5. Maestro

Champions: Maestro is a collection of 5 short stories written by Ryan Kaufman, VP of Narrative, Jam City.

A Keymaster in all her glory.

Prologue - The History Lesson

Jun trudged along the edge of the dirt road, skirting the waist-high wall of weeds that demarcated the wild part of the world. He was too young to be traveling alone, but home was not a place he could stay anymore.

Jun had set his will toward one goal. And that goal could only be achieved in Massina City. He was already weary and hungry, and when he saw that the dirt road rose up ahead into the foothills, and then over a high pass, his heart sank. The City was on the other side; there would be a lot more walking in the meantime.

As he walked, and scanned the dry fields and withered orchards for something to eat, he heard the iron creak and wood wheels of a wagon coming up behind him. As the wagon drew near, he saw the driver was an old crone, hunched under a mousy-brown hood and ratty wool cloak.

“You’re a little young to be out here on your own,” said the crone. The old black sumpter-horse snorted, as its face tentacles groomed its leathery muzzle serenely.

He shrugged. “I’m headed to Massina. No other way to get there.”

“Tell you what,” she said, with a voice that was measured and firm. “I’m traveling to Massina as well. But I could use some assistance. In exchange for doing a small errand when we reach the city, I will give you a ride.”

She turned to look at him, and Jun could now see into the folds of her hood. Her face was not wrinkled and tired, but gracefully worn and sad, like the statue of an ancient goddess. He wondered if she were actually human. The suspicion in him commanded that he refuse her offer, but his hungry, tired body took over, and he found himself clambering up into the seat next to her. The woman k’tched at the horse, and they began moving again.

Between them, on the wide seat, was a crude box, made of cheap wood. Someone had wrapped a black chain and lock around it, and the box rattled as the wheels went over the uneven road. Something inside rolled or moved.

“What’s that?” Jun asked.

“A trifle. I’ll tell you when we get there,” she said. “What’s your business in Massina, anyway?”

“I’m going there to prove myself,” Jun replied, puffing up a little. “I’m going to become a Maestro, and train a Champion. Together, we’ll conquer the Colosseum Eternal, and then the Emperor himself will shower us with gold and fame.”

The old woman smiled. “So, you have this all worked out, then? Which House will you fight for?”

Jun’s forehead wrinkled in concern. She’d hit on a blind spot in his plan. “Does it matter?”

“You don’t know much about the Eternal Houses, if that’s your attitude, son.” The old woman laughed to herself. “Didn’t they teach you about them in school?”

“There was no school where I grew up.” Jun flashed back to empty, windswept fields and abandoned farmhouses.

“Pfft,” the woman raised her eyes to the sky in frustration. “The people of this country are left to wallow in ignorance like pigs before slaughter. The Emperor still doesn’t value a good education!”

Jun shrank back. “I’d like to learn. I just don’t have anyone to teach me.”

The House of Life

They rode along in silence for a while. Then the old woman cleared her throat. “Alright, then. Let’s begin at the beginning.”

***

“In the beginning,” she said, “there were four Great Houses. Not three, but four.”

“I thought there were seven.”

“You will need to keep your interruptions to a minimum, boy. There is much to cover.”

“Yes, mistress. Sorry.”

“The Houses derived their power from the diverse Essences of the Titans. The so-called Ancient Ones.”

Jun snapped his fingers. “I know about them! The Ancient Ones fought and broke Massina into the ten continents. Then they were locked away in Hell!”

“What did I just say?” Her grey eyes found him, and Jun felt the power behind them. “At any rate, the imprisoned Titans release Essences that still permeate our world. The Great Houses became receptors for that energy, each specializing in a different vibration or strain.”

She continued. “The first House is the House of Life. It channels the Essence that gives all living things their power, their spark. From tiny seeds grow great trees, they say. They worship a Goddess they call the Mother of Life. She is more than a Titan; more than even a god really, something much more. The Champions of the House of Life often call on her power, to give them strength, or even resurrection after defeat.”

“Its adherents are, as one might imagine, friendly. Even upbeat. They value honor above all else. They strive to bring glory to their House and to the Mother goddess. And she in turn smiles on them. The Temple itself is a true work of art. One cannot help feel the swell of life itself when one enters, like waking up on a beautiful summer morning.”

The boy considered this notion. “Well, that’s where I want my Champion to be from!”

“Oh, is it just that easy? You just walk up to the House of Life and say ‘give me a Champion please, thank you’?”

“No…” he admitted. Jun was young, but he knew well enough– nothing good was ever easy.

“No, it is not,” she said. “The House of Life can be controlling. They do not easily let go of that which they possess– much like Life itself. And their enemies are hateful and dangerous. The House of Death undermine and oppose them at every turn. And the Librarians of the Arcane find them simplistic and contemptible. The three now exist in perpetual opposition.”

The House of Death

“The second house, the House of Death, worship the dark power of the great unknown. Inscribed above the door are the House words; The Only Inevitability in Life is Death. Their Essence boils with green smoke. The House itself is a cavern, which looms over the streets of Massina, and rots the nearby houses and docks. But those who have braved the House of Death and emerged with their lives speak not of horrible ghouls or dark magic — they speak of the silence, a sound so empty and lonely, that it forever sears itself into their memory. A feeling of hopeless loss. The music of Death.

“But, the House of Death also has an incredible power– both repellent and irresistible. Its members are blessed with a lack of fear. For they embrace the end of Life.”

“No fear?” Jun contemplated possessing a Champion with such a strength.

“Only one,” she corrected herself. “They fear the Essence of Life, which can make them suddenly feel the enormity of their loss.”

“What about the other two Houses?”

“Patience, boy. The third House is the House of the Arcane, known as the Library. The founding of this house begins with a legend. Long ago, a medicine man and his son were exploring a dark cave. The boy slipped and fell down a deep shaft, into the bowels of the Earth. The man rushed down to rescue him, but when he found the spot, his son had vanished. On the walls of the shaft were written words which he tried to decipher. As he struggled to translate the strange script, an energy emerged, which he called the Arcane. And when he began to master and channel it, he taught his methods to others.

“But his clan feared this new power. They had questions. Where was his son? Who had written the words? He said their concerns were petty. So they exiled him and burned his scrolls. Thereafter, he hid his learnings in that dark cave, away from those who did not understand.

“Over the thousands of years, a great colony of knowledge has grown in their towers and labyrinthian libraries. The Arcane are masters of magic, summoning, and other mystical arts. They derive their skill from an incredible underground archive of books, scrolls, and other materials known only to them. Hence, rivals refer to them as “The Librarians” — a supposed insult that the House takes pride in. No one, not even the Emperor, has amassed as much scholarship about the secret workings of the universe. Knowledge can undo an Empire, they are fond of saying.

“But their lust for the Arcane has led them into corruption and paranoia. The Librarians do not trust outsiders. They do not regard non-mages as being worthy of their time. And perhaps their isolation is not just bad manners– for rumors tell us the Librarians often seek knowledge where it should not be sought. Their methods can often be … disturbing.”

Jun shivered. “And what about the House of the World? What happened to them?”

She sighed. “The House of the World were a congregation of beautiful children. Possessed of every characteristic of our world. The lightness of air, the cool quenching life-giving water, the warmth of fire, the familiar and solid foundations of dirt and earth and stone. They were diverse and yet singular in vision and purpose. The House of the World somehow managed to create alliances with Life, Death and the Arcane.”

“However, this made them overly powerful, in the eyes of the Emperor. And soon, they began to regard themselves as the true, natural leaders of Massina. A young charismatic priestess rose to power. I remember her well.”

“You remember her?” Jun instantly realized his mistake, and put his hand over his mouth. But how could this old crone know a priestess from thousands of years ago?

“Her name was Gaia, and she gathered the Houses together in a coalition never before seen in the history of Massina. She questioned the Emperor’s stranglehold over the people. His insistence on gladiatorial combat. And his right to rule, based on domination and power.

“The Emperor, a man who called himself Tributus, sanctioned the House, and ordered her arrest. But the House resisted. A terrible civil war broke out, and many in Massina were swept up in the conflict. In the end, the Emperor drew upon the ranks of the Colosseum gladiators in order to prevail.

“Mercenary Champions from the House of Death stormed the House of the World and killed everyone inside. Beautiful Gaia was grabbed by a Whisperer, flown up to the highest tower of the Palace, and dropped onto the cobblestone streets.”

She seemed lost in a soft moment, then her face turned hard with scorn. “Emperor Tributus always enjoyed a poetic flourish.” After that, the old woman stopped talking for a long while. Jun turned and looked out at the passing fields and scrub.

“The Emperor disbanded the House of the World. He cast any remaining rebels into the arena, where the Champions finished them off, to the jeers of the Emperor’s loyal hand-picked crowd. The House of the World was no more. His revenge became a legacy and a lesson. Since then, no House dares tempt the wrath of an Emperor.”

She gazed up into the approaching mountains. The blue turquoise stone of the Villebrew ridge glowed a soft pink at its edges, in the fading light. “Slowly, over time, like weeds from the cracks of a great temple, four new sibling Houses rose up: Air, Water, Fire and the Mountain.”

“Although the Titans are gone, their Essences battle on. The energy of Life triumphs over Death, and Death dominates the Arcane, while Arcane defies the rules of Life.”

“Seven Eternal Houses,” Jun said, nodding. “Now I understand.”

The sumpter-horse lurched to a stop. A low gargle rumbled from its throat.

The old woman, alarmed, whipped her head to the right, peering off into the dusk. “Shh, quiet.”

Jun sat up, and he, too, strained to see. He wanted to ask what she was looking for, but he held his tongue. The road was surrounded by a low matted chaparral, a thicket impenetrable to his eye.

“I thought these roads had been cleared,” she growled.

Jun heard only a cracking of branches a few feet away, before his world turned upside down.

***

First he heard the horse scream in terror, and then a large humanoid form leapt overhead. The sumpter-horse tried to bolt in its bridle, causing the wagon to lurch sickeningly sideways, and Jun felt himself, the old woman, and the box sliding out and into the air.

