Arson didn’t like being punched. He also figured out he didn’t like being kicked, stomped, nor kneed. All the children he was put up against were larger in build, which made him understand the difference in weight and what physical strength offered a fighter quickly. The first person to bloody his nose, had given him good advice during her barely blocked rain of blows. “Always block your head dummy!” Arson did his best to do exactly that but the more experienced fighter found her way around his meager guard and made his first spar completely one sided. Arson felt a tinge of anger bubble below the surface after he got to his feet and he wiped the blood from his nose and mouth. Yet the smile Mr. Vellum wore was far worse than even the pain he felt physically when he met the man’s eyes. An unknown betrayal felt but not understood. What could be so good about me losing? The thought wore on Arson, to the point that he missed when Mr. Vellum waved for him to return to the line. “What, did that girl punch your brain loose? Get back in line, boy!” said Mr. Vellum. A now familiar sneer painted across his lips that told Arson he should get used to the pain he’d just felt, or learn quickly. “But I have no training sir, should I not learn how to defend myself first?” Arson tried to make sense of the situation, not aware of the true dark practices being observed around himself. Mr. Vellum leaned in and whispered to Arson. “Have you been taught to swim?” “Yes sir.” “How were you taught,” asked Mr. Vellum softly. Arson thought, and remembered being thrown into the deep end of the orphanages pool by an older Orphan a few seasons prior. “I was thrown into a pool, sir,” answered Arson. The man gave a single wave toward the fights going on behind Arson and smiled in that moment. “Welcome to the pool, boy, it's time to see if you can swim.” Back in line, Arson dismissed the frustration at being put into another fight unprepared. Then thought back on how he’d been taught everything with the exclusion of how to read, and recognized the pattern being formed and this made it seem as if what was learned through cultivation would bring pain, and the little held outside that world of pain could only be gained by being a cultivator. So either I become a cultivator, or I won’t have the power to make anyone's life better, not even my own. That single thought consumed Arson. He spent the next three losses learning nothing, being beaten up everywhere below the neck, but managed to block his head. The body slam of the fourth match woke Arson up to the potential that he could be hurt to the same severity that he’d felt recently within the sandstorm inside the orphanage grounds. “Oww,” groaned Arson, crawling from the ring as his head spun. He flopped onto the floor, Mr. Vellum was there in the time it took Arson to exhale. The man leaned over him and pointed directly back toward the line, before Arson could even have the thought that the man was there to help him up. Arson had dreamed of finding a family, and let what he’d built in his mind in that moment convince him that what he was experiencing was worth the pain. So rose to his feet, and limped back toward the line. Knowing how bets worked, Arson didn’t believe for a moment that Mr. Vellum was placing his bets on him winning. So while in line he began to wonder at what his adopted father could be betting on. “Maybe he’s betting on how many blows I can land,” mumbled Arson to himself. “Or maybe how many strikes I can survive…?” “You're close kid, I bet he’s betting on how long you last, the cultivators bet on things situationally,” said a voice behind Arson. He turned back to see the girl who’d beaten him bloody with a black eye of her own. Some bruises were fresh while others were old and green, and Arson wondered how many times she’d been forced to fight that day. “So I have to survive in there as long as I can, so why aren’t some of the faster kids here just running inside the ring to rack up winnings?” The girl laughed and shook her head at him. “Keep it down, and that’s not how it works, if the judges don’t give you enough points, your… parent, doesn’t receive any credits,” said the girl in a whisper while she patted Arson on the shoulder. “No hard feelings by the way, I just saw an opportunity and took it, I’ll be eating good for a few days with how much I won against you, for some reason the odds against you are high, and going up rather than down,” said the girl before she nudged Arson back toward the steps once more. Arson looked at Mr. Vellum and nodded to himself when he saw the look in the man’s eyes. As if to respond to a command never relayed, Mr. Vellum nodded back. Arson looked around himself and with a sigh, prepared himself once more. Arson continued to lose. But what did change were the lengths of his matches. To the surprise of everyone there Arson did win a single match, which concluded his supposed training. Arson won to his opponents surprise even. The young man unable to throw a single more strike after becoming exhausted. The flurry of blows had started with an incredible amount of vigor, but by the end the combat started to look telegraphed with how easily Arson shrugged off the blows that landed. Mr. Vellum smiled when Arson wobbled toward him and his wife. “Looks like we picked a punching bag rather than one full of sand, he may even be a good pick for the mosh,” started Mrs. Vellum until her husband glared in her direction. “Say that any louder and they’ll never pick the boy…” Arson had no idea what was indicated by the couple’s hushed conversation, but knew nothing good could come from being involved in places like what he’d just visited. Arson did sleep that night, and his day full of chores the next day was still mandatory. When he was brought back