29

Scima, defeated, lays on the ground and faces towards the boundless sky. Scima contemplates his own defeat. Even with his greatest trick, even getting serious, he could not win. He was not strong enough. There could be no victory for him on this day. Sion is strong. Truly strong, Scima thinks. And yet there is so much beyond his strength. He has a charm that pulls people into his orbit and has a heart capable of accepting them all. And all that without even a mention of his strength. Scima can’t help but be envious. All he can boast about is his own strength and strength is all he knows how to seek out. Meanwhile Sion, someone the same age as him, is boundless, just as the sky. Before him, laying defeated on the ground, Scima can only feel like a puddle showing its reflection. Scima can do nothing but reach out to the hand extended to him and feel the good fortune that Sion will never again be his enemy.

Sion lifts Scima to his feet, though Scima could rise entirely on his own strength. Both of them are still dripping blood everywhere. Any other student would be looking for a medic on standby at this point, but the thought hasn’t yet crossed either of their minds. Sion scans the crowd.

“I found him. Alright. Scima, you lost, so let’s go make good on our bet.”

“Apologize to Uro, you mean? Are you sure that’s smart? We’re covered in blood, you know. Doesn’t seem very proper to me.”

“A proper apology isn’t about manners as much as it’s about sincerity. What greater sincerity is there than the proof that you’ve learned?”

“What do you think our bodies are? Vessels for do-goodery?”

“What are you talking about? It’s not like we’re given any specific purpose when we’re born. Not unless you’re a Chosen or a Hero.”

“Chosen and Hero? Sorry, am I supposed to know what that means?”

“This isn’t common knowledge either? Do you people not listen to priests at all?”

“It’s a point of pride that I don’t listen to people, in fact. General Shard always said it was a charm point of mine. And I’ve only been inside a church once.”

“For the rite of bestowal? Perhaps you should come with me once. Hearing stories of valor might teach you something about virtue.”

“Don’t be stupid. Can you imagine me sitting around and listening to somebody for who knows how long?”

“Do you listen during our classes?”

“Not at all. I do image training instead to keep myself occupied.”

“Perhaps it would be better for you not to come. You might just start a fight in the middle of the priest’s lecture.”

“I would. But you would put an end to it again, because you love me so much.”

“I suppose so.” They emerge out into the stands overlooking the arena.

“Well, now that we decided that you’ll never bring me into a church, answer my question.”

“A Chosen is a person chosen at birth to hold a small portion of a god’s power, and in return they are to carry out the god’s will in our world. Chosen play a bigger part in maintaining the connection between humanity and the heavens than even a regular priest does, and that’s why the Holy Father must be a Chosen as well as a powerful priest, so that he can better serve as the Divine Link. Heroes, on the other hand, are much stranger, since we don’t know much about them. The church doesn’t have any records describing one after the Heroic Age. The current theory is that Heroes were a sort of proto-Chosen. They were said to have powerful but strange abilities that allowed them to protect humanity in the gods’ stead. In addition, there are documents that seem to indicate that the Heroes each had their own Divine Mission, a specific reason they were given power.” Scima stares in front of himself, his eyes dull.

“I think I got it. What were we doing again?” Sion comes to a stop. He and Scima both begin to drip blood onto the stone walkways of the spectator stands.

“Uro, we’ve come to apologize.” Uro seems bothered by their injuries.

“Ah, that was it. Sorry, Uro.” Uro doesn’t know how he’s meant to respond. It all feels like a bad joke to him. Sion looks over at Scima.

“Scima, what happened to giving a proper apology?”

“You reassured me that it would all come through with my injuries.”

“You need to give a proper apology. Without it, nothing will end and nothing will begin.” Scima pauses for a moment then bows his head to Uro just slightly.

“Uro, sorry about the tournament. I shouldn’t have beat you half to death. I only did it for my own amusement, but I never should have at all. Please restore my honor, if it pleases you.” Uro still doesn’t quite know how to respond.

“If you’re trying to apologize, don’t you think you ought to show me the proper respect that I deserve as your better?” Scima remains composed as he responds.

