Chapter – 35 – Announcements and Tales of the False Gods

He was running. Running for all he was worth.

The world blurred past in disjointed flashes, stone walls, corridors, doorways that led to nowhere. The circuit twisted, folding in on itself like a labyrinth with no end. But no matter how fast he moved, no matter how many turns he took, the white shape followed. Always there. Always pressing closer.

"Little Dorian!"

The voice struck like a hammer to his skull, rattling his very bones. His vision shattered, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the circuit anymore.

Metan.

The marketplace stood before him, eerily still. The trade buildings loomed, casting shadows too deep for the midday sun. The center park stretched wide, tables lined in perfect, unnatural rows, untouched by the wind. Atop the standing platform, something waited.

It stood shirtless, its skin too pale, too smooth, like something sculpted rather than born. Its face was wrong, almost human, but stretched, as though something far worse lurked beneath, barely holding the shape together. Its mouth twisted in an approximation of a grin. It pointed at him directly.

"Would you stop running?" The words slithered through the silence, a whisper that carried everywhere. "Fear will consume you if you let it. The time is coming, and the call to action will be placed. Will you answer, little Dorian?"

Dorian staggered back, his pulse roaring in his ears. "Stop antagonizing me, you monster! Leave me alone!"

The thing laughed. A sound not meant for human throats, brittle and wet, like bones splintering under weight. "Don't you dare cling to that happiness." The shadows moved. They stretched toward him, creeping like hungry fingers. "Docility is for the meek. Joy is for those too willing to deny the truth."

The creature cocked its head, something shifting beneath its skin.

"Will you let your brother die for your cowardice? Your mother? Your father?"

Dorian sat upright, though it wasn't fear that consumed him. Conflicting emotions passed through his mind, his body felt as though it wasn't his own. Deep down, coiled around his heart and running through his spine, something shifted. Like stretching something long asleep it tingled momentarily before going still again. Gods, what's happening to me? This tournament is really getting to me.

First, he snoozed a bit. Eventually, he stirred, feeling a grumble from his stomach and an unpleasant stretching in undershorts. Focusing on the former and forgetting about the latter, he dressed himself in his ceremonial robes. They fit well enough, though it made his look extraordinarily fluffy around the edges. How was he to make a promising show of himself if he looked like a Giant brown blob? No matter, he thought as he found his boots.

The Monastery Elders cared little about what they wore on their feet, so long as the robe covered them, nobody had to know. Much like other parts of the Monastery, they hid their stinky feet under the robes of their faith, knowing full well that the general people would never know the wiser. Dorian paused as the thought took him, then congratulated himself on an exceptional metaphor. He thought he'd have to share it with Ingrid, if not for the fact that she absolutely despised metaphors. Even better, she hated feet, said they were like little monkey paws. Dorian was a little excited to tell her but figured to save it for the right moment. Upsetting the one you love, in a teasing manner, took a certain delicacy, and Dorian had taken to it with the joy of young love.

As he entered the hall, the chaotic white noise of the stadium almost shook him out of his boots. He was locking the door when he spotted Alexandria walking past. Despite her being a giant just a year and a half back, he now stood about an inch taller than her. His growth spurt somehow gave her a bit more grudging respect for Dorian, beyond that they both knew who the better duelist was between them.

“Hey Alex, wait up, would ya?” Dorian called as he took the key out of his door and secured it to the belt of his robe.

“Ya, sure. What's up?” She was dressed in the same plain brown as he.

“Oh, I just woke up. Not really sure what the plan is.”

“You slept through this chaos? It's been so loud out here I didn't even try to take a nap.”

“Oh, you didn't know? I think the rooms are warded from sound.”

Alex rubbed her temples and forehead with one hand and wiped her face, frustration written clearly there. “Damn, I should have guessed that. Makes sense, don't want to keep us up, right?”

Dorian nodded, then continued. “So, what's the plan?”

She gave him a curious look then said, “plan? We eat out on the balcony, proper initiates of the Path and such, and wave when they announce us. Otherwise, listen to whatever, and we go to bed. First duel starts just after sunrise, I think you're the third match of the day.”

