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The Flower of Bifrost

It was late December, some few days before the gift-giving holidays coincidentally shared by Elysians and Earthlings alike. It was a time, I suppose, where I was lenient with myself, and allowed myself something special. A gift given to myself by myself, and this year, knowing the trial ahead of me, I decided that my gift to myself would be utterly spectacular.

I had travelled a week away from home, up to the much mythologized mountains of Muspel. Above all things, I knew that the mountains housed a peculiar grove, an anomalous zone of early springtime where a one-of-a-kind specimen of flora bloomed. The grove had but a single entrance, a cavernous tunnel haunted by what the Elysians supposed was a guardian spirit, perhaps born to protect those beautiful flowers that bloomed here and here alone.

As I stepped into the darkness of the cave, a chill swept over me, greater still than the windy bite of winter that I would soon escape. A sudden and deep-running fear crawled through my skin, leaving goosebumps as I slowly ambled forward, going willingly blind into the dark.

It was a dark I knew no light could penetrate. Torches would be snuffed out, lamps would sputter and die, and sorcerous fairy-lights or shining auras would slowly fade. It was beyond me to fight what I knew was a pointless battle; whatever spirit presided over this grove would have me probe the dark to find its home, and I would oblige its game.

No sooner than the thought crossed my mind, I tripped, half-stumbling over a wayward root. I heard a noise, though it was difficult to tell exactly what it was - laughter, or the barking of an animal? In my confusion, I felt a piercing stare, simultaneously from everywhere and nowhere at once. The sensation felt like a choice - go further, or go away.

I would go further.

Within minutes, a distant light shown at the end of the tunnel, and wisps of blue light began to outline the path. Dirt and stone and roots were illuminated by the spectral candlelight, and as I continued, I began to see shadows moving in the dark, faster than I could follow, but noticeable in the dim light.

The spirit was closing in on me, and I began recalling its origin. On Elysium, the people of Isonade had a story about the Woman of the Smoking Room, hidden away on a northern mountain, a generous woman who bore fox-like features. Many people would seek her out, but only a few would be allowed audience with the capricious woman.

Her story extended to Bifrost, where the guardian spirit of Muspel Mountain was said to be her daughter, equally generous and capricious as her mother, but with a fondness for beautiful places. I was certain the story was twisted for many such strange groves that dotted this intermediary planet, but there was a certain tangibility to it in the present moment.

I heard the noise again, and it was more clearly laughter, a warm giggle as though I was so close, but still so far away from something. Had the spirit probed my thoughts, and found the lie in her own mythos, or was she simply holding me away from the grove a while longer?

And, just as it seemed to know my thoughts, I felt the ground give way underfoot, and just a mere few inches down I stepped into warm soil and verdant grass.

The grove was an anomaly twice-over; warmth and overflowing life in the midst of winter, and separated from the cold, unforgiving foothills at the base of the mountain by a dark tunnel that, looking back through it, was scarcely as long as it felt. Weeping cherry blossoms loomed over a wide pond, and a wide variety of flowers and trees bloomed besides, but the light streaming in from above shone down almost specifically on the center of the grove.

And there I saw two things that made me catch my breath. Wide, white petals bleeding blue at the base, silver dust hovering thick in the heart of the plant, and behind it, sitting demurely with her eyes downcast and a smile creeping at the corners of her mouth was the spirit.

She was slender, almost frail, though there was a subtle curvature to her body that made her elegant. She had vulpine ears and a samelike tail, and had long, wheat-gold hair pinned back into a streaming ponytail. She wore a blue yukata, and the summer dress was worn close over her body, but one half was let to rest lower on her shoulder, exposing her collarbone.

"Y()u l()()k quite c()ld, stranger," she said, her voice low and inviting, "perhaps y()u might c()me warm y()urself beside me?"

For a moment, I was stunned by the offer, but I wordlessly obliged. I moved to her side, settling down and crossing my legs. She chuckled, shifting herself so as to lean against me. Even with the warmth of the glade around me, I was shocked to find myself completely abandoned by cold at her touch.

"Better?" she asked, looking up at me with a delightful smile.

I hesitated a moment, dreading to speak. "Better."

