The orange glow of sunset painted the hexagonal arena in molten hues as Magnus picked himself up from the sand for the third time that evening. His ribs screamed in protest, his knuckles split and weeping tiny ruby droplets onto the arena floor. Across from him, Dain "The Sawblade" Vorsk rolled his shoulders, the wicked curve of his hook glinting in the fading light.
"Yield yet, Eden boy?" Dain's grin revealed a missing canine, giving his already rugged face a piratical cast.
Magnus spat blood onto the sand, the metallic tang sharp on his tongue. "You'll have to knock me out cold first."
A chorus of jeers and cheers rose from the gathered crowd, a motley collection of sailors, mercenaries, and thrill-seekers who frequented the Lavoumel. The air hung thick with the scent of sweat, cheap ale, and the ever-present salt of the nearby sea.
Dain sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "You're harder in the head than the arena stones, you know that?" He tapped his hook against the translucent orange wall, producing a crystalline chime. "This is lavoumel rock – toughest stone in the archipelago. And you, my friend, are giving it a run for its money."
The crowd chuckled at this, and Magnus felt his face grow hot beneath the bruises. He'd been coming to the arena for seven straight days now, and seven straight days had ended with him eating sand.
"Let's go again," Magnus demanded, settling into his stance.
Dain's eyes narrowed. "With that stance? You'll be flat on your back before I finish this sentence." True to his word, the mercenary blurred forward, his hook flashing in a deceptive arc. Magnus barely managed to twist away, feeling the rush of air as the weapon passed centimeters from his face.
Their dance continued – attack, counter, stumble, recover. Magnus was learning, slowly. Where before he would have been floored in three moves, now he lasted ten. Fifteen. But the outcome remained inevitable.
A particularly vicious feint left Magnus overextended, and Dain's calloused palm slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling.
"Yield?"
Magnus groaned, staring up at the darkening sky. "Not yet."
Dain offered a hand, hauling him upright with surprising gentleness. "Go cool off before you bleed all over my nice clean sand." He tossed Magnus a grimy towel that smelled faintly of fish oil. "Come back tomorrow. Maybe I'll teach you how to block properly."
Dain feinted left - a flicker of movement - then slashed upward with his serrated dagger in a vicious diagonal arc from hip to opposite shoulder. Magnus leaned back, feeling the blade whisper through fabric as it grazed his tunic. He countered instantly, driving his knee into Dain's ribs.
Thud.
The older fighter grunted but didn't stagger, his weathered face splitting into a grin. "Cute," he spat, immediately hooking Magnus' ankle with his boot. Magnus rolled with the motion, using his momentum to sweep Dain's legs out from under him. Sand exploded upward as the mercenary crashed down, the crowd roaring its approval.
Dain hit the sand laughing, twisting like an eel as he fell. His dagger stabbed downward toward Magnus' thigh. Magnus caught the wrist mid-air, wrenched it sideways, and applied precise pressure to the joint. The dagger thudded into the sand, followed by Dain's grunt of surprise.
"Not bad," Dain admitted, shaking out his wrist as Magnus released him. "But you're still fighting like a noble in a dueling ring."
Dain flowed upright, his stance shifting subtly. No mystical energy, no tricks - just decades of battlefield instinct honed to razor sharpness. He feigned a hook to Magnus' jaw, then abruptly dropped low, sweeping Magnus' legs with a sand-kicking maneuver. As Magnus stumbled, Dain's elbow slammed into his solar plexus.
Whoof!
Magnus' breath exploded from his lungs.
Dain pressed without mercy. A feint toward Magnus' eyes made him flinch, creating the opening for a brutal open-palm strike to the sternum. The impact resonated through bone and muscle, dropping Magnus to his knees in the sand.
The arena erupted.
Dain loomed over him, extending a calloused hand. "That's how we fight here, Eden boy. No rules. Just survival." Magnus took it, wincing at the fire in his ribs. "I'll remember that."