“Oh, that's great. How'd you find that out?”

“I took an etching of one of the stone plates. It's ingenious really, I'm not really sure how they did it, but they're all linked. Carve on one, it carves the rest, here, I have a spare.”

She took out a bit of paper, copied off the stone plate, whatever that was, with charcoal. Dorian's number was six, which he still smirked at as it reminded him of the shape of his Shade.

“Oh, you didn't hear from Brother Michael, did you?”

“No, I was pretty knocked out. The walk out this morning must have taken it out of me.”

“We are to report to the basement an hour before our bout. Before you ask, you'll know because there will be guards there. Tell them who you are, make sure you're wearing your vest.”

Dorian nodded and followed her out to the large balcony. It could have easily seated sixty or more, but there were barely thirty people there. Brother Michael and Sister Brenda were there, eating and speaking quietly among themselves. Dorian spotted a few other elders, and Gavin who happened to have a seat open next to him. He waved Alex over, and she gave a wave as she headed that way.

Looking around, Dorian spotted Jack, Danae, and Ingrid sitting at a table. He smiled broadly, incapable of holding it back.

“Now, would you look at that, how'd you manage to sneak in?”

“Oh, you know. A girl has her secrets.” Her face was somber, but her eyes danced.

“Jack! You big beautiful man, I didn't know you'd have access to the same balcony.”

“Oh, yeah, all I had to do was pass your name. Hope you don't mind, I brought Danae.”

“No, not at all. Danae, I'm glad you could join us.” Dorian smiled and nodded a head at her, and she smiled but without any teeth. “Too bad Benny and Ken couldn't join us.” Dorian said to Jack. Spotting Ingrid's scowl, he added, “or Malik and Vinny.”

“I'd tell you the same, but they've got even better seats than we do.” Ingrid said, pointing up to the large balcony that seemed to extend further out and was centered to the arena. There, Dorian could make out the outline of a few of the Prime Heads, the Masters and the Grand Elder himself. A shiver went up his spine.

Dorian sat quickly. Looking grim, he leaned in and said to Ingrid, “will I have a chance to steal some of your company later?”

She nodded, then added, “but not for too long. I'll have an hour or so before I have to make it back to the kiddos.”

Dorian frowned, “kiddos?”

“Yeah, they have me watching a class of eleven-year-old initiates. It's awful.”

Dorian let out a brief snort before his gaze landed on Jack, who was tenderly holding Danae’s hand, his thumb tracing slow circles as he murmured soft words meant only for her. A smirk tugged at Dorian’s lips. He was happy for his friend.

With everything that had happened, with how swiftly life had been shifting, he was beginning to understand why people said it was too short to waste on anything less than happiness.

“I have two things to give you tonight,” Dorian said, a playful lilt in his voice. “But it’ll have to wait until later.”

She arched a brow, lips curving ever so slightly. “That’s a bit forward for public, Dorian.”

He chuckled. “No, nothing like that.”

Her expression flickered with curiosity before shifting into mock disappointment. “Nothing?” she asked, though he caught the teasing glint in her eye.

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged, tilting his head with an exaggerated sigh. “I was told once that women make men weak in the knees. And prissy princess that I am, when I see you, I totally get it.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile that spread across her face was impossible to hide. “Oh, shut up.”

Dorian grinned, knowing full well he probably looked just as foolish as she did.

Dinner was served, not as a buffet, but plated and presented with an elegance that felt almost surreal. Slow-cooked lamb rested beside a peculiar mash, its color slightly off, but the taste was exquisite.

At first, Dorian savored it, but as he ate, an unsettling sensation crept over him. It was subtle, like the weight of unseen eyes pressing against his back. No, not watching… something worse. Feeling. Probing.

Instinct took over. He summoned some Gia within himself then switched to his Giasight. Just like that, the sensation vanished, but noted something else wrong. His gaze fell to his plate, and his stomach turned.

Little black worms squirmed through the mash, writhing in slow, unnatural movements. He clenched his jaw against the rise of bile, forcing himself to remain still. His mind worked quickly. Shade, or Kraken, either way something had tainted the meal.