The spirit reached down, cupping the flower in her hand and gently plucking it from its stem. She breathed in the silvery dust, and gave a satisfied exhale as she offered the bloom to me.

"What brings y()u here t() my little hideaway, stranger?" she asked, holding the flower up to my nose, making the dark, sweet scent unavoidable. "Y()u've c()me a l()ng, l()ng way in the dead ()f winter, and I d()ubt y()u were driven by mere curi()sity..."

"I...Will be facing a daunting challenge soon," I began, "and so I thought to impress myself with something beautiful before I leave."

"()h()h()...S()mething beautiful, y()u say?"

She brought the flower back down to its stem, and before my eyes, it began to sew itself back into place, radiating an amber glow. The fragrance from the flower's pollen began to hit me, only barely noticeable, but I could feel my senses becoming cloudy as my mind was intoxicated by the flower's curious dust.

"May I ask if y()u f()und what y()u were l()()king f()r?"

"I did...And then some."

The spirit chuckled, wrapping her tail across my lap as she lowered me gingerly into a bed of moss. Her eyes were dreamy and half-lidded, though it seemed she was perfectly aware - and I had her full attention.

"Tell me, stranger...What's y()ur name?"

"I...Can't." I said, trying to still my mind, though I was surely losing to the pollen. My muscles eased, though I could feel my fingers slip between hers, holding her hand firmly as though that act could ground me to reality. "Though, I suppose...A monicker couldn't hurt." I allowed.

"A m()nicker will w()rk just fine."

"Call me...Merlin." I said, my eyes fluttering shut against my will. I could feel the spirit press a kiss against my cheek, and she still held my hand firmly, being careful for my comfort.

"Merlin...And y()u may call me Imer()s."

When I awoke, I found myself at home, laying across my couch and decorated in the heavy traveling gear I had worn to Muspel. I struggled to my feet in a bleary-eyed haze, and across the room I saw that peculiar flower that had whisked me away into unconsciousness, and resting against its pot was a note, handwritten in short, charming writing.

G()()d luck, Merlin.

I'll see y()u s()()n~

~Imer()s

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Two of a Kind

Skaia hung low in the morning sky, shining an inoffensive radiance over the snow. The Land of Winter and Frogs was cold, but a surprisingly comfortable cold, one I hadn't really known in all my years on Elysium. I exhaled a huff of air, and saw a thin cloud of mist in front of me. I was tempted to smile.

Alma was a few paces away, handily defeating a group of powerful Underlings. Silvery giclopes flanked by a horde of stony ogres loomed over her, harrying her with punches and charges, but her nimble feet and the resounding swings of her greatsword shattered each one into a shower of colorful grist.

After the last was dispatched, she turned to me and we continued walking down the wooded path. She was breathing hard, rasping slightly, like the cold of her planet stuck to her lungs as she breathed. She looked at me quizzically, thrusting her hands into her coat pockets.

Alma: you're looking more broody than normal. what's wrong?

Dante: more broody?

Alma: you've always got your lips pursed into a half-frown, like this!

She made a grumpy, irritable face, failing at the expression she described, before raising an eyebrow.

Alma: plus, you didn't even draw your sword there.

Alma: i don't mind doing all the fighting, but still, i kinda imagined you'd be all over that fight! literally!

Alma: so what's up?

I shrugged and gave a disaffected sigh, but kept walking.

Dante: i guess i just don't see a point in fighting right now?

Dante: i don't see a point in anything, really.

Dante: i don't have a purpose to do anything, so...why put forth the effort?

She frowned, but didn't know what to say. There was a long stretch of uncomfortable silence before my sister finally spoke up.

Alma: well, have you given any thought to it?

Dante: thought to what?

Alma: what your purpose is!

Dante: oh. well...no. not really.

She slugged me, unbalancing me for a moment with the force of it.

Dante: ah-, hey!

Alma: hey yourself, idiot! that's important!

We turned to face each other, and she squared up as if she were ready to tackle me. It was hard at times to see her as my sister, with every appearance on the surface suggesting little, if any relation at all, but here, seeing her frustration, I could believe she and I were siblings.

Alma: you can't just shirk that off! if you're missing purpose, you need to reach out and find one!

Alma: so what are you feeling like you're missing? a reason to fight? a reason to be? c'mon, spit it out!

