those words weren't things to repeat, but he should point out that as they were sent, his friends had to ask him what was wrong. He'd gone pale, then beat red, to a point that they were honestly concerned.

Perhaps that laugh had a lilt to it, as horrible as it was, he was beginning to like it.

Next came more training, more study, and the slow, unspoken rhythm of something deeper unfolding between Ingrid and Dorian, a dance of glances, of lingering moments, of something unnamed but steadily growing.

Dorian still kept the Technum page on him, though not for the reason he once had. It no longer felt like a violation, no longer a tether he wished to sever. Instead, it had become something else entirely. A quiet challenge to himself. A reminder.

It wasn’t about impressing Ingrid. It wasn’t even about proving anything to her. It was about proving something to himself. If he had nothing to hide, then he had nothing to fear. If his thoughts, unfiltered and unguarded, were laid bare, then he could take pride in them rather than shame. It meant he could be exactly who he was, without artifice, without deception, without twisting his words to win favor or soften truths. If Ingrid still found interest in him, then it would be real. Earned. If she didn’t, then at least he would know that whatever they shared had been honest. That he had been honest. Anything else would cheapen whatever it was between them. And Dorian knew, even if he wasn’t ready to say it aloud, that he didn’t want something lesser. Not with her.

Over the next few months, the whispers began. Dorian didn’t always catch them outright, but with a subtle thread of Gia sent to his eardrums, he could sharpen his hearing, though at the cost of drowning in the greater noise. Some murmured in shock, others in confusion. Some simply asked, “Who is that?”

These were people he had spent years beside. People who had once laughed at him, dismissed him, overlooked him entirely. And now, they didn’t even recognize him. The thought sent a smug curl to his lips. Then came the other kind of attention, the kind that made things… complicated.

Say this for Ingrid: she was sharp, calculating, and meticulous. But for all her cleverness, for all her ability to probe the thoughts of others, she lacked something crucial, true empathy. Unless she linked to someone directly, their emotions were a puzzle to her, and she had no interest in wasting time solving them. What she did have, however, was a strong sense of ownership. A territorial streak as broad as the mountains, as sharp as her Shade. And when it came to the space she had carved out for herself, her “queendom,” anyone who dared intrude found themselves swiftly, and without remorse, cast out.

It was around this time that Ingrid crafted a second piece of Technum. Her first attempt had been crude, proof of her struggles with Shade, but she had learned from it. The trick to crafting Technum lay in the balance, an even mixture of Gia and Shade. This time, she had taken her time, refined her skill. The result was something far more intricate, a bracelet woven with purpose. She presented it to him as an apology.

The design left an open link, allowing thoughts and emotions to flow both ways, but with a crucial difference, either of them could shut it off at will. No more intrusion without consent. No more silent pilfering of thoughts. She guided his hand, showing him where to place his own small contribution, and the moment he did, her emotions flooded into him.

It was overwhelming. A deluge of feeling so raw, so unfiltered, that he nearly staggered. He had thought himself awash in his own tangled thoughts, but Ingrid… Ingrid was a storm barely held at bay. She was nervous, excited, terrified, hopeful… so many things that Dorian had to ask her to dial it back before it drowned him completely.

With a little tinkering, the link softened. It wasn’t so loud now. Except when they touched.

That was when it surged, wild, undeniable. A rush of emotion so intense that it stole the breath from his lungs. He looked down to see her hand holding his.

Dorian froze. The sensation confused him at first, his mind scrambling to trace it back to its source. What had triggered it? What had changed? Then his eyes met hers.

His stupid brain finally shut the hell up.

Dorian lived happily this way for a long time. He had a full year of complete bliss, but as the weeks passed and his body changed, he ever more dreaded the upcoming tournament. Not for the competition, he was looking forward to that. Looking forward to the grandstands stuffed with loud patrons, to the hush before the strike and the eruption of the crowd. No, he didn't dread that. He dreaded leaving all this behind. He had found happiness, real happiness for the first time in his memory. The Gods knew he deserved it, but they also knew what he had been neglecting.

As he began copying the words out of the rune encrypted journal, his stomach churned. As he put the book away, it seemed to carry away with it most memory after a short while. Whatever Technum the Grand Elder had worked was potent in the extreme, copying it seemed to be the only solution. The words he read there gave him nightmares, both waking and sleeping. The oncoming dread he felt for the tournament worsened as it was announced that the next Grand Elder had been chosen and would be revealed at the Grand Tournament.

When he finished copying it all, reading it sequentially, he knew. Somewhere, in his mind, somehow, he knew. Knew that his happiness wouldn't last, knew there was something very wrong with his world, a sickness plagued the forces they wielded. Kraken ...

Whether the Grand Elder was simply mad, senile, or just twisted, the end result was the same. Perhaps the words were just that, words, an odd way to cope with his own certain death but Dorian didn't believe that. He had no idea what to do about it, he wasn't powerful, nor was he anything special. He was just Dorian, and the only things he'd found himself good at were swinging a stick and loving with his whole heart.

For what little corner of the universe he had carved for himself, he came to the conclusion that left him hearing the laughter of the Gods. The one option they'd left him with, the one choice. Instead of ascension, he would trade his boon. He would likely die for it, or end up a cleaning shit or worse, but what other options did he have?

Resolved, he knew what had to be done. Win the Grand Tournament, and for his boon, spare the lives of those he loved.