The Market District of Milagre was as busy as could be expected. Dozens of people milled along the long street, completing their shopping for the day. They chatted amicably as they strolled, the sound of their voices mingling with the shouts of vendors nearby, tempting the shoppers to come and inspect their wares. Jewelers, blacksmiths, alchemists, and general goods merchants, they were all there to conduct business. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Except, of course, for the small group of men tucked out of sight between two buildings on the southern end of the street. If anyone had spotted them, it would have been obvious that they were up to no good. Dressed from head to toe in thick black cloth to conceal their identities, and bearing several weapons, they were dangerous men. There were six of them in total, five grouped behind one who was obviously the leader.

“Chief,” one of them said, keeping his voice pitched low. “Why are we attacking a brothel? Ain’t there more gold in one of the stalls?”

He was referring to the stalls that lined the main Market Street, where the most business was conducted during the day. It was rumored that Milagre’s market drew in more than a thousand gold every day. The leader frowned, then threw his underling an angry look. He was a native of Milagre, and, with former experience with the King’s Guard, he had a better understanding of the markets.

“No, you fool,” he hissed. “Those bluejackets clear out the takings every hour, so there’s never any real money on hand. Besides, we’d never get away with anything we took. There’s too many men for us there.”

He turned his eyes back to their intended target, Divine’s Blessing. It was a brothel, easily the most successful in the city. He’d observed the stream of people that went in and out for nearly a month. Assuming they paid a gold per visit, then the thieves were looking at a potential take of about eight thousand royals. That was too much to carry, of course, but one of his men was a mage, and could conceal the money easily.

Another of the thieves started to ask a question, but the leader held up one hand in a curt silencing gesture. His entire body was tensed, studying the movements of the crowd, and, more importantly, the armed guards that moved with it. Those men were on the lookout for trouble, mainly pickpockets and idiot robbers who would risk targeting one of the stalls. He had to make sure there was a big enough window for his men to slip through the crowd and enter the brothel.

There! His raised hand swiped forward in an unmistakable command, and he walked forward briskly. He made no attempt to hide himself, knowing that such an action would only draw eyes and ruin the perfect camouflage that the crowd of people provided. He slipped between them without effort, unremarkable and mostly unnoticed. Behind him, his men copied his actions with less grace. Most of them were foreigners, or else raised in another part of the country and so didn’t know Milagre as well as their leader.

The door of Divine’s Blessing opened with only the faintest of creaks. The inside smelled heavily of perfumes and scented oils, a cacophony of scents that threatened to overwhelm anyone. The leader ignored them, stepping clear past the doorman before his presence could be registered, and drawing the long curved sword at his waist. The very presence of the weapon seemed to hush all conversation around him. The women stopped flirting and cringed away. The customers stood rapidly, hands placed warily on their purses.

“Right,” the leader said. “We’ve got a simple request. We want all your gold, and silently now.”

The doorman, who was armed himself, moved forward at once, hand reaching for the club at his waist. Before he’d even made it two steps towards the leader, one of the other thieves stepped through the open doorway and struck him down with the hilt of his sword. The unfortunate bodyguard hit the worn planks without a sound, knocked cold. Then the last thief was across the threshold, letting the door close gently behind him. Nobody outside was any the wiser.

The scene was still frozen, and the leader gave his sword a little spin. “Surely you’re not having so much fun you can’t hear me. Gold! Now!”

He directed the last two words at a nearby girl, raising his voice suddenly so that she flinched. But she’d gotten the message, and immediately moved to obey him. She scooped up all the purses containing payments she could, and brought them over. The leader of the thieves snatched up the gold, laughing softly as the girl cringed away. The sound of jingling coins reached his ears, and the ears of his men.

“Good,” he purred, opening one to see the shine of silver and gold. “It’s a good start. Not enough, though. Keep it coming, now.”

His men spread out around the room, ripping coin purses off of belts and threatening the men who protested. After the first refusal was rewarded with a heavy back-handed blow to the face with a steel gauntlet, the others were quicker to comply. All but one, the leader of the thieves noticed. One man, dressed in a dust-covered tunic and simple grey breeches, was glaring at the thief facing him, shaking his head stubbornly.

“This money’s for my shop. I ain’t given’ a single copper to you bastards.”

The thief in front of him raised a short, sharp dagger to his throat. “You sure about that, baker boy?”

The baker showed every sign of stern refusal. He didn’t look the least bit afraid, the leader thought. As his underling rose the knife, ready to strike the man down, the baker refused to flinch away. Brave man. Pity he was a fool. The thief bared his teeth in a feral grin and brought the knife down.

A cry of pain rang out in the stunned silence, making everyone, even the thieves jump. A man, unnoticed before now, was standing beside the pair. He had the thief’s knife hand in a firm grip and was twisting his arm back with ease, a cruel smirk on his face. He was bare to the waist, wearing only a pair of black breeches. His muscles were thin and lean, but evidently very strong, as if he were a soldier of some kind.