Dante: i-, uh...

Dante: ...both, really.

Dante: blending in is just...such an impossible, fruitless task, i-...sometimes i just wanna go home, lie down, and do nothing, because...it'd be better than the feeble attempts i make to fit in here.

She watched me for a minute, her anger slowly desolving into a sympathetic composure as she ushered me along with her down the path.

Alma: guess i'm not the only black sheep, huh.

Dante: what?

Alma: you wouldn't believe it, but really the only people i've hung out with are Dizmare and Shura. sometimes dad, but...

Alma: i don't exactly have a place of my own, you know. figuring it out is...difficult, to say the least.

Alma: it doesn't really help that i'm trying to follow in dad's footsteps and keep true to myself at the same time.

I stiffened at the admission, but she ignored it.

Alma: but i'm being patient about it. i'll work up the gall to talk to some people, and i'll explore what i can do to make myself feel at home. right now, though, i'm comfortable...not being comfortable, if that makes sense.

Alma: because i've got Diz, and dad, and you to talk to. i don't need to fit in immediately, i've got my own little circle of people i trust that can ease me into it.

Dante: you...trust me?

Dante: ...honest mistake, i guess.

I was rewarded with another heavy slugging.

Alma: say you're sorry.

Dante: ...sorry.

Alma: louder, don't mumble it.

Dante: sorry.

Alma: louder!

She drew her arm back, threatening me with a haymaker, and instinctively I flinched.

Dante: sorry! okay, sorry, jeez.

She let her arm drop to her side again, and we walked the rest of the track back to her house in companionable silence. When we reached it, that towering pillar of replicated wall and floorboard, she stopped in front of her patio, turned to me, and drew her greatsword.

Dante: ...what's this about?

Alma: i can't help you with fitting in, that's a long-run goal.

Alma: but i can at least help you get the will to fight again.

Dante: are you about to start swinging at me until i fight back?

Alma: nope! ...unless it would work?

Dante: no.

The massive blade was hefted easily over her shoulder, and she placed one hand on her hip as though to maintain a confident composure. Even without her god tier attire, she struck an impressive silhouette, and despite having said she had no intention to fight, her expression was marked by an unspoken challenge.

Alma: you want to know why i fight?

I shrugged. She rolled her eyes in response, but continued regardless.

Alma: i fight because it's fun. i fight because i know i'll always improve. i fight because, as far as i'm concerned, i was born for it!

Alma: if i lose, then guess what? i've got a new, explicit goal to overcome. if i'm angry or bent out of shape? fighting gives me catharsis.

Alma: but most importantly, i fight so i can keep my friends and family alive.

Dante: ...even though the game's over? they're in dad's protection now, you...you still feel like you need to do it to protect them?

Alma: dad's not omniscient or omnipotent! he can't do everything, so it's my responsibility to pitch in and help where i can.

Alma: if that just means i'm my team's vanguard? so be it! i'll protect them with my heart and soul.

Alma: and i won't be able to do that if i don't keep my skills sharp!

Alma: so what about you, Dante? when you think about it, deep down inside, are you absolutely, positively sure you've got no reason to fight?

I thought about it, and for a long time. Perhaps unreasonably long, but she was patient, albeit curious when I hung my head low in contemplation. This was a big question, and she was willing to wait for the answer, because she knew there had to be one.

Dante: my...what few reasons i have are weak...

Alma: well, spill 'em!

I hesitated, and still she watched me, waiting for my answer.

Dante: i...i fight for some people's attention, and...so i can feel...equal, i guess...

Alma: and whose attention do you fight for?

Dante: ...beatrice...isabella...aphros...

Alma: so keep fighting for them, then!

Alma: but you need more than that to keep going.

Dante: what, then?

Alma: well, you can make your own purpose. is there anyone in particular you just want to destroy? any big thing you want to do?

Dante: well...i-, i'd love to win tournaments, and...maybe beat hirces and alastair...

Alma: then do it!

Dante: it's not that sim-

Alma: i know it's not! fight! practice! get better, and beat them! win!

Alma: you lose every fight you don't take, so if you want to win, you have to fight!

I stared up at her in stunned silence. This was the same thing I'd been told dozens of times before, yet somehow, she made the words settle in my mind. It was difficult to fathom how she could impact me where others couldn't, but I would chalk it up to her genuine passion that made it through.

