Have you ever lived with something so long that you didn’t realize it was an issue until it seriously became a problem? I’m not talking about a person and their attitude or something like that, I mean a physical issue—or in this case, material—which doesn’t manifest until it hurts you as much as possible.

In this case, I’m referring to the fact that the soles of the boots I had been wearing since my travels began had holes on their bottoms.

With everything that had been happening up until this point, I hadn’t even noticed that my feet had been actually touching the ground the whole time. I barely noticed during the ascent of those stairs, either. Maybe it was because we were moving faster, or maybe I was too busy to notice. Whatever the case, now that my feet were padding across the ice cold floor of that castle, it was impossible not to focus on it. My feet were almost painfully numb, and each step was becoming increasingly more aggravating than the last one.

Neres was leading us along without much banter, which I couldn’t blame him for; the castle was absolutely bare. No paintings, no windows, barely any doors to speak of. It was like a nightmare filled with hallways to nowhere, until the last one where a demon pops out in the form of your—

“Your pet seems to have stopped,” Neres said to Chrys, arms folded and an amused look on his face. Chrys was not in as good a mood, and instead scowled at the ground with an indifferent growl.

“Sorry,” I grunted, tightening the cloth I’d torn from my shirt around my feet and what was left of my shoes.

Neres cocked an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“My feet,” I glared at him, “are freezing up here. There’s no heat in this place. Why don’t you have torches or anything? A hearth?”

Neres lightly beat his wings at me, then turned and started walking, slowly so I could catch up. “Well, we’ve no need for such things here. Come, we mustn’t keep the king waiting.”

I finished tying my feet up and I sighed. “Your king is probably just too poor to afford fire.”

Chrys moved closer to Neres, still on edge but interested. “He’s waiting on us?” he asked, his voice a note away from vicious.

Neres nodded. “Of course, you expected him to be surprised? How foolish.”

“I didn’t expect surprise,” Chrys grumbled, each step he took making him appear closer and closer to breaking. I wasn’t sure if it was the lack of rest and food, or the long trek up there, or the news that this guy he was going after was already well aware that he was here. Maybe it was all of that, maybe less, maybe more. Chrys was never much for telling me what was going on with him, but even back then when I had barely known him I knew that he was not expecting this. I’m not sure if he had a plan to begin with, but I’m sure he had an image of what was going to happen in his mind, and like all things in your mind it was nothing like the truth.

Neres just shrugged and kept going, leading us to a door that took us up a staircase—more stairs! After the mountain, I was ready to never climb a stair again.

“So if he’s waiting for us,” I asked Neres, trying to get my mind off, well, everything, “why are you taking us to him and not trying to off us?”

An avian smile graced Neres’ face. “Well, that would be rude, wouldn’t it? You are guests, after all.”

“Guests?” I repeated, confused. “The way Chrys made it sound, this wasn’t so much a visit as it was—”

“Watch your mouth,” Chrys glared at me, his eyes saying many things at once. Apparently I wasn’t supposed to ask questions.

Neres just shrugged. “Well, whatever—Chrys, you called him?—said, he was mistaken. This is simply a visit, and you will be treated as esteemed guests within the means of our venerable ruler, then sent on your way. Though that will probably be tomorrow, as it is already quite late and I’m sure it would be unseemly to send you both on a long journey in the dead of night, don’t you think?”

Still wanting to talk, I shivered and asked, “So you guys follow the rules of hospitality then?”

“Of course,” Neres said with an airy laugh. “Why I do believe everyone in the civilized world does, young man. You’ve nothing to fear in this home, we will provide food, drink, shelter, and of course merriment for you both. If I’m not mistaken, we will have some entertainment while we eat our dinner and it shall be wonderful. Our good king puts on the best shows, that he does. Wouldn’t you agree, Chrys?” he asked, putting a playful edge to the name we’d decided upon. If Chrys wasn’t covered in fur and flowers, I’m sure he would have been red with embarrassment he’d call anger.

“Well,” I continued as we approached the top of the stairs, “the rules of hospitality also ask us to give you something as a gift, but I’m afraid I’ve got nothing to give you. I do believe Chrys has nothing on him either. We’ve been living each day by just scraping by with what’s needed for survival, after all.” My hand never left Sage’s dagger as I said all this. I knew I could give them it, but if Sage found out he’d kill me.

