Days Later…
The infirmary was quiet, save for the rustle of bandages and the occasional drip from a clay water jug. Pheo lay in bed, still sore from the fight with Rocco, his body etched with bruises all around.
A soft knock broke the silence. When the door opened, a figure slipped in, light-footed and silent. She carried a small pouch, which she set on the table beside him. Dried fruit, neatly tied shut.
Pheo blinked at her. "...Uh, hi?" She gave a slight nod, pulling a chair close and sitting without a word. Her eyes lingered on him, calm but unflinching, as if she were studying him more than checking on him.
"...You're not going to say anything?" Pheo muttered. After a pause, her lips parted. "Polin." Her voice was quiet, measured, and she didn't offer more. Before Pheo could think of a response, the door creaked again.
Rocco's bulk filled the frame, and the room suddenly felt smaller. "Well, well," Rocco rumbled, crossing his arms. "Look who's still alive." Pheo managed a dry laugh, though it made his ribs ache. "Barely."
Rocco pulled up a stool with a loud scrape, his grin wide. "You know, kid, when Anora first threw you at me, I figure it'd be over quick. Thought I'd knock you down once and that'd be it. But you lasted. You fought back. Hell, you even got me good a couple times."
He rubbed just under his eye, where a faint yellow bruise still lingered. "I'll admit it," Rocco went on. "You surprised me. Took some grit to stand up like that. Most folks would've quit halfway through."
Pheo glanced at Polin. She still hadn't said much, but her gaze met his, steady and unreadable. "...So what does that make me?" Pheo said quietly.
Rocco leaned back, folding his arms. "One of us. You're still green, yeah, but you're not just some scared kid anymore. You're our little brother now. And that means we'll be watching out for you. Just don't slack off, because none of us will go easy on you next time."
Polin finally spoke again, her voice low but firm. "Don't waste what you showed us." Pheo blinked at her words, simple but weighted. He let out a small breath, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. "...I'll try not to."
Rocco clapped a heavy hand against Pheo's shoulder, gentler than it looked, but still enough to make him wince. "Good. Then rest up, little brother. Next time, I won't hold back."
With that, the two Ravens left, leaving Pheo alone with the echo of their words. For the first time in a while, the weight of his bruises didn't feel so heavy. Since then, the days blurred together. The steady rhythm of healing was broken by the quiet visits of The Hollow Ravens.
They never came as a group, always one at a time with each their own way. Some brought small offerings. A strip of meat, a flask of water flavored with herbs, or even a well-sharpened pebble with a note scribbled, "Next time, aim for the genitals."
Others simply stopped by to check on him, leaning against the doorway, muttering a gruff "Get well soon" before slipping out again. Each visit carried a piece of something Pheo hadn't realized he was missing before, a sense of belonging.
They treated him not like an outsider, not like a child burdened with a bad start in life, but as their junior. A younger brother. It warmed something deep inside him, a feeling he hadn't touched in a long, long time.
When his body finally allowed him to move without pain shooting through his ribs, he left the infirmary and headed straight for Anora. She was at the edge of the training grounds, arms crossed, watching a sparring match between two Ravens.
Her presence was like a blade in its sheath. Quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the noise. Pheo stepped closer, steadying his voice. "Anora." Her eyes flicked to him, then to the faint bruises still marking his jaw. "Back on your feet already? Good."
He hesitated, then asked the question that had lingered since the fight. "What lesson did you need to teach me… for Rocco to use his gift?" Anora tilted her head slightly, studying him.
A slow grin spread across her face, though her eyes remained cold and deliberate. "Ah," she said softly. "So you caught that." Anora didn't answer him right away.
Instead, she let the silence draw out, sharp and deliberate, until Pheo shifted uneasily. Then she asked, "What's the difference between the time we met in The Caverns and when we met in this city?"
Pheo frowned, thinking it over. "The first time I was weak, barely able to do anything. This time, I grew from journeying in The Badlands. I learned how to hunt and how to live by myself."
