He could still feel them, the tears soaking into his skin. The meandering chill falling down and pooling at the junction between helmet and chest. The infinitesimal grit seeping through, staining, being washed away. And the seething burn of that chill being flashed to steam.

  Every fiber, every energy driven thread, every insignificant piece of Seth’s being wanted to break that helmet off. To show Para the true results of his infinite callousness. To tear him down from his high podium and make him feel every insult and indignity and utter bullshit disregarding of just who, of just what he was trying to deny!

  But… this seething burn, this fire inside drenched in sadness like jet fuel. It had to be kept down. It had to stay. And burn itself away in the quiet dark of that closed off suit.

  A numb crater was cut out of his chest, his grip tightening of its own accord, his power flaring the grit on his face away. Just wanting it off. No more reminders that it hadn’t been bad enough to force him to face his past. But to not even accept the outcome that was necessary…!?

  It gouged the hope he'd built up till now. That he wouldn’t have to feel this pain again. Still, all of this had to stay its place. Melt down and snuff itself out. He couldn’t let his only quest in life become lost to a sacrifice he couldn’t have stopped. Couldn’t have fought even if he tried. No one deserved to suffer like that.

  But still it hurt to let her go.

  Heavy, falling steps trudged him on to his initial destination, Aegis lowering her shield as the danger had so thoroughly passed. Her concern falling with it, unaware but still fully aware. The stone protected bench creaking under the weight dropped upon it, holding but tensing those returning to it as well. Watching him sink with some stale fear. But also with a respect he couldn’t bring himself to let in. His helmet hollowly clanking back against the wall, his will shattered utterly and tossed aside like trash. But the sympathetic still eked their ways through that hard baked metal. Even if it was all that could be done to help.

  At the very least... he got to see his mom again. His real mom.

  And he would never let her go again.

  But before he could cut the world away, for a moment of calm to rebuild what was burned to ash, he remembered. He still had her scarf. Metal scraped back up, release clicking and opened up the side chest panel in more mundane fashion. The hiss of heated air releasing in response. Seth went to reach in, but stopped just as depressedly quick. His hand, his armor, the margins of his frame. It was all still caked in black, still covered in the dust that used to be her.

  That needed suppression strained. More constant reminders, more unneeded pain. But the other hand clamped over that gradient stain, stopped its shaking before it could will him to truth. It turned the gauntlet, carried that etching darkness away. The stained sheen clattering beside him as his bare hand reached in and…

  And felt its soft fabric against his fingers. Felt his mother’s warmth on it, like she had just given it to him, like all this really was just the one dream gone on too long. But he blinked and the fantasy faded.

  It was just heated by the power surging through him. Spared by sentimentality and the Garkah pouring every bit of sympathy they could into him. Trying their best to make this suffering only last the briefest of moments. The reminder though… it helped.

  He pulled it out and unfurled it, wrapping it around his neck and letting it drape forward like a protective blanket. Now it really was all that’s left of his old life, a final relic of… of a time he could only really get back in broken pieces. Disparate chunks held together by similar emotions, most too tainted and forgotten to help him find solace in a past before all of this. But just enough to at least help him know he did what needed to be done. That this was an outcome given to him, given by love and not fought over in hate. He put his gauntlet back and sat back against the hard stone. The fights were going to start regardless of his existential gloom. So maybe they could at least help fill that crater in his chest back up.

  “Alright Ladies and Gentlemen!! It’s time for the true heavy hitters to show their stuff!! First up, we have a match born of pure skill and martial prowess! A clash that has awaited this moment for far too long! For your hero to be, I give you… KAZE!!!”

  Seth didn’t even see Kaz leave the bench as he stood up beside it, but the cheering denied him the quiet calm. So he had little choice but to watch through his halved view.

  “And his challenger!! His only true test!! MAKANI SAMURAI!!!”

