The three of them moved through the dimly lit streets, their faces concealed by black scarves that Zehron had hastily bought from an old market vendor, who had sworn they were made from the "finest shadow-woven silk." In reality, they were just cheap cloth, but they did the job.
Orien, leading the way, suddenly stopped in the middle of the road, his posture casual but his intentions anything but.
Zehron and Vaelen, both walking behind him, halted as well.
"Alright, here we go," Orien muttered to himself before—
SMACK!
Without hesitation, Orien swung his hand and slapped the back of a random man's head as he walked past.
The man stumbled forward, completely bewildered, his entire body tensing with shock. He turned around slowly, his expression shifting from confusion to pure rage.
"WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE GODS—?!" he bellowed, eyes burning with fury. "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!"
The surrounding people stopped in their tracks, drawn to the commotion.
Orien, completely unfazed, tilted his head and shrugged. "Oh, my bad. I thought you were someone else."
The man's nostrils flared. "WHO?!"
Orien grinned beneath his scarf. "Someone UGLY."
A heavy silence fell over the street.
"YOU LITTLE—!!!"
The man lunged forward, fists clenched, while the surrounding crowd let out gasps and murmurs, some already cheering for a fight.
Zehron and Vaelen exchanged glances.
Vaelen sighed. "I hate him."
Zehron nodded. "Same."
Orien, still grinning, braced himself for impact.
The man Orien slapped was still fuming, but before he could throw the first punch—
"AND ANOTHER THING!" Orien suddenly yelled loud enough for the entire street to hear.
Zehron and Vaelen instantly froze, sensing impending doom.
"WHY ARE YOU ALL STARING?! YOU'RE JUST AS UGLY AS HIM! USELESS SIDE CHARACTERS! MWAHAHAHA!" Orien shouted at the gathering crowd, throwing his arms up dramatically. "WHAT, NEVER SEEN A HANDSOME MAN BEFORE?!"
For a moment—
Silence.
Then, like a storm crashing into shore, the crowd erupted.
"YOU LITTLE RAT!"
"WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS?!"
"LET'S TEACH HIM A LESSON!"
The once-casual onlookers suddenly became an angry mob. They cracked their knuckles, grabbed whatever they could find, and stormed toward them.
Zehron's eyes widened in disbelief, while Vaelen, still in shock, turned to Orien, his voice horrified—
"Orien, you damn psycho! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"
Orien, however, had the biggest grin on his face. "Exactly what I planned!"
Zehron and Vaelen's jaws dropped.
"YOU PLANNED THIS?!" Zehron asks.
Orien nodded enthusiastically. "Yep! Now you'll get to practice real combat!"
"BY GETTING BEATEN TO DEATH?!" Vaelen shouted.
But before they could argue any further, the crowd charged at them—fists swinging, feet stomping, weapons drawn.
Orien clapped his hands. "Alright, boys! Time to fight!"
Zehron and Vaelen had no choice.
They braced themselves, fists up, as chaos exploded at them.
Zehron barely had time to think before a man lunged at him, swinging a punch at his jaw. He dodged, but another one grabbed him from behind.
Vaelen grabbed the man by the collar and yanked him back, slamming his knee into his stomach. "Not today, bastard!"
Meanwhile, Orien—
Laughing like a madman—was swinging wildly, dodging punches by sheer luck and occasionally landing a hit of his own. "Hey, Zehron! How's this for training?!"
Zehron gritted his teeth, dodging another attack. He wasn't used to this—his movements were instinctive, reactive, but unpolished. He could feel the raw potential in himself, but he needed more control.
A kick flew toward him—he barely dodged, but the impact still sent him stumbling.
Before he could regain balance—
Vaelen stepped in front of him again, blocking an incoming fist.
The fight raged on, fists flying, kicks landing. Orien, despite causing this mess, was actually holding his own surprisingly well.
Zehron, slowly but surely, was getting the hang of it.
A man charged—Zehron sidestepped and threw a counterpunch. Another attacked—he ducked and instinctively kicked his legs out from under him.
Vaelen, panting, took a hit to the shoulder but retaliated with a brutal punch to the gut.
Orien, now with a bloody nose, cackled. "I love this!"
More people piled onto them, and the fight became pure chaos.