"Maybe, but that wouldn't lead to a problem, wouldn't it?"
"Then… maybe it was my injuries? I was still healing when you found me again. Maybe my condition wasn't as good as it was back then."
"Wrong again." Her voice cut clean, no softness, no room to wiggle.
He clenched his jaw. "Then what?"
Her eyes narrowed as if she were peering straight through him. "Adam." She stepped closer, her gaze unyielding. "The first time I met you, you had no one. You were by yourself. Your guard was always up, every step measured, every glance questioning."
"You were aware of everything, careful with every action. You acted with purpose, doing everything you could with the things given to you." She paused, letting the words sink in before continuing.
"This time, you had Adam. A guardian strong enough to deal with most threats in The Badlands. And that strength, his strength, made you loosen yourself. You got too used to peace, living under his shadow. Too used to being shielded."
Pheo felt a knot twist in his chest. She wasn't wrong. "You forgot what it was like out there," Anora said firmly. "And when I found you, I saw it in your eyes. They had dulled. Not soft, but not the same as it was back then."
Her hand lifted, two fingers pointing at his face, right between his eyes. "But after Rocco? They're changed again. They're back to the way they were when I first saw you. Not just the eyes of a warrior, but of someone who's already endured more than most of their age ever will."
She dropped her hand, the weight of her words hanging in the air. Pheo didn't answer her right away. He sat in silence, her words digging deeper the longer he let them linger. Had he really changed that much? Had he been so oblivious that he hadn't even noticed?
His thoughts drifted back. Back to the caverns, when survival meant relying on no one but himself. He remembered being offered a place in a group, but he had turned it down. At the time, he thought they would only slow him down. A hindrance.
And then there was Ryu. The only person that he trusted. He was someone who he ended up having fun with even though they were slaves. He was the reason why he chose to escape captivity in the first place.
But even as he replayed those memories, he realized something that made him second guess Anora's words. After he met Ryu, he had changed. He did things that he usually wouldn't, took risks that sounded ridiculous for his previous self.
And it wasn't just him that had realized this, others did back then too. Most notably Jug, who had told him that he became different, that he wasn't like them anymore. Looking back, sacrificing himself to distract Beam for people he had recently met was something that he would've never done before.
Yes, he knew that Adam had changed him. But was Adam really the only difference since then? Maybe it wasn't just something that was added to his life that changed him, but also something that was taken from him as well.
Anora studied him carefully, noticing the way his gaze had gone distant, as if lost deep in thought. She could see the weight of memory in his eyes, the quiet wrestling with himself, and chose not to break it. Reflection was as much a part of training as fighting.
The courtyard was still, save for the faint rustle of wind stirring the banners overhead. Ravens lingered around the edges, murmurs hushed as they silently watched him. They were curious on what had him in such deep thought.
Only when Anora noticed the tension in Pheo's shoulders ease, the faint exhale that carried something of release, did she finally speak. "Good," she said, voice low but clear enough that those nearest tilted their heads to listen.
"You needed that. But thinking alone won't be enough. It's time to put it into practice." Pheo blinked after hearing her words, "Practice?" His throat was dry. "Do you mean… sparring?"
"Yes, but it won't be just you and me this time." She looked at the others who were watching their conversation. "You'll be sparring in duel format with each of the Ravens as well."
Her words stirred a ripple among the onlookers. Some leaned forward with interest while others smirked knowingly, as though anticipating a spectacle. Pheo felt the air tighten around him, heavier with expectation.
He furrowed his brows. "All of them?"
"Not at once," Anora corrected, her tone almost mocking the very thought. She stepped back, boots echoing on the hard ground, and gestured toward the center of the yard. "I'll be observing. Choosing your opponents based on what I think you need to train on."
Her words pressed against him like weights as he looked around. Each opponent was going to be a Raven chosen by her, someone equal, if not, stronger than Rocco. Would he even be able to handle a single spar?