On a hunch, he sent a pulse of Gia through the stone table, letting it reach his plate. The wriggling threads of blackness recoiled, then dissolved, absorbed by the light of his energy.

Suppressing a sigh, he reached beneath the table, resting a hand on Ingrid’s leg. Through the bracelet’s link, he sent a quiet message. "Don’t react. The food has been tampered with. I’ll cleanse it, just stay still and don’t move too quickly."

Her eyes widened, emotions flooding the bond. Fear. Confusion. Outrage. Disgust. Then, something steadier hope, trust.

Still, she didn't resist when he channeled Gia into her. Normally, that level of direct infusion was an intimate act, personal and deliberate. Dorian’s fears instilled the notion that there was no time for hesitation. He swept through her system, hunting for the taint, feeling the tendrils of blackness clinging within. One by one, he purged them.

A shudder ran through her, followed by relief so profound he felt it through the bond. He let go, cutting the link before they both started blushing.

Ingrid exhaled, slightly flushed, her breath just a little unsteady. Then, in the quietest whisper, she murmured, “Thank you.”

“No, thank you.” He waggled his eyebrows at her and she punched his leg under the table. The following eye roll didn’t offend him, instead he simply appreciated the attention it drew to her eyes.

Clearing his throat, Dorian called across the table. “Jack, remember a month back when I showed you how to make the light show?”

“Hmm, what was that, Dorian?” He looked a bit confused, wondering over the indigestion.

“You know, the code, light show.” He emphasized this last bit and Jack caught on.

Dorian stood, but kept low as to not make a disturbance. Whatever was going on with the food, two initiates gripping Gia openly would cause a stir. He whispered what to do in Jack's ear, close enough that Danae could hear. Dorian looked around, and thought he sensed others doing the same. He had an odd feeling that several around him could grip their source, and were doing so actively. Brother Michael and Sister Brenda had undoubtedly already figured it out, though, Dorian wasn't sure what they would or could do about it.

Suddenly, horns began to bellow and Dorian had to scurry over to get to his chair.

Kurt was delighted with the food, if a bit lonely. His mother had woken him abruptly about an hour prior, forced him to dress in these ridiculous robes, and hauled him out to this balcony. It was huge and was one of four that ran parallel to each other. The only one larger was a center podium that rested above everyone, it loomed over the entirety of the Colosseum. Abruptly, horns started up so loud he nearly launched his dinner down to the Colosseum floor.

That's when some hoodoo kicked up. Kurt was becoming more sensitive to its presence. There were these large square flat structures that pointed down into the arena, and when that feeling kicked in so did the structures. On each one, a faded image appeared. A pale man with shoulder length black hair stood, and the image appeared on each of the four plates. It was clearer the lower it was, the clearest portion being the tan coloring of the arena soil. Looking down, a small pinprick was visible from where he sat, just an outline. Looking back at the plates, he watched and listened as the man's voice was heard as though he was seated directly next to Kurt.

“To all present and attending, we of the Monastery bid you welcome.” A pause and some of the onlookers cheered. “Our patron, our leader, the grandest on high and closest to the Gods has bid you all to join him in this celebration, to bid him farewell as he ascends to meet the Gods.” Another cheer, though this one more prominent. To Kurt's own surprise, he found himself cheering as well.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“In honor of this rare occurrence, he has asked the entirety of the valley to be present as we send him off properly. To his request, and thus requested by the Gods, we are to stand witness to three days of competition and games.” Now, there was thunderous applause that seemed to shake the Colosseum itself.

“As he has stated, three days shall be witnessed. The annual Quarterstaff Tournament has been consolidated into the games, as such, we have decided to bare witness to that tournament as the main event. May I present to you, your champions.”

The cheering was so loud now that Kurt could feel it in his bones. A sudden light appeared beneath himself. Frowning, he looked up to see the image displayed to the arena of all the other combatants. They were all standing, their image displayed clearly above on the plates. A bit late to the party, Kurt stood for everyone to see him. He wondered if he had food on his robe, then decided it didn't really matter. What was done was done.