The Unexpected Encounter
Weeks passed in a blur of training bruises and restless nights. Magnus found himself wandering Port Ashar's lantern-lit docks after midnight, the sea breeze doing little to cool his frustration. He'd nearly mastered Dain's sand-kick maneuver, but the mercenary kept revealing new layers of dirty fighting techniques.
A sudden commotion echoed from a fish market alley – high-pitched yelps and the crash of overturned crates. Magnus rounded the corner to find four street children cornered by a snarling harbor dog, its matted fur raised in aggression.
Without thinking, Magnus snatched a discarded net and flung it over the mutt, using the distraction to shepherd the children behind him. The dog lunged, teeth snapping, but with a swift controlled kick to it's side slam it against the alley wall making flee terrified.
"You fight like Sawblade!" piped a tiny voice. Magnus turned to find a gap-toothed girl clutching a woven fox doll, her eyes wide with awe.
"Only less good," added a lanky boy with a navigator's star stitched on his vest.
Nightfall in Port Ashar
The transition from day to night in Port Ashar was like watching a flower bloom in reverse – the vibrant colors of the marketplace folding inward, replaced by the sultry glow of oil lamps and the occasional flash of colored lanterns from the pleasure houses near the docks.
Magnus limped through the winding alleys, his body a symphony of aches. The sharp scent of spiced rum and grilled meats replaced the daytime aromas of salt and fish, and the crowds had shifted from harried merchants to sailors on leave and locals seeking evening entertainment.
He turned a corner into a narrow side street, the sounds of the main thoroughfare fading behind him. This was where he'd seen them before – the little shadows that seemed to materialize from the city's cracks.
Right on cue, a high-pitched voice shrieked, "Desoo!"
A small missile launched itself at Magnus' legs, nearly toppling him. Liss, the youngest of the Dandelion Crew at six years old, grinned up at him with a gap-toothed smile, with her fox like doll clutched in a death grip. "You smell like blood and stupid," she announced cheerfully.
"That's not my name," Magnus grumbled, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He reached into his pouch, producing 15 ferrin shards bundle. "Got something better than chestnuts tonight."
The other three materialized as if summoned by the clinking of metal coins. Renn, the self-styled captain at nine years old, snatched the package with the precision of a seasoned thief. His nose wrinkled as he unwrapped the honey-glazed pastries inside.
"These are from Madam Orly's!" he accused, dark eyes wide. "They cost a full 3 ferrins each!"
Magnus shrugged, trying to ignore the way his bruised ribs protested the movement. "Figured you deserved an upgrade from street nuts."
Tolly, seven years old and perpetually armed with his wooden practice sword, executed a perfect knight's bow before accepting his pastry. "When I'm a real knight," he declared through a mouthful of flaky crust, "I'll duel Sawblade and win in one move!"
"Liar!" Liss shoved him, nearly sending his treat into the dirt. "Last time you said two moves!"
As the children bickered, Magnus noticed Pip – the silent eight-year-old – crouched in his usual spot, sketching in the dirt with a stick. Tonight's artwork showed a detailed battle scene, complete with a tiny stick-figure warrior facing off against a much larger opponent with a distinctive hook for a hand.
"Looking good, Pip," Magnus said softly. The boy didn't respond, but the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly as he added more detail to his masterpiece.
The Rhythm of Defeat
The pattern continued for days. Each morning found Magnus at the Lavoumel, trading bruises for lessons. Each evening brought him back to the same crumbling archway, where four pairs of eager hands would inspect his new injuries and four voices would debate his latest failures.
On the fifth day, something changed.
Dain's usual opening gambit – the feint left followed by a diagonal slash – came as expected. But this time, instead of leaning back, Magnus pivoted on his lead foot, letting the attack whistle harmlessly past as he countered with an elbow to Dain's ribs.
The mercenary actually staggered.
The crowd, which had been murmuring its usual commentary, fell silent.