Pheo swallowed hard, his hand instinctively brushing against the leather strap of his sling. His mind flickered with memories. Rocco's fists pounding through smoke, the dizzying blur of shapes shifting in the fight, the sting of his own hesitations. He clenched his jaw at the thought.
"Why duel format?" he asked, knowing that there wouldn't be a chance of him winning if he had to fight more than one. "Because you need more than strength. More than instinct." Anora's voice carried, sharp and commanding, echoing off the stone walls.
"You need to be constantly exposed to danger, to the edge of death itself." She stepped closer, close enough that he caught the chill in her gaze. "That is where your gift awakens. That is where you will learn to control it."
Her tone hardened, striking like a hammer. "We will push you there again and again, until survival becomes second nature. Until fear no longer weakens you, but sharpens you."
Her words hit something in him. He remembered The Caverns, Badlands, the nights he spent living with a father who lost his mind long ago. During those times, it was survival that had shaped him sharper than any blade. There was no greater motivation for him than wanting to survive.
"You all heard me, right?" Anora's eyes flickered toward the crowd. Her voice rose, ringing like a command that could not be ignored. "Whichever one of you wants to play with our junior here first, step up!"
The sound carried, cutting through the silence. The group stirred, eyes turned to one another with curiosity on who would go first. Eventually, one figure broke away, the scrape of their boots deliberate and steady as they moved into the open.
The space between them and Pheo seemed to stretch longer than it was, each step pounding against his nerves. He felt every heartbeat in his chest, every bead of sweat forming at his brow.
Anora's hand motioned them into place, her expression as unreadable as usual. She didn't explain who, or why. She didn't need to. "Your first opponent awaits," she said to Pheo, her tone both commanding and final.
The Raven who stepped forward stood at ease, waiting for Anora's signal. Around them, the others leaned in, eager to see the clash unfold. Anora's gaze didn't leave Pheo. "Now show me," she said heavy with expectation. "Show me if you've truly understood what I've been saying."
Pheo narrowed his eyes as the Raven stepped into the circle. He moved differently than Rocco had, less like a wall of muscles and more like a shadow that was slipping through the cracks of the world.
His attire was light, cut close to the body, the fabric chosen for speed rather than defense. A dark cloak draped across his shoulders, swaying with each step like a curtain hiding something dangerous.
It was only when Pheo's gaze sharpened that he noticed them. There were slim glints of metal tucked at his waist, along his arms, and even threaded subtly in the folds of his cloak. Needles. Sleek and double-edged, meant for swift, quiet kills.
The Raven caught Pheo studying him and gave the faintest smile, not mocking, but acknowledging. He tugged his cloak back just enough to make the hidden weapons clear, then let the fabric fall again.
"Smart eyes," the man said, voice smooth but low, like someone used to speaking where silence was survival. He dipped his chin in a faint nod. "I should introduce myself properly, since you've earned that much."
His steps slowed as he took position opposite Pheo, the faint crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound in the courtyard. Then, with a tone as casual as if they were exchanging greetings at a tavern, he spoke.
"My name is Aero, a Hollow Raven as you know. My specialty here is infiltration and eradication, exterminating organizations that grow too noisy, too troublesome for us. When you hear of ten men dying in the streets, or a whole den of brigands wiped out before they can even reach for their weapons. It was likely me."
His words weren't boastful. They were spoken plainly, factually, as though he were describing the weather. His behavior made the words feel heavier. Pheo tightened his grip on the sling knowing that his opponent had no reason to lie.
Aero's eyes sharpened as he studied him, but his mouth curved faintly in approval. "I watched your fight with Rocco," he said. "We all did. You didn't just survive, you exceeded what any of us expected from a kid."
"That's why this duel will be interesting."
Pheo's chest rose and fell with a deep breath, the weight of his words pressing against him. This was his next opponent, another predator, sharper and faster than the last.
And this one wasn't smiling.