"To heighten the appreciation of contest for the patrons present, the Grand Elder has issued a new decree, altering the very fabric of the quarterstaff competition. As this change marks a departure from tradition, any current combatant may withdraw and accept the Grand Elder’s blessing without dishonor."

A hush fell over the crowd, so absolute that Kurt could hear the faint buzz of a fly somewhere in the distance.

"The new ruling for quarterstaff combat is as follows: There will be no scoring system. No appeals. No technical victories. The match will be decided by a single truth—who remains standing, who forces their opponent’s concession, or who survives. Furthermore, each quarterstaff shall now be affixed with a metal cap at one end and a sharpened point at the other. If any contestant wishes to withdraw under these new terms, speak now, or be bound by the contest ahead."*

Not a word was said, and no contestant on the boards moved.

"Then it shall be so. Between matches, we have several other competitions, including archery, javelin throw, the hammer toss, and the one, two, and four hundred meter sprints. The rulings for those contests remain unchanged. These events will commence on the second day of the games. The first day, however, belongs solely to the duelists.” The green lights winked out, the boards above once again displaying the man in black robes.

Kurt sat back down, tension coiling in his chest. His favorite sport, something he had trained for, something that once felt like an art, had just been twisted into a spectacle of brutality. A display of barbarism. He should have been furious. He was furious. And yet...

A strange warmth spread through him, as if something in his chest had settled into place. The thought of fighting to the death no longer sat as horribly in his mind as it had a moment ago. In fact, the more he turned it over, the more right it felt. There's something wrong in that.

His fingers flexed, feeling for the weight of a weapon that wasn’t there. His pulse drummed steadily against his ears, and his mind whispered in the smallest voice, one he might have ignored had he not already sensed the foul play at work. This isn’t me, these aren’t my feelings.

“Now, it is my great honor to present to you the architect of this beautiful Colosseum, and of this celebration. To all present, the Grand Elder of the Path.”

There was applause like thunder echoing back and forth across the arena. Kurt's drink shook, and he had to catch it before it tipped over.

The man now displayed was old, old in a way that made your general old person look like a ten year old. The man was pruned beyond belief, his robes sagging underneath his gaunt face. Despite his old appearance, his voice echoed with a resonance that demanded attention. Enthralled, Kurt clung to every word.

“I wish to share with you a tale, a truth whispered to me by the Gods themselves. A story from the time before the Path was known, when men still fumbled in the dark, clinging to the ignorance of their own mortality. A time when the hand of the divine was so light upon the world that its presence could scarcely be felt, and yet, even then, the wisest among us knew it was there.”

“In those early days, when the world was still young, there were those blessed with the gift of sight, those who could hear the voices beyond the veil. Their burden was heavy, for the faithless mocked them, and the blind sought to silence them. The truth of the Path was not yet known, and so the world was filled with doubt. But there was one man, one prophet, who stood above the rest. He alone could see the path with perfect clarity, hear the divine voices as I do now.”

“This man, chosen by the Gods, walked among the people and spread their word. His power grew, as did his following, for those who heard the truth could not deny it. And as his strength grew, so too did the gods’ favor, for it was their will that all mankind should know the Path. Those who embraced it were enlightened. Those who refused…”

“The sword is merciful.”

“And so, the prophet carried the will of the divine across the world, bringing light to the heathen lands. He crossed vast mountains and endless deserts, traversed waters so deep that even the greatest peaks would be swallowed whole. He gave the ignorant a choice—to step into the light or be cleansed by the fire of truth. And where his voice could not reach, his warriors carried his message in steel and flame.”

“Thus, the Path spread, unchallenged, until the day it reached the Tyrants.”

“Ah, the Tyrants…”

“Men who ruled not by the will of the gods, but by the shackles they placed upon their own people. Men who thought themselves mighty, who built their little walled cities and believed that stone and steel could make them equal to the divine. The prophet sent emissaries to them, bearing the truth with outstretched hands, offering them salvation. And how did they answer?”

“With slaughter.”

