Jason found himself at the center of the chaos.

  To his left, Tahuuk struggled on the ground, the brawler straddling him and hammering away. To his right, a merc raised his crossbow—its bolt aimed directly at Jason’s chest.

  There was no time to think. Once fired, the shot would land in a blink.

  Jason dove left, crashing beside the brawler and Tahuuk, putting the merc’s aim off. His eyes caught the symbol stamped on the brawler’s chestplate: a grey eye, its iris fully darkened. The only one wearing the guild crest. The squad leader.

  Jason ended up on Tahuuk’s injured side. The brawler was exploiting that weakness—metal-clad fists pummeling Tahuuk’s face, each impact kicking up little bursts of sand. The sight sent a shiver down Jason’s spine.

  Tahuuk tried to block with his good arm, but it wasn’t enough. Blood pooled in his mouth, the taste thick and metallic. Desperate, he shifted strategy, hammering the brawler’s face in return. They traded heavy blows, evenly matched for the moment.

  The brawler caught sight of Jason nearby. He landed one last brutal strike on Tahuuk, then lunged, pinning Jason down with his weight while still keeping his lower body locked against Tahuuk.

  Jason froze as the man’s shadow fell over him, a fist cocked back, excitement and frustration warring in his expression.

  “You think a kid and some alien will stop us?!” he snarled. “We follow the principles of the Ordinem Custodes! We will become the knights of this sector! We will prevail!”

  Jason didn’t care. Words meant nothing. The man was close enough. Jason struck upward with his right arm, aiming to end it.

  The brawler batted his strike aside and brought his fist down.

  The blow rattled Jason’s skull. Sound dulled to a muffled ringing. The roaring crowd became little more than echoes. Warm blood ran down the side of his face. His vision swam—the ceiling of the spaceport seemed to spin, darkening on one side. His cheek swelled instantly.

  That was one hit, he realized. Tahuuk has taken dozens.

  Another fist loomed overhead. Jason’s hand groped blindly along the sand, searching for his sword.

  Tahuuk, half-dazed himself, caught sight of the crossbow merc repositioning. Jason pinned, he was now the greater threat. The merc leveled his weapon at Tahuuk.

  The trigger squeezed—

  Tahuuk heaved the brawler sideways, dragging him atop himself. The bolt struck armor instead of flesh. The brawler roared in pain but held on.

  The merc cursed, already reloading.

  Jason staggered to his feet, still dazed, until he spotted his sword lying in the sand. He lurched toward it, every step sharpening his mind, clearing the haze of pain. His vision was still blurred on one side, depth warped, but adrenaline pushed him faster.

  He didn’t have much time. The merc had almost finished loading.

  Jason sprinted and vaulted over the two grappling bodies. For a heartbeat he had a clear line—until a hand clamped onto his ankle. The brawler. Jason crashed face-first into the sand, his sword tumbling from his grasp.

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  The crossbow merc took aim. Jason was pinned, helpless.

  Tahuuk rolled, spotted the fallen blade, and twisted his body in one last desperate move. He hurled the weapon.

  The merc flinched, jerking his aim toward Tahuuk—too late.

  The sword flew true, a straight line through the air. The bolt fired in desperation, the two projectiles almost crossing paths.

  Steel bit into the merc’s chest. He choked blood, staggered, then collapsed face-first in the sand. Dead.

  The bolt veered wide, but not harmless. It buried itself in Jason’s shoulder. He screamed through clenched teeth, his voice muffled by his swollen face.

  The brawler released him, turning back to finish Tahuuk. A mistake. Jason twisted, teeth grit, ready to strike again.

  The brawler recoiled, wary of Jason’s hidden tricks. He braced to defend—but then froze. Arms locked behind him. Tahuuk had him restrained, using even his wounded arm to hold the man still.

  “Finish it!” Tahuuk roared.

  Jason met the man’s eyes—one bruised, swollen with pain, the other wide and afraid. His fist unclenched, grappling the gap in the man’s armor. His other hand flicked behind his back, drawing the hidden dagger.

  A whisper of air. A silent thrust. Steel slid between the plates and into the man’s throat.

  The brawler’s eyes dimmed—confusion to nothing in seconds. His body crumpled, dragging Jason down with him. Tahuuk collapsed beside them. Both lay spent, their muscles trembling from exhaustion.

  The crowd erupted. Cheers roared, their names shouted again and again. Jason. Tahuuk.

  Jason lay on the sand, tasting blood and grit. For a moment it almost felt like recognition, like respect. But no—he knew the truth. The crowd was celebrating their winnings, not their struggle. He almost smiled anyway, before the reminder sobered him. Veyrn told him he wanted a spectacle, now Jason had given one.

  Tahuuk dragged himself upright with a grunt, face battered beyond recognition. Jason had never seen him so wounded. The alien forced a grin.

  “The universe is big,” he rasped. “Always go forward knowing someone stronger is out there.”

  Jason pushed up with a groan. “You don’t seem like someone who prepares for stronger enemies.”

  “They were stronger. We were lucky to survive. So we show respect to the fallen—” Tahuuk’s eyes fixed on the brawler’s corpse. “Like I told you before. Respect those who brought you here.”

  Jason nodded, swallowing his unease. Respect meant learning from them, carrying their lessons forward. Even the enemy.

  Tahuuk knelt and stripped the armored gauntlet from the dead man, weighing it in his hand.

  “What are you doing?” Jason asked.

  Tahuuk’s tone was steady, like a teacher imparting a lesson. “This is my people’s ritual. When we face a stronger foe and survive, we carry a part of them into the next battle. At home, we each forge our own weapon when we come of age.”

  “So that spear—was it yours?” Jason pressed.

  Tahuuk hesitated, silent for a beat. “No. I never forged one.” His gaze dropped. “Come. We should return.”

  They staggered back to the prep area.

  “Did you find your answer?” Tahuuk asked.

  Jason lowered onto the bench, face tight in thought. He replayed the fight, his choices, his failures. “I don’t like it. But Vincent was right. I’m not strong. When I protect someone, it’s only the person right beside me. The universe is too big for that.”

  “For a kid, you’re strong enough,” Tahuuk said simply. “You’ve survived battles most would die in.”

  Jason frowned, still conflicted. “That makes me the same as Vincent. I judged him, but I’m no different. Until I’m stronger, I’d be a hypocrite not to understand his principle.”

  Tahuuk gave no answer—just a nod. Jason would have to settle this himself.

  He brought the gauntlet to the weapons counter. “Fit this for me,” he told the guard, who silently carried it away.

  The two went through the routine—coin, wash, bandages. The water stung, a mix of pink and light blue with their blood as it drained away.

  As they parted, Tahuuk glanced back with a smirk. “Until next time… brother.”

  Jason allowed himself a small smile, but it faded quickly. Ahead lay his talk with Vincent—and the weight of his own words.