Alma: and one more thing, we need to make fighting fun for you!

Alma: i'll organize a little group, and i'll have you fighting like a devil in no time.

Alma: are you good now? do you have your reasons?

I shook off the daze, and for a moment she misunderstood, because she started to frown, but I stepped up and gave her a hug. She put away her greatsword and returned the gesture, squeezing me tight enough that I heard my spine pop.

Dante: yeah...i...

Dante: ...i think i might.

She beamed, and once again it was difficult to tell that she was my sister, but then I felt one more painfully heavy thump in my shoulder as we walked into the house.

Alma: good! now, while we warm up, i have an idea for something we can work on together.

Alma: we may just find our niche yet!

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Fresh Start

"It had finally dawned on me; I had inherited my father's darkness, but neither his worldly insight nor capricious wit were passed on with it. I had but one resolution..."

I heard a knocking at my study door, and a familiar voice calling from the other side.

Isabella: Dante? are you in there?

Shocked, I looked around the room, trying to find my clock.

Dante: ah, fuck, is it really...

Dante: oh, son of a bitch.

I found it, and as I feared, it was nine thirty-two. Isabella was right on time, and I was still busy writing.

Isabella: are you alright?

Dante: yeah-, i...come on in.

She pushed the door open, and was greeted with an absurd, disorganized mess of papers, desks, TV-trays, and more papers, all of which was the product of my favorite hobby. I set down the clock, and the cord dragging off the side of the desk it originally sat on pulled a few stray papers off down to the floor.

Isabella: oh my goodness.

Dante: yeah, uh.

Dante: there's a reason i don't tend to let anyone in here.

I fumbled around a short desk, one which I doubtless had used as an impromptu footstool once or twice, but now was laden with half-written stories. I captchalogued the papers that covered it, and pushed it comfortably out of the way, sitting down on it as I motioned for Isabella to take my desk chair.

Isabella: are you sure you're alright down...there?

Dante: yeah, i'll be fine.

Dante: ...not like i could fit a second actual chair in here anyhow.

Dante: sorry about...sorry about forgetting about the date, i got...caught up.

She started to look over the papers on the main desk, doubtless noticing how I scrawled a title at the corners of the page to organize them. I looked away, which seemed to have caught her attention.

Isabella: it's quite alright, Dante.

Isabella: it could have been worse, of course. you might not have been home.

Dante: where else would i be?

Isabella: the Red Star, perhaps?

Dante: ...nevermind i asked.

She chuckled warmly, reaching over to place a hand on my knee.

Isabella: I'm joking, of course.

Dante: right.

I gave a nervous chuckle in response, and I saw her eyes wander back over to my current project.

Isabella: I take it this is what you were caught up with?

Dante: yeah, i...

Dante: i guess you could say i got caught up venting a bit.

Isabella: venting?

Isabella: may I read a bit of it?

Dante: ...sure.

She stared at me for a moment, sensing my hesitation, though her eyes went to the papers after I nodded my assent. She shuffled through the chaos, finding and organizing the pages by their number before starting to read.

I sat still, keeping silent, but while she read my mind raced with fear. Surely she'd recognize what the writing meant, I had already clued her into my dissatisfaction by calling it "venting". She'd read it and fear that I was about to do something stupid, which, to a degree, I was, but how stupid it would be would pale in comparison to how stupid I'd feel having let her read it.

Just as my mind started working over what she might say, rehearsing an entire conversation yet to happen, she caught my attention.

Isabella: is this the last page?

She showed me the most recent page, marked VIII, and I gave a brief nod.

Isabella: what is he going to do?

Dante: he's...

I hesitated, deciding whether or not to lie, while also racking my brain for what I was about to even write. Ultimately, I decided to be straightforward about it.

Dante: ...going into seclusion.

Dante: i'm retiring him as a character. i'm...i'm done writing him, i guess.

She paused for a moment, looking over the words on the last two pages again.

Isabella: I see.

Isabella: does this mean you plan on doing something similar?

Dante: you say that like it's even an option.

Isabella: you've humored it before.

Dante: yeah, but...

I shrugged, casting my eyes down to the floor.