“They butchered our messengers, cutting them down in the streets like beasts. They turned their backs upon the divine and declared themselves beyond the reach of the gods. Such blasphemy could not stand. Our prophet was patient—he knew that even the most stubborn minds could be turned. And so, with all his people, he crossed the waters to meet these Tyrants upon their own land, to teach them the folly of their defiance.”

“But they were cowards, as all tyrants are. They did not meet him with honor. They did not speak, nor did they listen. They hid, behind their walls, behind their mountains, behind their illusions of strength.”

“And when our people set foot upon their shores, the Tyrant King and his warriors descended like vermin from the cliffs. There, upon the narrowest stretch of land, they struck without mercy. With every breath, they stole the future of the Path. With every strike, they slew those who would have carried the light into the world before it was too late. They grinned as they did it, reveling in their wickedness, defying the will of the divine.”

“But our prophet did not waver. The righteous do not waver. He sent his warriors to teach them the error of their ways, to show them the mercy of the blade. But the Tyrant and his three hundred butchers had steeped themselves so deeply in falsehoods, in the lies of their ancestors, that they fought like demons. They threw themselves against the tide of truth, howling, shrieking, clinging to their defiance with a madness that knew no end. And still, they fell. By the hundreds, by the thousands, they fell. But even as they lay broken, they refused to bend the knee.”

“The gods wept for them, even as they died, for the light had been offered, and they had turned away.”

“For days, the battle raged. The faithful died, their blood soaking the sand, but the Tyrant did not yield. He laughed in the face of divinity. He spat upon the Path. He thought himself untouchable.”

“And then, salvation came from within.”

“A man of their own, one who had seen the light, one who understood that the Path could not be denied. He gave our prophet the key, showed him the way forward. And so, while the Tyrants spent their last breath fighting upon the beach, the prophet sent his faithful through the mountains. The fools did not even realize they had been undone. Not until it was too late.”

“Surrounded, stripped of their false might, the Tyrant and his butchers fell. The people of the land, those who had once followed him, demanded retribution. They saw, at last, the truth of what he had cost them. And so the Gods granted them their vengeance.”

“The Tyrant King died last, as was fitting for such a wicked soul. But even in his final moments, he would not speak the truth. He did not kneel. He did not see the light. And so he passed, his name forever cursed. Leonidas.”

“A name spat from the tongues of the divine, a name that will never be spoken in reverence. The Gods still weep for all that one man prevented. They weep for the countless souls denied the Path. They weep for his blindness, for the darkness that he chose over the light.”

“But the Path endures. It is endless, and it is inevitable. What is denied in one age will rise in the next. And though the Tyrant is gone, though his people may still grasp at their hollow defiance, the truth cannot be buried forever.”

“The Gods have willed it.”

Dorian was staring openly as the older man left the podium. The reflecting Technum cut out as he left, leaving a stunned a quiet crowd. Master Flint came back for a time and spoke a few other words about the Path, but none of it was sinking in. The crowd did catch that all people would be fed freely, and that no cup would run dry for the duration of the tournament. Such a lavish expense was completely unheard of, and even if Dorian had a sinking feeling in his gut, he was happy to know that all would sleep with full bellies for the next few days. Even if it was tainted, it had to be better than nothing.

After Master Flint finished his dreary speech, the entire Colosseum resumed their meal. Dorian leaned in to whisper to Ingrid. “Want to get out of here? Lights out isn't long off, and I want to have a word before it gets late.” She nodded, and they excused themselves from the table. Jack didn't pay much mind as he was heavily invested in to inspecting Danae's eyes, so Dorian snagged Ingrid by the hand and led her back to his rooms.

Upon entering, he kicked his boots off before heading in to the other room to change out of the awful robes he was required to wear. As he did so, he also looked for the two gifts he had intended to give her. Both were rather pricey, but he hadn't actually spent the coin, simply instructed Vinny what he wanted and like magic the man would have it in a few days. She called from the other room, “I hope you intend on returning clad, any other attire will be deemed unfit for wear.” She said it jokingly, though there was a touch of trepidation in her voice.

“You know me, always ready to disappoint.”

“Oh, bugger all.” She said flippantly.