He landed hard, the wind knocked out of him. But for Jun, such a blunt shock was all too familiar. He’d gotten enough of them at home. He was able to stand, and there he saw a vaguely man-like creature, standing in the chapparal. The old woman was injured; she pulled herself along, her legs dragging behind her, into the shelter of the wagon. “Boy!” she cried. “Take this!”

She produced a thin, silver sword, and Jun took it without question. He waved it at the creature, who took a step back. Its dark thorny arms and legs looked powerful and agile, while its tail whipped around, bristling with spines. What Jun took for a head looked almost like a ruby-red flower bud, surrounded by a dark green mane.

“It’s an audraticus,” she grunted. “A thorn-sprite! Very territorial. Very aggressive.”

“What should I do?” Jun cried. The creature’s bud opened up in segmented petals, revealing sharp pin-like teeth inside. But its advance was checked by the sword, much to Jun’s relief.

“Just keep waving the sword,” she yelled. “And don’t let it–”

Suddenly the audraticus flared into flame, emanating from its head. But the creature seemed unhurt. In fact, it dipped its head into the chapparal, which began to smoke.

“Uh, I think it’s setting a fire,” Jun stuttered.

“We need to go. Now!” The old woman closed her eyes, and to Jun’s wonder, she shoved the entire bulk of the heavy wagon upright– with one arm. The horse, confined by its reins, started again in panic. “Help me up,” she called to Jun.

Dumbstruck, he helped her crawl back into the seat. The chaparral sparked and small fires spread toward the road. Jun pulled the horse’s reins back into order, and with a snap, he was able to drive it forward.

“Wait! Damn it!” The old woman grabbed his arm with a punishing strength. “The box! The box!”

Jun saw the box, lying in the ditch by the flaming brush. The audraticus hissed and paced, with an impatient intimidation, trying to scare them off. The boy hopped down, cinders in his eyes, and scuttled over to the box. The flames were hot, searing his face, and he reached quickly into the brush to grab the box. He dodged backwards just before the teeth of the creature snapped onto his wrist.

He leapt into the wagon, and they sped off, as fast as the rickety wheels would allow.

***

As night fell, they finally summited the high pass, and the lights of Massina City lay in the valley below. The moon reflected off the great bay, and Jun thought he could spot the fabled Harbor of the Fallen. All of his questions about the woman, the box, and the sword melted away. He felt a great thrill inside his chest. The old woman, however, cursed and muttered under her breath.

“Prometheus assured me the roads had been cleared.”

“What do you mean?” Jun asked her.

“He hired a squad of Champions to disperse or destroy any aggressive creatures along the road. It’s not uncommon for gladiators to take a contract like that. But usually they do a better job,” she said with a grimace. “I suppose I should be happy we only ran into an audraticus. There are far more dangerous beasts to encounter.”

Jun tried not to stare at her. He knew by now she was no ordinary woman. Her strength, her unusual memory and age. The strange marking on her forehead. But he dared not ask.

“I should thank you,” she said, sensing his curiosity. “For what you did back there. Helping me.”

“You didn’t seem to need my help,” he ventured, carefully.

“Well… I do, and I don’t. The arms are still strong, but the legs don’t work worth a damn.” She scowled, then looked sheepish. “Sorry. I used to have better manners. I was a royal tutor, if you can believe that.”

“A teacher?”

“Yes,” she said. “To the most powerful man in Massina.”

She must mean the Emperor, Jun thought. But for some reason, she won’t say his name. Jun had learned enough about adults and their sore spots, to not ask.

He changed the subject. “What do you do now? Why are you traveling?”

“I work for a man named Doctor Prometheus. And, like the great Houses, you will be hearing a lot more about him if you wish to be a Maestro. A trainer of Champions.”

Jun looked down at the box. “Is that who this is for?”

The old woman nodded.

Before he could stop himself, Jun blurted out: “What’s in it?”

She smiled, with a grim expression that he did not enjoy. “The less you know about that, the better.”

They rode on in silence. Jun was dying to ask more about the Seven Eternal Houses. What of the House of Air? Why were they called the Acolytes? And the House of the Mountain? Was it related to the ancient lands of the Mountain King? But the woman seemed tired, her eyes fixed forward on the road. They entered through a small unnamed gate and made their way into Massina City.

***

By the time they reached the Ministry of Bone, Jun’s eyes were glazed with exhaustion from the lights and creatures and the bizarre parade of Massina City. He felt like he had drunk from a waterfall, and craved just to close his eyes for a moment and enjoy a moment of peace. Was his journey from the quiet countryside a mistake? Had he been a fool to think he could survive in the city?

But the wagon rattled to a stop. Over them loomed a massive building, with great stone spires reaching up into the night sky. The roofline was illuminated by a leering skull, hundreds of feet high, floating impossibly in a swirling sea of pale blue light, which flickered through its empty eye sockets. Jun could see the dour statues of learned men, dark figures in the night, judging his presence from on high.

“This is the Ministry of Bone,” the old woman said. “A place of life and death, violence and creation, blood and magic.” Then she laughed. “And should you succeed in your ambitions, it’ll be a second home to you.”

“Maestros come here?” Jun frowned in spite of himself. It didn’t seem like a nice place. Nor the kind of building that heroes would frequent. It smelled of sewage and… old meat.

“See for yourself,” she said. She handed him the box. “Now, you fulfill your end of the bargain.”

He took the box gingerly. It rattled again. “What do you want me to do?”

“Take it to the good Doctor,” she said. “As you already know, I’m incapable of walking in and doing it myself.”

“And then what?”

She shrugged. “You wanted to get to Massina. You’re here. What comes next… is up to you.”

Jun struggled to push down his unease and fear, as he slipped down off the wagon seat. The woman raised the reins, and then she paused. Jun held the box to his chest. She looked down at him, with a pained annoyance.

“If you ever find yourself in a dire emergency, and I mean a DIRE emergency,” she said, through somewhat clenched teeth. “You may ask in the market bazaar for Zera. That is my name.”

Then she bowed. And with no more than that, she snapped the reins and the wagon creaked off down the streets, and into the night.

Jun swallowed hard, and gathered his courage to venture into the maze of the Ministry of Bone.

***

He was disturbed and shaken by the time he finally found the laboratory of Doctor Prometheus. He entered the dank underground chamber, which was dominated by glowing tubes of all sorts. Hoses ran across the stone floor, and spilled liquids pooled in sickly puddles.

“Doctor? Doctor Prometheus?” Jun’s small voice called out into the empty lab, echoing off the stone walls, in a mocking way.

A man emerged, clad in a dark leather overcoat. He wore a white mask, like a disfigured man. “What,” he said.

“I brought you, er,” Jun started and stuttered. “I mean, Zera and I brought you the box.” Jun held out the object. He was glad to be rid of it. The box had not stopped rattling since he entered the building, no matter how he tried to cushion it in his arms. It was like whatever was inside was unsettled, troubled, not yet at peace.

Prometheus approached the boy, who smelled the tang of chemicals, and spice, and decay. “Good,” he murmured. He began to walk away, and then stopped. He examined the box, and the chains that held it. “You helped her transport this?”

“Yes, Doctor,” said Jun, nervously. “We were attacked by a creature.”

The doctor frowned. Then he worked a small instrument into the lock, which sprung open. The chains fell to the ground with a clatter that made Jun jump. He heard the Doctor laugh softly inside his mask.

“Did you wonder what was inside?”

Jun held his breath. He wasn’t sure how to answer.

“Do you want to know?” Prometheus turned and slowly approached him.

Jun’s heart raced in his chest. His palms were drenched in sweat, clammy and cold. “Yes,” he said, in spite of himself.

Prometheus held the box toward him, and slowly opened it. The interior of the box was bare wood, no cushioning or pillow to contain its cargo. And inside, lay a human skull. A child, maybe. The skull settled slightly, rolling to one side. Jun held his breath, fearing the bones would come to life. Or set its eyes upon him somehow. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry.

From behind his mask, the Doctor gazed at the skull. “His name was Adrian. A boy, like yourself. He has been dead for thousands of years, but now he’s going to help me with something very important.”

And with that, the Doctor closed the box. He remained motionless, studying Jun. “Do you wish to know more? To understand what it is I intend to do?”

The boy began edging backwards out the door. “I should go,” he whispered.

The Doctor cocked his masked face at Jun. “Or perhaps… you would volunteer to become part of it yourself?”

The boy turned and fled into the Ministry. It was hours before he finally found his way out, and breathed the cool night air of Massina City. He wandered all night before finding a suitable place to hide and bed down, behind a large wooden sign that read The Sleeping Karkadon.

Interior of the Library of the Arcane

Part 1 - The Diamondstar Halo

Jun stood in the shadow of the Colosseum, as the morning sun rose over Massina City. The stone was cold against his back, but he didn’t move. His spot in front of the Porta Magna was crucial. This was the entrance that Champions and their Maestros used. A few of the especially passionate fans stood around, hoping for a glimpse of Golanus or Dhysthine, the so-called “Angel of Blood.”

At his side was a small wooden folding table, normally for cards and other gambling. Rolling around on its surface was a plump furry cramster named Blub. The cramster was stuffing its face with cheese, but Jun paid it no mind. His eyes were on an approaching Champion: a nervous-looking Vitra.

As she approached, he smiled and gestured at Blub. “Care to have a quick gamble this morning? How many blocks of cheese can this boy get in his mouth?”

(Blub the Cramster)

She shook her head, but Jun opened his palm. Her eyes darted down to his real offering: four zarkberries. She looked around anxiously, and drew close. The Vitra towered over Jun, and her armor outweighed him by several stone. “Thossse real sssarkberries?” she whispered.

“Yep.” Jun smiled. The Champions loved zarkberries. They improved reaction time, concentration, and energy. And, they were also illegal. At least within city limits.

“How did you procure them?” The Vitra scowled, eyeballing the suspect zarkberries.

“I have a source.” He smiled enigmatically. His contact met him every morning on the docks behind the House of Life. Jun held up the palmful of berries for her closer inspection. “Fresh as the sunrise. Make you really feel that anima.”

The Vitra sniffed them carefully. Then she smiled and slipped a coin into his palm, and her claws collected the zarkberries. “Thank you, human,” she whispered.

