The dawn was this pale, washed-out gray, still smelling faintly of last night’s garbage and everything that felt broken. Michael sat on the cold garden dirt, back against the house wall, letting memories pull him under like they always did when things got quiet.
Right there, under the old oak that was bare now, he’d learned to ride a bike. He could still feel the handlebars in his small hands—shaky, excited, terrified all at once. The green grass rushing up every time he fell, the taste of dirt in his mouth, the sting of scraped knees. He fell so many times the crashes stuck more than the moments he actually balanced. But even thinking about it now put a real, soft smile on his face, cutting through the cold for a second.
“Why are you smiling like that?” Xix’s voice popped into his head, curious this time, not mocking—like a scientist watching something weird happen in a petri dish. “Seeing your mom got you that happy?”
“A little,” Michael admitted, still grinning faintly. “But mostly… I was remembering learning to ride a bike. Right here in this garden.”
Xix let out a cheerful mental laugh. “Ah yes. The graceful fall where you knocked out a baby tooth on the handlebars. You screamed louder from shock than pain. Classic.”
Michael felt his face heat up even though no one could see. “How the hell do you know that? I never told you.”
A pause—thicker than usual. When Xix spoke again, the voice sounded far away, almost hollow. “I told you. I know everything about you. The you right now. The you from before. And… the you who was supposed to be here tomorrow.”
A shiver crawled down Michael’s spine that had nothing to do with the morning chill. “The… tomorrow me?”
Xix sounded uncomfortable—rare for something so unflappable. “Don’t worry about it. That path’s closed. Gone. But there’s something you need to remember, Michael. Always. It matters.”
“Something important?” Michael tried to play it light, rubbing his arms against the cold. “Okay, hit me. We’re partners now, right? No secrets.”
Xix hesitated—Michael could almost feel the internal tug-of-war. Then the words came, quiet but heavy, like dropping ice straight into his brain: “Yes. Partners. That’s why I’m telling you. Don’t try to find Dani.”
The name hit like a slap. Dani. His best friend since forever, partner in every dumb adventure, the brother he actually chose. Sharp fear stabbed Michael’s chest. “D… Dani? What’s wrong with him? Where is he?”
Xix sensed the panic rising and tried to soften. It wasn’t great at comfort. “He’s on his own path now. Different destiny. Different fights. Crossing his road right now would only bring danger—for him and you. I’m sorry, Michael.”
Michael wanted to argue, demand details, but the words choked him. Losing Dani on top of everything else felt like too much. He just nodded slowly, swallowing the hurt. Xix stayed quiet—respectful, for once.
Upstairs…
Cami crept down the hallway like she was in a heist movie—stepping only on the floorboards she knew didn’t squeak, dodging a forgotten kid’s toy like it was a tripwire. She wasn’t heading to her parents’ room—that was off-limits. She went to the back room, the one that used to be Grandma’s and now was Mom’s messy, memory-filled escape spot where she slept most nights.
Under the soft glow of the salt lamp, Amanda was out cold, face lined with worry even in sleep. She had no idea her oldest son had spent months on concrete.
Cami edged to the bed, heart hammering. She reached out, touched Mom’s shoulder—gentle at first.
Then panic took over.
She shook harder than she meant to—like trying to start a stubborn old mower. “Mom! Michael’s back!” she whisper-shouted.
Amanda jolted awake, eyes wide with mom-instinct and confusion. For one perfect second Cami saw pure love—then reality crashed in.
SMACK! A quick slap on Cami’s arm. “You little idiot!” Amanda grumbled, rubbing her eyes. “Third time this week you’ve woken me up over a dream or a noise! Bills don’t pay themselves—I need sleep!”
Cami rubbed her arm, already mentally kissing her allowance goodbye. But she didn’t back down. “Mom,” she said, firmer than she felt. “Michael. He’s downstairs. Right now. You need to talk to him.”
Amanda closed her eyes—exhausted. “Honey, I told you… Michael’s probably at college or with Dani. He doesn’t want—”
“Mom!” Cami cut in, voice shaking but steady. “Go downstairs. Face your son.”
Amanda opened her eyes. They stared at each other—mother and daughter—in the dim salt-lamp light. For Amanda it was unsettling. She hadn’t seen Cami this serious, this grown-up, in… too long. Since Michael left. Since Johan moved in. She’d refused to see it.
A tremor ran through her. Without a word she got up, slipped on the old fleece slippers, and followed Cami downstairs. Every step felt like a hammer in her chest. Fear built—fear of what she’d see, what she’d have to admit.
Cami noticed Mom’s stiff back but said nothing. This had to happen.
At the bottom of the stairs Amanda froze. “C-Cami… where is he?”
Cami pointed to the back patio door—gray dawn light just starting to creep in.
Amanda walked slow, heavy. Through the glass she saw only a dark shape hunched on the ground. That shadow alone made her whole body shake.
She opened the door. Cold air rushed in. “M… Michael…?” The name came out cracked, forced by a heart that still loved him no matter what.
Michael turned. But he couldn’t meet her eyes—dropped his gaze to his dirty hands. Not hate. Not fear. Just raw shame—his mom seeing him like this.
“M… Michael…” Amanda stepped forward, voice breaking. “Why… why are you dressed like that? Have you… been on the street?”
Her mind spun. Memories of little Michael—bright, laughing—crashed against the gaunt, ragged guy in front of her. She wanted to hug him, scream, cry, ask everything. But her mouth wouldn’t move right.