Dante: i'm not that stupid anymore.

Isabella: Dante...

Dante: besides!

I spoke up before I realized I didn't have anything prepared to follow it beyond an idea - a rough one, but for me it was sufficient.

Dante: just because i'm done writing him doesn't mean i'm just done writing period.

Dante: i've got another character in the works, someone better.

Dante: someone i can really...try to emulate.

The hopes of communicating the idea bled out of me, and I slumped my shoulders. Isabella must have seen the excitement leave my face, but she seemed lost in thought, contemplating something. And after a good minute of doing so, she spoke.

Isabella: so...

Isabella: what you're saying is, you're done writing Balder, because you've left too many of your negative aspects to bleed into him...

Isabella: so you're going to write up someone new, a fresh start to build upon and hopefully become better through?

I blinked, utterly stupefied. And, just as stupidly, I nodded with unrestrained vigor.

And she smiled.

Isabella: what's his name?

Dante: ask.

For a moment, there was silence, and it was her turn to be befuddled. She raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

Isabella: ...I did.

Dante: no-, i mean...

Dante: oh goddammit i'm dumb.

Dante: i mean, his name is going to be "ask". like..."ask and embla". "ash".

I heard a puff of restrained laughter, and she leaned back in her seat to let the rest of it out.

Isabella: oh! well, that's quite the interesting name.

Isabella: I like it.

I grinned, leaning forward with just-restrained joy.

Dante: i hate to mess around with our date plan on the fly, but...would you like to help me work on that tonight?

She thought about it for a moment, then nodded.

Isabella: certainly. but first, we should probably see about cleaning up this mess of yours.

Isabella: I can't imagine how you can work with everything...everywhere, like this.

Dante: yeah...ahheh.

Dante: i guess we should get started, then.

Isabella: we should.

And so we did.

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Favor

Raven-Home was alive with revelry, as it often was. Many of the visitors were fed or feasting, drunk or drinking, or playing at small games about the field. There was never a dull moment at Regent's feasts, and I knew there was no risk of it happening soon, as Regent stepped toward a ring of rope fencework to announce our next amusement.

Regent: Now, let's have a little fun, shall we?

Regent: It's all well and good that our houses are all allied, but I think we should stir up a little chaos - spark a friendly rivalry or two, eh?

The King unceremoniously began to discard his armor, working himself down to a pair of simple cloth breeches and little else. His lithe figure showed little definition in the torchlight, and he grinned at his audience as he unbound his hair and let it fall loose over his shoulders.

Regent: I challenge each house to a wrestling match. Your head can either step forward and meet me themselves, or commit a champion in their stead.

Regent: The rules are simple. No powers, no psychic tricks, no magic. Victory goes to whomever can pin their opponent for five seconds straight, counted by the referee - else I decide if a bout goes on long enough to forfeit.

Regent: Whoever wins - or in the case of multiple or no winners, whoever lasts longest - earns my favor for the night to spend as they please.

Regent: So, who would accept the challenge first? We've got three fights to clear, and the night's plenty young.

There were murmurs among the spectators, especially from those of the noble houses who had only to accept the challenge, as they decided who should go first, and whether or not they should designate a champion.

Naturally, having no champion to fight for him, Roasin stepped forward first. Regent met his challenger with an excited grin.

Regent: Lord Volyat. Good to see you're in high spirits.

Roasin: --- Likewise, Seer-King.

Regent: A shame and a half I'll have to put them and you both to the floor.

Regent: Dogana! On your ready!

The burgundy Maid sat at the edge of the arena, fumbling around a pile of flags until she found one that displayed the seal of Avalon. She raised the flags with every count of a number until her arms were held high in the sky.

Dogana: Fi^v^e! Four!

Dogana: Three! T^w^o!

Dogana: One! Fight!

And both flags dropped. The combatants rushed at each other, planting hands on their opponents shoulders or waists, and they began to grapple, punch, and knee one-another to wear their foe down. Roasin put forward a serious effort, which was helped by his natural tealblooded strength, but Regent's constitution was legendary.

Roasin's knee met his foe's ribs several times, then shifted to hit his stomach, trying in vain to knock the wind out of him, but Regent gritted his teeth, keeping a firm grip on the Lord's shoulder as he slammed hard into Roasin's side.

