A part of City A smelled like oil, steam, and spiced meat buns.
Sam chewed slowly as he walked along the crooked cobblestone path, a warm bun in his mouth and a paper-wrapped packet of more tucked under his arm. He hadn't planned to come this far out—but the academy had given them a week before classes began, and the silence of Dorm Nullis was beginning to grate.
The city was louder than he liked. Airships passed overhead in low rumbling arcs, storefronts flickered with enchanted signs, and hawkers shouted over one another in accents thick and fast.
He'd just bitten into a second bun—this one with some kind of molten pepper paste—when he heard someone calling his name.
"Sam!"
He turned.
Ava.
Her braid was unraveling, eyes wide with panic. She shoved past a cart of incense, nearly tripping.
"Sam, please—you have to help! They took Ren!"
Sam blinked. "Wait, what—?"
"They dragged him back to the ring. He tried to quit after what happened last time. But they said he owed them for losing, that he embarrassed the house. He… he didn't even fight."
Sam's jaw tightened.
She looked up at him, eyes glassy. "They'll kill him this time."
That was all he needed to hear.
---
The path back to the underground faculty wasn't hard to find. The sewers beneath City A weren't built for actual drainage. They were repurposed smuggling routes, some older than the city itself. Sam ducked through alleys, descended rusted ladders, and followed Ava through barely lit tunnels that smelled of damp and rust.
He remembered the first time—the mask, the roaring crowd, the taste of adrenaline in his throat. He hadn't meant to go back.
But this time he wasn't hiding.
This time, he was Sam Schneider.
They arrived at a rusted gate. The roar of the crowd seeped through the cracks like heat.
Inside, the same arena—ringed with worn sigils and fire-lit walls. The announcer's voice echoed, already deep in some dramatic monologue.
"...and now, our next challenger: the disgrace, the runner, the boy who brought shame—Ren of Dorm Nullis!"
Ren stood in the ring, trembling. Two bruises already bloomed under his eye. His hands shook.
Sam stepped forward, dropping the bun packet at Ava's feet.
"Stay here."
The guard moved to stop him.
Sam didn't break stride.
One punch—quick, efficient, clean—knocked the man into the wall. The crowd gasped as he stepped into the light.
The announcer froze mid-sentence.
"That fighting technique...It's him! The masked fighter—but without the mask?!"
Gasps. Whispers.
Sam stepped into the ring.
Ren stared at him, confused. "W-what are you—"
"Leave," Sam said quietly. "You're not fighting tonight."
Korr entered from the opposite gate.
Bigger than Sam remembered. His face twisted in recognition.
"You again," he growled. "You're dead this time."
Sam didn't reply.
The bell rang.
---
Korr came in like a charging beast. No finesse—just brute power.
Sam ducked under the first swing, pivoted, and struck low, driving his elbow into Korr's ribs. The crowd roared.
Korr spun with a backhand. Sam blocked, slid under, kicked the man's knee from the side. Korr stumbled.
Sam pressed in.
No mask. No alias.
This time, it was personal.
Korr grabbed Sam mid-punch and threw him. Sam twisted in the air, landed hard—but rolled up instantly.
They clashed again.
Blow for blow. Strength versus speed.
But Sam had grown.
And he wasn't afraid anymore.
A sharp feint. A crushing counter. One final strike to the chest.
Korr dropped.
The arena went silent.
Then erupted.
Sam stood over the downed fighter, breath steady. His knuckles bled. His eye throbbed.
But he wasn't done.
Because the ring master—Dreven, a short man with slicked-back hair and rings on every finger—was already slinking back behind the crowd.
Sam pointed at him. "This ends now."
Dreven sneered. "Do you know who I am, boy?"
"You're the one who forced kids to bleed for your profit."
Dreven clicked his tongue. "This ain't your academy playground, kid. Go back...I don't deal with nobodies."
He waved a hand.
A large figure stepped into the ring. No name announced. No cheers.
This one was different.
Heavy boots. Scarred skin. One eye. The other glowed faintly beneath a rune-carved plate.
The bodyguard.
Sam turned just in time to see the first punch coming.
It was like being hit by a wall.
He flew backward, crashing into the ring's edge.
Pain bloomed. Lights blurred.
He stood slowly.
Too slowly.
Another strike. Faster this time. Sam blocked—but barely. His arm went numb from the impact.
The man didn't speak. He just advanced—mechanical, brutal.
Sam tried to move. Aether surged—he pushed it into his legs, tried to speed up—
But the bodyguard was faster.
He struck again.
Sam hit the ground hard.
He tasted blood.
The crowd gasped.
Ava screamed.
From the floor, Sam saw the man's shadow looming.
The last thing he saw was the glint of the glowing eye, cold and unfeeling.
Then everything went black.
---
To be continued…