While the announcers continue shouting out results for the other Rumbles, the audience chatters away, picking favorites from the fights. Cussing and cheers intermingle as bets are won or lost.

  Caught up in her own swirling whirlpool of thoughts, Ms. Mercenary squeezes the armrests of her seat, her knuckles turning white with the pressure.

  Silnarion had won a spot in the Semi-Finals.

  They had faced foes formidable enough for a first timer and proceeded wiped the floor with them. Their technique was abysmal, but their ferocity matched that of an unhinged madman. They had come awfully close to killing an opponent or two, but had still managed to pull back. If it was them, they might be able to help her…

  ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, you’ve been burnt before,’ she reminds herself. ‘Get through this tournament, and then you can pn for the future.’

  She shakes her head, clearing her mind of unnecessary thoughts. Still, the newfound hope lights up her emerald eyes with a glorious glittering beauty as is formed when the light of morning flows through stained gss.

  The pinstripe schemer, long ignored, keeps a keen eye on Ms. Mercenary’s changes.

  The gorgeously threatening python of a woman had taken note of her neighbor’s communication with Competitor 13 towards the beginning of the match and was already analyzing their retionship:

  ‘The fierce mercenary seems surprised at their strong showing, so the two shouldn’t have been acquainted for long, but the Competitor showed such trust in their eyes when looking at her in turn…’

  Unaware of the musings of those seated in the stands, Silnarion rests on the benches provided for those moving on to the Semi-Finals. They feel strangely empty now that their blood no longer boils with the fire of violence.

  Four other Semi-Finalists have joined them there, each nursing their own wounds and preparing for the upcoming matches. Five more Semi-Finalists are yet to be determined. Employees rush about, taking note of which competitors are still fit to fight for the avaible spots and hurry to arrange one v. one matches.

  ————————————————————

  Silnarion’s POV

  My limbs feel heavy with a dull ache as my blood sluggishly crawls through my veins. A coldness seems to set into my bones as the void in my heart gapes all the more noticeably. Animalistic urges quenched by sudden peace, I struggle to reconcile with myself.

  I feel fragile after my so-called victory. What did I win? The right to call myself the basest of base creatures? I cw and struggle and climb the wretched ranks of the mortal, only to find myself just as far from the being I love.

  I long for my Master’s voice as my mind reverberates with the roar of a crowd to which I wish I did not belong.

  The feeling of not belonging tears into my soul, gouging out pieces of me I wish I could forget.

  I am one of them. I am not one of them. I pity them. I envy them.

  If only I was totally one type of being, if I was all of something, anything. Why must I suffer with the knowledge of the greater if I am condemned to live among the lesser?

  Oh Deities above! Were it that you could be but more or less than you are! Then, I would not long for you as kindred beings. I would not admire you as the betters of humanity.

  A strangled cry chokes and dies in my throat. I’m doing it again, spiraling into thoughts not safe for me to contempte.

  I cannot bme others for my dissatisfaction.

  It is my fault that I am like this.

  I have asked Master before whether there is something broken inside me, if there was some reason that I cannot feel whole.

  I remember that day.

  I was so small then. I couldn’t understand why the other children in the vilge were so… different. At first, I thought they were the strange ones. Then, as I saw them interact with the world, with each other, I grew uncertain.

  It was as if I was a ghost. No mark of my presence was left upon them. ‘Did they even know I was there?’ I would wonder.

  A violent fear took root within me, curling around my lungs and throat, strangling my breath. I felt the need to make them SEE me. I forced my way into every conversation, included myself in every game.

  When I heard little May decre that she loved daffodils, I searched the forest around the temple for days to find one perfectly in bloom.

  And, when I finally presented my prize to her, she showed only a tepid appreciation.

  I still remember what I heard after school that day. I could not forget the sight of the giggling creatures standing in a circle, my blood dripping, dripping from their teeth, my still beating heart torn apart by their words.

  “They got me a flower, but I was scared to even take it from them! They were covered in mud and reeked like a fish!”

  “I bet they cmbered through the creek to end up looking like that.”

  “Do you think they’re, you know, interested in ya?”

  “Don’t even joke about that!”

  “Mama told me to be nice ta them ‘cause their folks passed away.”

  “Yeah, don’t worry. I always try to be nice. Papa told me he’d get me a lil cake from the bakery for pying so well with them!”

  My breathe grew ragged and my thoughts addled. ‘Why… would they say… those things? I just… wanted to be… wanted?’

  I remember running, running back to the temple.

  “Master! W-what’s wrong with me?” I cried out, chest aching, ears flushed, and nose dripping.

  The presence of my master filled the hollowness within me as they spoke to me.

  “Nothing, my dear one.”

  “But, but there has to be!”

  “Nonsense, child. You are more perfectly complete than any other being. Your soul is contained within itself. Where others are pieces of a puzzle, you are whole.”

  “Why then?!”

  ———

  “Hello there!” an energetic voice calls out. My eyes flick open, focusing on the voice’s owner, a scrappy looking young man with a “3” pinned to his back. The time for reminiscing is over, and I am once again forced into the present.