Ryu watched duels in a special silence, his internal clock counting down the time until his own bout, and as time was wont to do, it passed all too quickly. Such was his burden. Hard times seemed to drag on for ages, and quiet times were measured in blinks.

He left the viewing room without a backwards glance, walking through the arena’s stone halls to the training chambers underground. The cavernous room was well-lit, and fighters of all kinds practiced and warmed up on the matted floor. An attendant in a plain gray uniform greeted him at the door.

“Ticket please, sir?”

He nodded, pulling the ticket that marked him as a competitor from his storage ring. “Ishida Ryu, Masters Division Under-Thirty.”

The man smiled. “Right this way, sir. Your match begins in twenty minutes,” he said.

Joy. Twenty more minutes that would no doubt crawl by. He walked to a bench away from the matted practice stages, sitting in silence. Few of the competitors chatted, but all watched. The weaker looked to learn from the stronger, the stronger looked down on the weaker, and equals looked with measuring glances. Ryu shut his eyes to it all.

Win, Ender said in his mind. The void behind Ryu’s eyes was replaced with the empty white room his personal devil lived in, and the two Twins measured each other with their auras.

“Planned on it.” Speaking through thoughts was odd, his voice projecting from his mind instead of his lips.

Fool, Ender said, his perfect teeth gnashed together. You mock and brood, but I know you hunger for strength all the same, brother. You hide ambition behind guilt and cynicism, thinking the two will cancel out the one. Wish to be a better man, do you? Good is what the strong decide it to be.

“Philosophical as ever,” Ryu said. Ender’s words burned him more than any others could. His Shard Twin knew his fears, his hopes, and his doubts, and he did not lie, either. Ryu’s thoughts seemed consumed by finding justification for his actions. Like all children born to the Rings, Ryu’s lust for power had started from birth. He just refused to let it make him a terrible man, a goal he and his twin would never see eye to eye on.

“Sir, your match is soon to start,” the attendant said, breaking Ryu from his conversation with Ender.

“Alright.”

The attendant led him to a walkway that opened out into the flat dirt of the arena. “When you hear your name, walk into the arena,” the man said, bowing and walking away.

Ryu did not wait long.

“Citizens of the Aristocracy, our final Masters Division battle of the day takes place between two of young scions. On one side, we have Howling Wind, the heir to the Great Forest Tribe. His opponent is the son of Lord Ishida of the Red Sun Faction, Ryu Ishida!”

The packed dirt of the arena crunched beneath his steps. The air carried the unpleasant scent of packed humans, and light from the dimming sun glinted off of the windows of the viewing rooms under the stands. He could just see the outline of the Sixth’s buildings past the high stands. Aye, as good a place to fight as any.

His attention turned to his opponent. Howling Wind was a young man, his body lean enough that the pulsing veins in his neck and forehead could be seen. His combat suit was white and tan, and he gripped a menacing axe in one hand and a pelt-covered shield in the other.

The soft, cutthroat sound of his sword leaving the sheath at his side was Ryu’s sole companion in the arena. His exhale surrendered his breath to the air in front of him, and the sounds of the crowd faded behind the rattling pulse of his blood.

“Begin!”

Soul Eater burned a soul, leaving his mouth with an icy taste. Thick, black smoke curled around his wrists and ankles. Memories of a life he had never lived spasmed through his mind, showing him a wife and children he somehow missed. Blinking back tears, he lunged.

The crowd never learned Howling Wind’s Technique. Ryu’s blade passed through the space where the man’s throat used to be, and a trail of inky smoke was left in its wake. The memories faded in his mind, leaving only the bitter, no-good taste of melancholy.

No more than a few seconds after it had faded, the announcer’s voice rattled the arena once more. “Ryu Ishida is your winner!”

Victory was ever a bittersweet thing.

Emiko and Den waited in the hall he had entered the arena from, one bouncing in excitement and the other clad in a smirk. His sister wore her smugness like armor, and her pride in his victory brought a small smile to his face. She and Jinn seemed intent on reminding him of the importance of family. It was a lesson he readily accepted.

“I imagine that would have looked amazing if I could have seen it,” Den said, the woman’s face twisted into a pout.

“I imagine there will be more to come,” Ryu said, his tired sigh contrasting with his confident words.

“So how will we celebrate? A scion of House Ishida has earned a win in the Contest in the deepest division, no less!” Den’s enthusiasm was warming, but Ryu had little care for celebrating. No, tomorrow brought a new fight. His dreams of peace would have to be postponed while he dedicated himself to war. Or perhaps he would just die. Battle was a fickle mistress to even her most favored sons.