Besides, rules were meant to be broken, and with how Chrys was acting it seemed that the breaking would begin soon in a most violent fashion.

We entered a new hallway, this one lined with actual torches to help light the way, as well as a long red carpet which led through an extravagant, tall archway. I could see an extensive table through it, and I figured it was the dining hall and that would be where we would meet the man, this king Chrys would maul to death.

Looking at Chrys, his fur bristling with excitement and nerves, I could tell he was ready to do it the second we passed through the archway.

Neres kept walking with a new, cheerier disposition. It seemed conversation was the way to his heart.

“Don’t worry about a gift,” he said, pleasantly. “I’m sure our king will know of your plight and perhaps even bestow onto you a gift of his own. He’s been known to do such things in the past, and if you move the right pieces he’ll surely see the good in helping out someone like yourself.”

“What about Chrys?” I asked.

That made Neres face turn more wicked. Perhaps I was just imagining things. “Well, for him we’ll see what happens.”

I moved closer to Chrys as we made our way through the archway, and I was immediately taken back by what was there. It was as if we had been transported to a castle with actual furnishings and good weather, the archway acting as some sort of portal to a more opulent location. The floor was actually warm to touch somehow, despite still being what appeared to be cold stone covered in expensive rugs of many colors, the entire color spectrum appearing across the floor. The chairs were many but empty, though even without touching them I could see they were a soft, malleable wood that would contour to my form and be very comfortable to sit in. The table itself was already set, a long red cloth similar to the carpet ran across the table covered in all manner of foods from places I probably couldn’t pronounce. My nose was ecstatic from the aromatic pleasure invading my essence, and it was all I could do to maintain my manners and not become the wild child pounding the bars for freedom.

My eyes followed the line of entrees—unable to even begin to figure out what was what apart from certain meat based dishes—until I reached the head of the table, and a veritable throne upon which the king waited patiently. I glanced at Chrys; he was staring at the king, looking at him much as I had looked at the table.

Neres stepped over to the man sitting there and bowed to him, then turned to us and said with a flourish of his wings, “Our guests, this is the great king of the mountain, the overseer of Clementine and soon to be overseer of all of planet Longan, my favorite guy and yours, King Arteus Borus Karlovin Dilleroos Maxim Zedda the third. But you may call him—”

“Dil,” Chrys growled, digging his claws into the stone and cutting the room with that horrible screeching sound.

King Dil grinned, his teeth a dull aged yellow. “You remember me then?” he asked, accompanied by the clicking sound of spit.

Chrys nodded, prowling ever closer. “Absolutely. And you remember what I said?”

Things were becoming tense, so I jumped in and put my hands between Chrys and the king. Quickly, before he could eat me, I whispered to Chrys, “Hey, hey, look! We’re under the protection of the rules of hospitality right now, if you go fighting this guy right now you’re just going to get us both killed. Try to be civil.”

His face told me, “I didn’t come here to be civil, I came here to kill him.”

Sighing heavily, I nodded to the unspoken dialogue. “I know, I know. But at least let me eat, okay? I’m tired and there’s no possible way I could help you on an empty stomach. Let’s just see what happens, okay?”

Chrys bared his teeth, looking right through me into that old geezer King Dil.

“The boy is correct, you know,” Dil said, voice creeping into my ears like a shade. “Under the rules of hospitality, myself and all those I rule in this castle shall treat you with respect as Mr. Neres here has. There is no reason to distrust us, for now we make merry and eat well.”

Chrys just made a noise like, “Harrumph,” with his nose, then lay by the archway, tail swishing this way and that.

I decided I’d sit a few seats away from King Dil, but not so far that I couldn’t speak with him. It was so I was closer to Chrys in case he decided to pounce and change the whole situation.

Neres walked around the table and prepared two plates, one for the king and one for myself. When he came by and gave me the food, I felt like asking him what it was but instead just began cutting into it with my utensils. King Dil laughed merrily, his eyes shining with bright golden light, two orbs untouched by time buried deep in a sullen face of lines and days ill spent.

