The walk back through Deadfall's festival-decorated streets provided a welcome transition from the arena's intensity. The village was alive with celebration, the Reaping Festival reaching its peak as second dusk began to paint the sky in shades of crimson. Street performers juggled flaming torches while children ran between the stalls, their faces sticky with honeyed treats. The air was full of the scents of roasted meat, mulled cider, and fresh bread from dozens of vendors.

  The Hearthsong Inn captured the spirit of the celebration. As they approached the building, Caleb could hear the joyous chaos spilling out through the windows and doorway. The common room was packed beyond its normal capacity, every table filled and people standing shoulder to shoulder between them. The great battle trophies that normally dominated the walls had been whimsically decorated with garlands of autumn leaves and dried wheat, turning instruments of death into festive ornaments. Above the long wooden bar, a large scrying mirror—a dark pane of polished obsidian—was currently dormant, its frame also draped in festive ribbons. The massive skull of a mistweaver wore a wreath of harvest corn like a comical crown, while decorative scythes and spears hung from the rafters, intertwined with colorful ribbons that fluttered in the warm air rising from the kitchen.

  The moment they stepped through the doorway, Corinne was swept up in a tide of congratulations and demands for details. Half the room seemed to have watched the tournament through various scrying mirrors, with the other half having attended in person, and her victory over Mala had already taken on legendary proportions in the retelling.

  "Tell us about the sweep!" A grizzled adventurer called out from his position at the bar. "My cousin said she went down like a felled tree!"

  "I want to hear about that Finn boy!" Someone else shouted. "Did he really almost wet himself?"

  Corinne laughed, her natural storytelling instincts taking over as she launched into an animated recreation of her fight. Her hands moved dramatically as she described Mala's strength, her own desperate evasion, and the moment when everything clicked into place. The crowd hung on each word, their faces reflecting the emotional journey of her tale.

  "She came at me like a runaway ale barrel on a slope—all momentum and no brakes," Corinne said, her arms miming the massive impact. Her voice dropped, drawing the listeners in. "And you don't try to stop a rolling barrel, do you?" She paused, then exclaimed, "You just open the cellar door!"

  A grin split her face, fierce and triumphant. "So I stepped aside, hooked her ankle, and let gravity finish the job. She went down harder than a sack of flour!"

  The description of her final, decisive move sent the room into renewed cheers. Caleb found himself smirking despite the day's events, watching his friend bask in well-deserved attention. This was what she had earned—recognition for her skill and courage, celebration of her achievements by people who genuinely cared about her success.

  Leo hung back near the edge of the crowd, holding a basket of dinner rolls that Gareth had pressed into his hands. His face still carried the glow of his impossible triumph, though Caleb could see the exhaustion beginning to set in. The adrenaline that had carried him through the day was fading, leaving behind the reality of what he had accomplished.

  "These are amazing, sir." Leo’s voice was soft. He spoke to Gareth, who stood behind the bar with a cleaning cloth forgotten in his hand. The big half-elf’s attention was fixed on Corinne, his stern features softened by a look of fond pride. "The crust is perfect—crispy outside but still tender underneath. How does your staff get that kind of texture?"

  Leo's question pulled the chef from his reverie. Gareth turned, his deep green eyes focusing on the young man with a new intensity.

  "I made them." A rare smile touched his lips. "Fresh this evening before the rush began."

  Gareth set down his cleaning cloth and leaned against the bar, his posture relaxing as gentle passion entered his voice.

  "The secret is in the steam. You need to create moisture in the oven during the first few minutes of baking. I use a pan of hot water on the bottom rack, then splash the walls just after the loaves go in."

  Leo's eyes lit up with recognition. "My mother taught me the same thing! The steam keeps the crust from forming too quickly, so the bread can expand properly before it sets, right?"

  "Exactly." Gareth's smile broadened. "Most people think it's just mixing flour and water, but there's a lot more to it. Temperature, timing, humidity—every variable matters."

  They fell into an intense discussion about yeast varieties, proofing times, and the subtle art of reading dough by touch and smell. Caleb found himself captivated by this glimpse of Gareth as something other than the stern, silent taskmaster of the kitchen. Here was a craftsman discussing his art with someone who shared his enthusiasm, and the transformation was remarkable.

  The storytelling was interrupted by Cassia's arrival, her arms loaded with platters of food that she began distributing among the tables. When she spotted Corinne holding court in the center of the room, her face lit up with motherly pride.

