Mattiew ran alongside the hippos, rather than away from them, since both seemed to agree on peace while staring down a hydra’s gullet.

Whichever idiot shot the damn thing either didn't know it’d try to swim after them, or knew full well and decided they felt like dealing with an angry hydra over a bunch of hippos.

Mattiew had abandoned almost all of his wet clothes aside from his pants and belt as he sprinted through the jungle, clutching his scale to his chest.

The hydra may have looked slow, but with how big it was, it would start gaining on him once it got out of the water.

Still, he had some time to rest his burning muscles. He slowed to a stop out of sight from the lake. Each breath went like fire down his throat.

He stared at the ground as his vision warped.

Slow and steady wasn’t really an option here, but he couldn’t keep going on fumes.

He caught his breath after a moment. But before he could straighten himself out, he heard the creak of a drawing bow accompany a pair of footsteps emerging from the brush.

Mattiew glared up at Cyrus, who wore the smug grin of a mischievous boy on his rat-like face. An arrowtip threatened his eye.

Mattiew had the urge to scoff. He could easily-

Five more bodies stepped out of the greenery. Each was a competitor. The prince had himself an alliance.

“Now then, I’ll be taking that scale of yours, commoner.” Cyrus sneered.

Mattiew looked down at the scale in his hand.

“Put it down. Kick it over.”

Mattiew gritted his teeth. Little pissant…

“Now, dog!”

He was unarmed, aside from the short sword tucked under his shield. With five opponents—three of which had bows, counting Cyrus—he’d be dead before he even had his hand on the grip.

Mattiew let his frustration out with a small sigh. He bent down to set the scale on the ground.

Then he rolled over his shoulder and popped up behind Cyrus.

Chaos spread everywhere as Mattiew ripped the sword out of its sheath and threatened a young noble’s throat.

But Cyrus loosed his arrow anyway. Mattiew pushed his hostage aside and rolled out of the way.

He clashed with a woman wielding a sickle sword. With a flurry of motion, Mattiew locked the woman’s arms up and pushed her into another one of the archers with a kick, taking her sword from her on the way.

Mattiew grunted as an arrow scraped out a gash in his unprotected side. If only he’d kept his lamellar on.

He distanced himself as his opponents started circling him.

“So this is what it’s come to? The all-mighty sorcerers are all ganging up to take out the ‘common dog’?” Mattiew scoffed. “Gods, I hope they broadcast me kicking your teeth in.”

His clock was ticking. He needed to escape, despite how much he wanted to teach these fools a lesson.

“As if we’d give the rest of your kind a reason to act like you.” Cyrus growled, knocking another arrow. “Kill him!”

Mattiew dropped to the ground, evading the archers as they all shot at once, and used his legs to force the young noble he’d threatened to the ground.

He got to his feet and swung the sickle sword at an archer. She managed to block it, getting the blade stuck in the wooden curve of her weapon. Mattiew followed it up with a swift pommel strike to her head that made her collapse in a heap.

Mattiew swiveled to face his remaining opponents when a horrible shriek shook the earth under him.

The hydra.

Mattiew spared a glance behind himself as the beast lumbered through a cluster of trees a hundred yards or so away. He dropped the wedged sword and bow, turning to look for his scale.

It was gone. As was Cyrus.

He glanced ahead to see the glinting prize under the prince’s arm.

Coward.

Mattiew broke into a full sprint, high on a renewed spike of adrenaline.

With Mattiew’s tempered body, he was able to easily match and exceed Cyrus’s stride, closing the distance between them.

But the hydra was closing distance faster, the hissing and screeching of its many heads growing louder by the second.

What’s more, as Mattiew followed Cyrus around a bend, he could see the gate to the Gridiron. If that bastard got through with his scale before Mattiew could take it back, Cyrus would get the time.

Mattiew surged forward, his calves bursting against the ground with a lion’s strength.

He leapt and tackled Cyrus to the ground not ten meters from the gate. Mattiew kept hold of the struggling prince and socked him in the jaw as he tried to tear the scale away from him.

But Cyrus held on like a tick.

When it was clear hitting him would be too slow, Mattiew took his shield off his arm and slammed the edge of it into Cyrus’s arms. He cried out in pain as his grip loosened enough for Mattiew to steal the scale back.

He got up, but Cyrus grabbed onto his ankle, tripping him just as the hydra descended upon them.

Then the hydra smacked five of its heads against a golden barrier of light, stumbling backward.

They were too close to the arena.

It tried to breach the barrier again before resolving to just lumber in another direction.

