Almost everywhere in the park district was open to anyone on the Island. The only private space was the walled-off residence of the city’s ruler, the Duke of Greenstone. Jason and Farrah picked out a pleasant spot for their afternoon training. Farrah had suggested a more tranquil environment for meditation than Jory’s back yard.

“I still need to go in to the clinic, though,” Jason said. “I promised I’d come in again this afternoon.”

“You realise that once you’re an adventurer you won’t have as much time for that,” Farrah said.

“I know,” Jason acknowledged, “but I’d like to make time, where I can. The idea is to help people, right? Killing some monster can do that, but so can turning a room full of sick people into a room full of healthy ones.”

“You know,” Farrah said, “maybe there are some things worth holding onto in those values of yours.”

“Good to hear,” Jason said. “Does this mean you’re going to stop trying to make me kill people?”

“We’re not trying to make you kill people,” Farrah said. “We just want to prepare you for the inevitable. You make it sound like we’re drugging random strangers, stashing them in a hidden location, handing you a large axe and locking you up with them, promising not to let you out until one of you is dead.”

“That was weirdly specific and detailed.”

“Shut up and meditate.”

* * *

Underneath the Old City fight pits in the ancient Fortress were a series of hallways and chambers. Fighters and other interested parties used them to prepare for upcoming fights. This included a large number of enforcers to make sure the enthusiasm of would-be participants didn’t suddenly wane before their match.

One such chamber contained two women, one of whom was getting ready to fight. Instead of loose, cool clothes, she wore a form-fitting outfit that mixed protective, treated leather with tough, but flexible fabric. She had one foot up on a stone bench as she wrapped a cloth around her knuckles.

Her skin was chocolate, her hair shining silver. Her sharp eyes reflected the colour of her hair exactly, the matching metallics a giveaway trait of the celestine race. Normally shoulder length, her shimmering hair was tied back in a simple and practical ponytail.

“Do you want me to knot it?” the other woman asked, glancing at the hair.

The fighter shook her head, saying nothing. Her gaze was locked on the wall in front of her as she put herself in the headspace to fight. Her companion looked on with disapproval. She was a human, with short, scraggly hair and cute features. Her mouth pouted as she glanced at the door.

“I can’t believe she’s making you do this,” she said.

“Lindy,” the fighter said, her voice firm. “We knew we wouldn’t like it going in. But without her protection, we’d be in a worse situation than this.”