  Suddenly sea grass green robes flowed swiftly down from the stands onto the arena floor opposite, right beside Seth’s gloom. A solemn turn and nod of acknowledgement, one buried grief to another. The slight uptick of kindred depression pulled him off the wall, but he wasn't going to have much peace anyway. The other trainees were also perking up, eager to watch this fight and banish the last of their fear. And knowing full well that Para was grievously underselling it.

  As Samurai and Kaz began to move to their places, both seemed to become more stoic with every step. Smiles and levity, apprehension and excitement lost on them. They had planned and prepared for this fight for a long time. Never sparing, never truly spoiling what this meant. This was Kaz’s final test after all, so why wouldn’t it be his father who challenged him. Though Seth could feel something more in their movements, like this was more than it was. Whatever this feeling could be though, it was going to have to come through the only medium available now. Sword vs Sword.

  In the circle, both stood across designated lines, the hardlight array burning marks into the sand revered back to level and heavy. Both stopped completely still, arms at their sides and flat footed, bereft of emotion and intent. An almost unnerving thing given Samurai's constant joyous demeanor. The audience was hushed as the display held, demanded sway over all gathered. No one knew when the fight would start, how it would start. And no one wanted to break this tension and spoil the moment. So of course Para had to interject like an asshole. Again!

  “For those wondering what the rules of this fight will be…! Well, the only ones who could decide this battle are on the field already! The only thing I get to do is say when they can start!”

  The audience, the trainees, most everyone groaned at Para’s breaking of their anticipation. Though Samurai seemed to let slip a small smirk, maybe not fully able to hold back his enjoyment. A genuine feeling to top it off, nothing hidden to save face.

  Both fighters regained attention by continuing their pre combat ritual. They bowed to each other, hands still locked to their sides. Robes flowing in the movement like waves on a sea, like winds over a field. Out of their bows, they finally took up fighting stances, moving in perfect symmetry of one another. Right hand gripping scabbard, left hand hovering over handle. Backs straight as boards, but footing finally belying intent. Both had dropped their right back, still in complete unison, preparing to charge forward.

  The apprehension returned, now doubled in pressure. Everyone eying back and forth between them, holding in their breath for the first strike to be struck, the grumbling at Para dying down as he finally raised his hand in respectful slowness. He panned back and forth between fighters, drawing it out as much as he felt he could get away with, as much as he could stand himself. All before waming that hand down with an echoing-

  “FIGHT!!!”

  And receiving a clash before that echo could even reverberate.

  Both swordsmen were suddenly in opposite places on the arena floor. The only thing satisfying all that anticipation was the impression of a saturating clang in everyone’s ears. Seth didn’t even catch everything that happened, only the barest frame of a flash of steel on steel. And still they were in symmetry, Kaz just now on the left and Samurai on the right, until Samurai broke his stoicism to smile with pride.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “You’re certainly keeping up with me! But only just.”

  Suddenly a slight shift in Kaz’s robe, a small cut at the right shoulder. Not deep enough to cut skin, but close, very close. Close enough to split a fine hair in half. Kaz looked over and back with concern, but not defeat. Instead he met his father’s prideful smile with his own more reserved one. Suddenly a shift in Samurai’s robe, the same shoulder, the exact same cut. He looked down at his arm, surprise mixed with fatherly pride. And then he started to laugh.

  “Hahaaa! We are equal in skill! Let this be a battle of attrition then.”

  With a slow smooth motion Samurai pulled his sword free from its scabbard, the arena lights reflecting off it like a lensed mirror, metal ringing its undeniable freedom. He held it sideways, edge facing his son, before twisting it upright. Right pulling it tight to that shoulder like heraldry for what was ahead.

  For Kaz following suit, but braking their shared stance. Pulling his free to singing and shine its part, but keeping it low and underhanded. With an equally smooth motion he shifted it to his hip, skimming the ground with his right taking its place on free end of the handle.