“Don’t push your luck, you—” Sion begins to drag Scima away. “Well, Sion, have I done enough for our bet to be settled?”

“You have.”

“How could that be right? That moron didn’t even forgive me after all this.”

“This was never about getting you forgiven. It was only ever about making you accept what you had done wrong.”

“Whatever then. Let’s put this all behind us.”

“I’m sure having to fight so often has been exhausting.”

“No, not at all. That was the part I liked, honestly. And the hatred of others doesn’t bother me anymore anyway.”

“Scima, no matter how much you dislike it, I won’t let you live a life hated by everyone.”

“That’s too bad. Hatred is quite the motivator, not that I would expect you to know. I’m sure I could’ve expected some good fights without you around.”

“You’ll have to make due with me instead.” Scima smiles.

“You won’t hear me complaining about that, at least.”

As Sion and Scima walk they notice Eva, Anima, Linea, and Theyni approaching them in the stands. Anima and Theyni seem worried about their injuries while Eva and Linea don’t seem concerned at all. By this point many of the spectators have already left, the stands now mostly empty. Theyni rushes forward towards Scima.

“Scima, sit down and let me heal you.” Scima obeys her without a word and takes a seat in the empty stands. As she begins to cast her spell, Scima lets himself relax.

“I guess we are pretty beat up. Thank you, Theyni.” Linea takes a step closer.

“Excuse me for interrupting, but I can handle healing both of them without much issue.” Eva rushes to answer her.

“We’re not in a rush, so perhaps it would be better for you to just focus on Sion.” Linea doesn’t quite understand.

“Alright then, if you believe it to be right.” Anima pulls Eva aside and speaks quietly.

“Is there a reason you don’t want Linea to heal Scima?” Eva ponders her answer for a moment.

“I’ll tell you later.” Meanwhile, Sion has begun to talk with Linea.

“Linea, what is that thing on your shoulder?” On Linea’s shoulder is a rocky construct with a single eye glowing blue, though to Sion and Linea it looks like a single clump of pure magic. Linea looks at it as though she had forgotten it was there.

“This is my master’s construct. He was using it to watch the match between you and Scima, but that isn’t why I bought it. He wishes to speak with Scima and Her Highness.” Scima hears her answer and interjects.

“I’m not too hurt to talk, so let’s get talking.”

“Very well.” The construct rolls onto Linea’s hands. From it, Headmaster Mirus’ voice comes clearly.

“Good afternoon, Your Highness, Scima. I come bearing news. Messis has been far more cooperative in our plan than I would have thought. Duke Notus seems to have quite a soft spot for you. There’s only one group left to relocate before we can reactivate the magic, though they’re stubborn and it might take a while yet to persuade them. But know that you will soon be safe in Messis, Your Highness.” Eva bows to the construct.

“Thank you, Headmaster.”

“I can only hope that when next we speak I can give better news.”

“Not at all, sir. This is more than enough for now.”

The construct goes limp and falls over in Linea’s hands, then falls apart. Linea drops the rocks, no longer filled with magic power, and looks at the group around her.

“Well then, that is all. Goodbye.” Linea jumps away in a single bound. Scima, all healed, stands up and looks at Sion.

“Let’s go, Sion. It seems we have some post-fight ‘persuasion’ to attend to.”

Although he doesn’t understand, Sion follows after Scima. On their way to exit the arena, they spot Tenka. He seems to have been waiting for them. He calls out to them cheerfully.

“Scima, Sion. That was quite an impressive fight. As it happens, it inspired something in me. Sion, will you fight me at last?” Sion looks displeased by the request.

“I would rather not. I’ve already fought Scima, and I would rather not fight another friend for as long as I can help it.”

“You seemed to quite enjoy the fight though? Well, I cannot force you. It is a shame.” He smiles before he continues. “When you say things like that, it makes me consider becoming your enemy, if only to face you once more. Though I am sure I would quick come to regret it.” Sion looks to the sky.

“If you were to ever fall down that path, I would bring you back. Don’t worry.” Tenka laughs silently.

“You are the one who should not worry. I am not so lowly a man as to turn traitor, I promise you that.” Scima has a sudden thought and begins to speak.