“I’m afraid I will have to pass,” Ryu said.

“But Lord Haru will want to have a feast of some sort. After your show of strength, we have some leverage to convince the houses to support his bid for Shogun. Your presence-”

“No.” Emiko’s interjection surprised Ryu, and his sister placed a hand on Den’s shoulder. “Ryu fights tomorrow, as do I. Let the others celebrate for us.”

He gave his sister a thankful nod. The mindset needed for such competition was not suitable to ballroom pleasantries and the like. He excused himself from the other two, walking into the halls of the squat buildings underneath the stands.

“Ishida,” a deep voice said behind him. Ryu turned. Marcellus Tiberius wore a stoic expression, a small retinue of followers gathered around him. “Make it to the final. I’ll be waiting.”

Ryu turned his head. The man’s words carried no malice save for the meanness of a man who enjoyed fighting. It was odd, really. Who ever heard of a powerful noble heir who wasn’t an arrogant asshole? Well, besides Ryu himself. His situation was a complicated one, after all. Or not. He would be the first to admit he was not the best of men.

He settled his thoughts with a nod. “Suppose I’ll try.”

Marcellus’s stoic expression eased into a small smile. “I’ll look forward to it, then.”

The two competitors split ways, and Ryu shook his head. It was hard to call a man who took joy in beating another nice, but perhaps Marcellus was not so bad.

Or maybe you judged him right, and his smile was a way to throw you off. His faction is supporting a rival house in the Red Sun Faction, right? Of course, he wants to fight and beat you. And you used to be so ruthless, brother. What has happened? Ender’s spiteful words speared into Ryu’s good mood. Had he grown soft?

“Perhaps you’re right. Tell me, brother. In my place, what would you do?” It grew harder to maintain his faith in Lucius’s plan by the day, and he wondered if Ender might have something notable to say that wasn’t a death threat.

Honestly? I would not be stooping to fight my lessers. Our place is in the Circle, brother, fighting the best and reaping the strength from their corpses. You justify your violence with the wish of a peaceful world, but that is arrogance. Your idea of a better world holds no greater sway than my own, and your guilt-ridden mind cannot stomach reality. We were made for war, you and I. The only peace to be made is with your past.

Ryu almost chuckled. Sage advice from the incarnation of his murderous ambition. How pathetic was a man who had less assurance in himself than his literal imaginary brother?

“And if I no longer wish to fight?”

The fisherman may moan about the waves, yet a day does not pass where he refuses to venture out among them, Ender said. Perhaps indulging in your weakness was a mistake, brother. Your wishes mean little to the will of the world. We will fight.

Ryu felt his Shard Twin withdraw. Strange. That was perhaps the most sober conversation the two had ever had, but then, such was Ender’s lot. A bloodthirsty, incoherent monster on some days and a solemn, steadfast warrior on others, his Twin was more a reflection of himself than he wanted to realize. The only difference was Ryu still fought his fate.

Maybe Ender was right. Maybe their place was in the Circle, fighting the strongest Bugs for control of the Gate to the Seventh. He made a decision. After Keira was dealt with, he would go there.

Ryu returned to the arena the next morning. The crowd was as large as it had ever been, and to his chagrin, his name escaped many lips, his victory adding another contender to the already dangerous division. It seemed their bloodthirsty attitude would not be denied, either, for today, Ryu was matched up against Fell, the current favorite to win the Contest.

An undefeated duellist, Fell was one of the Master Classers who was as close to the Big Seven as any. He had already won a Title years ago, and the Chosen was a man talked about in the same hushed tones as Old Iron of the Xi Empire and Haru Ishida. An impressive reputation, if one often shouted about by his many admirers.

By the time Ryu found himself facing across from the man in the red dirt pit of the arena, he half-expected the man to sprout the wings of a dragon. What he found instead was almost as impressive. Fell’s fighting suit was unzipped to the waist, leaving the man’s scarred chest in the air and his sleeves dangling around his waist. The man’s great spear was dug point-first in the ground, and he held one hand on it, his long blonde hair falling about him in the nonexistent wind like strands of gold.

“Warrior of House Ishida,” Fell boomed, his blue eyes creasing from his too-white smile. “My name is Fell the Chosen. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? I have stepped into the dueling pit fifty times and left it unharmed just as many. I have descended to the depths of the Northern Crags and returned with my life. Mine is the name sung of loudly in the skald’s epics. Long have I searched for a worthy opponent, yet my reputation has turned many men cowards. So I have an offer. Defeat me, and I, Fell the Chosen, will swear myself to your service as a beholden warrior for life.”

