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       THE Nyrhaean locked eyes with the prowler.

       Out of the black, a wink of light streaked at him. In a blink, he caught the blade by the handle and flung it back to the source. Eventually, the blade glowed in silver. Succumbing to specks of light before dissipating in the air.

       Even without his heightened vision through the dark freshly rejuvenated, he'd known those upturned sky-blue eyes, neat almond hair, and placid voice long enough to not recognize the culprit flaunting them.

       "The sword hasn't lost its sharpness, it would seem," Kayne remarked, grinning.

       "And you still aim like a hog, apparently."

       The girly-eyed boy dramatically dabbed his chest. "You wound me, comrade. Can't a mate greet his friend with a compliment after not seeing each other for a long time and reciprocate?"

       As if. Zakair merely raised a brow.

       "I guess that's a fair welcome I can accept." Kayne shrugged, sidling beside Zakair.

       One can tell he took his time preparing by the thin doublet over his tunic, silken pants, knee-length boots, and handy utility belt. His reposed bearing contrasted his youthful face Zakair reminisced about their first encounter.       

       About three years ago, after thriving in the streets before he was taken in by the traveling Markham merchants and the exuberant household's golden child, Damian, Zakair was introduced to the impressionable young brunette.  

       Kayne's parents were subordinates under Damian's, who invited the latter to his circle of elite friends of which Zakair didn't bother mingling with their extravagant undertaking. Immersing himself instead in the training as a courtier to the heir of the manor.

       Perhaps it was their flair for a challenging combat that Damian found a flourishing camaraderie between them. He wasn't wrong, though.

       Even after the tragic incident, he entered the academy in the place of their late friend as the representative of the Markham House with Kayne, whose funds were happily provided by Mr. and Mrs. Markham. As it is what their dear son would've requested.

       Kayne arose from the bloodline of Blademasters, choosing the knight's path expectantly. Since then, Zakair never found a more amusing sparring adversary. Yet, Kayne's enlistment in the academy's Order of the Sentinels clashed with his idle manner.

       While his companions toured over to their provinces outside Vherna during the summer respite, Zakair's vacation constituted his frequent errands in the academy. Whether it be frolicking around the obstacle courses, sparring with the metalmold dummies or playing chess– anything to chase away the bore.

       Ryeld, Hiro, and Cazzie had returned yesterday while Kayne plotted to stay in Athlanthea for three days more. Zakair was unsure if his sudden arrival exhilarated him. "So what made you return so soon?"

       Kayne clicked his tongue. "Well, apart from missing my friends too much, I wouldn't want to miss out on the big night."

       Zakair felt his blue eyes slide to him. Carrying with it the mischievous anticipation the Blademaster was aware Zakair very much knew what came next.

       And there was no getting out of it.

       "You are coming, aren't you?" Kayne challenged.

       Zakair almost caught himself dismissing it. He did–or rather was coerced to–promise to come.

       He informed Ryeld he'd meet them at the entrance of the plaza in his facade to sleep through the night after a good night's supper. No wonder the baby-face surprised his arrival–he made sure Zakair would live up to his end of the deal.

       It all tied down to the wager bent on the outcome of a one-versus-three prohibiting the exertion of mahika. Not an unfair playoff so to speak. Where Kayne, Ryeld, and Hiro lacked in skills and experiences, they made up for united proficiency.

       The more, the merrier.

       The victor gets their gambled proposal fulfilled. Zakair's price guaranteed a half-year earned of the three's monthly khan allowance and one whole of their service administering to his assignments. Placed against Zakair's accompaniment in the starry event the whole land anticipated prior to the debut of summer.

       However, while the parasite could be reprieved, it didn't mean it wouldn't grow impatient itself.

       Its sensitivity to the Sun and clutter of people saw the widespread availability of sustenance for its hunger-destructive purpose, driving its host to confine in the solace of the dorm. Who sought the outdoors only when his fasting repose concluded, and he could feed again.

       Why won't you go out just this once? Ryeld persistently asked. Similar questions surfaced in different forms from different inquisitors.

       It's fine. No prob, Hiro responded when Zakair declined his invitation to a first-class seat to the latter's fire stunt performance. The days after followed a total silent treatment from Hiro alleviated by time and a few spent khans for grilled azurean turkey legs to get him participating in a group project.

        He didn't take their probing out of seriousness until the set of the wager. Knowing him, they knew he wouldn't turn down a thrilling competition hinged on high stakes.

