Mahon pushed the door open and left in a random direction. He lost himself in the maze of streets and, only when he was sure he was not followed, he headed for the Hungry Alligator Inn where he picked up Zac. Together, they went to Jorik’s office, passed in front of the First Green woman in the corridor and directly knocked at the door.

“Mahon and Zac.”

“Enter.”

The two friends took place in Jorik’s office, and Mahon went to explain everything he had witnessed. He had told little to Zac beforehand, so he spoke both to Jorik and him. It took him ten minutes to relate in detail everything that had happened. He had spent much more time than that with the cultists, but in the end he hadn’t really done or learned anything useful. Jorik nodded and took the lead once Mahon was done.

“Thanks for the quick report. You did well. It’s as I imagined it, both disappointing and promising. You didn’t learn anything valuable, except confirming what we already know. The Fada cult is playing with us, their real goal well hidden behind layers and layers of schemes. It’s hard to believe they came up with such a well organized process without the help of someone though. We need to make sure of this.”

At Mahon’s side, Zac nodded, showing his agreement to the First Black’s analysis while he continued.

“The good thing is, they have their eyes on you. You could be an asset to them. That means you may have the opportunity to move deeper within their organization.”

“The woman didn’t say anything about the timing. I could stay stuck in this position for months.” Mahon tempered.

“Unlikely.” Jorik answered. “They have a lot of dumb guys, but I’d bet their actual operating and thinking force is much smaller. They can’t let you wait too long. They’ll miss too much.”

Again, Zac confirmed with his head that he had the same opinion.

“Here is what you’ll do. Both of you.” Jorik pointed to the two First White. “You’re free from patrolling. Let’s not take the chance they find out you’re not on their side. Given they tried to recruit you, they are probably unaware of who you really are, even with such remarkable features.” Jorik gestured to Mahon’s peculiar eyes. “Lucky us. Instead of patrolling, I want you to act like you are a cultist. Do everything they ask and try to be promoted as fast as you can. Report to me as soon as you find something interesting.”

“I will not kill anyone for the cultists.” Mahon stated.

“And I’m not asking you to. You’re on the first level of their organization, they’ll not ask you to kill yet. We’ll need to stop them before it comes to that.”

Mahon acquiesced, unsure of what would happen if they didn’t. Would the noble ask him to kill alongside the cultists just to keep up his cover? Jorik indicated they could go and the two friends left without a second look.

“What do you want to do now?” Zac asked. “Tavern or home?”

“Home. I feel like I’m stuck between two noble schemes, and I really don’t like where this is going. We’ve got at least a couple of hours before going to bed, and something tells me I still have much to learn about nobility.”

Zac smirked. “You almost sound too eager. If I didn’t know you better, I’d swear you don’t want to learn about noble plots, schemes and betrayal.”

Mahon chuckled. “Yes, who could grow tired of all that stuff?”

“Haha, at least we’re free from patrol now. Let’s enjoy it.”

“You’re right… And yet, I felt strangely in charge while patrolling. Now it seems I’m just a pawn lost in a noble’s game."

The two friends continued their discussion on their way to their house. Mahon was pulled between two feelings. One part of him was proud he had a chance to have more impact in the cult’s ending. It was the same part that was delighted to have his strength back and wanted to end the war.

On the other hand, the more time he spent on Ratho, the stranger he felt. It wasn’t at all how he had imagined it. Nobody really spoke about the war, and nobles were doing their own battles behind people’s backs. And worse than that, the people with the most similar ideas to him about the war were fanatical Fada cultists.

He talked about it with Zac, but the noble didn’t seem to find it really strange. He was too used to the high noble families doing whatever they wanted in Ratho to really understand Mahon’s point of view. The two friends were reaching their house when a voice brutally pulled them out of their discussion.

“You!”

The two friends raised their heads. In front of their house, a beautiful woman with long black hair was pointing at them with a spear. Her face showed nothing but seriousness as she spoke again. Mahon immediately recognized the lance professor he had met a few days ago.

Shit.

“Yes, you!”

Zac exchanged a look with Mahon. “You know her?” He whispered.

“Uh… Kind of.” Mahon answered in the same tone.