“Fuck.” Ryu had no wish for a sworn soldier, yet he was reluctant to lose. Perhaps he did not mean it? No, Ryu thought, Fell seemed earnest. Oh, well. It would have to be a problem for his future self.

“Prepare yourself, my friend,” Fell said, ripping his spear from the ground. Its leaf-shaped blade and steel shaft were decorated with the depiction of a great serpent entwining itself about the weapon.

Ryu grunted and drew his sword. Whatever. Best to get this over with. Fell could overcome his delusions of grandeur in defeat.

Inky smoke curled around his blue and silver combat suit, and Ryu exploded forward, blinking past memories of a pair of loving parents. The price for power was the haunting recollection of the dead, it seemed. It was a lesson best not forgotten.

His sword clanged against a spear, and surprise swept away his bitterness. Then combat dispersed all emotion. He defended three thrusts in as many seconds, the cold madness of the fight clamping him in its iron teeth.

Fell’s reputation was far from inflated. Though not as powerful or quick as Ryu under Soul Eater’s effects, the man’s spear moved in a steady rhythm that found Ryu’s explosive bursts of power lacking. Its leaf-shaped blade clipped his side, his shoulder, and his cheek in short order, and under the onslaught, Ryu found his coldness replaced by an ever colder hunger.

Bested by a mere man? Ender sneered. End this farce, or leave it to me.

Ryu’s hand caught the shaft of Fell’s spear, and he yanked the man closer, burning another soul to sate his Technique’s bottomless hunger. The downward snap of his head broke the warrior’s nose with a satisfying crunch, and Ryu’s sword was coming down to sever the man’s leg.

Fell’s spear pulled from his grasp, its blade administering his bare palm to its tender mercies. The blonde man leapt back, and Ryu’s sword tasted empty air. The two opponents glared, lean wolf facing proud lion.

“A good fight, my friend, but I’m afraid I must end it,” Fell called with a smile, blood dripping from his nose. He lifted his spear into the air. “God of Runes, hear my call!”

The engraving of the serpent on Fell’s spear started to writhe, and it slithered up to Fell’s arm, turning into ink upon his skin. The serpent twisted up his arm. His spear rose into the air above his head without his touch. When Ryu looked at it, he saw a coiled serpent preparing to strike.

Fell’s hand swept down. The spear shot to the ground, throwing up a cloud of dust. It found only a trail of black smoke.

“The winner is Ryu Ishida!” the announcer said, his words soon followed by the roar of the crowd. The cloud of dust dispersed, and Ryu was left to the mercy of the crowd’s expectant gaze.

In truth, Fell’s Technique was quite powerful. It might have even killed him, too, but then, a warrior exposing his throat to gaze up at his own spear was not an opportunity one missed. Still, the satisfaction of victory never reached him, its allure breaking upon the memories of a fallen soul.

“Ryu,” Fell said, and he turned to see his former opponent striding out onto the arena’s red dirt once more. “Let it not be said Fell the Chosen is not a man of his word.”

The blonde warrior dropped to one knee in front of Ryu. “Hey… I, uh, don’t really want you to do this,” Ryu said, scratching the back of his neck. He just wanted to be alone.

“Nonsense. Together, we will reach the pinnacle of strength in this world. I swear myself to following you, Ryu Ishida, until such a time as one of us dies. I swear to act in your best interest and to defend you from the foes at your back, and I daresay I hope you do the same for myself. We are now bound as brothers-in-arms. My words cannot be taken back. Do not try and force me to.”

Shit. Fell was a man who quite enjoyed glorious, melodramatic declarations, it seemed. How a fool had ever ended up so strong, Ryu could not guess, but he had to give it a certain amount of respect. Who knows, perhaps Fell’s particular brand of foolishness would even out Ryu’s bleak outlook.

“Okay, then,” Ryu said. “I’m going to go now.”

Fell stood. “I am with you, brother.”

“Do you not need to see your family or something?” Ryu asked. At this point, the arena’s officials were waving them onward, trying to proceed with the day’s matches.

“Not at the moment. Father will need time to… digest my loss, I think.”

Ah, Ryu knew daddy issues when he saw them. He was, after all, an expert on the subject. “Come on then, I guess.”

Ryu exited the pit, his new shirtless friend in tow. Let it be said the Rings were strange places. More’s the pity.