       It was an onslaught of blades, fists, and technical devices. He was triumphing, prevailing over their slow, clumsy maneuvers and rash predictable openings. It was child's play–until it concluded with his fresh defeat. But it's as if he could tell them a creature living off his body was to blame for accidentally conjuring a shadow tendril.

       He didn't know why ... but the second it aimed to lunge at the incoming Kayne, instinct drove him to turn, baring his back.

       The approaching blade pricked his skin, drawing out bits of black blood. Kayne held the hilt of the sword. Securing the win. It wasn't the loss by violation of the rules that irked Zakair but the utter defeat that resulted from one blunder that he was conscious of committing.

       Slips were subconscious. Purposely out of control. They can be minimized–mistakes were different. How could I have been so careless?

       Kayne must've sensed Zakair's disposition on edge that he spoke over his thoughts, "You are a man of your word, after all. Don't prove me wrong now, Zakair."

       He admitted to having wondered countless times about the exploits undertaken in the heart of the city aside from the local areas of crime. Mentions of new metalmold technologies reached his ears but never his eyes. Of markets introducing fresh exports and duel competitions promising hefty rewards.

       Moreover, he did obtain nourishment recently. The rumbling tension in his gut receded; the parasite was at rest. What could go wrong? He hadn't tried. Only entertained the thought.

       The weight of missing out finally caught up to him. Maybe this once, he put aside his over-cautiousness and tested the conditions.

        Zakair sighed through his nose. "Fine." That made the brunette devilishly smile. He mumbled bitterly under his breath, "If we weren't out in the open, I'd strangle you."

       "That can wait."

       They were informed of Ryeld's whereabouts through Kayne's transmission orb ring. The voice message led them to a pub a considerable walk from the academy. A young man in his polished jerkin and the recognizable leather point-tipped shoes stood at the entrance. His slicked-back dark-gray hair let loose some of the strands. Emerald eyes stared daggers at the pumped bouncer barricading his way.

      Of all the few folks Zakair knew, Ryeld was the one of the two who knew no shame in the face of public scrutiny.

       "Do you not know who I am?" Ryeld poked a finger against the big man's sternum, bloating his voice. "I am the heir to one of the biggest voltage supplier industries in Flaurella, so you have no right to deny me access!"

       The bouncer shook his head. "Sorry, sir. Pub policy decrees: no access from the inside, no entry."

       The loudmouth was about to rant again when Kayne came in between. "Hello, excuse me. Sorry to bother you, sir, but we'll need to extract a friend from there. I promise we won't be taking your time."Kayne held up a platinum badge displaying his stance of knighthood. 

       That daunted the bigger man, clearing his throat. "Y-yes. Apologies. You and yours may come in."

       Kayne led the way through the opened wooden door held by the big man, who Ryeld threw an exhale of annoyance. The stank of wild drunken merriment submerged them once inside. Aimless prismatic lights stabbed their eyes.

       The uncharacterized noise of a site was among the things Zakair would steer clear of. People jounced and scraped with either a friend or foe, unleashing their feral side this place was known for exhibiting.

       Ryeld stretched his head over the bustle. "Now where is that bastard?"

       Now that he had fed, it wasn't hard for Zakair to detect a person by the scent their blood leaked into the air from an exposed point. He tapped into the ability. It opened into trails stalking from miscellaneous bodies where blood spilled. The whiff carried over the metallic smell typically associated with the fluid but knowing Hiro, though apart from being sick in the head, the hothead inhibited quite the abnormality in his skin that little to never permitted blood to seep.

       "Did you find him yet?" Kayne shouted over.

        Nonetheless, it didn't mean the reptile-skinned lad couldn't bleed from the gums. Fortunately for them, the sought-after scent presented itself–meaning, something interesting likely happened to the boy for Zakair to be able to pick up his blood aroma: a strong coppery odor with traces of burnt leather. "Up in the cage. Getting his teeth knocked out."

       Looking over, surges of water and flame cavorted above the cage. The announcer hailed the termination of a round.

       Approaching the crowd, the hovering orbs of green, red, and yellow eyelights shone over a red tousled mane of a figure of a tanned stout build. A cocky smile graced Hiro's face, who sported only a pair of shorts on. Flames clothed his arms, fervent to douse anything alight.

       "You folks want some more?!" he roared. The people jeered him on. Were they actually betting their money on him? Squirming through a cramped passage of sweaty sour bodies, they pushed toward the cage.

       By which 'they,' Zakair meant Ryeld.