"Personally," Aero said, his words deliberate, "I liked the way you fought Rocco. Creative. Adaptive. You turned every scrap of ground, every stone, into a weapon. You made the environment yours, a weapon that made you just as strong as him."
He paused, letting the words hang for a heartbeat, then tilted his head. "But tell me–" his hand brushed against the edge of his cloak, "–can you still fight when the environment is against you?"
Before Pheo could respond, Aero's cloak unfurled with a sudden flourish, fabric snapping open like the wings of a crow. What it revealed made Pheo's stomach twist. Lined along the inside were not a handful, but hundreds of gleaming needles, each one double-edged.
Each one of them were honed to a killing point. They caught the light like a wall of stars. And then Aero moved with a single fluid motion. He twisted, spun, and unleashed them. The air filled with a shrill hiss, like a storm of metallic rain.
Needles scattered in every direction, embedding themselves into the ground, the walls, the posts, even biting into the wooden dummies nearby. Some stuck upright, quivering, others angled sharply, their tips waiting like teeth.
They weren't thrown at Pheo, at least, not directly. They went everywhere in the training grounds, with none of them landing nearby the others who were around. And suddenly, the area turned into a minefield of steel.
Pheo's breath caught in his throat as he turned, realizing the scale of it. The once-clear training grounds were now a cage, every step a danger, every dodge a gamble. The Ravens who watched leaned forward, expressions sharpening with interest.
Aero adjusted his cloak with a flick, now lighter, emptier, his smile returning as if nothing had happened. "Well then," he said softly, his voice carrying in the silence that followed. "Let's see if you can dance without tripping."
He didn't wait. The instant his words faded, he was already closing in. He was swift and precise, his fists raised in a way that left barely any openings. He struck not with the wild brutality of Rocco but with surgical control, every movement calculated to limit Pheo's options.
Pheo ducked the first jab, but the second caught him clean across the cheek, snapping his head to the side. The sting bloomed across his face before he even registered the hit. "Too slow," Aero murmured, stepping closer, crowding into his space.
His voice was calm, almost conversational, like a mentor correcting a student. His next strike came low, a hook aimed at Pheo's ribs. He twisted, half-avoiding, but Aero's fist still grazed him, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his side.
"Too obvious," Aero noted, shifting his weight smoothly, his footwork gliding between the scattered needles as though they weren't there. His cloak trailed behind him, a shadowy blue. "You show me where you'll move before you move."
Pheo stumbled back, only to feel his heel scrape dangerously close to a needle jutting from the dirt. His chest tightened. One wrong step, and it wouldn't just be Aero's fists that he had to fear.
Aero didn't give him time to breathe. He pressed forward, his strikes coming like a drumbeat. Pheo managed to deflect one, barely ducked another, but the next slammed into his shoulder, driving him off balance.
"See?" Aero's voice was almost disappointed. "You're letting me guide you. I'm leading, you're following. That's not fighting, but surviving." Another punch snapped out, grazing Pheo's chin.
Aero herded him deliberately, pushing him toward the densest cluster of needles. Pheo's steps grew frantic as he tried to keep balance, his eyes darting to every glittering edge. Aero, meanwhile, moved like water, with each step perfectly measured to slip between the hazards.
"You think the battlefield is your ally," Aero said, twisting around Pheo and striking him in the back, forcing him a step closer to a cluster of quivering steel. "But look at you. You're trapped by it."
Pheo hissed through clenched teeth, his balance wavering as another needle nearly scraped his calf. Aero's hand shot out, stopping just short of Pheo's jaw. His voice dropped, sharp and precise.
"The battlefield belongs to no one. It doesn't care about you. It doesn't care about me. It just is. What decides whether it becomes your aid or your executioner…" His eyes glinted as he feinted a knee, forcing Pheo to stumble back another step. "...is how you adapt."
With that, Aero swept in again, his strikes relentless as they pushed Pheo to realize that every step, every angle, every breath had to be recalculated if he wanted to survive against him.