“Good hunting today,” he replied, as she began to walk off. “Oh, and watch that left hook with the trident. I notice you drop your shoulder when you attack. It’s an easy tell.”

The Vitra blinked at him in shock. “Yesss,” she agreed. “Yes, I will.” Then, still watching him, she ate the zarkberries and disappeared into the Porta Magna.

The morning picked up, with more Champions streaming in. Some stopped for zarkberries, others carried on. Some knew him, or stopped to feed Blub more cheese. Most of the Maestros complained at Jun. “You’re ripping us off,” they growled. It was true that Jun marked up his product, but smuggling zarkberries was expensive, and he didn’t make much. But it was worth it to be close to The Big Show every day at the Colosseum.

One of his favorite Champions sauntered up, a Seris named Krashkuz. The fighter hadn’t been lucky in years, barely winning often enough to pay his bills. But Jun admired his tenacity.

Blub the Cramster

Krashkuz and his Maestro Dawn stood with Jun and made small talk. “We’re a little short today, Jun,” she said with an apologetic wince. Dawn, a tiny woman, stood under the Seris’ massive stony elbow.

“You’re a little short every day, Dawn,” Jun joked. But they barely laughed. Usually the three of them had a good rapport. Things must be serious.

“Here,” said Jun. “Take em.”

Dawn thanked him, but Krashkuz stopped her. “Give him something.”

“No,” said Jun, “don’t worry about it. This is a gift.”

“Gift is steal. We make trade.” Krashkuz shook his mighty head. He had scars and scrapes over almost every inch of his frame. He thought for a second, and then announced: “You are Krashkuz guest today. Come inside, watch match for free. Trade.”

Krashkuz downed the berries and headed inside. Dawn motioned Jun along. He grabbed Blub and dropped him into the pouch with the zarkberries. Then, in a panic, he just as quickly yanked the cramster back out before it could eat his profits. Blub rode with him as they found their way through the Porta Magna, and up into the cheap seats.

The sun was still mild, and the stone bleachers were at a comfortable temperature. The early morning crowds were mostly hardcore fans or gamblers. Or wanna-be Maestros like Jun. He went to the Colosseum almost every opportunity, using the money he could have spent on rent or food to watch the greatest show he’d ever known. And today was no different.

The floor of the Colosseum had been completely flooded. The water glittered with blue dye, mimicking the strange azure tones of the Harbor of the Fallen a few miles south. Large boats cruised the surface, some filled with gladiators dressed as pirates, others were Keymasters and Gatekeepers. Jun’s heart leapt — this must be a re-enactment of the Battle of the Harbor. The Fallen 300!

He heard a woman’s voice nearby, hawking geckoid on a stick. “Get yer meat here!” Jun peered over the heads of the crowd and saw her, a young woman with dark curly hair pulled back into a tight bun. Yujin, a friend from the Market Bazaar. She spotted him too, and playfully started to have fun with her sales rap.

“Get a geckoid down your gullet. Spicy or mild. Original or flaming cheese. Geckoid on a stick. Guaranteed only 50% stick.”

A man hailed her, and she served him a stick, and winked at Jun. “Thank you, sir. Everyone’s a winner when the geckoid race ends in your stomach!”

Jun patted the seat next to him, and Yujin sat. “Quick break,” she smirked. “Although I’m not interested in your ugly ass. Where’s that adorable little cramster of yours?”

Jun fished him out of his jacket pocket. Yujin beamed. “Hello, Blub, you little cheese weasel.” The cramster lolled around as she scratched his furry stomach.

They watched as the games began. The emcee gave a long, baroque speech about the glory of The 300, how Massina was indebted to them eternally, and how the triumphs of the gladiators would reflect on the Emperor. The Imperial box seats shaded the Emperor from the sun and the prying eyes of the crowd, but Jun could see his knee as he sat on his throne.

The boats massed for a mock invasion of the Harbor, just as the pirates had tried so many years ago. Jun saw Krashkuz, dressed in an ill-fitting eye-patch, and the Vitra he’d met earlier that morning. The Keymasters and Gatekeepers, though hopelessly outnumbered, mounted a brave defense against the motley invaders. Jun critiqued the technique of one warrior in particular, until she was cut down by a Karkadon dressed as a pirate. “I’m not sure that’s historically accurate,” he said.

“Who cares,” Yujin shrugged. “This isn’t about them. This is all for his glory.” She tossed her chin toward the Emperor’s box, high above the crowds and the carnage on the water. Spots of red clouds swirled among the blue.

Jun kept his concentration on the battle. The Keymasters, unlike history, were losing the skirmish rather badly. A squadron of Sadaari warriors were unleashed as reinforcements. Jun wondered how old they were. Some Sadaari were ancient — having Ascended and become Eternals thousands of years previous.

The vessel known as the Mainstay capsized, dumping Krashkuz into the water. Jun saw him pop up and look around. Then, perhaps sensing the way the battle was going, he dove back under the ship to hide. Krashkuz was a survivor. He caught the eye of Dawn, who tossed her cheese-poppers into the air in exasperation.

Jun also spotted the Vitra, now fighting off a Keymaster, only to be brutally stabbed in the leg by a Gatekeeper. She limped away, and dove into the water to escape, but the Gatekeeper finished her off with a crossbow. Her body bobbed on the surface among the rest of the jetsam. Jun grimaced. These things happened; he had learned not to form attachments.

A group of young Karkadons leapt from their boat to the Keymasters’ vessel. Jun commentated for Yujin, who didn’t appear to be paying much attention: “That group are all new Challengers. Rushing the boat isn’t the smartest strategy, but they’re young, and they’ve got a lot to prove.”

The Karkadons were quickly dispatched by one deadly Sadaari warrior. Jun didn’t recognize her, but he had to admire her skill, whoever she was. There were so many Champions, and he was still learning all their names.

“It’s not sad that they die,” Yujin sighed, as she munched on one of her geckoid sticks. “It’s just sad that they die for so little.”

A handsome young man in Imperial senate robes sat above them to the left, occasionally glancing their way. “Look at this heart-throb,” drawled Yujin. Jun craned his neck around. “No, don’t look AT him,” Yujin groaned.

“Who is he?”

“Dunno,” she shrugged. “He’s cute. He comes here a lot, but he just like… stares at me.” She smirked. “What a goof, right? Watch this.”

She turned around and waved at him. The man went red in instant embarrassment, spilling his cheese-poppers.

Yujin laughed. But the wrappings on her wrist had come free, and Jun noticed the tattoo that marked her as a rebel. “Yujin,” he warned quietly. She quickly covered it and stood.

“Well. These little bastards won’t sell themselves.” Yujin smiled, and then started climbing the bleachers again, shouting: “Get your geckoid on a stick.”

Now, a resounding roar rose up from the crowd, as Krashkuz emerged from the water, and clambered aboard the Golden Bough. He climbed the rigging and pumped his arms in triumph, egging on the audience. The Maestros clamored, both in support and scorn. Krashkuz paused to soak it up, hanging off the ropes with his hand to his ear.

Then he jumped down, and rallied the remaining pirates to his side, forming a defensive huddle. The 300 charged, and the resulting melee was chaos. The veteran Seris swung a large club, huge horizontal sweeps of power that knocked Gatekeepers away like rag dolls. His body was soon pitted and ribboned with blood and open wounds.

Finally, Krashkuz was surrounded. But there was no grace to his fight anymore — he was simply trying to survive. The Sadaari warrior expertly disarmed him, and he lay panting on the deck of the boat. The crowd cheered for his death. Jun felt dismayed. The old Seris had done well, all things considered. He deserved to be spared, but he was a Champion that the crowd, as a rule, loved to hate.

The Emperor’s thumb emerged from the shadow of his box seat. The crowd quieted to a murmur. The thumb hovered. The Sadaari gazed up, her sword at the ready. Then, with a cruel flick, the thumb jabbed downward. Death.

The Sadaari turned to Krashkuz. He shook his head. She paused for a moment, then sheathed her sword, and flew off on her Eternal wings, disappearing into the Magna Porta to a cascading chorus of boos and cat-calls from the crowd. A Keymaster immediately stepped up to take her place, and finished off the old Seris. The crowd erupted in applause. Dawn slumped over in despair. Jun sought Yujin’s eye, but she was busy staring into the darkness of the hallway where the Sadaari had disappeared.

The match was declared over, and the proceedings took a break. As the crowd stretched and milled around, Jun reluctantly made his way down the stairs. Sitting and watching the rest of the games all day wasn’t likely to make him any money; or further his dreams of being a Maestro. To buy a Champion’s contract, he needed coin– and a lot of it.

As he emerged onto the street, the tall young man dressed in the robes of the Imperial Senate grabbed his wrist. “That girl,” he said. “Do you know her?”

“What girl,” Jun tried to pull away, feigning ignorance. The man’s grip was strong, like an enforcer. Jun’s heart dropped. Had Yujin done something? Was the Palace cracking down on rebels again?

“The girl,” said the man, with more emphasis, as if that explained it all. “The one who sells the geckoids. The one with the dark hair like the heavenly locks of Gaia, and the eyes so black you feel you’re gazing into a moonless night sky.”

“Uh…” Jun looked up into the face of the young Imperial, whose eyes were fixed on the far-off clouds. “The girl who sells geckoid on a stick? That girl?”

“She’s amazing,” the man continued. “I come to the games every day. And I hate the games.”

Jun nodded silently. Better to let this play out.

“But I don’t know what to say to her. No idea at all,” the man sighed heavily. “Plus there’s this–” He plucked at his dark red robes. “I get the feeling she’s not a fan of the establishment.”

The man let go of Jun, and reset himself. He held out his hand and bowed. “Apologies. My name is Roland. I am Senatorial secretary to the Honorable Pmuj Walavita.”

Jun smiled. “I’m Jun. Nice to meet you, Roland. Imperial, eh?”

“Yes, well. I mean, I work there,” Roland stammered. He was trying hard to keep a calm facade. Jun wondered if he might be induced to talk a little more about the Senate. Knowing an insider might be helpful to himself and Yujin.

“Come to the Market Bazaar at noon,” said Jun, with another smile, albeit a crooked one. “Maybe I can introduce you to my friend.”