  "There's my warrior!" she called out, her voice jubilant as she set down her trays and pushed through the crowd. "I watched the whole thing on the mirror! The entire common room was holding its breath. My heart nearly stopped when that girl charged you, but the way you turned it around..." She pulled Corinne into a fierce embrace.

  Corinne's face flushed. "Mom, you're embarrassing me."

  "Nonsense." Cassia released her daughter but kept one hand on her arm. "A mother has the right to be proud when her child shows such courage and skill. And you," she added, turning to include Leo and Caleb in her beaming attention, "all three of you have earned a feast. Everything you eat and drink tonight is on the house."

  The declaration brought another round of approval from the nearby patrons, many of whom had been following the tournament results with interest. Caleb felt the warmth of belonging wash over him as he was swept up in the celebration, the genuine affection of these people providing a balm to the stress that had marked the day.

  For a while, he allowed himself to simply enjoy the moment. Laughter and companionship surrounded him, the arena's pressure and violence now a fading memory. He watched Leo and Gareth bond over their shared passion, saw Corinne thrive under the attention and praise of people who had watched her grow up, felt Cassia's maternal care extend to include him as one of her own.

  In his contentment, he started thinking about the decisions that had led him here. From the Hearthsong's intervention, to the alleyway, and through the last few weeks of combat and study. The initial objective had been simple: survive. But he was no longer the man content to hide. He had power now, a growing foundation of it. The question wasn't so much how to get it—he had plans for that—but what it was for. He thought of the nobles in their boxes, of Narbok's pointless cruelty. Their strength was a hollow thing, built to dominate and intimidate. It created nothing. It protected no one but themselves. He looked at Corinne's bright laugh and Leo's quiet, newfound confidence. This was different. This was strength with a purpose. This was something worth fighting for.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  His thoughts were interrupted as Corinne finally extracted herself from the crowd and made her way over to him, her cheeks colored with excitement and just a hint of embarrassment at all the attention.

  "Your turn." She settled into the chair beside him with relief at having a moment to catch her breath. "Everyone's been asking about your fight, but I've been putting them off. That move you did—the way you just flashed in front of Finn—that was [Dash] right? Was that the same technique you used against the feral goblin matriarch?"

  The question carried across the nearby tables, and Caleb suddenly found himself the focus of a dozen pairs of interested eyes. He took a sip of some cider he'd received, buying himself a moment to think while the expectant silence stretched around him.

  "Something like that. Though to be honest, Finn made it pretty easy. He was so busy running his mouth that he forgot to actually pay attention to the fight. By the time he realized I was moving, it was already over."

  The explanation drew chuckles from the listeners, but Corinne wasn't entirely satisfied with the deflection.

  "Still, that kind of speed and skill... where did you learn to move like that?"

  Caleb opened his mouth, a convenient lie ready on his tongue, but the words caught in his throat. He looked at Corinne's earnest expression. The genuine curiosity in her eyes deserved more than the diversions he gave to others. This was his friend, his first real anchor in this world.

  She deserves the truth, at least a version of it. And if I tell her, I should tell Leo. He glanced across the room to the bar, where Leo was still deep in conversation with Gareth.

  He met Corinne's eyes again. His voice was low, cutting through the inn's cheerful noise. "Not here." He nodded toward a recently unoccupied booth in the corner, its high wooden back offering a sliver of privacy. "It's complicated. Could you grab Leo? I'll get us that spot."

  Corinne paused for a second before she gave a short nod and moved toward the bar. Caleb made his excuses to the onlookers and slid away from the crowded table, claiming the corner booth and settling onto its worn wooden bench. He watched her approach and gently touch Leo's arm, seeing the boy's animated expression shift to one of polite concern as he excused himself from Gareth.

  A moment later, they both slid onto the bench opposite him. Caleb met their expectant looks with steady calm. "What you saw in the arena... that wasn't a fluke. I have been holding back. From everyone. Even from you."

  Corinne's brow furrowed. "But why? If you were that strong you could have been helping us so much more!"

  "Because I was afraid. Afraid of the attention. Of what people like Captain Hatch would do if they saw what I was capable of. Cassia warned me about the Mandate, about conscription. My entire plan was to stay invisible, to be just another mediocre trainee until I had a real foundation."

  His face hardened, looking over Corinne's shoulder at the scrying mirror. "Then I saw what Narbok did to Isella. The pointless cruelty of it. I saw the look in his eyes afterward, that disgusting satisfaction." Caleb's eyes returned to Corinne, his voice dropping. "And I realized my restrained approach was a mistake. It wouldn't protect anyone but myself. And if Narbok is willing to do that to someone just because he could, how much further would he go to get at me, who he hates? Continuing to hide was just leaving you both exposed. It was time for a show of force."