“That’s what I like to see!” he chortled, slapping his knee. “How long has it been since we’ve had guests, Neres? A year? Two perhaps?”

“Almost three,” he said, pouring a tall glass of wine out for the king. “We took in that shipwrecked crew during a big storm, remember?”

“Ah, yes, how could I forget those rascals?” he tittered, grabbing a huge spoonful of hot soup. “We had to keep them for a good few weeks to help fix that boat of theirs up, it was so out of shape. What a crew! That musician was especially wonderful, his songs so beautiful I still find myself humming them! Do you remember, Neres?”

“That I do, sir,” he said, pouring out a glass of water for myself. He glanced over at Chrys and said, “You sure you don’t want a seat at the table, Chrys? We made accomodations for you so you have a place to eat.”

A growl was all he received in answer.

King Dil shrugged and turned to me. “How is it all tasting? Is it good? We tried to make sure there was a wide spread available, what with you two not eating real food for such a long time.”

“Oh yes, it’s amazing!” I said with a mouth full of beef and hot root and mustard soup. “It feels like the soup is actually bringing me back from the dead. Where do you get the ingredients from? I know there’s no bovines on the island. You might be able to get the hot root here though, I’m not really sure.”

The king looked genuinely pleased, which wasn’t doing Chrys any favors. I was beginning to wonder who was in the right among these two. “I have a team of Harpies who fly to an island which is not that far from here and carry sacks of salted beef back here for the larder. We haven’t much on this island, as I’m sure you’ve found. But we do what we can, and we keep a good relationship with those who trade with us.

“Most importantly, though, I’m happy to hear you enjoy the food! Our kitchen is our pride and joy here, so seeing guests enjoy the food is wonderful. Would you like the recipe for the soup? It’s not so difficult to make.”

“Why that would be marvelous!” I said, finding myself smiling wider than ever. “I actually have a companion who is a great chef as well, and I’m sure they could make this soup if they knew the ingredients.”

“A chef that good should be in my kitchen! How much would you sell him for? AH-HAH-HAH!” he laughed, such a full bellied laugh that it nearly shook the table. I joined in, unsure about why—it wasn’t that funny, really. But I was having such a nice time, it was infexious. I couldn’t help it.

We continued diving into the food with increasing hunger—Dil, Neres, and I that is, since Chrys remained laying by the door, jaw resting on paw resting on paw, eyes slowly taking in the whole room with deep breaths and even more hate in his stare. I sincerely felt bad for him. The conversation, the food, the atmosphere, it was all so sublime, a party I’d never wish to end, yet he sat there staring at us like we were a cancer, a pus filled tumor ripe for the popping.

As I ingested all manner of breads from foreign lands, dipping them in oils mixed with cloves of garlic, cheese, and salt, Dil took a swig from his glass and asked, “So from where do you hail, young man? I know all that live in my kingdom and no children of men live here. Were you wrecked like those sailors I spoke of earlier? Or are you just passing through?”

I mulled over the answer I’d give him for a moment; despite the niceties and the overall enjoyable time I was having, I knew in my heart that I should keep the reasoning behind why I was there to myself. Sage wouldn’t want me speaking of our journey to anyone who wasn’t important, and as it stood King Dil was, nice as he seemed, the ruler of a garbage island filled with Harpies who would eat anything that had a scent and walked on any amount of legs.

“Passing through,” I nodded, drinking some juice Neres had provided. It was fruity, but didn’t overtake the other flavors of the bread and oil. “I ran out of provisions and stopped here for a while. My father lives on Mango island, so I was going to go there soon when I met Chrys. He was injured and in need of help, so I decided I’d treat him and see if I could keep him healthy. One thing lead to another, I got hurt myself, and here I am trying to help him out. He was desperate to get up here.”

A growl from behind me put my voice at ease, and I nervously ate some more bread.

“Did he now?” Dil asked, his voice slithering through his corny teeth. “You call him Chrys, then? An odd name, yet fitting.”

“He is a little odd himself, after all,” I grinned, laughing airily.