Xix felt it. A calm wave washed through Michael—like a steadying breeze. *Stand up. Don’t be ashamed. You’re not what they see. You’re my champion. The one I chose. Soon they’ll all see what you’re made of. Now talk to her.*
Michael lifted his head slow, met her eyes—eyes full of pain and confusion that broke him all over again.
“Mom… it’s me. Michael,” he said, voice rough from emotion and not talking much. “Been… a long time.”
Hearing him, seeing those eyes—still her son’s—Amanda shattered. Worry about Dad, fear, denial—all gone. With a choked sob she rushed him, wrapped him in a hug so tight it hurt. Dirt, smell, rags—didn’t matter. Just her lost boy, found.
“Michael!” she cried into his shoulder. “I missed you so much! I’m sorry—I’m so sorry I wasn’t stronger, wasn’t better!”
The hug cracked something in Michael. Months—years—of held-back pain poured out in quiet, shaking sobs. When was the last time Mom hugged him like this? Before Johan. Before everything broke.
“Mom…” he managed.
“Don’t worry,” Amanda said, pulling back just enough to hold his face, thumbs wiping dirt from his cheeks. “I’ll fix this. I’ll talk to your father. Whatever it takes. You’re coming home. I promise.”
“Mom, I…” Michael started.
Xix cut in, firm. *That can’t happen. You know it.*
The truth hurt worse than anything. Michael went quiet, conflict flashing in his eyes.
Amanda took the silence as refusal, hugged tighter—like she could keep him by force. “No, Michael! I don’t know what you’ve been through, but give me a chance. Let me make it right. Let’s be a family again. Please.”
“Mom…” Michael’s voice steadied, even though every word tore at him. “I’m going on a trip. Far away.”
Amanda pulled back, confused. “A trip? Where? With who?”
“It’s something I have to do,” he said, dodging the impossible parts. “I can’t turn back. It’s… important.”
“Why, Michael?” she pleaded. “What’s making you? Are you in trouble? Tell me—I can—”
“Mom,” he interrupted gently, taking her hands. His eyes were clear now, calm, with a steel she’d never seen. “I’m going to figure out who I really am. Who I want to be. I need this.”
Amanda looked into those eyes. Past the words, past the mess, she saw it: her kind boy was still there, but now he had backbone. Something had changed—deep.
*Do it,* Xix whispered, softer than usual. *Stay tonight. Might be the last time. For both of you.*
“At least…” Amanda whispered, resigned. “Stay till morning? Please? Promise.”
Michael nodded, throat tight. “I will, Mom. Thank you… for this.”
“You don’t thank me,” she said, stroking his hair. “This is always your home. No matter what. No matter where you go.”
They talked the rest of the night. Not about tournaments or gods—just old stuff. Grandma stories, how the neighborhood changed, dumb memories. It was a truce. A fragile bridge over everything broken.
Morning came. After a shower that made him feel human again and borrowed clothes (a bit tight, Dad’s old stuff), Michael got ready to leave. Kitchen air was thick—everything unsaid hanging heavy.
Amanda disappeared to her room, came back with a thick manila envelope. Held it like it was fragile.
“Here, son,” she said, pressing it into his hands.
Michael stared at it—the reason he came. Now taking it felt wrong, like betraying the hug, the forgiveness.
“I don’t know if I should…”
Xix exploded in his head. *Don’t be an idiot! That’s our ticket—our first real resource! Take it!*
“Mom, I…” Michael tried.
Amanda closed his fingers around it. “Let me do this. It’s the least I can do.”
He looked at her—then hugged her hard, envelope crushed between them. “Thank you, Mom,” he choked out.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered, rubbing his back. “Just… try to come back. When you can. Promise you’ll try.”
“I’ll try,” he said—knowing it was half-true at best.
Cami rushed in, hugged him tight. “Be safe, big brother. Come back okay. Whatever happens.”
“I will, Cami,” he promised—another impossible one he meant anyway.
He slipped out the back, avoiding the front, avoiding Dad or Johan. Didn’t look back. Couldn’t.
Walked a few blocks before stopping. Envelope in his pocket felt lighter than the ache in his chest.
“Okay, Xix,” he said quietly, staring at the road ahead. “Where now?”
“Minneapolis. Vivian. Time to stop being a cockroach with decent stamina and start learning to bite.”
Michael let out a tired laugh. “Bus it is.”
Eight hours on a Greyhound tested everything. Stale air, crying baby, old guy muttering, endless highway. Xix roasted every annoyance with cosmic sarcasm while Michael tried—and failed—to sleep. Torture by boredom.
“I genuinely don’t get how humans do this voluntarily,” Xix grumbled after hour five. “Exquisite suffering.”
Michael chuckled—first real one in hours. “Yeah. Hell without a phone or a book. But it’s the way.”
Bus finally pulled into Minneapolis station. Michael stumbled out, world still swaying. “Finally.”
“Good,” Xix said, actual excitement creeping in. “Downtown. Vivian’s studio. Training starts now.”
As Michael got his bearings, feeling the new city’s pulse, something huge rippled through their bond—not words, just raw announcement from somewhere far above.
“Attention all participants and sponsors,” a cold, massive voice boomed everywhere and nowhere. “Preliminary elimination rounds for the Grand Tournament of Munkai begin in one solar month. All low-rank and new champions must compete. Weakest will be culled. Survivors get two months prep before the main event.”
Xix went quiet, then whispered: “You heard. One month, Michael. One month to stop being the weakest. Or this was all for nothing.”
Michael clenched his fists, staring at the city skyline. Nostalgia, sadness, fear—shoved deep. Only forward left.
“Let’s go,” he said, voice steady. “Take me to Vivian. I’ve got a lot to learn.”
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