“Yes,” Roland’s mouth gaped in amazement, as though he’d seen Gaia herself rise from the waters of the River Hushed. “Yes, yes, I will. The Barket Mazaar– Market. I mean.”

Jun gave him a friendly nod. “Her name is Yujin.”

Again, Roland staggered backwards, as if hit by an iron trident. “Yujin,” he whispered. Then he regained his composure. “Of course! Thank you! Thank you.”

Jun chuckled as he and Blub set off for the Market Bazaar to sell the rest of his zarkberries, and imagined the fun when Yujin had to avoid her awkward new suitor.

***

Yujin sold her last geckoid to an off-duty Grondal enforcer and made her way into the bowels of the Colosseum Eternal. The passages were dim, and she skirted past other vendors and busy tradesmen, all making their coin off the gathered crowds above them. Silt and dirt drifted down as thousands of feet pounded the bleachers in anticipation of the next match. Yujin could hear the muffled roar, like the towering waves off the coast of Dredegga. She ducked into an alcove, and pressed a particular brick. A hidden door swung open and she slipped inside.

She felt her way along the cold stone tunnel in utter darkness. There was no light, but she knew where she was going. She emerged in the hallway of the gladiator barracks. Yujin tread lightly, peering into the different cells as she passed. Finally, she saw the Sadaari, who was taking off her armor. She hesitated.

“Speak,” said the Sadaari.

“I saw what you did in the arena. You defied him,” Yujin said, with a tremor in her voice. She tried to calm herself.

“And of what concern is that to you?” The Sadaari turned and looked her over. “You don’t look like an Imperial to me.”

“No,” said Yujin. “My name is Yujin. I represent those who want freedom. Those who reject his oppression. Those who feel as you do.”

The Sadaari smirked, her ghoul-like features betraying what had once been a living face. “You know how I feel?”

“Your actions tell me enough.” Yujin said, summoning her courage. She pulled back her wrappings to show the tattoo. She had received it in prison, as a brand, for the authorities to identify. But like many rebels, she now wore it as a point of pride. “You value respect and honor above blind loyalty.”

The Sadaari shook her head. “I’m not interested in rebellions. Or Emperors. Be on your way.”

Yujin drew a little closer. She could see the Sadaari’s weapons were ancient, perhaps thousands of years old, but razor sharp. “Our leader has a proposal for you. One that might change your mind… Ilona.”

Ilona’s eyes blazed. “Who are you?”

Yujin backed away. “I’m just someone who wants justice and peace.” She backed toward the door. “Come find me in the Marketplace. I’ll take you to him.”

“What proposal,” said Ilona, her eyes narrowing. “Be forthcoming, girl, or I’ll show you the death-blow I spared Krashkuz.”

“I beg your forgiveness. It must come from him. If I tell you, you won’t believe me.” Yujin’s eyes were pleading.

Ilona scoffed, and then waved her off. “Get out.”

***

The Market Bazaar wound around the base of the Colosseum, like a viper coiling around its prey. Most of its business came from the spectators who had to wander past the stalls to reach their destination. More than a few became hopelessly lost and guiding fans out of the Market’s labyrinth was a lucrative opportunity for the urchins and other “entrepreneurs.”

Jun crouched in his shack, hidden behind a bakery stall, and watched as tall Roland walked into the clearing, and turned about in confusion. The boy waited just a moment, to further enjoy the red-robed secretary attempting to dodge the pit-boys and coin-runners on their hurried way. Then Jun stepped out and hailed Roland.

They talked for a bit, and played with Blub, before Yujin showed up. She often looked tired after a morning’s work, but today she looked a little shaken.

“Where you been?” Jun asked.

“Nowhere,” she said. “Who’s this great doofus? Did someone lose a willow tree?” She gestured at Roland.

“I am Roland,” he bowed. “I am honored to meet you.” He stood, and then looked unsure. “M’lady?”

Yujin burst out laughing. “M’lady!” She doubled over, and Roland cringed at himself. “I like that.”

“Roland is a secretarial senator,” Jun said.

“Secretary to a Senator,” Roland corrected. “I came to make your acquaintance.” Roland took Yujin’s hand gently, and touched it to his forehead in a deep bow.

“Oh he lays it on thick, don’t he?” She rolled her eyes– but Jun noted she didn’t pull her hand away. “My man must really love geckoids,”

“Not for geckoids,” Roland said in a panic. “I wanted to meet YOU. I’m… I wanted to say I’ve been very– I admire your–”

“My what,” she crossed her arms.

“Your face. And dark hair. And eyes.” He smacked his forehead in frustration. “Gods, I said this much better in my head on the way here.”

“Yes, you were a proper poet earlier,” Jun laughed.

“I’m sorry.” Roland’s shoulders slumped. “I should probably go. You two have a good day.”

“Hold on, hold on, Senate boy,” Yujin said. “How about we forget the flowery compliments and let’s just talk like normal people? Maybe about current events? Politics?”

“Yes,” said Roland, nodding. “I know a thing or two about that.”

“Great,” she smacked his arm. “Care for some tea?”

They sat on the ramshackle chairs outside Madam Twiddle’s Tea Shack and Roland told them about his job in the Imperial Senate. The Emperor ruled with an iron fist, but he needed the support and cooperation of the Senators to enact his decrees. The current debate was over rising Rebel activities, and the Emperor’s ban on House imbuements.

“He believes the Houses secretly fund the Rebels,” said Roland, sipping his tea. It was an acrid blend. Nobody knew what Madam Twiddle added to it. No one dared ask. Madam Twiddle was a Seris, and a real battle-axe.

“Any house in particular?” asked Yujin innocently. Her eyes met Jun’s quickly.

“The big three, mainly,” said Roland.

“Banning imbuement chokes the lifeblood of the Houses. No new Champions can receive Essence, and it prices everyone else out of the market.” Jun moaned.

“The Maestros complain bitterly,” agreed Roland. “I receive two or three angry scrolls every day.”

“Perhaps you should change your line of work to something less… morally abhorrent,” Yujin said with a sarcastic smile.

Jun downed his tea angrily. “I’ll never become a Maestro at this rate.”

“Ah, but,” Roland beckoned them to lean close. “Since we are now friends, there is something I can tell you.” Roland glanced around. “The Library of the Arcane is preparing to defy this ban.”

“Of course they are,” Jun said. The Library of the Arcane were by far the most arrogant House, believing themselves to be above the mundane concerns of Massina.

“Today,” Roland underscored. “Today. There is to be a draft of Champions imbued before the ban. Or so they claim.”

Yujin looked skeptical, but Roland smiled, pleased with himself and his insider knowledge. Jun darted into his shack. He emerged with his arms full of leather bags of coin. “Yujin, how much do you want for my shack?”

“What? I can’t buy your shack.” Yujin jumped up, spilling her tea all over Roland’s red robes.

“I need coin; lots of coin. Every farthing helps,” Jun panted. “How much?”

“I’ll… I can give you twenty for it, I guess?” She seemed confused and helpless. “I can’t go higher. I’ll have to cover my costs for geckos tonight in order to have fresh-grilled supply for tomorrow. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he held out his hand. She dropped the coins in it.

“I mean it, Jun. I’ll have to sell your shack to someone else like– today. You’ll have nowhere to stay.” Yujin looked sad.

Jun was exploding with excitement. He held Blub tightly, and began to backpedal and race out of the clearing. “Don’t worry! It’ll all work out! I promise!”

He took off running through the maze of the market, and didn’t even notice when he nearly ran into the colossal knee of Golanus the Eternal.

***

Jun ran west toward the Library, bypassing the outskirts of the so-called District of Death, where a growing ring of adjacent buildings was slowly succumbing to the mold and fester from the House of Death. The spires of the Library grew taller and taller, and Jun saw the plaza outside was filled with hopefuls like himself.

They formed a long line, snaking back and forth over the sun-baked tiles. Jun leapt into position, and others soon lined up behind him. He’d sat outside the Library many times before, studying the Champions as they walked out of its tall doors. The Library was an ornate structure, towers upon towers, turrets and garrets intersecting in an impossible architecture, and painted with strange runes and protective alchemical symbols.

Jun scanned the crowd for faces that he knew. A few well-known Maestros with proven track records, like Rogelio Roha, and Myvonigan; up and comers with enthusiasm and lots of coin to spend, like Kaye and Zestiria.

Myvonigan seemed unconcerned with the line. He walked up and down, talking to the Maestros as he went. When he happened on Jun, he stopped and stared in silent critique. Jun became acutely aware of his hard-scrabble appearance. Torn tunic, old sumpter-hair sweater, clutching Blub to his chest. Myvonigan scoffed: “You going to trade them for a cramster?” Jun bit his tongue, and Myvonigan moved on.

A few scurrilous con-men approached the crowd in faux purple robes, claiming to be representatives of the Library of the Arcane. They offered “certificates of ownership” for the Champions inside, as an early offering to select Maestros. They were soon chased off by the fearsome House guard Knitl, who warned the crowd about frauds trying to take advantage.

As the sun set over the Gate of Fools, the tall doors creaked open, and a cadre of priests processed out. They all wore the ornate birreta hats of the Library, and the golden eyeglasses denoting their status as magical scholars. Finally, the High Priest walked out in his glorious violet robes, and unfurled a scroll. He conjured a rune in mid-air, and swallowed it. When he spoke, his voice boomed across the plaza.

“Greetings, mighty Maestros and hopeful heroes. The Library of the Arcane celebrates your solicitude. We are proud to offer a limited draft of Champions tonight. All imbued previous to the Emperor’s unfair ban…”

Here he stopped and looked over his eyeglasses for effect, as he gazed slowly around the crowd, who laughed nervously.

“Previous to the Emperor’s unfair ban– which qualifies them for your consideration. Each Champion has served their time here; studying and growing in power and value. And each has indicated his or her readiness to enter into a fruitful contract with you. May You Find Eternal Glory in the Circle of Death. Congratulations, and may the draft begin.”

The Maestros began to shuffle in excitement and anticipation. Jun knew that, inside the house, the Champions would begin to feel the soul energy of the gathered humans outside: their anima as it was called. Champions needed imbuement of an Essence to gift them with a Titan element. This gave them mystical power. But a Champion who possessed Essence without anima was at risk of being pulled toward the dimension of the netherworld.

