There comes a time in every man’s life where he is forced to do the bidding of a greater power. Resistance is futile. Genuflect before the supreme might that is before you, directing you with its commands, for to ignore the commandment of the Alpha is to seal your own fate. Syron, having the mentality of a well-adjusted adult, understood this well. That didn’t make it any less humiliating.

“Mother… I can groom myself. I don’t need your assistance in combing my hair.”

“Nonsense Sweetie. If I do not do at least this much, you will go to your big event with bed head and your shirt on backwards and inside out. Do you want to embarrass yourself in front of the whole town? Now sit still, I am nearly finished.” Lady Forrester said lovingly to her son. He groaned while a squad of nearby maids looked on with warmth.

“At least leave it to the professionals. Don’t you have work to… I can button up my own pants, thank you! I’m not a toddler, Mother. Now get your hands off of me!” Syron said with exasperation, his voice squeaking embarrassingly as his hand swatted hers away lightly. She looked at him critically, then licked her hand. Knowing what was coming, he dodged back and away from her slicking his hair down.

Stupid puberty making my stupid voice change in stupid ways!

“Ah… my son has grown up so fast he does not even require his poor, lonely mother anymore… whatever will she do? I suppose, with her job completed, she may as well just walk off into the ocean…” Syron’s mother said while dramatically swooning, throwing her hand to her head and her body backwards like she was an actress fainting in a movie from 1950.

Resigning himself, Syron obediently stood back in front of her and tilted his head down. She giddily cheered and started smearing her hand into his head futilely. She kept at it anyway, licking her hand once again because parents do gross things to their children without any real forethought.

Once she was satisfied, she nodded to the maid squad that sprung into action immediately to garb Syron in his finest black double-breasted suit. Of course, it had emerald accents and an emerald green shirt to go underneath. Once they were finished primping him, the maids stood back a few feet opposite the Lady Forrester and appraised him minutely. Finding no flaws other than a rather obvious cowlick they allowed to stay with a grin, they deemed their work perfect and left the room.

“Though I disagree with the sentiment, I suppose you felt there was a great reason for this… so here is what you asked for.” Syron’s mother said as she handed him a small ribboned box. He unlaced the ribbon and opened the package with a smile, pulling from it a three quarters black mask.

“Of course. The reason for the mask is because it’s awesome.” Syron said defiantly as he turned his back on his mother to place it on his face. Around him, violins and pipe organs started play as the room around him darkened to the point that only a solitary spotlight lit his covered form. When the music crescendoed into a high, powerful note, Syron turned to reveal his masked face with a flourish. His mother just clapped dryly.

“My son has strange hobbies.” She said monotone while she continued to golf clap.

“My mother has a strange son.” He retorted with a smile. He held his hand out to her.

“Shall we go? My venue awaits.” He led her out of the room and down the long stairs, making their way to the front of the keep.

“I would not even dream of missing your big day, my sweet boy.” She said happily while she stepped outside. The awaiting carriage ride was pleasant and uneventful. They made their way into town, and funnily enough weren’t stopped at the gates before entering. They alighted from the carriage at the venue in the center of town and Syron marveled slightly how the building had finished construction so quickly given its size. Smiling without a care in the world, he followed a knight’s gesturing and entered the building through a side entrance, avoiding the small crowd of people waiting at the primary entrance.

“Young Master! Your podium has been prepared to your specifications, if you would follow me to examine it!” Georg, the elder butler from the Keep, appeared out of nowhere and gestured for Syron to follow him into the venue’s main hall.

The room kind of reminded Syron of a volleyball court without the net dividing it, only with rounded sides on the rectangle. His podium sat up high and on the center line of the rounded rectangle so that he could see the playing field easily like a referee… which he kind of would be. On either side of the room were circular raised platforms with four chairs adjoined to a crescent shaped wooden desk. The chairs were on the outside of the crescent shape, with the desk itself having its pointed edges turned towards the center of the room. In the direct center there was a square, raised stone dais with a grid chiseled into it. Opposite the podium was a few rows of stadium style benches carved out of a grey stone.

“It’s… quite a bit more than I was expecting to be honest… I was thinking we’d have a musty community center room with a coffee-stained carpet, dim flickering lights, fold-out chairs and a plastic table.” Syron said to himself, though the butler heard him. The butler, being the stoic professional that he was, ignored the strange words like he had been doing for a few months now.