  The short lived tension came and went as a burst of sand replaced Kaz in his position. Shooting forward, a streak of fiery flowers flowing too fast to make out, sword swinging up toward the expected downward reaction. That came in force, Samurai letting gravity and weight add to that expected strike. Kaz’s swing off balance, outmatched, but seemingly by plan. As the metal rang again, Kaz stymied his swing, right made pole vault and feet leaving the ground. His sword became an axis. All the power and additions Samurai put into his strike transferred to his son as he let himself get knocked airborne. As both blades struck ground and Kaz’s foot coming right at his face.

  Just barely dodging with sand flying in his face. His own grip made to turn blade upright, but retaliation proving harder as Kaz’s other foot stamped onto that reflecting sideways surface. He’d pivoted with his sword and stamped back down, full weight killing any swift reaction. And with a forceful shove, he freed his sword from underneath his father’s and swung it wide on that same sandy axis. Backwards, but no less dangerous.

  But this was not some paced battle of wills. Samurai’s right flashed back from its hold, a new glare pulling free and singing too slow to match up. Its freedom ring refuted to the clang of dull meeting edge. A second sword, shorter and defensive. A matching pair across multiple axes.

  Both now locked eye to eye, the jovial atmosphere gone completely. Untenable stalemate concluding in spite of this, Kaz bunching back and leaping. Adding distance and spacing to meet his father in this expanded paradigm. This fight needing to be in full. Samurai pulled his main sword up from the ground, whipping it out to clear the sandy sandal prints from its surface. Short sword moved out in a slower yet similar fashion. He also seemedless than pleased to be forced to use it already. Kaz reacting in kind, drooping his sword down and shifting to his right side, and pulled free his own short sword, mirroring his father in stance in opposing force.

  Again, no time for tension to build before another burst of sand arose, this time green streaking to a blur. Samurai charging forward with both blades left to fall in line at his sides. Leaping off the ground before distance became an afterthought, swinging his whole body around, but letting blades shine unmoved from the sides of that kelpy green flow. Flying their original momentum at his sides as if locked to his orbit.

  And only then did Kaze react to the hurtling intent. Pushing his foot out and bringing both swords up, pointed down, to meet an attack at his left. Just as his father rounded his turn, snatching back and swinging both blades along with him. All four impacted together, a symphonic pound sign reverberated the arena and dazzling it with compounding reflection. And sliding Kaz back several feet as his father completed his spin, raking the horrid reverb away.

  A scathing about, other foot stopping Samurai sure. Long blade in his right pointed at his son, short in his left and sideways over top. Kaz took his recoil and flipping his blades up on his grip. Long blade up and sideways on the right, but short blade low and pointed by his left side, like he intended a proper shanking.

  Surging together, both swordsmen finally attacked simultaneously. But only charging in unison as their angles realigned. Samurai pulling in to jab forward, as Kaz shifted his shoulders but didn’t budge from his stance. Just flip his short grip into a downward stabbing hold and kept it low. As they reached range, Samurai fired off his jab, flashing steel almost outpacing its own image. Twisted through with force enough to cut the air into shining aerials.

  But Kaz was ready and waiting for it, shifting his grip underhanded to match his shoulder. Long guard turning to meet this cyclonic jab, edge out and angled to ramp it away. To glance it off, curved point ramping over slanted edge. Sparks sent swirling as metal roared, twirling around passed Kaz’s shoulder as the blade was blocked away. But through that slicing wind, he brought his short blade up. Sleeve whipping its floral flag sacrificial. Samurai moved his own to block, a similar ramp to glance the blade away. But Kaz twisted deeper, bringing the blade in near perfect parallel alignment with his father’s. And stabbed hard enough to let it fly free, grip relinquished in mirror sheen purpose.

  Both blades running parallel, reflecting and amplifying their insistent glare. Edge aimed for the hollow guard at both of their ends. Samurai relinquishing its own grip as it became untenable. As they locked and slammed together, flipping end over end passed his reeling shoulder.