A bond of anima, which only a human could provide, gave them strength and hope, kept them tethered to reality, and spiritually fulfilled. They needed anima, and fed off the energies of the crowds in the arena, but true bonds were formed with their Maestro. Jun could not wait to feel the bonding of his own anima with some worthy, brave Champion.

The draft proceeded quickly. Each Maestros called out his pick, as the line moved along toward the High Priest. Each Maestro’s name was read from the list, and assigned to a Champion, who was brought out with great ceremony. The magical Essence of the Arcane hummed in the air all around them; and as each pair met and negotiated their partnership, a cheer went up.

Jun counted his coins and worried. Most drafts were followed by an “open slot”, reserved for someone either devoted or lucky. He knew he must bide his time and wait for an opportunity.

Voices rose in anger near the front of the line. Maestro Myvonigan railed against the priests. “Why won’t you sell to me? I’m a Maestro of long-standing reputation!”

“Indeed,” sneered the High Priest. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“Yet you would turn me away? I require an Arcane fighter to round out my stable! My Champions have brought great honor to every House they represent.”

“It is not your Champions, but you who bring dishonor.”

Myvonigan coughed in disbelief. “I am close and personal friends with Emperor Giotto himself!”

“Your close and personal friend shows no friendship to us.” The High Priest scowled. “Begone, Myvonigan. There is no sale to you this day. Not so long as you lick his boots.”

The crowd of Maestros winced. They didn’t much like Myvonigan anyway. He tended to farm out his Maestro duties to other men, and never cared to mingle at the usual watering holes. Humiliated, Myvonigan turned away and stalked off to watch the rest of the draft from afar.

The sunset turned into evening, and the lights in the towers and turrets of the Library began to glow, as scholars and magicians toiled away in deep thought over dense tomes. The last of the list was read, and another wave of anticipation washed over the hopefuls. Kaye gave Jun a thumbs-up, and Zestitira looked confident and unworried. The High Priest stepped forward again.

“Scholars and Maestros, gathered hopefuls, now we offer our last champion. In the spirit of charity and benevolence, and to honor the god of Luck and Chance, we will once again cast The Diamondstar Halo to choose a worthy soul from among this esteemed group. Whoever the Halo chooses will be afforded the chance at our last available Champion. We hope that afterwards the rest of you will join us inside for a reception and enjoy the Library’s finest hospitality. Another day will come and more Champions will be readied.” He smiled lightly. “As it has been and always will be.”

Then the High Priest bowed deeply to the crowd, who bowed in return. “And now!” he shouted. “The Diamondstar Halo!”

He waved his hand in a large arc, and summoned a ring of bright blue, illuminated words of arcana spinning in a circle and topped with sparkling white diamonds. “Go forth,” he commanded it. “And find the most worthy!” He clapped his aged hands, and the Halo winked out.

All the hopefuls glanced around, wondering where it would next appear. Jun glanced over at Kaye, and Zestiria, Capo and the notorious Dewlithius. He looked back at Myvonigan, hoping the embittered old Maestro wouldn’t somehow get the Halo. But it did not appear. Where was it?

One by one, the faces in the crowd turned to gaze at him. Jun turned– was it someone behind him? Who? But the faces there also stared in amazement. Finally, he turned his chin upwards, and above him, he saw it. The glowing halo, circling his head slowly.

The air crackled. Blub chirped in excitement. Jun felt his knees go a little weak, and then he pulled himself together, and raised his hands to catch the Halo. The mystical diamonds twinkled and stuck to his hands, as he pulled it to his chest, and felt it flare and then melt into him.

The High Priest grinned. “We have our worthy winner!”

The next few moments were a blur, as the crowd clapped and pushed him forward toward the priests. The Librarians rolled out the contract scroll along their long desk, and Jun choked as he saw the coin that this last Champion commanded. For an Eternal — the price was cheap enough, but for him, still a fortune. He emptied out his bags, and pockets, as the accounting-priest tallied the sum.

The priest frowned. “Not quite enough here. You’re short.”

“It’s all I’ve got. Please,” begged Jun.

“We’ll be forced to give your slot to someone else,” the priest said apologetically. “Unless you have something else to offer.”

Jun looked down into his satchel. There, gazing up at him, was Blub. A trained cramster could fetch up to a hundred coins in the right circles. Jun imagined walking away, empty-handed, after all these years of trying and failing. Here was the opportunity he had been praying for.

He gently lifted Blub out of the satchel. “He’s high-quality,” he said softly. “A good boy. A winner every time.”

The accounting-priest peered at the cramster. “I had one when I was young. Fancied myself a trainer.” He took hold of Blub and gently examined him. The priest scratched his stomach, and Blub burbled contentedly. “We can offer you a one hundred coin credit.”

Jun nodded, and swallowed hard. “He never let me down.”

The accounting-priest signed the document and signalled the deal had been struck. Then he took Blub with him, into the Library. Jun watched them go, and barely noticed that the final Champion was being led out into the plaza to meet him.

At first Jun heard laughter. He thought Blub might have done something humorous– the cramster was a natural comedian. But then he looked around and realized the laughter was directed at the Champion. Jun’s breath stopped as he took in the sight.

The most raggedy ancient Fenrir he had ever seen stood before him. Patches of gray fur and skin intermingled. The creature’s right eye was missing, and the socket was covered with a simple leather strap. Its arms and legs were skinny and apathetic. The Fenrir looked at Jun, out of its one good eye. It lowered its head in shame. The Fenrir were a proud race, and this one knew he had no claim to their glory. The only sign of life in him was the purple Arcane Essence which swirled violently in his chest.

“I am Fidelis,” he said, to the ground. “I accept your contract.” He did not look at Jun.

Jun found himself at a loss. He had expected a strong young Challenger. This one, though Eternal, was clearly damaged goods. He glanced at the High Priest, who met his gaze, and anticipated his thoughts.

“It is said that the most dangerous spark may spring from cold ashes,” said the Priest.

Jun swallowed his disappointment, and rallied himself. This was his Champion. He had won it, against all odds. The Halo had chosen him. He cleared his throat and said the traditional words of the partnership contract: “I am proud to accept this Champion, and enter freely into our partnership.”

The Fenrir still did not look up. “I am proud to accept this Maestro and enter freely into our partnership,” he murmured.

The other Maestros all burst out laughing. Myvonigan sat leering at them.

The High Priest drew his hand across his chest. “Then May You Find Eternal Glory in the Circle of Death.”

Jun and Fidelis then began the long walk down the stairs to the plaza, and out into the street. Fidelis barely looked around, though his nose was taking in the odors of the crowd. Jun held his head high, despite the snickers of those in the crowd.

As they left the plaza, he turned and gathered his courage. He grabbed Fidelis’ wrist and raised their arms high. “I’ll see you all in the Colosseum,” cried Jun. “For today I am a Maestro, and tomorrow– your Champions may be speared on his sword!”

Part 2 - Faith

It started as a breeze across the waters of the Oceans of Abyssia. The breeze became a gale, which strengthened into a storm as it sailed east toward the capital. By the time it crossed over the coast, and crashed into the mountains of Volcanus, it became a winter downpour, slashing cold rain down on Massina City. In the harbor, the priests of the Bridge of Water gathered to be soaked in their deity’s bracing blessing. But in a filthy alcove near the Colosseum, Jun and Fidelis huddled together, just trying to stay dry.

Fidelis

The rain drove all evening. At around midnight, Fidelis let forth a mournful howl, which echoed down the street and across the tops of the buildings. Jun didn’t know what to say. There was no place for them in the Market Bazaar. Jun had sold everything to pay for the contract, even his shack. What little he had left, he needed for tomorrow. “Something will work out, I promise,” he said.

Above them the houses of wealthy Maestros rose into the darkness. Large enclosed gardens, ornate gates and fences, towers and monuments marked the homes of the most successful. They owned much of the real estate in this quarter, and made use of it in novel ways. Jun thought he could hear the faint clanging of forges late into the night, crafting custom-gear for the Champions who lived in these mansions. Most were very well taken-care of. And all were… dry, at least.

Fidelis still had not spoken, besides the few words he uttered in acceptance of their partnership. His fur ran thick with rivulets of ice-cold water, and his ears drooped. Finally he put his head into the crook of his arm and fell asleep.

Jun wondered what had happened to the Fenrir, before he became imbued. The scars, the missing eye. This wasn’t what he had expected of a powerful Eternal Champion. But tomorrow he intended to fix that.

When daylight broke, Jun took them toward the Training Quarter. Along the route, his light fingers lifted a roll of bread, some fruit and a wheel of cheese from a basket left on the doorstep of one of the mansions. Fidelis seemed to brighten when Jun offered him the meal.

The cheapest fight school Jun knew of was called the House of Massina. Any gladiator wishing to learn the basics could train there for a few coins. The gym was popular, especially with new-comers, but Maestros liked to stop by and scout for new talent. The walls were layered in old motivational posters. The acronym RPWS was stenciled everywhere: Respect: Power, Work, Silence.

Jun stood in the open hallway, dust and talc coating the stone floor, absolutely entranced by the trophy hanging there. Inside a glass case hung a pair of fighting gloves, coated in tiny sparkling jewels. Diamondhand Gloves.

The proprietor of the school was a Karkadon, shorter than most, with an unusual black mohawk. He had the face of a pugilist, but the big grin of someone who loved to teach and talk. He nodded in the direction of Jun’s attention.

“Don’t tell anyone, but see those right there?” He lowered his voice to a whisper and poked his finger at the shiny gloves. “Fakes. I keep the real ones locked up. You never know with this clientele.” He laughed.

Jun gaped in amazement. “How… how did you get them?”

The Karkadon shrugged. “Gotta earn ‘em.” Then he beckoned Jun and Fidelis into the ring.

“The name is Jhani,” he said. “I like a good fight, and a good cigar. Sometimes both at once.” He stuck a cigar in his mouth and clapped his hands with talc. “Let’s see what you got, Fido.” The derogatory term for Fenrir was common, and more diminutive than offensive, but Fidelis didn’t react either way.