“Tenka, we’re on our way to go do something in the city. It’s bound to be a fun time, so come with us.” Tenka considers it for just a moment.

“Very well. I have nothing else to attend to, so I suppose there is no harm.” Scima pumps his fist sharply and the three of them continue on their way.

Sion, Scima, and Tenka leave the academy grounds, entering the narrow band separating the city of Messis proper and Sagax. The streets are cramped and narrow, labyrinthine and made to confuse. Even without any magic it’s already hard to navigate. The sun can’t reach the thin gaps between buildings, the only walkways, leaving the alleys in darkness. Scima considered when they first entered making a light with magic to help them along, but when he looked at the others, he decided that it doesn’t seem any of them need it.

The three of them walk around the alleys. None of them know where they are going, Scima being the only one aware of their goal and Headmaster Mirus having not given any clues to the location of these last holdouts. Even if he had, Scima isn’t sure he would be able to find it himself. Without any familiarity with this maze, he doubts he would be able to find anything. All he can do now, Scima supposes, is wait for good fortune to smile upon them, or rather, he thinks snidely to himself, on Sion.

As they walk, Scima looks inside the windows of the buildings they pass by. All of them are eerily barren. Lacking any furnishing, lacking even flooring, they look as though nobody has lived inside in a long time, perhaps not ever. Rather than a ghost town, it feels like a place that should never have come to exist in the first place.

Eventually, as Scima hoped, they stumble upon a group of men. They don’t even bother to hide their pointed malice at Sion, Scima, and Tenka, their paltry threat of violence. Sion, still unaccustomed to people meaning him harm, doesn’t realize anything is amiss. Scima and Tenka, who see it so clearly, do not fear these men anyway. Scima approaches them unfazed.

“Are you the ones getting in the way of the relocation?” A muscular man matching Scima in height with a surly face and a ragged, short beard clinging to it, a man who seems to be their leader, answers.

“Of course we are. We’re never giving up a great place like this! We’ll keep doing whatever we want, so get lost!” Scima sighs, clearly bored of him already.

“Are you stupid? What’s the point if you’ll be hounded by them day after day? You’re putting my lady in danger, so get out or go die.”

“What? You some kind of knight? Some noble brat wants to try talking to us like that?” The man gives a toothy grin and tries to make himself bigger than Scima. Scima grabs one of the smaller men by the head and slams him into the nearest wall. The wall crumbles where Scima forced the smaller man into it, something Scima hadn’t expected but that he won’t let go to waste. Scima glares at the man.

“I’ll level this whole block if I have to. I gave you a choice so choose right.” The man flinches back for just a moment, then is taken over once more by a fool’s courage.

“Don’t joke with me!” He raises one fist and steps forward to strike Scima. Scima does not move. Sion, meanwhile, steps between the two of them, tightly gripping the man’s wrist and stopping his arm from moving at all. Sion doesn’t regard the man at all.

“Scima, why are you already trying to pick another fight?”

“This is the easiest way to handle the problem.”

“Hurting others is wrong.”

“Come on, Sion, I’m sure they hurt other people all the time.”

“And they should face judgement. But that doesn’t mean you need to rile them up like this.” Tenka chimes in.

“And it doesn’t seem like this is all that fun after all.” Scima snaps back, defensive.

“Look, I didn’t think they’d be this weak either!” Sion turns towards the man, his wrist still held tightly in the air.

“We don’t want to fight. Leave and turn yourselves in so we don’t need to put a stop to you.” Sion speaks so calmly, so kindly, that it makes a shiver run up the man’s spine. Sion lets him shake his arm free, then all of them scramble away towards the single open road connecting Messis and Sagax. Scima looks confused and irritated.

“What was that? There’s no way you’re scarier than I am.”

“I wasn’t scary. He simply saw the wisdom in what I was saying.”

Tenka bursts out laughing at Sion’s answer that showed so little awareness. Seeing him laugh, both Sion and Scima smile and giggle, and eventually join Tenka. When they calm down, the dark and cramped alleyway going silent once more, the three of them turn back towards the road and begin to walk back to Messis.