“Yes, my father was our tribe’s shaman before he became chief, actually,” Fell said, leaning over the arm of his chair to talk to Den. He was- thankfully- clothed in a white fur coat that fell to his knee and a black shirt. His pants ended at two polished boots.

“Is that so?” Den said. It seemed Ryu was not the only one who had reached his limit with the man’s tendency to… dramatize things. It was funny at first, but he could only watch a man look to the Bugs’ side of the Ring and whisper about the approaching darkness so many times.

“Indeed it is, milady. Now, did I ever tell you about the time I killed an ice wraith without pants? You see, I-”

Ryu tuned the two out. He had received word from Lucius earlier that day, and it was none too pleasing. The spy urged him to accept some of the bloody invitations that were piling up in his residence at the Ishida Keep. Fighting, it seemed, was not enough. No, fate wanted Ryu to make a fool of himself in high society. So be it.

Still, he saw little reason to attend. It was necessary, perhaps, but he felt as though his social skills were more likely to turn the Aristocracy against him. It turned out that grunts and single word answers were a ‘tad impolite’ as Den had put it.

He sucked his gums. It was what it was. Actions forged a good man, not words. Of course, his actions did not paint him in a nice light, either, but what was a man to do? He could change the future, yet the past remained a distant thing, one content to haunt his sleepless nights.

“Emiko’s fighting.” His blunt delivery ended the conversation going on behind him, and the group looked out to the red dirt arena he had fought in the day before.

His sister stepped out, clothed in a fighting uniform almost no different from the one he wore. She carried two shining swords. One was longer than the other, and without waiting for her opponent to be introduced, she fell into a combat stance.

A grin pulled at Ryu’s lips. He could almost see the resemblance.

---

It was the third day of the Contest, and Emiko was looking to have as many wins by the time the day was done. Listening to the announcer call her name and the cheers that came after it, she smiled despite herself. Fighting in front of a crowd was a feeling alien to anything else she had ever experienced.

Nervousness, excitement, and fear all seemed to be fighting a war against each other to claim hold of her body, and she suppressed them back with a deep breath and a straight expression. She needed to be detached, a professional at work. Her first steps into the arena were the sure, unhesitant strides of a winner. Or so she hoped.

The eyes of the crowd around her seemed to melt against her composed exterior. The opinions of the Aristocracy held no sway in her mind. No, Emiko was worried about the eyes of the people she knew. How would she face Den after a loss? Would Haru judge her? Would Ryu?

Detach. Worries broke upon the mind of a warrior, and if Emiko was anything, she was a warrior. Sizing up her opponent, she made careful mental notes about his stance and weapons. Why fear losing when it was never an option?

“I am the Sword, and the sword is death,” she muttered, bringing the longer of her two swords to her lips. Emiko had abandoned illusions long ago. Friends, family, enemies… Every person would face fate alone. It was her turn to face it once more, and it would not find her lacking.

The announcer’s voice called the start of the match. Distraction fled, and focus grabbed her in its sobering clutch. [Step] carried her to her opponent’s side. Her short sword trapped his spear against him, while her longsword swept around, aiming to separate his bald head from his shoulders.

The green light of a Skill flared between them, causing her sword to skid down into his breastplate. His fist rocked her head back, and she kicked him away. Damnit. A numbness spread across her jaw. Her ears rang with a piercing whine. She bit her lip, hoping the pain would chase the blackness in her vision away. Fear started to-

No, detach.

Her shortsword turned the head of his spear away, and [Cut] formed a red edge along the longsword whistling toward the man’s throat. It clipped his shoulder instead. His grunt came as if from far away.

She sidestepped a Skill-enhanced strike, using the distance to think for a moment. So far, the two had used two Skills each, and she knew he would not have many active ones left. After all, Skills costed stamina. For that reason, many warriors tended to use only a few simple active ones, choosing passive boosts for the rest. She needed to draw his last one out.

The two opponents closed once more. Her swords were deflected once, twice, and a third time, and on the last, her short blade seemed to lag a little slower than it had before. The bald man stepped back, a red glow surging around his limbs. The spear blurred forward.

It met the green glow of her longer sword, [Parry] sending the spear to the side. She stepped into his reach. Her shorter sword ended its arc at his throat, and the man disappeared into thin air, leaving her alone in the fighting pit.