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“He is, AH-HAH! He is,” Dil returned his attention to me, locking eyes so deeply it was uncomfortable, but not unwarranted. “So you need provisions then? What, food, clean water, some new clothes perhaps?”

Nodding, I said, “That about sums it up. Oh and a weapon, too. I lost my blade a long time ago and should get it replaced. But I can probably get a lot of that stuff from my father, he’s well off enough.”

“What sort of man is your father?” he asked, slowly. Deliberately.

Without thinking, I shrugged and said, “I’m not really sure.” Which was the truth. The frightening thing is, while I said it, in my head I was working up a story to tell so I could relieve myself of this portion of the conversation and see if I could maneuver it into a safer place. So when the words left my throat, I unconsciously put my hand to my lips, confused.

King Dil saw this, and his smile grew so wide that the skin near the corners of his mouth cracked, bleeding.

“An intelligent answer,” he drawled. “I feel none of us truly know our fathers until after they’re gone, wouldn’t you agree, Neres?”

Through a full mouth, Neres gave a quick bob of his head and said, “Indeed. Why I knew more about my father the day he died than I did after any amount of time actually spent with him. Funny how that works, isn’t it?”

“It truly is,” Dil said, still grinning ear to ear with eerie delight.

Suddenly, as if it hit me all at once, my stomach felt taut and massive. I sat back with a groan and rubbed it like a disgusting commoner and announced, “Ughh, I’m so full! That was so delicious though. What a meal!” They weren’t my words, though I felt that way. It was someone else speaking for me.

“Quite,” King Dil agreed. “Well, what do you say we move on to the entertainment then, eh Neres?”

“Right you are, sir,” the harpy said, getting up with a stretch of his feathers. “And would you like me to get the table set, or do you want to go somewhere else?”

“Here will do,” he said. “Just clean the table up and we’ll get started here. Bring in some good ones this time, too, last time things were way too one sided and it was an absolute bore!”

“Right sir, I’ll be just a moment.” And Neres was off, grabbing a cart that had been underneath the table at the far end of the room and began loading it up with the dishes and unfinished foodstuffs, while Dil stared at me with an expectant gaze. He knew I was on to a game, whether or not it was his game I wasn’t sure. But he was sure.

I glanced over at Chrys, who was still taking it all in with that blank face, unreadable. Uninvolved.

But he was still himself.

I wasn’t.

My head began spinning as I tried to get a hold of myself and pull my head out from all the muck that was covering it, but I couldn’t do it. I hadn’t the know-how, nor the strength of heart. My weakness had lured me into a trap I knew existed but ignored entirely.

Dil sat back with his hands folded covertly on his lap, eyes hooded on that pleased face. I finally began seeing him, fully, in that moment, and a sick repulsion filled me. He was ancient, absolutely ancient. To this day I’ve never seen a living being appear so well past his time but still acting in his prime. Wrinkles were so deep in his face that they themselves had wrinkles, and his skin was so dry I was surprised he didn’t soak the liquid he consumed up through his skin like a rag. His hands were gnarled and nearly broken, unable to grip anything without not-so-subtle shaking. He was a mess in a dark purple cloak—which was stained with food he had dropped on it, no doubt from all the shaking of his hands.

He didn’t speak to me during the entire time Neres was gone. He just stared, watching things unfold with so much pleasure it was vampiric in nature, stealing away the joy I’d been given and replacing it with panic.

When Neres returned, he had with him the cart he had been pushing filled with dishes, now instead carrying a plethora of weapons both banal and incredibly strange. There were swords and daggers and rapiers, axes and a spear or two—one may have been a pike, I often mix them up—but this is where the weapons began to get stranger, and I do not know the names of them. Describing how they would work is also a mystery to me. What I do know is that there were poles with so many different devices attached, all sharp and dangerous, poking outward in all directions like sun rays; there was a rod with a red orb attached, with a strong chance of being magical; there was some kind of chained weapon where you had a handle in the center, two chains on either side, and those chains were tipped with round orbs covered in small blades.

While surveying these things, I asked, “What are these for?”

“This evening’s entertainment,” Dil said, palm outstretched.

Before I even bothered asking, I knew who the fighters were.