Dorian finished dressing and pocketed both of the gifts. She was seated on a fine couch, it was big enough to fit four. Dorian didn't like it, mostly because it was so deep you could get lost in it. Why make a couch? It was basically a cot anyways. Sighing, he came by and sat next to her.

“Ingrid, there's something I wanted to talk to you about before tomorrow.”

She grimaced for a moment and took the silence as a chance to voice her concerns. “Dorian, I wouldn't blame you if you still backed out. The new rules, or lack there of rules... It's barbaric. Dorian, I don't want to see you get hurt.”

Dorian tilted his head, assessing her. He smiled, as the thought hadn't even occurred to him. Shaking his head softly and still smiling, he said, “no, nothing about that. Don't worry, I'm not down and out yet, but I have a gift to give you. Two gifts technically, though one requires a promise.”

She glared at him for a moment, “you're not trying to extort me, are you? I'll have you know, I'm not the kind of girl to be bought out.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, “oh just shut up. Here's the first one, which is an apology for the second one.”

As Dorian handed it to her she asked, “why is it an apology?”

“Because it is, now just open it.”

Exacerbated, she opened it meticulously. Dorian never understood why people did that, it was such an odd behavior. It was wrapping paper, just shred and go? No, instead she unraveled it with twice the slow precision Dorian had used wrapping it. He kept his peace, but it was a near thing.

Opening the small box, she saw what was inside.

“You got me a Diamond?” She said, a bit confused.

“Look at it with Gia.”

Her eyes widened, and she lifted the box to get a closer view. Dorian knew what was there, as small as he could manage, he had inscribed it with Technum. It was the simplest thing one could create really, an emotional rune, but instead of a generalized emotion, he had tuned it. Tuned it to express to the one touching it what Dorian felt as he had kissed her earlier that morning. Along with it, a small obsidian chunk, he assumed she would simply fix it up herself.

She held the diamond gingerly and sent a small bit of Gia through it. The feeling brushed her as Dorian had opened the link on his bracelet. She felt that feeling, that something that he wanted her to know. Really, it was what he wanted her to remember him by if he won, or even if he hadn't.

Her eyes were watering, and he went ahead and ruined it by opening his fat trap. “Listen, I know I'm not anyone's dream partner, I'm a bit hansom if you dig below the extra bits, but otherwise I don't really strike the greatest figure. The thing is, I know I'm likely a three or a four to most people, but the one thing I'm really good at, I think, is loving with my whole heart. That's all I can offer, and even if I get hurt, I want you to always have the best of me.” She took the obsidian chunk and shaped it around the diamond so only the barest bit of the diamond poked through, facing inward. The rest she shaped in to a thin glinting band that she affixed to her right ring finger. By the time she finished that, Dorian had stopped talking.

She was silent, and Dorian about stirred off the couch and started pacing. He kept himself though it was a struggle. She was staring, big blue eyes the shade of sky on a cloudless day, then those eyes were watering.

“Oh, I'm-”

“Shut. Up.”

She kissed him. It was a deep kiss, a passionate kiss. Then the kiss kept on, which seemed to lock the stupid into his brain. Then she kept going, and before he knew it, she was kissing him with all the ferocity she generally brought in to the ring. Dorian was a bit scared at first, even if she was less than half his weight, she had a spirit that one could only compare to a twister. Then, he melted, matched, and caught her up in his arms.

Some time later, they had lost themselves staring deep into each other's eyes. It was the kind of wonder that only young lovers knew, and Dorian considered himself blessed by all the Gods to know such a thing. He still didn't think to much of himself, excepting his appetite, but he was glad he could make this one person happy.

She smiled slowly to him and asked, “what?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing. Wondering if there was anything in the world that could drag me from such a spectacular view.”

“Oh, stop.” She grinned, snuggling herself in closer to him. “Oh, what was the other gift?”

“Oh, that.” Dorian said, but he was sure his face said much more.

“What's wrong, honey?”

“Honey?” He raised an eyebrow. “You're the one with honey in your hair, the only sweet I carry is that of onions.” He smiled mirthfully.