Four more. Her future opponents would fall like the last, and Emiko would stand unrivalled. As Haru had said, it was the Ishida way.

Den greeted her outside of the staging room beneath the arena, and Emiko pulled her into a tight hug, her combat suit replaced by the plain clothes she preferred. She let her emotions filter back in. Gods, she was satisfied to hold this woman forever.

A grunt ripped them from their hug. Ryu stood against the gray stone wall of the hall, his smile sheepish and thin. She coughed and moved to hug him, but her brother seemed content to just pat her shoulder. Brother. It was still strange to say, yet Ryu was a strange man. For as happy and fierce as he seemed to be in the fighting pit, his motions carried a sadness his smile failed to convey outside of it.

“You did good,” he said.

“Thanks.” Having family was a wonderful feeling to her inner orphan, but she did not fail to notice Ryu’s distance. Perhaps it was the weight of his secrets that burdened him so. After his display of strength to Haru, she was near certain of his identity, and well… Ryu was not the man she imagined him to be.

Den gripped her arm. “Ryu, you will come celebrate with us tonight, right?”

“About that,” he said, scratching at the scruff of his black beard. “I’ve been invited to a party at the Loress Manor, and Lord Ishida has urged me to attend. You two may come as well. Fell is off to… wherever he stays to get dressed. Once he gets back, we can go.”

Den scoffed, and Emiko tried her best not to grin. “And what about us? Do we not get to dress up, as well? We can’t represent House Ishida like this. Please don’t tell me you were going to a party dressed like that,” the short woman said.

“Something like that.”

They met Fell outside Ishida Keep an hour later. Emiko wore a blue robe, one tied at the waist with a silver sash. Den was dressed similar at her left, and Emiko had trouble keeping her eyes from straying to the woman. Ryu marched behind them, a solemn expression on his face.

He wore a dark blue coat that split in the front at his waist and extended to his knees in the back. His loose dark pants ended in a military cut, and the customary slippers were gone, replaced by polished black boots. She thought he looked very proper, his outfit matching that of the current trends in the Sixth. He seemed… less enthused.

“My ladies,” Fell said, and Emiko’s eyes drifted over to the handsome blonde man. Now Ryu’s sworn brother-in-arms, the man presented somewhat of an enigma. Strong, charming, and wealthy as he was, what business did he have with her brother?

“Hello,” she said.

---

Armor was uncomfortable. The inside padding itched, and it was impossible to get under it and scratch. Pissing became its own ordeal. The smell after a long day… Well, some things were best left to the imagination. Still, armor had a purpose for all his faults. Ryu would and did take the discomfort in return for the protection of a thick layer of Qi-infused steel.

With that said, he saw no use for formal clothes. Always too tight, too loose, or some frustrating mix between, the stiff coats and collars of Aristocracy fashion had won a special place in the hells of Ryu’s mind. One might even say they were disappointing…

“I hear many of the most promising young Classers have been invited to tonight’s events. Even a few from outside the Aristocracy,” Den said over the clatter of their horses’ ironshod hooves.

“Yes, it is important we make a good impression,” Fell said. The blonde man was dressed in a black suit of military cut, his white fur coat tossed over the smart ensemble. To further ruin the professional effect, he had a string necklace of long fangs around his neck.

Ryu found comfort in his foul mood. A spiteful, bleak outlook perhaps, but he was only human. Change was frightening, and he had long memorized the rough edges of disappointment, anger, and apathy. Bonny would just have to forgive him, he supposed.

“It’s just a party,” Emiko said, nudging her from his horse beside him.

“Aye.”

Fell lifted his chin into the air, his white stallion seeming to strike the same pose. “Fear not, my brother. I, Fell Magnusson the Chosen, swear to uphold your honor as you would mine.”

Den laughed. “You really mean that, don’t you?” she asked.

“Of course,” Fell said with a smile. “Warriors of the Icelands never make false promises. A sworn brother or sister is the one person in your life you can trust to guard your back. Long have I searched for someone with the strength to become my brother, and Ryu was the first person to ever defeat me in a duel.”

The others continued to talk, only falling silent when they approached the golden gates of Loress Manor. The manor was a grand, five story building built from white wood and marble. Ryu counted at least three wings, and the extensive grounds had a garden, pond, and a multitude of people.

“Let’s get this over with,” Ryu grunted.