Ales passed many drinks around that night, with cheerful gusto. Each receives two hundred and fifty slips, with another thousand in reserve—the last thousand split between Pela and Kilroy.

Lone stands up with his tenth drink. “What a great haul! Hic. Just brilliant!”

He has had too much to drink, of course. Plenty of ale followed by Bertude’s clear liquor—Northern Potato Drink or Electora—knocks Lone and Gunnar sideways. Kilroy notices this, planning to deal with Lone’s drinking habits during the next training session tomorrow.

“Pela, another round!” Lone pulls out another hundred-slip note, slapping it on the table. “Ale and a chaser!”

Pela, who has had one drink to salute the achievement, hadn’t realised she would be well paid. Five hundred slips are half a year’s pay! She starts to rethink her profession.

“You are cut off, Lone,” Bertude says, “but Joan wants to see you in the Duelling Pit.”

Kilroy and Gunnar laugh at that. Stillwater has only had one drink and is limbering up to deliver Lone some payback.

“What? Why mist I, go overrr, there?” Lone slurs, looking beady-eyed at the Pit.

“If you beat Stillwater,” Kilroy remarks, “then we will move up to the next stage, and you have three days off.”

Gunnar snorts. “Yeah, Halfy, take that bet. I’ll bet you four hundred slips you end up on your arse.”

Lone squints at the two, swaying in his chair. “Yous are on.”

He nods and stumbles out of the chair, bumping into other patrons of the Hall. Everyone sees where he is heading and starts laying bets. Not for him to win, but how much punishment he will get.

Solo stumbles into the Pit. “So, hic, what is up, Joanie girl?”

Without saying anything, she balls her fist and punches him in the face. That was the beginning of the payback.

🔹️ 🔹️ 🔹️

After Lone pukes, paying both Gunnar and Bertude for the clean-up, he feels far soberer. Still on the wrong side of tipsy, surprisingly, he’s able to give back a bit, showing that his muscle memory is intact. He does take a few more punches than necessary, though.

Kilroy and Gunnar had made a bet on the outcome. Even though Stillwater trounced Lone, Kilroy senses his instincts were right. He believes Lone’s raw skill could make him Hall Champion in the future.

After Lone sleeps off the booze for a while, everyone decides to head home. Each of the Rejects bids each other fare-thee-well. Kilroy reminds Lone about his mid-morning training session, and Pela too, knowing that Lone will likely forget.

Leaning into Pela, Lone asks, “Are you feeling better than before?”

Pela waves her hand in front of her. “Not much, but not so hot.”

Lone shows her his hand with the heat blister on it. “You were boiling. We will be talking to Way in the morning about it.”

Staring at his hand, Pela thinks she must just have been sick. “Oh, dear. We will treat that when we get home, and I must change your bandages too.”

“Sure, just another brave scar for me, the awesomeness fighter.”

Pela’s laugh carries further than it would during the day. It is near midnight, and they both forget the Watch has been suspended. Seven men and women step out to surround them, each with a club and knife in hand.

A brute of a man steps forward with a thick beard, pointed ears and bald head—a half-dwarf. “Lookie, lookie, what do we ’ave ’ere?”

Lone stands tall, instantly sober and pulling out his sword. “You have a choice. Let us pass or die!”

Most of the thugs are taken aback by his words, but the half-dwarf sneers at him. “Why should we be doing that?”

“Because I am Lone Solo. I broke the Dock Boys and the Bloody Swords.”

Whispers start up around the group; they know of him. Lone’s reputation has travelled through the underworld.

The brute cracks his neck. “Fine.” He follows with a chopping action. “Shoot!”

Four bolts from a repeater crossbow hit Lone in the chest. Three are stuck in his Jack of Plates during the fourth smash into his collarbone. He drops his weapon.

I will always carry my targe with me now, Lone muses as he drops to the ground.

Watching Lone felled by the crossbow bolts, the brute laughs, and the rest join in. They turn their attention to Pela. “So, such a pretty thing. I’m going to have a fun night, and then you can have a go, lads.”

The drool and whooping surround Pela, but since Lone dropped, all she feels is heat. Her whole body shakes with crackling fae energy.

One of the thugs yells, “She is shakin’. Mush want me one-eyed snake!”

That gets another laugh out of them. The brute with the club raises it high to smash Lone’s head in. He looks at Pela and winks. “Don’t worry, love. You’ll be shaking with pleasure soon.”

Just as he’s about to bring the club down, the build-up of energy reaches its pinnacle, and Pela cannot hold it in anymore. One word comes out of her mouth. “Scorch.”

From every pore, appendage and hairsprings purple and blue flame, bursting out in all directions. Lone is safe on the ground, but twenty metres of devastation occurs above him. Locked-up carts nearby explode due to the dramatic increase in temperature. Those who don’t turn to char are impaled on stone and wooden debris from the buildings and shop fronts.

After the blinding light dies down, all that remains of the half-dwarf is a pair of legs, the rest of him burnt away by Pela’s innate magiks.

Lone is surprised but far less than Pela. He looks at her; Lone notices a rapid shift blurs through his roommate's body. Lone could only look upon her dumbfounded as Pela now seems like fire itself. A cascading colour of flame wraps around Pela’s silhouette.

Pela's whole body changes from her girl next door look to an incarnate like a heat mirage. Hair coloured like the stages of fire, from red at the roots morphing to orange onto yellow, which transition to white and finally blue at her tips.

Pela’s body lengthens, and her complexion darkens to a bronze, unlike before when she was just sigh of tanned. She stares at her hands as her nails have sharpened and now are black as coal. Even though she is shocked, she feels miraculous and powerful, like magiks of the flame are now contained in her new body, and with a mere thought, she could unleaded them.

Not knowing what to say about this rapid change or the demonstration of this unknown ability. So Lone went to a forgone conclusion that she'll agree and says, “So, welcome to the Rejects, Pela, if you'll have us?"

With a smile, Pela responds. "Part of the Rejects," her hand now engulfed in an orange flame, smiling at Lone. "Sounds like a good idea."