Dain rubbed his side, his expression unreadable. "Where'd you learn that?"
"Watched the fishermen unloading their catch," Magnus admitted. "The way they twist their bodies to avoid straining their backs."
For a long moment, Dain simply stared. Then, without warning, he lunged.
The next few seconds were a blur of pain and motion. Magnus blocked two strikes, dodged a third, then found himself airborne as Dain's foot hooked behind his knees. He hit the sand hard enough to see stars.
"Yield?"
Magnus blinked up at the smirking mercenary. "Not... yet..."
To his surprise, Dain extended a hand. "You're starting to think," he said as he hauled Magnus upright. "About damn time."
That night, the Dandelion Crew's celebration could be heard three streets over.
The Turning Point
By the thirteenth day, Magnus was lasting an entire thirty minutes against Dain without eating sand. The mercenary had stopped holding back as much, his attacks coming faster, harder.
"You're leaving your right side open when you pivot," Dain grunted between exchanges.
"I know!" Magnus barely avoided a hook to the jaw.
"Then fix it!"
Their latest bout ended with Magnus flat on his back, Dain's knee planted firmly on his chest.
"Yield?"
Magnus grinned through bloody lips. "Tomorrow."
Dain stared down at him, then did something unexpected – he laughed. Not the mocking chuckle of previous days, but a genuine, full-bellied roar that echoed off the arena walls.
"Alright, Desoo," he said, using the nickname the children had given Magnus. "Tomorrow, I'll show you how to make that pivot work properly."
As Magnus limped from the arena that evening, he realized something had shifted. The pain was still there, the bruises still fresh, but the hopelessness was gone. In its place simmered something new – something dangerously like confidence.
Magnus felt the first real smile in days spread across his face. Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow, he might actually land a clean hit.
And after that?
After that, maybe he'd finally start winning.
Magnus move too were The Dandelion Crew was usual waiting at their spot, but tonight there was no one not their chatter or even the shells of the nuts they usually buy to eat when waiting for him.
Magnus search and search calling out their names but nothing asked his call not even the wind he dumbfounded by their sudden disappearance but he couldn't stay cause midnight was nearing and he remember the captain said would happen for those who aren't in by curfew.
He decided to leave for now and return in the mourning and continue to look into it.
cutting through alleyways and swinging through crowded streets magnus run and run until he reached their section in the housing district his roughly sixty metres away when he sees the gates begin closing but at the entrance stand a familiar figure.
"GARRICK" magnus shouted.
The figure and gates movement ceased as magnus was only a few metres away now "I knew it was you when I saw that bulky figure".
" it's been awhile" garrick said
"Are you on nightwatch today?" magnus asked with a slightly puzzled look wondering why one of the chief engineers who is supposed to be working on the core of the ship is on night duty instead of taking rest for on the break he has for now.
a deep and exhausted voice from garrick responds "yup but only for tonight, because we engineers won't have work for a while."
An out of breathe "WHY?" came from magnus.
Grarrick responded "A lot more broke in the core than expected some we might be here for 2-3 months instead the parts we need to repair it can only be found on the high middle to upper continents and we are still in eden's backyard so we can only just wait for now".
garrick continued " I heard you have been training with the vice captain of the ashar's city blooddrenched knight squad"
after a pause of silence for a few seconds magnus caught his breath
"What!? And who may that be?" magnus answered bewilderedly
A brief thought of dain flash in his mind but he pushed it aside thinking to himself "there's no way it could be him he fight way too dirty and ruthlessly."
"You haven't changed unobservant to anything that does involve a fight or food" garrick chuckling
but in that same beat he said " it's Dain Vorsk, he is the vice captain of the blooddrenched knights."
The look of confusion on magnus face grew not sure if heard correctly.
" I suppose you should him by another name too. SAWBLADE right? since you frequent their port side sub-branch so much."
A bunch of questions flooded magus's mind the one on the tip of his tongue was "what do you mean by their port side sub branch? are their branches all across the island?"