He slowly climbed into the ring, and Jhani looked him up and down. The heavy scars seemed to weigh him like chains, and his missing eye looked especially gruesome in the filtered morning sunlight. “Damn,” said the Karkadon. “You seen some shit, warrior.” Then, glancing at the Fenrir’s bandaged eye, he added: “No offense.”

Jhani began to shuffle around, his dancing footwork surprisingly agile for his size. Fidelis stood stock still. The Karkadon threw one punch, then another, to no reaction. Punch after punch– jabs, hooks, uppercuts– and Fidelis took them all. “Defend yourself, at least,” called the teacher.

Fidelis half-heartedly put his hands up, but Jhani jabbed at his ribs. When the Fenrir backed into the corner, Jhani stopped throwing punches. He scowled. “C’mon, Fido, I know you didn’t make it a thousand years by rolling over like this. You got nothin’ to show me?”

Jhani

Jhani threw a few more punches, which Fidelis ignored, and then shrugged and took the cigar out of his mouth. He cocked his head at the Fenrir, assessing him in confusion. Then he walked over to Jun.

“He won’t, uh, fight me, per se,” he said. “Which may present a problem, you know– him being a gladiator and all.”

“He can’t fight?” Jun felt a cold chill take hold. All that work, all the coin, for nothing.

“Oh no,” the trainer chuckled. “He can fight. He sure as shit can fight. He just won’t.”

What did that mean? What kind of Champion wouldn’t fight? Jun puzzled at his new partner. What kind of game was Fidelis playing? Was he unhappy? Was Jun not good enough?

A shadow fell across the doorway, and the Fenrir turned around to glare at the man walking into the gym. It was Myvonigan, the Maestro, dressed in a luxurious embroidered jacket. He carried something draped over his arm — purple, the color of Fidelis’ Arcane Essence.

“Fidelis, I come to see how you’re faring on your first day,” Myvonigan called out cheerfully.

The Karkadon grimaced, but he let Myvonigan pass. The old trainer leaned in to Jun. “Keep your eye on this prick.”

Myvonigan and Fidelis stared at each other quietly. The rich Maestro spoke first. “You look like you slept in the rain all night, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Fidelis grunted.

“A star of your caliber deserves better accommodation. You know that I have many, many rooms in my barracks. Just a few blocks that way.”

“We’re not interested,” said Jun.

Myvonigan ignored him. He spoke again to Fidelis. “You’re wasting your time in a place like this. The strength inside of you is … why, I can hardly put it into words. Fidelis, you have the potential to rise to the uppermost tiers of the Champions. To live a life of luxury. Your every need taken care of.”

Jun stood by, feeling helpless. His clothes were still damp from the night before, and here Myvonigan stood in his immaculate finery. “He’s fine,” he said. “We’re good.”

Myvonigan held out the purple parcel, a silken bundle, which he let roll open to reveal a training robe. FIDELIS was written in Arcane lettering across the back. The magic-imbued lettering floated just above the surface of the satin cloth, and glittered like tiny diamonds. Fidelis’ good eye drank it in.

“I can make you a star,” said Myvonigan. “You deserve a better life.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Jun blurted out.

“Alright, back to work!” The Karkadon clapped his meaty hands. “Maestro Myvonigan, always a pleasure. But now, with due respect, piss the fuck off. Me and the Fenrir got work to do.”

Myvonigan bowed. He left the robe draped on the ropes, and turned to go. On his way, he locked eyes with Jun. There was no shame there, Jun thought. No guilt, no hesitation. Like a viscari hunting a sheep.

Jhani sighed, and climbed in the ring. He held up a chunk of beef he’d fished out of his stew. “Tell you what, boy: if you hit my hand, I’ll give you this little treat.”

Fidelis snarled a smile, and threw a hard punch, knocking the trainer back a few steps.

“Alright, kid.” He tossed the meat into the air, and Fidelis snapped it up. “Now we’re gettin’ somewhere.”

****

After a few days of sleeping here and there, mostly in the charity hall of the House of Light, Jun managed to log Fidelis in a match. There were a number of smaller arenas, on the outskirts of Massina City, for less prominent Champions. They mostly specialized in “exhibition” type matches– fights with strange rules, or obstacles. Even fights against wild beasts, drafted by cruel owners looking for crowd-pleasing blood-spectacles. Though many were unsavory, Jun’s extensive study of the city had taught him which ones could be trusted.

Fidelis entered the Heavenly Arena, a once-glamorous Arena built two hundred years previous to feature Keymaster and Gatekeeper battles. It had fallen into some disrepair, and now looked more hellish than heavenly. The sand was mostly gravel, and the walls were pitted with spear points and blotches of red and black blood. Along the top of the arena was a faded painting of soaring Keymasters on mythic wings, defending Massina. The training rooms had collapsed, and so Jun and Fidelis were forced to prep outside, with crowds walking by. He wrapped the Fenrir’s hands, and then they chose from the array of weapons available to the Challenger tier.

Fidelis took a scimitar, with rusty hilt. The blade was sharp enough, though.

“Be sure you don’t walk off with that,” the battlemaster Ddioria warned. She was a Vitra, with one hand, and few teeth left.

Jun coached him. “Fidelis, this is a maze match. It’s not like regular combat. You ever seen one before?”

The Fenrir shook his head, sniffing the air, distracted.

“Listen to me. You’re gonna enter the labyrinth at one end, and your opponent is gonna come in the other side somewhere. You won’t be able to see each other. But the audience will. You’re gonna hear the crowd trying to mess with you. Don’t listen to them.”

Jun continued wrapping the Fenrir’s arms with thick gauze. Not meant to protect– they didn’t have the money for armor– but to soak up any blood, and keep it from dripping onto his hands. His grip on his sword would be crucial.

“The other thing is,” he continued. “The battlemaster will have dropped stuff all over the maze. You’ll see weapons and bags of coin, that kind of thing. But be careful. It’s not always a good idea to grab it.”

They heard the horns blare to announce the match, and Jun gave Fidelis a grim smile. “You’re gonna do great, I promise.”

The Vitra took Fidelis to the field, and Jun bounded up the stairs into the seats, and joined the crowd, already on their feet as Fidelis entered the arena. But the audience was full of drunks and lowlifes, and they jeered at him. Jun clapped all the harder.

In the center of the arena, the battlemaster had constructed a maze of wood and stone. The walls were ten feet high, so the fighters could not see one another, but the assembled crowd in the stands could. Jun spotted Fidelis’ opponent at the other end of the labyrinth: a fearsome-looking Sadaari warrior. A familiar one, too, he realized. This was the Champion who, a few days back, defeated the mighty Krashkuz at the Colosseum Eternal. Not good, he thought.

The horn blared a signal to start, and the fighters entered the maze. As was usual, the audience began shouting directions. Most were incorrect, meant to taunt the fighters, but some were true. Jun cupped his hands and yelled at Fidelis as loud as he could. “LEFT! LEFT!” But the voices of the other fans drowned him out. Fidelis turned right and headed unaware toward a dead-end, festooned with spikes.

From tunnels in the flanks of the arena emerged four myrmidons: arena workers tasked with making sure the games ran smoothly. They ran to separate areas of the outside wall of the maze, and took up positions there.

As Fidelis rounded a corner and saw the spiked dead-end, he paused in frustration. “NO!” Jun shouted again. “Get out of there! RUN!”

One of the myrmidons triggered a massive iron spring, which launched the wall at Fidelis, sending the Fenrir backpedaling for his life. He rolled out of the way just as the spikes slammed into the far wall, sealing off that route. Fidelis panted heavily. The crowd roared in approval. Fidelis rose to his feet.

Across the maze, Jun saw the Sadaari clock the noise of the spike wall, and she turned and made her way toward it. As she entered a long corridor, one of the myrmidons triggered a tumbling ball of flaming pitch to roll toward her. The Sadaari stopped, gauging the distance, and as the fireball raged toward her, she leapt over it, and landed safely on the other side. The crowd, for the first time, applauded.

Fidelis was having less luck. He was clearly hopelessly lost, retracing his steps over and over, and becoming visibly angry. The crowd picked up on this. Jun heard, to his chagrin, a chant rising up. “Fi-do, Fi-do,” they sang. “Fi-do, Fi-do.”

The Sadaari unknowingly closed in on Fidelis, every turn bringing them closer together, despite Jun yelling himself hoarse. The Fenrir had at least avoided the booby-trapped coin bags and weapons caches, but his scimitar would be no match for her spear.

They both turned two more corners, and suddenly were face to face in a large clearing in the middle of the labyrinth. Jun’s fingernails were dug into his knees. The chanting subsided, and the arena became quiet, waiting on the fighters’ next move.

Fidelis began again to sniff the air and pant, almost manically. The Sadaari, too, was still, not moving. She seemed perplexed– not by the encounter, but by something else entirely. They stared at each other, the moment hanging in the air, like a hovering hawk before the fatal dive. But the attack never came.

The Fenrir began to move backwards, but she did not pursue him. The Sadaari shifted her spear, away from a fighting stance, and stood it upright in the sand. And then, Fidelis dropped his scimitar, and ran.

The crowd erupted again. “Fi-do! Fi-do!” they called, in hysterical ridicule. Fidelis launched himself up the walls of the labyrinth, and his powerful claws and arms caught hold. He pulled himself over the wall, and hit the open sand, and began to run toward the fighter’s portal. Jun saw the old Vitra move to intercept him, but she merely gestured toward the maze and then threw her hands up in disgust, as he passed her by. He disappeared into the depths of the stadium.

Jun scrambled down from the bleachers to find Fidelis. When he skidded into the tunnel, the old Vitra cursed him out. “Get control of your Champion, you amateur.”

“Like you’ve never seen a fighter run before,” Jun said, defending his partner. “Give him a break.”

“Bah.” Ddioria hobbled toward the arena again. She called out over her shoulder. “Just get him, and get the hell out of my arena.”

“Wait,” Jun demanded. “Who was that? Who was that other fighter?”

“Sadaari.” The Vitra spit in the ground. “Its name is Ilona.”

Jun headed off into the darker ruined tunnels to find Fidelis. The old barracks offered little in the way of comfort now. Mostly stone, furred with moss and slick floors of algae, where water dripped constantly. The Heavenly Arena stunk of decay. Jun heard a rustle, and followed a small stairway down.