“No, no, no,” the stranger said. His voice was eerily smooth and sibilant. It had a way of pulling the attention of everyone in the vicinity with its gentle hiss. “I can’t have you harm paying customers, now.”

The thief wrenched desperately but was unable to break the man’s grip. With a snarl, he yanked a second knife out of his belt and swiped at it. Nobody was quite sure what happened, but an instant later, the thief was stumbling away from the man, holding his obviously broken arm with the other, whimpering in pain.

“Count yourself lucky,” the strange man said, brushing back his long black hair with one hand. “Usually that kind of pain costs you. You can keep that freebie, and leave now.”

He looked to the leader of the thieves as he said the last few words, and the man took an involuntary half-step back as he caught the performer’s eyes. They were the color of blood, and seemed to shine slightly in the dim lighting of the brothel’s main room. Then he realized that he still had five fit men, and this fool was outnumbered.

“I think not,” he growled. “You’ll pay dearly for that, pretty boy.”

The stranger seemed to take no notice of him at first, leaning towards another of the working girls. “Rebecca, could you be so kind as to go get me my weapon? Don’t worry, love. I’ll get rid of these rude customers.”

His even voice seemed to calm the girl a great deal. “O-of course, Bora Bora. Thank you so much.”

Bora Bora? What a strange name, the thief leader thought. Then he felt a clammy hand clutch his heart. Surely not. It was a coincidence, he told himself. The Champion of Bahamut, the King of Dragons, was called Bora Bora. It couldn’t be the same man facing him now. But even as the thought came to him, he registered another familiar feeling, that he’d just made a horrible mistake. The job had gone wrong.

The men behind him weren’t so hesitant. Having no clue who the stranger was, they saw only a single, unarmed, unarmored man. They raised their weapons, and, before their leader could warn them against it, took a step forward.

Bora Bora moved quickly to block their advance. He came in low, kicking one man in the knee and knocking him back. Then he kicked out higher, catching another in the chest and sending him flying back. He crashed through the front door in a shower of splinters, landing on the cobbled street outside with a grunt of pain. He didn’t rise, and it was unlikely that he would for some time.

“I imagine you think you have the advantage here,” Bora Bora said casually, pacing forward like a lion. He moved until he was face to face with the leader, who made no attempt to attack. “But you couldn’t be more mistaken. I’ll give you one more chance. Leave, while your legs still work.”

The leader of the thieves immediately took another step back, cowed. This wasn’t a man he wanted to fight. He stood no chance, and he knew it. “Of course. I apologize, Lord Ciayol. I did not mean to cause you any inconvenience.”

“So you know my name,” Bora Bora said, his smirk broadening ever so slightly. “I’m flattered. Didn’t expect to find me here, I’d imagine.”

The leader shook his head, and Bora Bora let out a quiet, chilling chuckle of a laugh. He saw the defeat and fear in the man’s eyes. Good enough. He made a little beckoning gesture towards the ruined front door, and the leader of the thieves nodded understanding, dropping the coins as he hastened to obey. Bora Bora watched them depart in haste, shaking his head in faint amusement. He bent down to scoop up the coins.

“Terribly sorry for that interruption, fine gentlemen and ladies.” Again, his soft voice soothed everyone around him. “I apologize for the sudden draft as well. Hector, if you please, alert the Kings Guard to what has happened. And find a craftsman to fix the door within the hour.”

Another of the brothel men, a little sturdier and less comely, nodded in understanding and tugged a tunic on. He hurried out the door after the thieves, all of which were gone from sight now, made a sharp left, and went down the market street. Bora Bora let out a quiet sigh, then turned to the unnerved customers, his arms and smile wide.

“A round of drinks on me!” He said, and the patrons let out a cheer. “Drink, be merry, and keep spending your coin on our fine lads and ladies!”

The customers let out appreciative laughter and applause, and Bora Bora grinned in earnest now. He enjoyed working at Divine’s Blessing. It was the ultimate temple to the flesh, and as a person who shared their desires, he got along with customers without effort. He even enjoyed a small group of his own regular fans, when he found the time to work here. Thankfully, his schedule as Champion of Bahamut wasn’t too busy in this time of peace.

“Lord Ciayol.” The official method of address for him, given his rank within a large group of the Dragon King’s followers. This voice, however, was more direct, and considerably less jovial. Even before he turned to view the speaker, Bora Bora recognized the voice, and had an inkling as to the reasoning for the visit.

A tall man in sweeping red and gold robes stood in the open doorway to the establishment. He had a silver moustache, and long hair of the same color. The heraldry of Bahamut, the great dragon’s head, was stamped on the stiff shoulders of his robe in silver, and on the man’s amulet in gold, with diamonds set into the heavy metal. As usual, he was wearing his heavy array of gold and jewel-encrusted rings.