Taking advantage of the pause, Mattiew tore his leg away from Cyrus and rushed through the gate, collapsing in the sand.

“And the first to make it back is the Vagabond Prince! With a time of twenty two minutes! He sure lives up to his name, doesn’t he, folks?” The Keeper said.

Mattiew frowned.

The crowd roared not with cheers, but with outrage.

The arcane displays that showcased the events happening in the menagerie all showed Mattiew assaulting the prince and ripping the scale from his arms.

It wasn’t a good look.

Had a noble planned for this? Was this their way of humiliating him?

He spat in the sand.

Cyrus could turn the public against Mattiew all he wanted. He finished the damn trial. He’d have a chance to kill that little pissant later.

***

Alo’aharu didn’t understand how humans could find the prospect of watching thirty-two duels in a row so exciting. That wasn’t to mention the prior brackets.

By the fifth duel, Alo’aharu had no more patience to watch as more sorcerers threw fire or rocks at each other.

While Mattiew was rolling around in the sand with some light mage, the elemental had taken to exploring the Gridiron’s many tunnels and corridors while the bracket of duels went on. At least, those they were allowed to enter.

Some of the tunnels led to delicate mechanisms that filled the arena with traps, so it was understandable why the organizers would want to keep people out.

They liked the tunnels’ quiet compared to the arena seating. They knew they were invisible to pretty much everyone there, but for some reason, they always had this feeling that all eyes were on them.

Alo’aharu had tried speaking to some of their own kind upon arriving here. They were ancient compared to most other arcane elementals. And yet those who were two months old still knew more than them about their people’s culture.

For example, Alo’aharu had never heard of a Second-to-Last. When arcane elementals could feel themselves fading and knew they would perish within the next twenty four hours, they would get as many people together as possible and throw the biggest celebration they could think of to honor their life.

Moreover, it was easy to tell if an elemental had sustained themselves on others’ energies. The darker grey their smoky dermis, the older they are. So Alo’aharu was easily identified as what they called ‘Gifted’. They might as well have said ‘Parasite’.

They decided solitude was the best way to spend their time.

Alo’aharu’s head perked up upon hearing sounds of a scuffle, along with two voices, from down the hall.

They hurried their steps around a corner, curious about the source of the noise.

A Gozari woman dressed in fine linens and golden jewelry was flicking water from a jug at a person who had curled up into a ball on the floor. The water steamed off their skin as they cried out.

They were an Ifrit. An elemental like Alo’aharu, but made from fire and with skin of black ash and charcoal.

This woman was tormenting them. To the Ifrit, it must’ve felt like having darts thrown at their body.

“Did you forget you were made of fire, you brainless whelp?” the woman screeched. “You managed to burn an entire loaf of bread and didn’t even notice! What else am I to expect from such a brain dead creature?”

“Hey!” Alo’aharu shouted. “Stop that!”

What are you doing? Playing at heroism never did any good for anyone.

The woman looked at them. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it, Nightlover? Maybe I should report you for-”

Alo’aharu took a few steps forward, out of the tunnel’s shadows. The woman staggered, her eyes wide and mouth no longer yapping. Their clothes did signify them as far more high status than her.

They maintained a hard glare at the woman as they approached the Nightborn.

They knelt down next to the Ifrit and spoke softly. “Are you alright? It’s safe now.”

The Ifrit glanced up at Alo’aharu, who tried to put on the gentlest expression their limited facial movements could muster.

The Ifrit grateful grabbed onto Alo’aharu’s offer for help. But when they saw the darkness of Alo’aharu’s smoky dermis, they scrambled away with a gasp, back towards the woman. The very woman that had been abusing them up until a second ago.

Alo’aharu’s brow furrowed.

“G-get away!” The Ifrit cried, spreading their arms as if trying to shield the noblewoman.

“No, you don’t understand.” Alo’aharu said, slowly standing up. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“I-I don’t want to be saved! Not by a Gifted!”

It took the woman a moment to break out of her shock.

“You heard it!” the woman said, “Get away from us, leech!”

Alo’aharu sighed. “This woman was torturing you for burning a loaf of bread. That sort of treatment of servants is illegal here. As is the keeping of Nightborn slaves. Are you telling you would prefer to-”

The woman and the Ifrit ran in the opposite direction of them down the hall, cutting Alo’aharu off.

They only treat you with respect out of fear.

Kalai’s words echoed in Alo’aharu’s head.

That had been far from respect. It was all fear.

They’d been treated like a wild animal. Or a Nightdweller.

Was it because of their dermis? Or was it something with them personally? Did they all see Alo’aharu as...a threat?