       "Hiro Taravon Amaerys! You get down here right now or so help me." Ryeld's voice was a lap of water in the storm of clamor. "I'm not giving any warning down here!"

       When the redhead did not show any sign of recognition, Ryeld tramped to the humming engine behind the counter, ignoring the protest of the barkeep. He pressed hard against the metal casing of the engine. A blue light glow lit his figure, defining his outline in electrical cerulean gleams.

       With a push of power, the gleam streamed into the machine. Blue volt pulses streaked through the strings that clipped the eyelights hovering over the bar. Sparking the devices and shutting down the lights, hailing darkness. Confusion and frustration surfaced. Some called on their mahika for light on their hands.

       "Don't make me come up there, Amaerys," Ryeld enunciated, holding an electrified fist.

       That wiped the grin off the redhead's face illuminated by the flames on his arms. Hiro walked down the platform, meeting them halfway on the level ground paved by the whining crowd.

       Kayne received him with a tap on the back. "Were you winning?"

       Hiro put on his shirt, retorting with a half-elated, half-embarrassed smile. "Almost. Until you guys pooped the party."

       "You." Ryeld came stomping. "Are you out of your bloodless mind? Your sister has been waiting in the park for the past hour and here you are letting your arse get knocked in this abhorrent slum."

       "Actually, it's more like I'm the one who's-"

       "Just shut up! Let's go." Ryeld shoved Hiro by the shoulder to the path of the exit. "I swear this is the last time I'm gonna catch you-"

       They were stopped by a rough voice over the racket. Tone demanded their immediate attention. "Hold up."

       A beefy hand gripped Ryeld's shoulder, halting him. It was the guy whom Hiro had the cage fight with. Up close, he appeared bulkier. And infuriated.

       "Get your disgusting palm off me!" Ryeld tried to push his hand away, ridiculously looking like a puppy on a leash.

       The guy didn't flinch. "Our fight was not yet over. And he owes me a load of khans." He glared at Hiro under his bushy hair. "Or your friend here can pay for you."

       "Ugh! Fine. Just keep your grimy hand off." Ryeld retrieved khans of gold and silver and deposited them in the man's waiting hand in amounts more than necessary. "There. Now if you'll excuse us–" The bigger boy kept his hold on him, making the nerve on Ryeld's head twitch.

       "This isn't enough."

        Zakair almost squirmed. Hells. How much did he owe the guy?

       "I'm owed three pokes of gold khans. Precise."

       Oh.

       "Are you kidding me? That's all I got!" Ryeld miserably tried tugging himself out of the man's grasp his jerkin could rip. Somehow, Zakair found himself enjoying this.

       "Hey, hey, now. We know owing money is a big deal. Who doesn't?" Kayne intruded, patting the man's grasp. "See, our bud here can be a little careless at times, and believe me, if it were any other day, I'd let you beat him to a pulp. But right now, we have somewhere urgent to go to and we can't have a friend waiting. We'll keep you on the tab, isn't that right, Hiro?–Ow!"

       The guy pushed Kayne against Ryeld, sending them in the apprehension of the crowd likely by the big guy's crew.

       He stooped over Hiro, who met his high glare defiantly. "We can settle this debt now. Or I get to drown your boyfriends and let this slide until the next." One last warning. He waved his hand, conjuring two orbs of water fit as helmets hovering above Kayne and Ryeld.

       "Bring it on, Colt," Hiro said, letting his mouth run.

       This was getting convenient. The open door beckoned for Zakair, luring him. Now that the three got tangled into the mess they involved themselves with–

       Kayne pinned him down with a glare.

       Aw shiste. He sighed, resigning to his silent reprimand, smirking. This was more than I signed up for.

       He directed his eyes at the ceiling for Kayne to observe. The latter understood the evasive maneuver. With that, he mouthed a countdown, "One... Two... Three."

       Kayne headbutted his captor, giving him time to withdraw an orb from his belt and launch it above. A flash-bang swept over the crowd. While everyone shielded their eyes, Zakair leapt for the button above the electric engine and pressed it. All mahika lights dissolved under the activation of ERIN. Utter darkness took over.

       Ryeld elbowed the guy behind him, releasing him at the same time Hiro delivered a crunching punch to Colt's face before he was pulled by the ear and dragged down on fours by Ryeld. A feud broke out. Glasses shattered and bodies crashed onto one another. Shouts sought for their names. On the ground, the four crawled into the flap behind the counter led by Zakair's directing voice.

        "Suckers." Hiro snickered. Ryeld shushed him. Once outside, the four wasted no time to scram.