Chrys stretched out his limbs and cracked them one by one, yawning as he did so.

“Choose a weapon, young man,” Dil snickered. “Choose wise, or die.”

Nervous, I glanced over at Chrys who was swishing his tail and waiting at the end of the table. Dil turned his attention to him and frowned.

“You know, if you’re fighting you should probably also choose a weapon. Pride will be your downfall, old friend.”

Chrys just smiled, teeth looking sharper than usual.

Dil shrugged, “Well it looks like your opponent is ready then. You had best pick a weapon, boy, before I grow impatient.”

Taking a deep breath, I assessed the situation and the weapons before me. None of the standard weaponry would outdo the dagger Sage had given me, so they were out of the question. Sure it lacked range, but if I was fighting Chrys again it would definitely be up close, and the dagger would cut him with little effort. But it would make sense to keep it hidden, and for some reason the idea of fighting him seemed great.

I knew it wasn’t, and I didn’t want to fight him. I just had to, there wasn’t any way for me to choose otherwise.

So, discarding the swords and axes and the like, I checked the stranger side of the table. Digging around in the pile—which was very difficult to do without hurting myself in the process, mind you—I found a few odd things that didn’t appear to be weapons at all. The weirdest thing was this long cloth, soft to touch but taut feeling no matter what I did with it.

“What is this?” I asked Dil, then added, “If it’s alright for me to ask, that is.”

Both Neres and Dil smiled widely when they saw what I held. “What an eye for quality you have, young man,” Dil drawled, sipping his cup of wine. “That is what is known as a Wisp cloak. They’re made on the island of Pomegranate, where they believe that the material comes from the husk left behind by a Wisp as it is separating from its meaty body. I’m not sure if that’s the truth of it myself; in my life I’ve never seen a Wisp. The strength of that cloak is there, though. It’s the strongest cloth I’ve ever encountered in Tamarind.”

The cloak was a vibrant purple, a color I’d never expect from the husk of a man. The story seemed as unbelievable as Dil made it sound, but I wasn’t sure about its strength.

I picked up one of the swords on the table and said, “You don’t mind if I test its strength, I assume?”

“Not at all, boy! Go right ahead,” he cheered, rather excited.

Laying the cloak on the floor, spread as thin as possible, I raised the blade up and dropped it down with all my might. Too much, in fact, for the vibration from hitting the floor made my whole body shake.

When I picked it back up, it was in the same condition as before. But I still wasn’t quite convinced, so I asked if Neres could hold it up for me while I strike it. He tried not to, but he looked worried so I added with a hint of humor, “Just hold the cloak away from your body, that way I won’t hit you. You’re way taller than I am anyway, it should be easy for me to miss you and hit only the cloak.”

He looked over at Dil, who agreed and ordered him to do it.

So Neres held the cloak up for me, as far away from his body as he possibly could, and I lunged at it with a stab from the heart, all my strength put into it, and the blade and myself glided across it, nearly ramming into the wall a few steps away.

Dil clapped, his tone ironic—as weird as that might sound, a clap can appear ironic in tone I assure you. “Satisfied? May we get on with the bout? And Neres, I’m almost out of wine, bring me some more when you’ve finished fooling around.”

“Yes sir,” Neres said with a flush, then he gave me the cloak and made his way off to grab more wine.

Once he left, I began wrapping the Wisp cloak around my neck like a makeshift cross between a scarf and a cape. It worked well enough, being large enough to drape over my limbs almost entirely, while also not being long enough that I’d trip over it while walking.

“Well, you should at least get into position while we wait on my drink,” Dil sighed. “You, boy, on the table now.”

His tone was not something I would answer to, but it seemed a reasonable request so I hopped on the table. It was like the world fell away from around me, my peripheral growing smaller and smaller until there was absolutely nothing besides Chrys and the table we stood on. His eyes were unblinking orbs of defiance, and I answered with my own challenging gaze, at least what I hoped was one though surely I appeared nonthreatening. The longer the standoff went, the more the space began to grow smaller and smaller, closer and closer, until it seemed we were within arms reach of each other.

Right as we were about to be a hair's breadth away from each other, Dil cut in with an ornery screech. “Hey, hey! Save it until I have something to drink, you two, before I cut it all short.”