“Really, Dorian, what's wrong?”

“Look, the second gift, it's not for opening. Not yet anyways, that's the catch.”

She looked him over for a long moment, the bliss of the moment prior slipping away like water on ice.

“So, when do I open it?” It didn't sound like a question.

“If. You only open it if I get hurt, and if I'm able, you'll open it with me there.”

“Dorian, I don't really-”

“Please. Ingrid, please, if everything goes as it should it's of no concern and I'll burn the damn thing. But, if it doesn't...” He tapered off, not wanting to consider.

The lights in his room blinked out momentarily before coming back on.

“Oh, shit! I'm late, Dorian, where's my-”

The following forty-five seconds passed in a blur of cloths, swift words, and even swifter kisses. Before a single minute was up, he was breathless and sadly watching her go. Idly, he watched her walk away with a bemused thought about her backside. You're a lech, you know?

Shaking his head, he returned to his lonely bed and missed his better half. He turned his bracelet on, just wanting to know she was there, but turned it back off swiftly as he didn't want to pry. It was then that the lights kicked out. It was much longer before he slept, but when he did it wasn't with thoughts of the oncoming match or all that he had on the line. It was of her sweet smile, her beautiful eyes, and that wretched wretched laugh that he'd grown so fond of.

Kurt finished dinner in fine order that night, eating enough for three. Bo gave him dirty looks all throughout, but Kurt simply couldn't be phased. He idly hoped that he'd have a chance to fight that smug son of a bitch, but he guessed they wouldn't even be in the same cluster of brackets.

Then he thought about the likelihood of Bo making it to the semifinals. He wasn't half bad, if Kurt were being honest, though he was quick, his movements weren't nearly as solid as Kurt's own. Any twelve-year-old with a stick could see that. Still, he found himself grinning at the thought of exacting his little brother's revenge against the twisted bastard in the semifinals or even pre-semifinals. Just so long as the names were carried into the bout, Kurt could be happy. Damn those Smiths and damn the elders for allowing him to compete to begin with.

Kurt had these thoughts as he lay in his bed, waiting for Quena to show. A knock at the door had him up in a flash.

As he opened the door, he said, “Why didn't you jus-” he stumbled as he realized who it was. “Mom! How are you, did you enjoy the dinner?”

The flat stare his mother gave him could melt rock. Kurt didn't wither... well he didn't wither visibly. His insides were basically mush though.

“Expecting someone?”

“No, not really. Come in.”

His mother came in, still glaring though it wasn't as intense as it was at first. “I saw him, Kurtis.” She said as the door came to a close.

“You what?”

“I saw him, he's there. And behind him.” Her voice caught a little at the end. “I'm sure she saw me too.” Her eyes were pooling, which made Kurt feel awful for no other reason than he didn't want to see his mother crying. He came to her and held her until her weeping subsided. It wasn't long, she never lost her composure long, and Kurt was glad to be there for her if only as the support to hold her upright.

“Who'd you see, mom?”

Taking a deep breath, she said, “I saw your brother, he's got your father's body with so much of my father's face, I thought I was seeing a ghost for a moment. And behind him, I saw,” another deep breath, “my sister.”

Surprise shone on Kurt's face. Gods, what a night to be had.

“It's okay, I'll be fine. I just hope-” a knock at the door interrupted what she was about to say.

Rita's stature shifted so quickly to hostile that Kurt looked about the room for something to defend himself with. Coming to the door, he opened it to see one of his mother's lackeys.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, but Madam Hunt, I think you and your son are needed in your chambers.”

A loud clang, and some yelling echoed from down the hall. That voice sounded so familiar, it drew Kurt like a moth to flame.

The muffled shouting quadrupled in volume as two people ran out of his mother's chambers, scurrying away with the fear of the Gods written plainly on their faces.

“And stay out you wretched bastards. I'm no Gods damned invalid.” The sound of deep mumbles echoed down the hall, until, with an uproar, someone's head came from around the corner.

“You there, boy! Yes you, can you grab the two who just left. They seemed to have left me without any pants.”

“Dad?” Kurt said, stunned.