Standing before Yig at the top of the temple staircase, his purple cloak billowing in the wind, was a tall man. His face showed the age of middle adulthood, with messy red hair long enough to have been repeatedly whipped by mountain winds. Scruff lined his jaw, and his wide grin was so infectious it nearly made Yig smile too. But nothing about the man seemed innocent—or vulnerable. Whenever his cloak lifted from his shoulders and arms, it revealed baggy black leggings and a loose shirt, along with a long, thin wooden scabbard at his hip, where his hand now rested.

  “What’s with the spooked face, youngster?” the man asked.

  Yig scrunched his nose. “I’m no child.”

  “Hehehe, easy there. Meant no harm.” The man stepped forward, glancing past Yig’s head. “Greetings all—happy to see me again, no doubt!”

  Silver scoffed, but the other students ran forward to greet him.

  “So, where’d you come from this time?” Oy asked, trying not to sound too excited.

  “Careful now, I only just arrived. Can’t give away all the good stories at once.”

  As Blū and Oy surrounded the man with questions, Yig crept closer. The man noticed him.

  “Say, I apologize for what I said. I joke too much.”

  “No matter,” Yig replied. “I don’t hold many grudges.”

  The man turned to his two young friends. “Fellas, neither of you gonna introduce me?”

  “Nothing to say,” Blū answered, crossing his arms. “This fella only just got here.”

  “I…” Yig hesitated. Four men, each with an aura rivaling his own, waited for the perfect words to prove himself. “I’m Yig. I’m going to be the greatest hero who ever lived—and open the gates to Paradise!”

  Blū scoffed. Oy restrained himself to a neutral face, though less dismissive. The man in the purple cloak let out a full belly laugh, head tilted back.

  “Well, well. Pleasure to meet you. Call me Nil.”

  Shaking his head in disapproval, Blū walked toward the front of the temple. “We don’t need any wannabe kings disrupting our training—especially while Master Nil is visiting. So get lost.”

  Yig raised an eyebrow. “I never said anything about a king.”

  “How humble of you,” Blū muttered, sitting on the staircase next to Silver, whose stare toward Yig had shifted.

  “Why else would you want to open the gates?” Oy asked, genuinely.

  “I wanna see Paradise. Why else?”

  Nil chimed in, hand to his chin and eyes to the sky, readying a tale. “It’s said that the one who opens the gates will be blessed by the five sister goddesses—and crowned ruler of the new kingdom of Paradise.”

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  “I never read that part,” Yig said. “Oh well, I’ll just give the crown to the second guy who walks in.”

  Patting him playfully on the back, Nil passed him on his way to Silver. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

  “Well then, Nil,” Silver said, “if you’re so sure I should teach him something, what do you suggest?”

  Nil handed him a bottle, which Silver gladly took a swig from. “Don’t teach him what to learn—teach him how to practice.”

  Silver groaned and stuck a finger in his ear, twisting it in frustration. “If I go through the trouble of teaching you techniques,” he said, staring Yig down, “and you complain... I’ll kill you. Or something close.”

  Yig nodded with determination.

  With a long, drawn-out sigh, Silver leaned back and took another sip of booze. “Alright. I’ll do as you wish. You can stay two, maybe three days.”

  “Long enough to see the festival!” Nil grinned. “Sounds like a good deal to me, Yig.”

  “But before anything else,” Silver added, “spar one of my students. Give me an idea of what I’m working with.”

  Before Yig could reply, Blū stood and began stretching for the battle. But just as quickly, Yig shut him down.

  “I was thinking I could fight one of you,” he said, pointing at the two masters.

  He could feel the doubt in everyone’s eyes, but he stood his ground. Their auras were large and refined—but none had yet managed to frighten him. He’d felt more fear from the bears than he did from these men. His caution was focused more on the style and technique they would wield.

  Nil stood and stepped forward, still smiling. Blū yelled in protest, but Silver barked, “Sit down and shut it.”

  “That’s a nice sword you’ve got on your belt.”

  Yig drew Icarus and grinned.

  “You’ll need one like that to reach the gates,” the master said, lightly gripping the handle of his weapon as he casually approached. Then, with his free hand, he traced a curved line through the air above his head.

  In a split-second surge of panic, Yig heard Icarus shout in his mind—warning him that the boy was about to be in very real danger.

  Nil kept smiling. He drew back his cloak and revealed his blade. Yig froze at the sudden intensity. The master's activated mana exploded outward, dwarfing anything Yig had ever felt—or imagined. Not even the swordsman who haunted his nightmares could match this overwhelming strength.

  Do something!

  The words hit him like a punch to the face. In a snap decision, his foot scraped the floor as he prepared to dash forward. But the moment he moved, his opponent’s figure multiplied—dozens of Nils surrounded him, all walking with the same focused intent. Yig screamed, igniting his own aura—a mere droplet in the ocean of power engulfing him. In a desperate bid to land even one solid strike, he poured all the mana he could into Icarus and began his swing.

  Slam!

  Every image of Nil vanished, along with his terrifying aura, leaving behind only the blunt pain throbbing at the back of Yig’s head. As he fell, he caught a glimpse of the master pulling back the hilt of his weapon. Only the hilt? What a stupid way to lo—

  ◇─◇──◇─◇

  The boy hit the ground. Blū had watched the whole thing unfold. He hadn’t even been the one facing Nil, yet his fists were clenched. Nil wasn’t even a few decades older than him, yet his power surged like a god’s—or at least the highest level of strength Blū could ever picture achieving.

  He looked at Silver—the one who had trained him for years, and who had also trained Master Nil. And yet Silver had never displayed anything like that.

  So why go so far for this boy?

  Did they recognize him? His sword?

  If not that—then what?

  Yig lay motionless on the ground. Driven by nothing more than curiosity, Blū walked over to check on him, and Oy followed. He’d seen the panic in Yig’s eyes before the strike—Nil had clearly tricked him. In the end, it was all a distraction, and all it had taken to end the match was a single solid blow to the neck.

  A loud snore gave them their answer.

  Somehow, either during the fall or after faceplanting onto the stone floor of the temple entrance, this obnoxious visitor had managed to fall asleep.

  Blū scoffed. He’d seen enough wannabe heroes for one lifetime.