A sharp feeling like a pickaxe hit my forehead and I realized that we really were walking towards each other. Or rather, I had closed the gap and made my way across the table, not even realizing what I was doing.

I stepped back to the opposite end of the table, so shaken I pulled the Wisp cloak around me tightly.

Neres came in quickly after that, a full goblet of wine ready for Dil in his hands. “Sorry it took me so long,” he tittered, and I wished it had taken longer.

Dil took a long, agonizing sip and when he was finished he steepled his decrepit hands and said, “Right, well then get started.”

Now, some of you reading this are probably expecting that we both ran at each other at the word, “Go,” and the battle was swift and brutal. Perhaps it was the latter, but not so much the former. You must remember, we weren’t trained fighters. In a fight between gladiators in a huge stadium, they may even begin fighting before they were supposed to—and in that case, the crowd would cheer, enjoying the sheer violent passion displayed before them.

Here, I was on a long table about to face off against not only a creature who I came to know as a friend, or at least a companion, but someone who very nearly killed me just a week or so prior. This wasn’t good, no matter how great a good fight sounded.

Chrys was equally hesitant, maybe even more so. He prowled forward on pensive paws, barely making a sound despite his body making the table creak when he had hopped on. It made me all the more wary, unsure of when he’d leap into action and close the distance.

Dil was growing impatient. When neither of us had attacked, and barely even moved, he pounded a fist on the table, the sound and vibration scaring me into a gasp. “Why are you two going so slowly? You are entertainers, you must entertain! Get to moving, get going before I have you escorted out of here.” His voice drew venom with those last few words, and I knew he meant to have us both killed if we didn’t kill ourselves here first for his enjoyment.

Chrys just smirked, finally stopping where he stood. “You wouldn’t do that, you old bastard. You’ve too few Harpies to waste at this point.”

From behind Chrys, Dil swore under his breath. “Though that’s a valid point, I will still have it done if you do not begin this fight. I’ve still got enough to kill you, don’t get proud in your old age, friend.”

“Former, soon to be killer,” Chrys growled, lowering himself in a stance I was very familiar with. He hadn’t stopped due to nerves, nor had he stopped for some other such reason.

He just knew he was within pouncing distance.

From where he was, Chrys leapt across the table with such speed you’d have missed it if you blinked, and since I didn’t blink I was left with very dry eyes from the wind he brought with him.

Fortunately for me, I knew what was coming. Grabbing my dagger, I leapt backwards myself so that I would be just out of reach. Just as well, too; his claws were so close to hitting my face I had to check for blood when I landed. When I was clear, I dashed forward and lunged with my dagger. Excitement quickly took over me as I realized I was about to win the exchange.

But the theme of my life, especially my younger years, was one of embarrassment and disappointment.

I had done everything right. I saw the attack, I dodged and countered accordingly, but what did I miscalculate?

The size of the Wisp cloak.

It wasn’t too big for walking, that was fine. But when I went to dash forward, I had brought my legs high, and the wind caught the cloak in such a way that I landed on it and pulled myself down to the table in such a haphazard way I was surprised I didn’t cut myself or lose my dagger; truly, that was the only miracle in this exchange. Not losing my weapon and not hurting myself too badly.

The biggest hit was to my ego. Dil burst into a cackle so sickening he’d cough and wheeze, and Neres joined in with his own laugh. You’d have thought I was putting on a jester show, not a battle.

Chrys took this opportunity and seized it, in the meantime. He roared, placing both paws on my cloak so I couldn’t escape. Snapping at me, he got in my face and I shivered with fright, my chest aching from the pounding my heart was dealing it. Before I could pass out from fear, I heard Chrys speak, low like he was whispering despite never using his voice.

“Nice job distracting him,” he said, and I was so surprised I fumbled with my dagger and nearly stabbed him.

He roared loud in my face, spit and slobber spewing all over me. “Don’t you dare cut me,” he whispered more haughtily. “I don’t want to fight you, I’m using this to keep the element of surprise. Just keep pretending to fight me, take me towards him, and I can finish it from there. Okay?”