Both fighters grunted and groaned and heaved as they tried to upend one another, until Regent turned his free hand on the same side as his grappling hand, rent Roasin to the ground with a powerful shove, and rolled to place a knee on his chest, pinning him in place. Dogana counted the seconds, and Roasin wheezed at the call of "five" when his opponent lifted his knee and extended a hand.

Regent: Hhah, bastard!

Regent: Fable hasn't been halfassing your unarmed training, has she?

Roasin: --- hhhnn...no, Gods-, she certainly has not.

Roasin: --- That said...I still need to work on it.

Regent: Keep at it. Dizmar! Get this man a drink and a cushion!

Regent: Now who's next? Elysium, or Alternia?

My mother began to appraise the situation, keeping a thoughtful look on her face as she looked at the people who could potentially champion Elysium in the wrestling match. I had already figured who I would send into the ring - either dad, who was little different from Regent, though physically hardier, or Fable, who was an undisputed master with most known forms of combat, and had our father's stubborn force of will to match.

Tarkas was a good third option, having been trained by Fable, much like Roasin, though for much longer, and doubtless his training would have been reinforced by Amarokian durability. Those three would make natural competitors against Regent, and I was certain she'd choose one of them to go in her stead.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Emperor Foebus whispering between his matesprit Santia and his advisor Lilvia, nodding his head at last to show he came to a decision. He raised his glass and accepted Regent's challenge.

Foebus: o)-- i c}{()()se varn()x trivel as my c}{ampi()n!

And from the Alternian lot, a lanky purpleblood sans-makeup lumbered into the ring. He widened his stance and prepared for the fight, and I took the opportunity to sneak over to Foebus' side to pry.

Rowan: not accepting the challenge yourself, emperor? how curious.

Foebus: o)-- }{e}{. well, t}{ere are tw() t}{ings st()pping me fr()m g()ing in t}{ere and tr()uncing regent myself little miss winc}{ester.

He nonchalantly waved his glass, sloshing some of its contents about.

Foebus: o)-- f()r starters, i'm already starting t() get buzzed. can't be t()() l()ng n()w 'til i'm starting t() get drunk.

Rowan: and the other thing?

Foebus: o)-- getting t}{e piss beaten ()ut ()f y()u by a human juggernaut surprisingly isn't all t}{at fun, win ()r l()se.

Lilvia: I trust VarnOx still has his wiles abOut him. Elsewise it's dOwn tO brute strength.

Rowan: and i'm pretty sure that's a contest regent wins most of the time.

Foebus: o)-- if n()t}{ing else, }{e can last a damn l()ng w}{ile. }{()pefully y()ur dad and sister are drunk, r()wan.

Rowan: oh? why should we hope for that?

Foebus: o)-- lady isabella - all respect t() t}{e w()man - already }{as pleeeeeeeenty ()f regent's fav()r. and besides - i want s()me f()r myself, }{e}{.

I nodded, then quietly returned to my seat. The fight was already well underway, and compared to his first bout against Roasin, the violence inflicted between Regent and Varnox was staggering. The purpleblood bore down on Regent with pure malice, making every effort to pummel the Seer to the earth, and Regent, for his part, was holding up surprisingly well.

The fight had lasted twice as long as Roasin's attempt, and it had seemed for a moment that Varnox was winning. He had bent his foe low to the ground, then shoved Regent onto his back, but in a motion that was both blindingly quick and surprisingly fluid, Regent turned Varnox over onto his stomach, locking one arm against the small of his back. Dogana counted to five, and Regent threw his arms into the air in boast.

Two of Varnox's friends, Saepho and Silvee, sprung from the Alternian crowd to retrieve and mend the unfortunate champion, while Regent dropped to his knees as Athene came to his side and began her work.

If Roasin had managed to bruise Regent, then Varnox broke bones and left bigger bruises. The King's breathing was ragged, his body leaning painfully to one side, and a trickle of blood crept from the corner of his mouth, but his face was still a snarl of vicious confidence. And now he had just one opponent left.

Once he had been fully healed, the Seer shouted his third challenge.

Regent: Good fight, Foebus, Varnox - I expected no less from Alternia!

