Thomas chewed on the last piece of his breakfast, trying to remember every detail of the last of Owen's hard work, the last piece of home cooking he had left. He set his utensils down, as if realizing for the first time that, he was not at his household anymore. No matter how similar the cafeteria was to his home, it was only an imitation. 'This is what I wanted,' he thought to himself. He took a breath and looked up, at the people who he would spend these four years with.

Jackal, who had ordered enough food for six or seven people, had just finished his meal. Dag had ordered a few scraps, Molly ordered a big portion, and Eugene had eaten the average three pancakes. Jackal dabbed the crumbs away with a napkin and folded it on his plate. The rest of the group stood up with him. "So, Thomas, we are going to watch the peasant tournament today. Do you want to come with us?"

"Sure," Thomas stood up and put his plate on top of the others to make it easier for the attendants, but Molly shoved the plates back. The silverware and napkin fell to the floor.

"Just leave it. It's their job to clean as servants anyway." She smiled and turned to follow Jackal, Dag, and Eugene. Thomas looked back at the old maid, who was likely as old as Liz. She already had a massive stack of plates that she had to carry around without a cart. By now, most of the nobles had left. Thomas waited until no one was looking and reached for his silverware.

"Thomas," Jackal's voice rang. "Are you coming or what?" Thomas made an internal apology to the maid and hurried after the rest of the group. The maid smiled at him as she bent over to pick up his things. Her groans as she struggled to stand herself back up were like sandpaper to his ears.

When he exited the inn with everyone, the cold morning air met him. The reason he knew it was morning was none other than his internal clock. The sun did not rise, nor did it set. He knew that over time he would get used to it, but for now, he felt a little off, like he had slept until noon.

The city was as busy as ever. A sea of people crowded the district while various carriages and carts wheeled around. The Colosseum towered above all houses and people, its shadow blocking out the light. There was a huge line leading up to the main doorway of the Colosseum that stretched out of sight into the middle-class district. People were tapping their feet and yawning, as if they had been standing there for a long time.

Jackal and the rest of the group walked around the line to a different doorway, where a beautiful woman greeted them and asked for their family emblems. Jackal held out his far away from her. When she went to confirm whether it was valid or not, he stuffed it back in his clothes and sneered at her. She apologized and looked to the rest, who crossed their arms. 'Did she do something wrong?' Thomas thought. He was at the back, so he couldn't see much. He shrugged.

She bowed: "I am sorry sir; it is just our policy. Please follow me." She moved away from the stand, making sure to lock the door after the group followed her. She led them through a narrow hallway, illuminated by miniature light crystals which were embedded into the black stone walls. Thomas's feet met sand as they continued. He shook the grains out only for more to enter. He frowned as he saw everyone else's shoes, which kept out the sand. He cursed walked on the grains because if he stopped to shake them out, he would fall behind the group.

The passageway eventually opened up to a room at the front row of the colosseum, the front of which had a glass railing. Looking up at where everyone else sat, he saw plain stone seats. It was more of a ginormous stairway than rows of seats. There wasn't even any cushioning.

"Cool right?" Jackal asked, as if he read Thomas's mind. "As nobles, we always get good treatment." He gestured to the four seats at the center of the room, then turned to the woman. "Go get another chair. Don't keep him waiting." The woman hurried off and soon returned with another chair.

In the meantime, Jackal pointed to the various rooms. "We get front row seats, cool rooms, feathered seats, and the rest get to be at the back, just as it should be. Even if you're a noble, you don't always get a room like this. If you're wondering how I got this spot, my father is actually one of the generals up there," He pointed up at the room which was grandest of them all. There was a layer of glass, obscuring the details, but he could see three exceptionally strong people sitting in elegant chairs. They smiled and talked to each other, but there was a sort of edge to them. Their hands always hovered around their swords as if they could be attacked at any moment.

"What's his name?" Thomas asked, trying to guess which it was. Not that he could take a valid guess, because the glass blocked off most of the light. The three people were silhouettes to him.

"Well," Jackal said. "He's an adoptive father. His name is Brandon Morlaw. My biological family was…killed, a long time ago."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"It's ok," Jackal said. "It happened a long time ago. It still hurts a little, but I shouldn't pretend it never happened. If father hadn't taken me in, then I don't know where I would be today," then under his breath he muttered, "Those damned peasants." He looked up as if he hadn't said anything. Of the five seats, he took the center. Dag and Molly sat next to him. Eugene and Thomas took the edge seats. Thomas was next to Dag.

The bottom area of the Colosseum was still empty of people. The large rectangular platform was raised by about five feet. With the two marks, it was a perfect dueling platform. The bottom had metal doorways, but they weren't open yet. 'I guess we got here early.' He leaned back into his comfy seat and looked for things to do in the meantime. He didn't know when, but Dag had pulled out a dagger and flipped it around his hands. "You seem quite skilled with that," Thomas tried to make small talk.

"Of course," Dag said as he tossed it from hand to hand. "Everyone in my family must have a dagger in hand at all times. I cut my own umbilical cord with this."

"Ew," Thomas swallowed the word back down and forced out an awkward smile. "Oh, that's…something." Dag turned away and crossed his arms. The doorway at ground level opened, and announcer ran onto the stage. He was tall, his giant arms even bigger than Frey's. His clothes were ragged and his face was unshaven, but the sword at his side had an elegant black and gold design, rivaling Doevm's spear in its presentation. His pale skin seemed to have never touched the light of day. His hair was graying but there wasn't a single wrinkle on his heavily scarred face. Even from this distance, Thomas could see his pitch-black eyes.

Dag leaned forward, a smile forming: "Do you know who that is?" He asked, as if talking to Thomas seriously for the first time. Thomas shook his head. "That's Alexander Finlish, the greatest knight in the kingdom."

"Really?" Jackal leaned forward. "So that is the man that I must surpass." He rubbed his chin and leaned back, his eyes going to the ceiling as he lost himself in his thoughts.

"I thought I've heard that name before," Thomas chuckled. "Jameson talked about him often." He looked to Dag to continue, but the assassin seemed to be engulfed in the view, nearly drooling.

"You thought my techniques were good, but they are nothing compared to his level of skill. He is a master of every weapon known to man. He has slain entire armies when he was back in his prime. Now he's just a teacher," As Dag talked, his previous intensity faded. "A poor, outdated one who uses ancient techniques. A damned shame."

"But is he still the strongest?" Thomas asked.

"Yes," Dag hesitated. "But only because of his skill with a blade. If only he learned how to better use his life essence, he would be a perfect teacher." He looked away from Finlish, as if reliving a painful memory. Thomas shrugged and listened to the announcer's words.

"Attention everyone." While not a single wisp of life essence had gone around his lungs, the noise carried throughout the busy arena. Even though he was well over fifty feet away, the five could clearly hear him. "I will be your referee. My name is Alexander Finlish. I have the ability to stop a battle if I deem it necessary. The rules will be that killing is allowed, but not encouraged. We don't want any unnecessary deaths. Fight dirty, use weapons, I don't care as long as you don't blow up the colosseum."

That last comment earned him laughter, but his black eyes narrowed, somehow glaring at everyone at once. "I mean it. If I see something I don't like, I am permitted to carry out immediate judgement." The crowd grew silent as a smile came across his face. "But hopefully we won't get as many idiots this time. The general will be the witnesses in case my judgement comes into doubt. I think that's about it for the rules. Now, let the tournament begin!"