I tried calming my breathing down, but it didn’t work. I nodded anyway though, unsure of exactly what was happening.

Chrys yelped and flew back, as if I had hit him or hurt him in some way. I took this as a sign to get up, and before I was on my feet I heard him whisper from very far away, “Maintain your influence…!”

It was cryptic, and my head felt very hazy, but I just nodded absently and kept moving.

I got in close and swiped at him with my dagger in a wide, clumsy arc and he dodged smoothly, then countered with a swipe of his own which was equally wide and simple to dodge, coupled with a big bellied roar to embellish it. Which gave me the idea to add noise to my attacks, to help muddy them a bit and make them easier to believe. Dil’s eyes were scary, and they probably caught nearly everything.

Grunting, I began lunging forward with stabs that were as well choreographed as an impromptu faux stab could possibly be, and Chrys dodged them in ways that were just…just…

Downright rude.

If it had been an actual fight, I’d have thought he was making a statement, the meaning of which was loud and clear for everyone; “I’m better than you.” Which, yeah he was. Easily. I couldn’t even utilize a little Vastmire, and fighting—while exhilarating—was far from something I did all the time. The fact that I was alive was proof that I was more of a survivor than anything, and anyone who took it to mean I was some sort of deific swordsman would be sadly mistaken. Or happily, I suppose, were the opinion held by an opponent.

Regardless, Chrys was doing wild moves that were more for show than for practical use. He was doing backflips over my stabs, cartwheels, and for one move where I’m sure he was particularly enjoying himself, he glided off the table and slid underneath, leaping out in one smooth motion that was all too good for something so sudden and unpracticed. Dil and Neres were both clapping and cheering him on, and it was becoming harder and harder for me to remember that this was a fake performance.

My moves became more aggressive, each slash with Sage’s dagger becoming louder and getting closer and closer to hitting Chrys. Conversely, his movements became tighter, less showy, with less room for error. Soon all you could hear was the sound of our breathing, the cut of the air from my dagger, the bated breath of the audience, and the frenzied steps on that long table.

We were finally just a few steps away from Dil and Neres, when I realized this didn’t have to be a fake fight. I could win this. Chrys was dodging everything that I was doing only because he didn’t expect me to jump in and go for the kill, so all I had to do was build up the courage to get in as close as possible and go for it.

Chrys was in the middle of dodging to the right, preemptively due to the pattern I had been using for my attacks, when I closed the distance and drove my dagger right up into what was supposed to be his heart. Instead, he saw me coming and readjusted his movement, shoving his shoulder between me and him so that I’d stab his upper arm area.

The roar of pain he let out was incredible. For a second, just hearing his agonized cry was like listening to one of Conifer’s old songs back on Mango.

For just a second.

After that, I felt my senses turning back on like torches being slowly lit, one after another, before I fell to my knees, confused and in more pain than I should have been. Soreness was spreading across my body until I felt nothing but aches, every movement I did causing something to throb uncontrollably. Chrys’ roar slowly turned into a cry that actually made my chest hurt, as if my heart would burst with empathy. It was the sort of feeling some folks feel when they see a hurt animal, looking helpless and in pain. The only major difference was I did it, and he wasn’t an animal.

He was a friend.

“Chrys,” I hissed, my voice breaking. “What happened?”

Growling and taking ragged breaths, Chrys moved his head towards Dil.

My eyes followed, and I saw Dil was laughing to himself heartily, clapping slowly. “Don’t stop!” he wheezed encouragingly. “You’ve got him on the run now, boy!” Before I could respond, I felt my body urge forward, tears on my face not mattering as suddenly my will went against itself, the desire for bloodshed outweighing the needs of our mission, my desire for compassion.

“Why?” was all I managed to croak out to Chrys while I swiped at him with my blade, cutting his foreleg neatly but not terribly.

“His power,” he growled, “is that of influence. Dil is in your head, you just need to shut him out somehow.”

There was no time to ask how he was managing to shut out any influence Dil might have over him, and the more time passed the more I didn’t want to ask at all. All I wanted was to kill him for the pleasure of it, and the power that kept pumping through my veins edged me forward with enough strength to feel impervious.