to the vile underground club the following night, Arson felt wronged, and though he smiled when he looked at his new parents, he felt rage at his current circumstances, and wished he could return to his real home. The orphanage of Maelstrom. … Almarine looked at Troy who stared down at the ground. Her adopted parents could be seen walking away from the orphanage in the distance. Their 14 season cycle old daughter, an orphanage resident once more. “Do you want to speak about it,” asked Almarine. Troy shook her head at the woman. Tears that had been held back for season cycles by that point fell from Troy’s eyes in waves. “You are a cultivator, child, you know that things will not be the same for you here, you being here will require a lot of hard work on your part,” explained Almarine. Her heart twinged as the young woman’s return made her think of Arson, the oddest sensations filling her chest as of recent days whenever she thought of the now adopted boy. I don’t even know if your name is still Arson. Almarine’s thoughts took her from the discussion and wasn’t brought back until she was being hugged. Sobs muffled by her own dress and the weight of the hug being returned. Almarine cried for her own reasons, but Troy felt a love and acceptance she hadn’t felt since before she’d left the orphanage. The orphan mother felt lost at the mix of emotions being stirred, but held on, both parties needing the affection equally. They eventually looked at one another and Troy took a step back from Almarine. Wiped her face, then bowed with a small apology. “Stop it, child, welcome back, and don’t worry. I will give you time to readjust, I may have a job opening at the gym, you may even be able to find a sponsor that way,” Almarine offered while she wiped her own face. Troy nodded, and glanced toward the door to leave. “You may go rest, but remember what you’ve learned of the outside world is for you and you alone, anything shared with your peers can end with your own freedom being stripped from your shoulders,” said Almarine. Her face changed with each word spoken to emphasize how serious a claim that was being made. “Yes ma’am, I was able to see what a corrupted core could cause, and I’d rather perish in a dungeon somewhere than let something like that happen to my brothers and sisters,” said Troy before she attempted a smile and left the room. Almarine wanted to press the girl for details on what had stripped her smile from her face, and joy from her personality, but the assumptions that could be made from Troy’s bruises had been seen by the orphan mother more times than successful adoptions occurred by far. The problem was that Almarine had been shaken by Arson’s adoption. Many times before promising youths were taken from her domain and into the CityNation of Maelstrom, only to be returned when the expectation of perfection that most cultivators lived by wasn’t met. Almarine found herself wishing she hadn’t destroyed the flatscreen Winter had given her, as she would have investigated the couple that pulled Arson from the head orphanage. Who are you kidding, you don’t even know how to use those sparking things… “Who are you kidding Mari, you helped design those sparking things,” mumbled the woman to herself. She paced in her office, and finally came to a decision after feeling as if she had idled on the matter for too long. She approached a bookshelf, lifted a seemingly random book titled, Misplaced, and opened it to the last page. “Lets see if you were lying, Winter,” Almarine said with a smile. The final page of the book ripped free and held in her hand as she set back the book. The book was an anniversary gift from her ex husband with inscribed portals linked to various items that Almarine said she often misplaced. The list was so long, Winter decided to have a book made and filled them with portal designs, one of which was tied directly to himself. “Just in case you ever lose track of me like you do everything else,” read Almarine as she set the paper down and laid a mana stone on top of the inscribed material. The invisible lines on the paper filled with a rich golden light and a new portal was made above the mana stone on the ground. Space ripped, and rolled backward onto itself. The opening made was larger than normal, and Almarine found herself looking at Winter’s back as he watched multiple screens flicker and change with holograms. The violence being displayed was horrific, but no worse than things she’d been forced to do herself, while still being enough to give her pause. “Seems like you haven’t gotten far in your fight to save the world,” said Almarine as she stepped through the portal. Winter turned around instantly, eyes widened by the unexpected appearance. “What, are yo,” stammered Winter. The man stepped to the side, and Almarine felt suspicion at how he’d moved to block her view, but ignored the feeling. She knew their relationship was already delicate and didn’t want to both assume the worst and then immediately ask a favor. “I am here to talk, and I can turn around if whatever you're watching is so bad for me to see,” said Almarine, turning around before the image of a surrounded Arson could be seen. A gruesome cage match of wild blows and anarchy was being witnessed by many of the clubs attendees, and Winter could do nothing but document the habits of the near criminal activities being performed. “Uhh, that isn’t good enough, Mari. I need you to leave,” said Winter trying to give the appropriate hand gesture in the air to shut off his holograms. Unluckily for him, Almarine decided to take a peek, as Winter had never before been secretive, so the sudden change made her even more suspicious. “Nothing I haven’t—" The moment she saw Arson her words were cut short. Her entire being fluctuated