“I challenge you to a duel.” the woman continued, full of determination.

“Uh. But aren’t you a professor? You can’t challenge me.” Mahon observed.

“What? No, not a student duel. I’m challenging you to a fight in the way of the lance.”

At this point, Zac’s mouth was agape as he looked alternatively at Mahon and the woman, not missing a bit of their exchange.

“My honor demands it. Don’t hide behind false excuses again. If you don’t want to fight, I will attack you right now.” The woman spun her lance in a menacing way before pointing the weapon at Mahon.

Mahon threw a weird look at Zac, as if he was looking for assistance. With a sigh, Zac intervened.

“Excuse me. Just a quick question. When you say fight, you mean a friendly fight, right?”

The woman looked at him with surprise. “Yes, of course. What else?”

“Oh, no, don’t mind me. Just asking.” Zac then turned to face Mahon. “Your problem.” And just like that, he walked towards the house. He passed next to the woman, opened the door, and walked inside. He closed the door with a last smirk at Mahon.

Fuck you.

Mahon sighed as the woman contracted her muscles, ready for action. He raised his hand to stop her incoming charge.

“Ok, ok. Let’s do it. But not here.” He sighed again. “To the lance training ground, I guess?”

The woman nodded, and without adding anything, she started walking forward and Mahon moved to walk beside her. The next minutes were spent in awkward silence. The lance professor held her head high, only looking straight ahead. The grip on her weapon was firm.

At her side, Mahon was mostly looking at his feet. Sometimes he threw her a look, but she never glanced back. When they left the residential district, he couldn’t hold it anymore.

“I know I have been a bit rude last time, and I’m sorry, but… Why go to such lengths for a simple spar?”

The woman didn’t even turn her head to look at him. She simply continued walking. In silence.

“I said, why go to such…”

“I heard you the first time.” She interrupted. “But I’m not talking to you until we have that fight.”

Mahon raised his shoulder in a shrug. “Ok, ok. Fight first, discuss later, I get it.”

Shortly after, the couple arrived at the training area. Given the hour, it was deserted. The professor led him to the small arena they had met more than a week ago. She took position in the center of the circle and immediately took a fighting posture.

Her lance was pointed at the front, the shaft locked between her armpit and right hand. Her left arm was held straight at her side. Her two legs were bent just enough to move swiftly in whatever direction was needed.

Good posture. Very versatile.

Alas, Mahon didn’t linger too much on how to exploit such a form. He had another, more urgent problem.

“I’ve no weapon.”

A flash of embarrassment passed through the eyes of the professor, but she quickly hid it and pointed to the rack a dozen meters away from the arena.

“Pick whichever lance you like from there.”

Mahon turned his head, and indeed there was a rack full of lances behind him. Without hesitation, he walked to it. When he arrived in front, however, a doubt seized him.

Am I worth wielding a lance now?

The memory of the last days flashed through his mind. How he had felt, Flowing against the two First Green. How he had practiced Flowing during the strategy lesson. He had even managed to Flow while meditating with Zac in their room.

He had a strong body, and he knew how to use it. The Flow was back at his side, operating like It used to be. He was more than ready.

“It’s time, old friend…” He murmured to himself.

He glanced at the dozens of lances displayed in front of him. There were different lengths, different widths, different handles, weights, peaks, shafts… The choice was large, and anyone else would have spent hours carefully comparing lances before choosing one.

Not Mahon. He picked the first one he saw. Stopping for a brief instant, just before touching the simple stitched handle. The hesitation was short-lived, and Mahon finally grabbed the lance, pulling it out of the rack.

He went back to the professor, still waiting at the center of the arena. On the way, he played with the lance. Switching it from one arm to the other. Spinning it slowly around his hand. Balancing it on top of his elbow. Weighting it in different positions. Feeling its blade cut through the air.

Mahon threw the lance up in the air, just to catch it a moment later, with a different grip. He juggled effortlessly with the lance, moving it around his body in an incredible display of agility. All the while still walking with leisure steps, his eyes focused on the woman who had defied him.

Soon, he stopped in front of her. She focused on him with rapt attention and resumed her fighting posture.