Syron looked up at his podium, which was more lifeguard chair with a folding desk to hold his papers attached, and couldn’t stop himself from smiling. He left the room then, having decided exactly what kind of game he’d be playing based on the venue, and went back to hide behind the metaphorical stage curtains. He wasn’t sure why he decided on doing things this way… but Syron wanted to make this a show. It’s why he chose the silly phantom mask and had been rehearsing lines in his room for the past week. Perhaps it was just an unfulfilled desire from his previous life to be some sort of super star web streamer, but he felt the absolute need to over dramatize this whole production.

He waited patiently by the side door while the public was let into the venue and chose their seats, going over his papers one last time while he finalized his event. He could hear the uncertain murmuring coming from the other side of the wall he was concealed behind.

“What is he doing here?” Syron heard his mother say with a twinge of irritation. He checked her face quickly, but wasn’t able to see her without her ‘noble’ mask of impassivity. Despite her reputation for being a stony faced, cold blooded monster slayer, she broke her character schema frequently. Syron liked to make it a game to actually see her face contort in some way when around people other than himself and Marigold. Though, he was so nervous he didn’t even really think about what she was saying. He just went back to his papers and finished the image in his mind for what he wanted to open with.

“Young Master, they are ready for you.” The butler said, gesturing once again towards the venue and the awaiting podium.

“Phew… alright. I can do this…” Syron murmured to himself as he forced the light in the building to dim other than over the podium.

* * * *

An echoing, deep voice boomed throughout the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen! The moment you’ve been waiting for! The pride of Rowan Keep… Syron Forrester!”

A clump of concentrated darkness suddenly lit with a spotlight, revealing the twelve-year boy wearing a ludicrously expensive looking double-breasted suit and an equally ludicrous black three-quarters mask. He was bowing dramatically with his hands out to his sides like he was imitating a bird’s wings, but his head was facing straight forward into the crowd. He then straightened his body and began a casual stroll towards the steps of his podium. He opened his mouth like he was speaking normally, but his voice was amplified to echo around the room like the previous deeper voice.

“Good afternoon everyone! It’s so wonderful to be here in front of you today! I can’t tell you how exciting this event is for me to put on, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I am right now! As you’ve just heard, I am Syron Forrester. More importantly, however, is that I am today’s Event Master, and I will be doing my very best to ensure that everyone has an absolutely unforgettable experience! I understand today will be a contest, and that I am to be its judge. With that said, what is a contest without contestants? Who among you is willing and ready to play?!”

The venue was eerily silent, like no one knew what to do or say. Syron began going up the steps of his podium, and didn’t notice that several people looked pretty angry as they understood that someone was using illusions on them. They directed that anger at the boy in front of them that had been rumored to be an illusionist. Before anyone could speak up, however, an emaciated boy child wearing ragged clothing jumped down from his seating onto the playfield and yelled out.

“I’ll play!” The kid shouted, silencing the naysayers before they had a chance to complain.

“Me too!” Cried out another kid, this one wearing much the same outfit, though with what appeared to be wet mud caked to the hem of the pants.

It didn’t even rain today…? Syron couldn’t stop himself from thinking, but shook his head and focused once again on more people stepping down to announce their intent to compete. Nearly a fourth of the people in the audience were standing beneath the podium looking up at the Young Master that was now seating himself imperiously over them with his legs crossed.

“Thirty-one of you… so close to perfect… okay, I need one more volunteer! I know what game we’ll be playing today.”

A few of the contestants balked at the boy claiming that he ‘knew’ what game they would be playing, since… well… he invented it, didn’t he? A young, attractive woman stepped down toward the group of people playing and joined the ranks of small dirty children. Including the final woman, there were ten adult men, thirteen adult women, and nine children. Eight of whom were far dirtier than the ninth, whom seemed to be wearing nearly as much money as Syron himself.

“Perfect. Can I assume that all of you are at the very least familiar with the rules of Blades and Battles?” Syron asked as he slowly increased the light levels around the contestants while simultaneously dimming the lights around himself so that they were equal in brightness. The audience in the stone bench stands were still in the dark, however. The crowd of contestants murmured in agreement, while many of the children vigorously nodded their heads with apparent pride. Nearly all thirty-two of them produced a rule booklet from their pockets or packs and presented them.

“The first challenge you will be completing is simple. I need eight teams of four players. Do gather yourselves quickly. The first teams to assemble themselves will get an advantage in the first of three rounds. And so, without further adieu, I am proud to announce the beginning of the first ever ‘Event’. Let the games begin!” Syron called out as he created pyrotechnics and fireworks around him and in the air above the playfield. The darkness in the room faded away with the last of the fireworks to reveal a very happy with himself Young Master and nearly a hundred and thirty rather surprised or excited individuals.