But in the midst of it—
Zehron felt it.
That thrill.
That adrenaline.
And despite himself—
He like it!
Zehron dashed forward, dodging a clumsy swing, his instincts sharpening with every move. He grabbed a man by the wrist, twisted it, and sent him crashing onto the ground. Another came from behind—Zehron didn't think, he just reacted—elbowing him hard in the ribs.
Vaelen, barely standing, blocked another attack meant for Zehron and grunted. "Damn it!"
Zehron turned, caught the attacker's wrist, and threw a punch that sent the man sprawling. Vaelen, despite looking half-dead, flashed a tired smirk.
Meanwhile, Orien?
Still laughing, even as he staggered, barely dodging punches. "This is either the best or worst idea I've ever had!"
At some point, the crowd thinned. More people were groaning on the ground than standing. The remaining few—seeing Zehron still standing tall, barely unharmed, and unwavering—hesitated.
His presence had changed.
His breathing steady, his stance firm—there was something in his eyes now.
Something awakened.
One of the men spat on the ground. "Tch. Not worth it anymore."
And just like that—the fight was over.
Zehron exhaled. Fists clenched. Muscles burning, but alive.
Vaelen collapsed onto the ground, groaning. "I'm never listening to Orien again."
Orien, wiping the blood from his nose, grinned up at Zehron. "Damn. You sure this was your first fight?"
Zehron didn't answer. He just stared ahead, a fire burning in his chest.
He had never fought before.
But now?
Now, he knew.
It was in him.
-ASTRAVAHN HOUSEHOLD-
Naevira sat on a low stool near the hearth, folding freshly washed clothes into neat piles. The soft crackling of embers filled the quiet evening, and a gentle breeze from the open window rustled the fabric in her hands. The household was peaceful—until a sudden, firm knock echoed from the front door.
She paused, her brow furrowing. She rose and made her way to the door. As she opened it, her breath caught in her throat.
Zehron stood there, his posture relaxed but his face telling another story. A dark bruise had formed on his cheekbone. The dim glow of lanterns outside barely masked the exhaustion in his eyes.
"Zehron!" Naevira gasped, her hands instinctively cupping his face, tilting it to examine the injury. "What happened? Who did this to you?"
Zehron let out a small smile, attempting to downplay her concern. "It's nothing, Mother. Just a little accident."
Her frown deepened. "Accident? This is not an accident! Was it those Solea households again? Or did the boss in your work ask for extra work? Are they overworking you?" She fired questions rapidly, her voice a mix of worry and frustration.
Zehron knew he had to calm her down.
Zehron shook his head, offering a small, reassuring smile despite the pain throbbing in his face. "No, Mother. It wasn't them. I just... got into a little scuffle. Nothing serious."
Naevira's eyes narrowed. "A scuffle?" She placed her hands on her hips. "And here I was thinking my son had better sense than to get into fights like some reckless street boy!"
Zehron sighed, knowing that if he said too much, she would press harder, and if he said too little, she wouldn't drop the matter. "It wasn't anything reckless, I promise. Just... a misunderstanding. You know how things happen sometimes, especially at the docks."
Naevira still didn't look convinced, but she let out a long breath and gently took his arm. "Come inside before you catch a cold."
Zehron allowed her to guide him in. The warmth of the house wrapped around him as she led him toward his bed. He sat down with a quiet grunt as she hurried to fetch a damp cloth and some ointment.
As she dabbed at his bruise with motherly care, she sighed, "Zehron, you work so hard already. You don't need to take on fights too."
He smiled faintly, watching her work. "It's not like I go looking for them, Mother. But sometimes… you can't avoid them."
Naevira pursed her lips but said nothing. Instead, she focused on tending to his wounds. After a moment, she spoke softly, "You know, your father used to come home like this too when he was younger. Always finding trouble where he shouldn't."
Zehron raised a brow. "Oh? And how did you deal with him?"
She smirked, pressing the cloth a little harder on his bruise, making him wince. "I made sure he regretted it."
He chuckled. "Noted."
Naevira shook her head with a small smile. "Just be careful, Zehron. I don't want to see you hurt."
"I will, Mother."
Though he said it, he knew deep down that this was only the beginning.