There, in an old chapel, huddled Fidelis. He looked like a child. A bit of sunlight streamed in through a crack in the ceiling, and Jun could make out the altar, and the idols and statues left behind.

Jun’s brain was exploding with questions and condemnations. He felt a rage, and then shame as he looked at the frightened Champion. Imagine being so powerful, and yet so afraid.

“What happened?” Jun asked, as gently as he could.

“Alone,” said the Fenrir. “Alone, alone.”

“You’re not alone,” said Jun. “I’m here.” His voice sounded small in the echoey chamber.

Fidelis didn’t reply.

“You got spooked,” explained Jun. “I’ve seen it before. Happens to lots of fighters.” Then he waited a breath. “Was there something about that Sadaari? Ilona?”

Fidelis stood, suddenly, clattering the old tiles, and sending Jun sprawling back. “I don’t want to talk.”

He brushed past Jun, and headed up the stairs. Jun watched him go, and turned to follow him. As he left the chapel, he glanced at the peeling fresco. A landscape of Massina, with heroic events depicted here and there. The fabled City of the Moon, with a long line of sorrowful Fenrir, painted in miniature, on their exodus to Massina City.

Jun looked up: filling the entire dome of the ceiling was a painting of the Moon.

***

Ilona stalked back to her quarters, the humiliation of an arena forfeit blunted by the confusion of her opponent. She had known him. But who was he?

Her memories were locked in amber, piled underground by a thousand years of sediment that she had placed there. A burial of the dead. And now the dead were rising again. She touched her corpse-like skin. It seemed fitting, somehow.

The wolf was there, at the City of the Moon, she was more sure of it with every step. The grinning Whisperer. The knife. The howls and bellows of the Fenrir as she broke their city echoed in her mind.

If this warrior had found his way through the maze of time, only to encounter her here and now, it must mean something. It was not a coincidence.

The last time she had ignored a warning, the consequences had been devastating. She would not ignore the small voice now. She turned and headed toward the Market Bazaar, to find the girl, the young rebel who had brought promises and a strange proposal. Ilona would find her, and discover what awaited.

***

That night, Jun and Fidelis bedded down in a temporary shack behind Yujin’s store. While Fidelis went to the House of the Arcane for daily worship, Jun wondered seriously about breaking his contract. Was the Champion a dud? Could that be possible? The Karkadon trainer had been impressed with him, but why?

Myvonigan had sent another message– to Jun this time. He offered a substantial amount for Jun to cancel the Fenrir’s contract. He is damaged goods, said the note. You know this now. Start again, fresh. You deserve better. Jun crumpled the note and threw it into their small clay oven. He thought he saw Myvonigan’s face leering out of the flames.

There was a soft knock at the door, which was really just a piece of rotting wood. Jun slid it aside, and leaned it against an old wine barrel. Outside stood a priestess of the Arcane, her gown a resplendent aubergine.

Jun thought immediately of Fidelis. “Is everything alright? Did something happen at the Library?”

“Everything is fine,” the priestess said. She was calm and pleasant. “Care to take a walk along the river?”

They walked in silence, to the promenade at the edge of the Hushed River. The water glinted beautifully with the setting sun, but Jun was all too aware that the river was also a dumping ground for criminals and discarded bodies. The River was “Hushed” because it kept its silence, the saying went.

“As a Diamondstar, it can be difficult to maintain the standard of care required for a Champion,” began the priestess. “And as a Diamondstar, it is with no shame that one may offer a Champion back to the Temple, in return for payment.”

“Is that what he wants?”

“I am here to find out your wishes,” she said enigmatically.

Jun considered this as they walked. “Priestess, what troubles him so much? What’s wrong?”

“Would you believe me if I told you he was the strongest warrior of his generation a long time ago?” The priestess gazed into the river.

“And what about now?” Jun asked.

The priestess shrugged. “I come to you to offer coin, if you wish to negate the contract, and back out of your agreement. You need no longer support Fidelis as your Champion, if you wish.” She held out a shimmering purse of gold ingots.

Jun couldn’t erase the image of Fidelis fleeing the Sadaari, and the crowd jeering at him. Jeering at them. But neither could he erase the image of his new friend, huddled in the chapel. Something was deeply wrong.

Jun lowered his head in resignation. “No,” he said. “No, we’re sticking together. No matter what.”

“You are sure?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Very well,” said the priestess. Then she tossed the purse into the River.

“Wait! What?!” Jun gasped. The bag quickly sunk into the wine-dark depths.

The priestess smiled. “Go get it if you want, but something far more valuable than coin awaits you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you know what Fidelis means?” she asked. Jun shook his head. “It means faith. We gave him that name when he first came to us. We had a feeling that faith would play a very important role in his resuscitation.”

“Where did he come from? What’s his real name?” Jun pleaded with her. So much depended on this.

“That story has no value unless it comes from him.” She bowed. “Now, for the real reason of my visit. Because you have opted to remain with Fidelis, the Library of the Arcane now wishes to reward your faithfulness. The Librarians are aware that your commitment has not been easy. But as they say: Those who hold on tight will find in their hands a great reward.”

Jun’s head was spinning. He’d just watched a fortune in Emperor’s ingot go spilling into the mud of the river. “What are you talking about?”

The priestess smiled at his confusion. “Go to the Ministry of Bone. Seek out the Bonesmith, and ask her for your gift. May it help you on your journey.”

Jun stammered a thank you, The priestess bowed, and began to leave. “Wait,” he called out. “What will happen to him? Will he… heal? Someday? Ever? Can you at least tell me that?”

“That,” she said. “is for you to tell.”

****

Fidelis munched on a geckoid on a stick as they walked the Hero’s Mile toward the Ministry of Bone. “Why must we visit this place of death?”

The grinning green skull floating over the Ministry seemed to smile just at them, as they passed underneath and into its gothic stone hallways.

“We’ve been given a gift of some sort,” said Jun.

“Why,” grunted Fidelis. “By whom?”

“The Arcane,” muttered Jun. He didn’t like the Ministry, not since his very first night in Massina. “I told you. C’mon, we need to find the Bonesmith.”

Fidelis dropped his geckoid.

Jun was perplexed. “Not hungry?”

Fidelis sneered, showing his teeth. “Something is not right in this place. Something foul is here.”

Jun looked around. The stone floors were affixed with large drains to accommodate the constant run-off of blood and Essence. No windows allowed light inside, and the illumination therein was a ghastly green, supplied by the conjuring of the Osteomancer. Somewhere below them dwelled the Beast of the Necromancer, who -it was rumored- ingested dead bodies and shat out live ones.

Jun shivered. “Yeah, Fidelis. Everything is foul here.”

They followed the ringing clang of a hammer upon iron, and Jun knew they were getting close as the heat of the forge overwhelmed the clammy air of the Ministry. Drops of sweat sprung out of his forehead.

The Bonesmith worked in her shop, surrounded by towering brutes who moved the heavy bars of steel, iron and stone. She was much smaller than Jun had imagined, but her naked forearms were powerful and sinewy. She wore a bandage across her eyes– a result of a terrible forge accident when she was a child. Her fingers felt their way across the blade of a scimitar, much like the one Fidelis had chosen, but infinitely more elegant. She waved a vial of Essence across its length, and as the Essence drifted down like snow, she lifted her hammer and beat the fragile energy into the very soul of the sword.

Then, she paused, to wipe sweat from her hands. “What are you here for?” she said. Her voice was husky, like one who had breathed in the fire of the forge, dust of bone, and smoke of Essence all her life.

“This is the Champion of the House of the Arcane,” Jun said, awkwardly presenting Fidelis to the blind woman. “I am the Diamondstar. I was told by a priestess that there is a gift for us.”

Under her sweaty, greasy face, she smiled. “Indeed.” She clapped her hands twice. “The gauntlets.” One of the lumbering brutes ran off into the back to fetch the prize. When he returned, he laid a large leather package in the arms of the smith.

The Bonesmith unwrapped the leather skin, revealing two golden wrist gauntlets, wrought with runes. “These carry Arcane Essence. I spent many hours improving them. They should serve you well.”

Then she held out her hands and beckoned Fidelis forward. Jun and the Fenrir stood gobsmacked. Then Fidelis caught himself and moved toward her.

The Bonesmith fitted the gauntlets onto his wrists, adjusting them slightly for a perfect fit. “Good,” she said.

The Fenrir could not believe his eye. He stammered to say thanks, but no words came to his lips.

The Bonesmith spoke again. “You are an Eternal, aren’t’ you?”

“Yes,” gulped Fidelis. He licked his nose anxiously.

She held her hands up to his face. “Do you mind if I …?”

Awkwardly, he grunted yes again. The Bonesmith touched his face and his wounded eye, her thick fingers surprisingly gentle. She left dots of ash and iron on his shoulders as she felt his scars. Then she took his hands and held them, weighed them, felt his claws. She smiled and stepped back.

At her anvil, she took up her hammer again, and felt along the edge of the scimitar. Jun saw a burr in the blade, and she went to work polishing it out.

“A weapon is only as good as the one who takes care of it,” she said. “And ancient weapons often carry ancient wounds.”

“Thank you,” said Jun. “I don’t know how to thank you, but thank you.”

Fidelis sniffed the air, then scowled again, cutting him short. “Jun. We should leave this place. Now.”

****

Ilona followed the young rebel girl, Yujin, into the depths of the Ministry. She did not enjoy visiting the place, the site of so much alchemy and memory, combined in sometimes disturbing ways. They descended down several staircases, until they were well-below ground level.

Ilona felt the heat of a nearby forge on her desiccated skin, and heard the rhythmic beating of metal being transformed into death.

The girl stopped at the entrance of a laboratory. Inside was dark, lit only by the dim substances in huge vats and tanks. A man worked in the back. “Doctor, I have brought the Sadaari.”

The man turned around. His face was hidden behind a ceramic mask. He bowed and approached them. “Come inside. I am Doctor Prometheus. We have much to discuss.”