At first, Pheo stumbled with every strike, every movement a desperate attempt to avoid Aero's fists and the scattered steel gleaming at the edges of his vision. But slowly, he began to notice patterns. The weight in his steps, the way Aero's body angled, the gaps between the clusters of needles.
His foot landed lightly on the earth instead of stomping. He shifted just a fraction sooner, sliding through a gap in the obstacles. His body moved not in panic, but with thought, with rhythm.
When Aero lunged again, Pheo sidestepped at the exact moment, his hand snapping forward to strike Aero's ribs. The Raven staggered back a step, then grinned wide, satisfaction flashing in his eyes.
"There. You've found it. The battle's rhythm. You finally began to adapt." Before Pheo could savor the small victory, Aero raised his hand. The air shifted, faint whistles singing through the training ground as the needles that had been scattered far away shivered, then flew into his palm like loyal hounds.
With a single motion, he cast them back out, this time planting them much closer, hemming the two of them in a tighter circle bristling with jagged steel. "Good," Aero said, his grin sharpening. "But don't think I'll let you get comfortable."
Then the ground itself seemed to change beneath Pheo's feet. Aero didn't just scatter the needles, he kept them in constant motion. With the slightest twitch of his wrist, clusters shifted, closing off exits and opening new ones, forcing Pheo to recalculate constantly. Each time they moved, a faint blue glow pulsed along the steel, like veins of light threading through the battlefield.
Every strike, every dodge had to flow with this shifting landscape, the battlefield itself becoming Aero's weapon. "You've learned the rhythm," Aero's fist clipped past Pheo's shoulder, grazing him as he slipped away.
"Now let's see if you can dance when the floor won't stay still." The ground felt alive beneath Pheo's feet, the needles humming with every shift as if the earth itself conspired against him.
The glow haunted his vision, with flashes of blue marking every trap seconds before it cut off its path, forcing his mind to split between the moving needles and surviving the terrain.
Every time he found a path, it closed. Every time he tried to anticipate Aero's next strike, the Raven twisted the terrain until escape routes narrowed to a single, perilous thread. It felt like he was being manipulated, like every action he did was set in stone by him.
Pheo ducked under a sweeping blow, only to feel the sting of steel slice across his arm as one of the shifting needles cut him as he leaned back. He hissed in pain, forcing himself forward, but Aero was already there, a blur of motion closing in on him.
"Too slow," Aero muttered, his fist hammering into Pheo's gut. The impact doubled him over, sending him stumbling back into another shifting cluster. He barely pulled himself away before one of the steel points grazed his cheek, a red line marking where his head could've been skewered.
Pheo's lungs burned as he tried to keep up. Every instinct told him to focus on Aero, but the battlefield demanded attention too. It was like fighting two enemies at once. One with fists, the other with a thousand blades.
"See it now?" Aero's voice carried calm certainty as he pressed forward, his strikes relentless. "You don't just fight the man in front of you. You fight the ground, the air, the traps, the unknown. And if you lose focus on even one, you die."
A knee smashed toward Pheo's chest. He twisted just in time, the blow grazing instead of breaking him. His heel caught on a needle wedged in the dirt, nearly tripping him before he kicked off it, rolling to the side. The world tilted, his heart racing in his ears.
I can't keep this up.
Every dodge felt narrower, every escape more desperate. His body screamed, and his mind struggled to track the shifting chaos. He wasn't just losing ground, he was being swallowed by it.
Aero's footwork blurred, his strikes flowing sharper, faster, until Pheo's body lagged behind his mind. His sling barely managed to deflect a blow aimed at his temple. As he staggered back, he realized there was nowhere left to run, The circle of steel had closed in entirely.
Aero raised his hand, and with it the needles began to shift again, each one glowing blue before sliding into its new place, sealing Pheo's fate. They hummed like a swarm of bees closing for the kill.
The storm of needles whipped forward, then froze, quivering inches from Pheo's face, chest, and throat.
"This is checkmate."