  Proving the distraction successful. Kaz rounding his freed up hand back to his original blade, palm slamming hard against the guard. Samurai left dealing with the fact his own son just threw a sword at him, only too late seeing what had actually been done. Kaz stomping closer and pushing up with both hands, edge raking up edge it sparking defile. Until it met its opposing guard. Samurai’s jab too tight on his arm and forceful for his grip. His hand twisting with it too much to keep. Thus open to forceful riposte. To Kaz hucking and catapulting both reflective edges into the air.

  Leaving both disarmed, but Samurai still the upper hand. The freed hand given to ball and raise high, set itself to strike down his son for daring to be this much of a challenge. Kaz’s follow through cut short as he pulled back toward his father, his own left held high in too slow tempo. But he didn’t look up to see the attack coming for him. Like all was an afterthought in his surge forward. He put his foot down, launched into his father. Both still locked to attacking in one final unison, as steps aligned and movements fused. But Kaz was faster still. By just that barest weighted sliver.

  It was over, he was going to finally hit first, either end this fight or push it to its most dire. Yet... that left flew passed without even trying to strike. As if not even aiming for his father’s face. Instead it wrapped back around. As his low right came from the other side. As that sliver difference slammed home.

  He was recoiled as Kaz’s head pressed into his shoulder, the force knocking the wind from his attempted slam down. It wasn't a strike Kaz was attempting... It was? A hug!? Seth wasn’t expecting that. The crowd wasn't expecting that. Samurai was definitely not expecting it. A hesitation boiling into being, stopping both back to a speed mundane. Fist still balled up but unable to loose. And something catching in his throat…

  'W-wait? Is he-'

  “GHAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAHAAAA!!!”

  Like an emotional dam bursting into a tidal wave, Samurai started balling his eyes out, tears flooding down his face like he’d never cried a day in his entire life. Or he’d been on the verge of this for years. His arms fell to his side, all energy and fight sapped away and pouring out of him.

  ‘Sheesh!! Was he holding this much sadness back this whole time?!’

  The audience was flabbergasted, the ever smiling Makani Samurai was crying worse than Sorrow was- No… No this was way different. For one, Seth could hear Para gloating to the other Elite members.

  “I TOLD you!! No one is that happy all the time!! NO ONE!!”

  And on the other… These tears had real meaning behind them, not just frozen and forced emotion. Samurai calmed enough to look down and hug his son back, like he’d been unable to before. A green sea wrapping around those fiery flowers. And maybe staining them a bit. The other trainees looked mixed, but understood what was going on. A few, mostly David, teared up by sheer torrential sympathy. Seth was starting to feel a little jealous about not getting this kind of reaction for his fight, but only held it facetiously. Besides… this was their moment.

  As Samurai finally calmed down to the point of comprehensibility, he pulled his son off and looked him in the eye. Pride and love showing through kind of concerningly as those tears threatened to become snot. He grabbed his son's arm, snuffed the indignity away, and turned him around toward the podium high for everyone to see. Though this seemed a pretty damn subjective ruling, it laid its message bare, and Seth sure as shit wasn't going to complain about it. The audience neither as they erupted in applause, the trainees following suit. Seth tried to pull himself up to add into it, but all he succeeded in doing was falling back against the wall with his empty helmet eyes smiling.

  Para shook away his ‘told you so’ to retake his position among the applause.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen…!! I give you…!! SHIMAKAZE!!!”

  The trainees started cheering louder- But all stopped completely in the tracks! Those smiling faces shooting wide. All of them simultaneously looked up toward the podium above them. All blaring the same feeling.

  ‘That motherfucker.’

  Para looked down on them, a wry smile that read loud and clear that. “If you want your hero names, you have to earn them.” The trainees glared up, wicked smiles of renewed determination set against. Set to break this final ceiling and prove who they are. All except-

  ‘...Guh fuck! I forgot to think of a hero name!’