between pride and absolute rage. Pride was felt at what she witnessed. Arson’s eyes visible through his guard, constantly in motion. Though he was being attacked from all sides, Almarine could tell that he was aware of everything being sent in his direction. Even as he tried to dodge in the mayhem, more blows were landed, but Almarine could see that he was making calculated decisions on what blows to take, and what blows to avoid to the best of his capabilities. Rage was felt by the woman at how Arson’s eyes moved as well. The darting and frantic movements were a direct indication of what he’d been subjected to since he’d been adopted. His bruises so familiar to Troy’s own that Almarine wondered at the extent of what Troy had been forced into.. She stepped through the portal that led back into her own office and Winter dove through after her before she could remove the mana stone from the paper she’d left on the floor. “Mari, wait!” She ignored Winter’s yells, and charged down the hall. Her search for Troy was short, and not without destruction caused by her emotions influence on her aura. “Troy… may I speak with you?” Troy looked around at all the other teens. Only a few others dared to stand by. Not close in association, just brave to stand by to witness or offer aid. Troy hadn’t been far from Almarine’s office, with the full intention to go and speak with the woman about things that bothered her down to the core of her being, and without prompting Almarine came looking for her instead. Furniture moved through the air around Almarine, and Troy saw a familiar face making his way desperately through the obstructions being made. Silver energy laced every object that floated through the air. The only objects destroyed those obviously directed toward the yelling man in the distance. “Mari!” “Yes, Momma Almarine, did you want me to meet you somewhere or are we just going to speak here,” responded Troy. A silver wall separated them in the next instant from the man, and recognition registered across Troy’s face. “Here is fine,” said Almarine simply. More orphans taking the moment to escape with every breath taken between the orphan mother and Troy. The girl could no longer hear the man’s yells or pounding furiously on the other side of the wall. “Isn’t that Sergeant MirrorLight,” asked Troy with a point in the man’s direction. “Yes, are you familiar with his family now?” “Yes ma’am, my pare…., the people who adopted me I mean, communicated with people that worked in some sort of communication with a MirrorLight member. Can’t they all create portals,” asked Troy confused as to why the man took the pummeling from the scattered debris from the destroyed hallway behind them. “Yes.” “Then why...” Troy let the question hang in the air, obvious anger and alarm on the Graveyard officer’s face. “The moment he stepped through his portal into my domain he lost any chance of freely being able to use portals in my presence, take away how they make the portal and they are stuck like any mortal, remember that, I offer this to you, in a way of offering, as I must make a request of you,” stated Almarine. Troy frowned, and shook her head. “Depends on what it is, Momma Almarine, I’ll do anything but wear your shoes,” said Troy. The use of a common honorific in the HonorBorn circles of nobility. “Was it the attempts of those who tried to raise you that made you this wise? Looks like I’ll have to offer you something more worth your while then, I could consider a few season cycles worth of free rent in trade for what I need to know,” offered Almarine. Troy thought for a moment, and nodded in agreement. “What is it you would have me do, or I guess what question would you have me answer?” said Troy. Truly curious on what information she could have that this powerful woman did not already. “How many of your brothers and sisters are being used in that place?” The question froze Troy. Made her look away immediately. Her attempted lie was almost enough for Almarine to erupt, but she knew Troy didn’t deserve her fervor. Breathe. “What did you say?” “I asked what place you were referring to, Momma Almarine,” repeated Troy. “I don’t know what you mean—“ “Don’t waste time child, just give me a number, and I promise you this will never come up again,” said Almarine. The weight of her eyes on Troy, wasn’t a threat, but gave no option other than what was being asked of her. Demanded of her. “A hundred or so that I recognized, but who knows how many I just imagined looked familiar.” “Thank you, child, off with you. I must tend to a few matters, find Jasmine and ask her to manage the request board until I get back,” was all Almarine gave before she turned around and strode toward Winter. The man on the other side of the wall had collapsed into a bloody mess and the storm that could be felt once Almarine withdrew the energy that separated them from him. Troy ran. Almarine strode up to Winter and picked him up from the floor. The man barely able to open his eyes as he looked at her. She dangled him from his shoulder as if he weigh nothing, and spoke softly. “Take me to him now, or I will be forced to act, Winter. Please don’t make me do this…” Winter looked around, back at Almarine and spat at her feet. His then laughter, was enough to make the air ripple with the rage Almarine felt toward him already growing with each interaction. “I can’t take you there for you to slaughter all those people and we learn nothing in the end, Mari,” laughed Winter, until he coughed up a mouth full of blood. She carried him to a nearby window and stepped through the glass as if it weren’t there, lifting him into the air while she began to fly. “Then I will start with you and yours until you give me what I want.”
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