“High Priest Thunderborn,” He said smoothly, offering the man a brief bob of his head. As Champion, he outranked the man, and owed him no further show of deference. The High Priest, meanwhile, sank into a moderate bow. “To what do I owe this, err, pleasure? Have you decided to explore your carnal cravings at last?”

“Hardly,” Thunderborn said, his lip almost curling in distaste. He was careful not to let too much emotion show, however. “I come with news. The fire has lit. You must prepare for war.”

The broad grin melted from Bora Bora’s face, and his expression became much more serious. “I see. I will be at the Temple by the end of the day.”

Thunderborn gave him a brief bow again, then, his business settled, turned on his heel and walked back towards the Temple District. Bora Bora stood as if frozen, thinking to himself for a moment. The fire was lit at last. Well, they’d been expecting it for some time, if he was being honest. Bahamut had been slowly building up his army of followers, telling Bora Bora and the High Priest that war was brewing in the future.

He wondered who the war would be against, and his mind was still sorting through the thought even as Rebecca returned at last with his weapon. He whistled sharply and the weapon flew out of her hands straight to him. He felt the hum of magic in it as his hands closed around the staff, and the blade of the scythe seemed to shiver with anticipation. Calm down, he told it. You’ll get your blood soon enough.

He walked out of the building without another world, still bare-chested, and made his way to his personal home. There would be several hours of preparation in his future, he knew. But he’d made a vow when he’d entered the service of the King of Dragons, and it was one that he had every desire to keep. He had a special bond with his God, one that allowed him plenty of power and influence. Now it was time to pay for those luxuries, in the only way he knew how. Blood.

It was odd though, he thought to himself, completely oblivious to the stares of the people he passed. They were either muttering at his bare flesh in the cold winter air, or the golden amulet of Bahamut on his chest, marking him as Champion. It made no difference. He was more interested in the timing of the whole thing. With rumors flying around that Gorteau was about to go to war, why now would Bahamut choose to act?

He pushed the questions to the back of his mind. They weren’t important. All that mattered was that, now that he’d been summoned, it was his duty to act. First, his home. Then, to the temple for the prayers and rituals. He made a sharp right turn, entering the Temple District. A sizeable crowd had gathered there. It seemed that word of the fire lighting had spread, and the crowd moved easily to grant him passage. Just past the temple was his home.

He spent a few hours with the various elite crafters and mages of his temple, who came to him one at a time to imbue his weapon, clothing, and body with magicks. He could feel the power of each enchantment as it was placed and kept himself calm and centered. The extra power was not to be trifled with and required a sound mind if it was not to explode, wounding him and the others.

Hours later, just as the sun was beginning to drop out of sight behind the horizon, he turned up at the temple. He wore his official mantle over simple black robes, and his hair had been tamed, tied back in a simple straight ponytail. On his chest, proudly displayed, was the amulet of Bahamut. The dragon’s head almost seemed alive with the magic that had been put into it. It was time for the ceremonies, his least favorite part.

“Our Champion has arrived!” The Temple Speaker, a man who wielded equal power to Bora Bora and Thunderborn when it came to speaking for the god, was standing before the altar. He had his arms thrown wide to welcome all in attendance, and Bora Bora had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. The man did enjoy his theatrics.

“My god has summoned me,” Bora Bora said, letting his voice carry as he made the official reply. “I am called to fight for his will, and to vanquish his enemies.”

“By what right do you claim this?” The speaker asked. “By what right do you lead his followers?”

Bora Bora slammed the staff of his scythe into the carpeted floor. Despite the comfortable thick padding, it still made a respectable banging noise. “I claim these by the right of my sacrifices, and by the power that my god has bestowed upon me!”

A whisper broke out through the small crowd of priests and warriors gathered, who all had the heraldry of Bora Bora stitched onto their backs. Bora Bora. Our Champion. Bora Bora made no sign that he heard them. He kept his eyes locked onto those of the Speaker, maintaining the strict ritual proceeding. The man stared at him in silence for several long seconds, then slowly nodded.

“I acknowledge your rights,” he boomed. “I recognize you as the Champion of our God Bahamut. Come forth, and receive the Dragon King’s words with us.”

Bora Bora strode forward and turned to face the crowd. The Speaker carried on with his own personal, audible prayer, calling upon the will of Bahamut. He called upon the god to speak through him, to inform his followers of the plan. To tell them why he had called them for war. A moment of silence, then the man’s voice deepened and began to carry more weight. It was the weight of a Divine speaking with his mouth.

“Stir yourselves, my children. Gather about you your arms and march to my cause. My sister is growing weak. Now, we will strike. We march to kill Tiamat.”