Regent: You all may win tonight's favor yet, but let's not count our chickens before they hatch.

Regent: Queen Isabella! Have we any contenders from Elysium?

Victor and Fable were both sitting on the edges of their seats, waiting to be called on. Mom took one more appraising look about her company, then stood.

Isabella: Hirces. Win this for me, please.

There was a brief moment of silence, and in that moment I was rightly confused. Hirces? The huntsman, doubtless strong in his own right, but hardly comparing to our house's known warriors. He would be our champion? I glanced back, watching him slowly rise to his feet. Isabella was the only one who didn't look back at him, though she wore a small smile as she heard him answer.

Hirces: yes, my lady. count it yours.

He threw off his tabard and hood, stalking toward the arena, and for a moment, I could've sworn I saw the faintest hint of yellow-ochre at the corners of his cheeks unmarred by his facial scar. When he was within the arena, he lowered himself to the ground, ready to pounce.

Regent: Well, looks like Dogana's gonna have a real show now.

Hirces: shed better. i dont get to show off often.

Regent: Ready to make losing look good?

Hirces: speak for yourself.

Regent nodded, Dogana blushed and began the countdown. When the fight began, Hirces lunged at Regent with lethal speeds, but was met by what amounted to an immovable object. He struck and tore at the King, a frenzy of focused violence, and Regent withstood it all, landing a few of his own blows in turn.

The huntsman began to vary his approach - hooking his legs under Regent's, groping for a good position to hoist him straight off the ground, wearing at him with punches and kicks, he tried everything, but each strategy seemed to be checked. Legs would shift or plant to avoid being taken out, weight would be forced down lower to the earth, and blows would be mitigated by physical endurance alone.

Things started working more and more in Regent's favor, as Hirces' onslaught began to wane, more for lacking any more tricks to try than for exhaustion. For a moment, Regent had seemed poised to topple his opponent, but then the tables were turned.

One hand sprung up and tore Regent's grappling hand off Hirces' shoulder, and he followed the motion by stepping inside the Seer's stance, hooking his leg behind Regent's own. He threw his free arm behind the small of Regent's back, and pushed hard off his back leg, toppling the King in a brutally swift motion.

Landing hard on Hirces' arm bent Regent back to the earth odd, visibly causing him pain, and Hirces capitalized on his success by placing his free arm hard down on Regent's throat, leaving him stunned. Dogana counted it out.

Dogana: One! T^w^o!

Dogana: Three! Four!

Dogana: And fi^v^e! Hirces ^w^ins!!!!!!

The Hunter-Praetor crawled off of his fallen foe, taking to his knees. He seemed no more winded than when he began the fight, but Regent writhed on the ground with a moment's pain clearing up.

Regent: Ghh-od-damn...

Athene rushed into the arena, healing Regent once more.

Regent: ...My back...?

Athene: n()t br()ken, just sprained.

Regent: That felt, waaaaaay worse than a sprain. Gods.

Athene: d() y()u need any help, hirces?

Hirces: no thanks.

A bit of yellow blood welled at the corner of his mouth, but his expression only dared Athene to say anything. She didn't, and simply finished her work on the King.

When she returned to the crowd behind Regent, the King stood up, stretched, and looked Hirces in the eye. It had seemed for the moment that he was judging the goldblood, but that thought was dispelled when he belted out in laughter and slapped his opponent's shoulder.

Regent: That hurt like hell! Remind me not to piss you off, eh?

He raised one hand triumphantly in our direction, and Dogana likewise raised the flag displaying our family crest.

Regent: Victory - and my favor - goes to the Winchester house and the Kingdom of Elysium! Give this man your applause!

A deafening uproar followed as Hirces stood, gave Regent a short bow, and returned to his seat. The King then began letting anyone pick opponents to wrestle, and the order of the challenges seemed from a distance to be first-come, first-serve, but I paid little attention to it.

Instead, I watched as Hirces was stopped just before passing Isabella. He looked up to her, darkness concealing his expression, and all I heard was a quiet congratulation for the victory. Hirces returned to his seat, lazily throwing on his tabard and hood, and for the rest of the night, the revelry at Raven-Home was as expected.

People were fed or feasting, drunk or drinking, and playing games about the field.

And there was never a dull moment.

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