“I’ve never wielded the lance in Ratho before. If you would be so kind as to give me a few minutes of warm up, I’ll be grateful.” Mahon spoke with a gentle voice.

After a second of hesitation, the woman left her fighting stance and took a few steps back. Looking at him with doubtful eyes, she gestured with her free arm that he could proceed.

With a thankful nod, Mahon stepped into the center of the arena. The lance in his right hand, he breathed calmly, remembering every move he knew from Nightmare. He felt ready, but he knew better than to believe blindly he’d be able to transfer all his knowledge from one world to the other. That was a lesson he had already learned.

Step by step. Start simple.

Mahon pivoted his shoulder and thrust the spear forward in a fast motion. It was a crude move, effective but not efficient. Mahon resumed his neutral stance and went for another thrust.

This time, he pivoted his shoulders and hips, forcing all his upper body parts to move altogether. The stab went quicker. Following the previous one’s path, it stopped at the exact same point.

Good.

Resuming his original posture, Mahon stabbed again. He moved so that his thighs, knees and feet added to the pivot, and the move was even faster than before. Mahon stretched his shoulders and let a small smile show on his face.

Again, from the beginning, he stabbed. Synchronizing his breath with the strike, he exhaled as he stabbed forward in a flash.

“Ah!”

Like that, Mahon stabbed, again and again. Each time, he improved his stance. From basic to minuscule details, he let his experience guide his motion. Until perfection.

The small smile that had been born on his lips after his third attempt turned into a full one. A genuine, happy smile. The kind of smile made when reuniting with a friend after a long time. A friend who knew who he was.

Something grew inside of him. A mix of satisfaction, joy, and freedom. Mahon let the feelings overwhelm him. He felt almost whole. Almost.

Breath in. Breath out.

Another old friend answered the call, joining Mahon and his lance. Closing his eyes, Mahon stepped forward. Because what else than a step to initiate the 12 Steps of the lance as taught by the Fada?

His entire body pivoted while Mahon thrusted his lance forward, piercing an imaginary foe. He danced around his opponents, moving again to dodge, counterattack, and kill. The third Step followed the second, bringing even more illusory opponents to the ground.

It felt both fast and slow. Slow because it was only twelve steps. Fast because Mahon never stopped moving with absurd speed. The steps were linked to each other with unbelievable swiftness and efficiency.

Mahon finished the eighth Step with as much ease he had started the first. He rolled forward into the ninth in one swift motion. If someone hadn’t been aware of the difference between the eighth and the ninth Steps, he would have missed it. The increasing difficulty of the Steps meant nothing to Mahon. He had practiced them so much in Nightmare, it was almost like he had created them himself.

He punched and switched his lance to his left arm, as if it was the most natural thing to do. The exponentially harder tenth Step didn’t make him shiver, nor did the eleventh or twelfth as he executed the motions at incredible speeds.

And in an absurd display of control, the Steps concluded abruptly.

It had not been just twelve steps. That would have implied Mahon did twelve distinct actions, and he did not. Instead, it had been one smooth dance from beginning to end.

A dance so perfectly executed that his slow and fast facets collided in silence as it finished, leaving an eerie peace to time.

A break.

A brief flash that seemed to belong to Mahon and no one else, for the world was frozen during that instant. An instant pleading for more. Begging for a thirteen Step that would take Mahon to unknown heights.

Alas, it was gone as soon as it appeared while the world shook and woke up from his short slumber.

Mahon stood motionless in the center of the arena. His breath was controlled, as if what happened just before had been effortless.

In front of him, the professor’s lance escaped her grip and fell with a soft thud on the sand. Her eyes were wide open, stuck to Mahon. Mouth agape, her face was frozen in shock, not yet having reclaimed the time she rightfully owned.

Mahon looked at her. His warm smile melted the ice keeping her captive. She shivered, completely freeing herself from the amazing scene she had witnessed. Her face showed back some colors and sheer emotions. Disbelief. Surprise. Awe. Admiration.

Unaware of the stir he had caused, Mahon took two steps back and gestured for the woman to come closer.

“Thanks for waiting. I’m ready now.”