  Leo leaned forward, his voice barely a whisper. "But the speed, Thal. The way you moved. No amount of holding back explains that." He shook his head, a look of genuine wonder on his face. "I still can't believe I won my own match. Everyone knows I only got into the tournament because of my father. Proving I wasn't a complete waste of a spot… it felt good. But what you did was something else entirely. It was like you were a different person."

  Caleb chose his words with care. "I learn... differently. It's difficult to explain. When I see a movement, really see it, my body just understands how to replicate it. The fight in the quarry, watching Hatch's demonstrations, even our training sessions... it was like all the pieces of a puzzle were laid out on a table." He looked down at his hands, then back up at them. "In the arena, for the first time, I just put them all together."

  He offered a slight shrug, a gesture that failed to convey the full weight of his admission. As well as the omission. "I'm still figuring it out myself. It's not something I can teach. It's just how my mind and body connect."

  Corinne and Leo stared at him, the confession sinking in during the lull.

  "So you're..." Corinne began, her voice full of dawning awe. "A prodigy?"

  "I'm a target. What I did today will draw a lot of unwanted attention. From Hatch for sure. Maybe from the nobles, or even Narbok if he's foolish enough to not let it go."

  Silence stretched for several heartbeats. Corinne stared at him, her expression thoughtful, as if seeing him for the first time. Leo's mouth had fallen slightly open. Then, as if a spell had broken, Leo leaned forward.

  "I didn't even see you move! It was like you disappeared and reappeared twenty feet away! Did you master [Dash]?"

  Corinne, however, wasn't just amazed. A flicker of hurt crossed her face, her hazel eyes searching his. "You should have told us." The words came quietly, disappointment threading through them. "We're a team, aren't we? We would have helped you keep your secret."

  Caleb grimaced. "I know. And I'm sorry," he said, his voice sincere.

  Corinne held his stare for a long moment before her look softened, pragmatism overtaking the hurt. A wry smile touched her lips. "Well, you're a terrible friend." Her eyes lit up with an irrepressible spark. "But I have a feeling you're about to become a magnificent teacher. So, are you going to show us how you did that, or not?"

  Caleb let out a short, relieved laugh. "I already told you, I can't explain it as easily as it works for me. But I'll definitely keep training you both." That was all the opening they needed.

  The conversation continued on, their voices mixing with the festivity around them as they began sketching out future training plans and discussing what might happen at the tournament tomorrow. The spirit of the inn, the comfort of friendship, and the satisfaction of a hard-won victory created a bubble of peace that Caleb found himself reluctant to leave.

  As they finally rose to depart, their path took them past a private booth tucked into an alcove near the back of the common room. Two figures in rich clothing sat in the shadows, their voices pitched low but still audible over the general din of celebration.

  "That kitchen boy's match was surprisingly quick. The one against the Babin kid. I've never seen a commoner that age use a movement Skill with that much control."

  His companion chuckled. "A spark of talent, perhaps, but it's meaningless. Let the Duskborn have their little upsets. The real story starts when the houses clash. I hear Kasien Blodwen has been training with a specialist from the provincial capital specifically to counter Rielle Draha's illusions."

  The first speaker leaned back, swirling the wine in his goblet. "All that effort, just to be swept aside by Astrin Kaelix. You know as well as I do her father is the Deputy Mayor. Do you really think the Dominion officials will let anyone else win? This tournament is just a political showcase. The noble houses demonstrate their superiority, the officials reinforce the natural order, and everyone important walks away satisfied." He took a slow sip of his wine. "The rest is just entertainment."

  The casual dismissal of the words failed to surprise Caleb. If anything, he felt a weary recognition. He had seen this before, in boardrooms and back offices on a world a universe away. The powerful always stacked the deck.

  Entertainment for the Duskborn.

  The thunderous approval of the crowd and his own sense of accomplishment were not fake. They were simply fleeting, a currency the nobles spent to purchase the compliance of the masses. His victory over Finn had never mattered to them. It was a footnote in a story they had already written, one that always ended with them on top.

  He looked around the inn at the hopeful faces celebrating their champions, and a hint of defiance started to take root in his spirit. This was not just a rigged tournament. It was this entire world in miniature.

  Fine. Let them have their game. I'll just have to get strong enough to flip the whole board.