Prometheus! Ilona knew him by reputation. The Maestros all spoke of him in hushed reverent tones. For eons, the Houses and their Alchemists had held tight the reins of imbuement and controlled the creation of Champions. But Prometheus had stolen their secrets. He had perfected a new technique, an unholy mix of alchemy and science. They called it by many names: bioengineering, breeding, soulforging. But no matter the name, it was a silent revolution. Alchemists had competition. Maestros could now create their own Champions.

Ilona passed several glass tanks where Champions hung suspended in green amber. Whether dead or alive — or some cursed state in between, she could not tell. The doctor led them past several tables with knives, copper wires, and alchemical tomes lying next to one another. At last they stopped, deep in the lab, next to a table where a massive Grondal lay quiet. Ilona could sense its heart had stopped beating. It drew no breath.

“This one was brought to me after an altercation between two gamblers,” he said. “He perished last week.”

Ilona felt a strange kinship with the dead creature. Her own body was less than alive, but refused to die. Her skin was like his — mottled with death and decay. But her spirit remained strong. “I know what a dead Grondal looks like. I have seen many.”

“Good,” said Prometheus. “Then this will be all the more impressive.”

He shoved a cloudy tube into the Grondal’s nose, and attached several wires into its torso. Then he poured a vaporous concoction into the tubes. The Grondal snorted. Its eye opened, and its chest heaved with new ragged gasps. The Grondal’s arms and legs were restrained, but it was alive. Ilona stepped back in concern and confusion.

“I can bring them back now, Ilona,” said the Doctor.

“How do you know me?” She began to feel cornered. Yujin, the rebel girl, stood nearby, unsure and unsteady.

“I can bring them back, and I will bring them back,” he said. His voice deepened. “I know you have lost one.”

“What do you know?”

“His name was Adrian. He was young. Too young.” The Doctor’s mask was impassive. No expression.

Ilona’s dead heart raced. “What do you know about Adrian?”

“You’ve seen what I can do here. I can do this for you, too. For him. And bring you back together. As it should have been.”

“Why,” Ilona’s hopes fell. Suspicion clouded over the love in her heart, hearing his name again. “Why? What do you want from me?”

The Grondal struggled again, grunting and moaning. His arms clattered on the table under the restraints.

“I require your strength,” said Prometheus. “And the strength of your sisters. You must reunite the Sadaari warriors, and lead them into battle.”

“Lead the Sadaari? Against who?”

“The Emperor.” Prometheus let the name hang in the air. “The Emperor and the Imperial Palace. Rise against the Palace, and I shall bring Adrian back to you.”

“Why? What interest do you have in rebellion and revolution? You’re a scientist.”

Prometheus tugged at one of his gloves. “Their interests align with mine. On a very personal level.”

Ilona felt the pieces falling into place. Prometheus was allied with the rebels somehow. The rebels needed an army. And the Sadaari would be that army. But an attack on the Imperial Palace would kill much more than the Emperor. The city would be dragged into a civil war. Thousands would die, at the hands of her sisters, and each other. And after betraying the peace, the Sadaari would never be welcome again.

“I cannot do what you ask. The cost would be too high,” she told the Doctor. “Thousands of innocent people would die.”

He shrugged. “But then you’d have your boy again.”

Ilona stared into the white depths of his mask. “I…”

The Grondal moaned again, trying to sit up. Prometheus pulled the tube out of its nose, and removed the wires. The creature fell quiet again, its heart ceasing to beat.

In the silence, they heard voices. Shouting. Accusations. Now screaming, and a physical altercation. Prometheus for the first time seemed uneasy. He barked at Yujin. “Go find out what’s happening.”

Ilona, sensing the spell around her was breaking, backed away from the Doctor, and hurried after the girl. Out of this dungeon, back to life, and the city. Away from the past…

****

Jun thought he saw something resembling happiness on Fidelis’ face as they left the Bonesmith. The gauntlets glinted in the green glow, and the Fenrir’s fur was fluffed in pride.

“See? I told you something good will happen, and something good did happen, Fido” Jun smiled, playfully. Then he looked serious. “Can I call you Fido?”

An avalanche of flesh in the form of two Il’gra fell in their way, the four heads grinning malevolently. Jun and Fidelis stopped short.

Behind them, came a familiar voice. “That’s them.” Jun spun around to see Myvonigan, approaching with a Whisperer bodyguard.

“Leave us alone, already,” Jun snapped. “The answer is no.”

“Take him,” Myvonigan snapped his fingers. The Il’gra stepped toward the Fenrir, but hesitated. An angry Fenrir was still enough threat to make even a two-headed ogre pause.

“He’s weak,” Myvonigan said in annoyance. “I told you he won’t fight back.”

“I said –Fuck off!” Jun hurled himself at the Maestro, but the Whisperer, seeing a moment into the future, was there first. He deftly threw Jun to the stone floor.

“Jun!”

For a moment, white light was all Jun could see. As his head cleared, he heard someone call his name. Not Fidelis. A woman. He looked up.

“Yujin?”

Fidelis erupted in a guttural roar as the Sadaari known as Ilona emerged alongside Yujin. The Il’gra made a grab for him, but the Fenrir swiped a ferocious claw across its face.

The Sadaari took off for the exit, as Yujin ran toward Jun. “Jun!”

The Whisperer leapt onto the Fenrir’s back, and as the Il’gra made another attempt to grab him, the wolf stumbled to the ground.

Myvonigan reached out and yanked Jun to his feet. “I gave you so many chances. I tried to play fair. I offered good money,” he growled. Then, in frustration, he shook Jun. “You didn’t fucking listen.”

Yujin grabbed the Maestro by his jacket collar, spinning him around. He swung at her, but she was savvy enough to back out of his range. He turned back in fury on Jun. “We’re going to harvest him RIGHT HERE.”

Myvonigan drew a long knife from his belt, and tossed it to the Whisperer, who plunged it into Fidelis’ chest. The Fenrir howled in pain, gripping the knife to stop it from carving out his Essence. And then a strange light filled his eyes. Fidelis let loose a bellowing roar that knocked the Il’gra over. The gauntlets vibrated and glowed intensely.

As the Il’gra tumbled onto the street, Fidelis’ jaws locked around the Whisperer’s throat. The two warriors rolled over the stones, blood flowing in rivers. Fidelis pinned the Whisperer against the gutter, and with a mighty twist of his shoulders, his massive jaws cleaved through the hellspawn’s neck and he flung the Whisperer’s head high into the air. It spun end over end, showering the passageway with spatters of red.

Myvonigan recoiled in terror, and threw Jun into Yujin. He began to run, and Fidelis, like a predatory beast, gave chase.

“Wait, no!” Jun called out.

Fidelis tackled Myvonigan, and bit at his face, latching onto his ear, which tore free like a zarkberry bush ripped from wet mud.

“Fidelis, no!” Jun screamed. “Stop!”

The Fenrir sat up suddenly. He shoved Myvonigan into the ground, and wiped the blood from his muzzle. “Shit,” he said.

He and Jun looked at the headless Whisperer, still pumping red liquid from his neck, into the gutter, like a spilled bottle of wine. The Il’gra were gone, moving surprisingly fast for their size. Myvonigan lay groaning.

“We need to get out of here, now,” said Yujin. “Before someone sees us.”

***

Jun, Fidelis and Yujin crept back through the Market Bazaar, darting among the busy bearers of fruits and vegetables, cured meats and vial-sized hits of Essence.

When they reached Yujin’s shed, Roland was already standing there, looking pleased with himself. “I brought dinner!” He held aloft a small bag.

“Technically” he began to prattle. “These are leftovers from the Senate, where every month, they treat us to a Feast of the Harbor. Today it was cooked harkkor; roasted right in their shells, the little bastards.”

Roland’s beaming smile faded when he saw the serious expression on Yujin’s face. “What’s wrong?”

Yujin beckoned them all into her shack. They told Roland about the attack in the Ministry, and what Fidelis had done.

“Myvonigan provoked us,” said Jun.

Roland frowned with worry. “Yes, but Fidelis is a Champion. He is not allowed to shed blood outside of the arena.”

“It was self-defense,” cried Jun.

“Yes, extenuating circumstances,” agreed Roland. “Nonetheless, the Inquisitors will be summoned. Historically, they take a dim view of ‘self-defense.’ Bloodshed is bloodshed– and the Inquisitors are not known for forgiveness or compassion.”

“What do we do?” Jun looked at Fidelis. Just an hour earlier, the wolf had been smiling. And now, he faced imprisonment in the Imperial dungeons… or worse.

“You need to run,” said Yujin. “Get out of the city. They won’t chase you beyond their jurisdiction…” Then she added, less certain. “I don’t think.”

Roland took a worried peek outside the shed. “The gates will be guarded by now.”

“So… what, then?” Jun considered the river. Could they float out to the Harbor? Catch a ship? Would they survive? There were things in the river much worse than a snapping harkkor.

Roland put his knuckle to his teeth. This was how he liked to fret. “There is a way,” he said.

Jun and Yujin sat forward. She smacked Roland’s knee. “Yeah? Out with it, bean pole.”

“Alright,” he said, with warning in his voice. “But if this gets out, I’m a dead man. There is a secret passage, used only by Senator Walavita. The Senator uses it to… um… visit their mistress on weekdays when Senate should be in session. The passageway runs all the way from the Senate, under the river, and out to the ruins of Dol. Once you get there, you’ll be outside the city limits. ”

“Thank you!” Jun jumped up and hugged Roland, who stumbled backwards and smiled sheepishly.

Roland continued. “If you can get somewhere and lie low, I’ll see if I can sort it out.”

Jun and Fidelis grabbed a few supplies from Yujin’s cache of food, and scouted ahead through the market. Roland handed her the remains of the harkkor dinner. “Some other time maybe,” he said, with a despairing sort of hopefulness in his voice.

“Roland,” she said. “Can you actually help them? You said it yourself: The Inquisitors aren’t going to care about the ‘extenuating circumstances.’ How are you planning to ‘sort it out’ exactly?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Something will work out, I promise.” He gave a faint smile.

Yujin made no comment, but merely rolled her eyes. “Okay, show me this secret passageway.”

“You mean, show us, right?” Roland laughed, puzzled.

“Whatever. Let’s get moving.”