The rooster crowed before dawn.
Orin didn't stir. He lay sprawled on the porch of the Capillet house, bare chest streaked with mud from yesterday's spar, mouth wide open, snoring loud enough to scare crows. One leg dangled off the step, twitching as though he were still fighting in his dreams.
The door creaked open.
Yira stepped out, broom in hand, braid swaying over her shoulder. Her eyes landed on him, and her jaw tightened.
"You're unbelievable," she muttered.
She nudged him with her foot. He rolled, grinning even in his sleep, and murmured, "Yiraaa… first wife…"
Her face flushed crimson. She smacked his forehead with the broom.
Orin jerked awake, yelping. "Ow! What was that for?!"
"For being a shameless idiot!" she snapped. "You slept out here half-naked where the whole village could see you!"
Orin stretched, yawning, scratches from last night's spar still raw on his arms. "So what? They should get used to it. When I'm the strongest, they'll see a lot more of me."
Yira groaned, storming back inside.
At breakfast, Mira ladled stew into bowls, her hands trembling. "Orin, you can't keep this up. Fighting, bleeding, scaring the villagers… you'll destroy yourself."
Orin slurped half the bowl in one go. "Relax, Mom. I'm fine! Look—" he flexed a skinny arm, still smudged with dirt. "Stronger than ever!"
Hegar chuckled from the head of the table, beard wet with broth. "He's not wrong. That boy's tougher than ox-hide. But Mira's right—strength without sense will get you killed."
"I'd rather die strong than live weak," Orin said, licking the bowl clean. Then his grin widened. "Besides, I found someone stronger than me. Today's the day I beat him."
Yira nearly choked on her stew. "You mean him? That traveler? You couldn't touch him yesterday!"
Orin laughed, springing to his feet. "Exactly! Which makes today perfect!" He grabbed a crust of bread on the way out, bolting for the fields.
The open plain shimmered in the morning light. A single figure stood waiting, staff resting across his shoulders.
Code.
His presence seemed carved from stone. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a lean frame hardened by travel. His hair was jet black streaked faintly with silver, tied in a short knot. Across his left cheek ran an old scar, and his eyes—cold steel gray—missed nothing. His travel-worn cloak swayed in the breeze, faint dust clinging to it, as though he'd walked across half the world to stand here.
Orin skidded to a stop in front of him, panting from the sprint. "You waited!"
Code's mouth twitched faintly. "You're loud even when silent."
Orin jabbed a thumb at himself. "That's the spirit of a future strongest!"
Code set the staff aside. "Before you boast of strength, answer this: Why do you want it so badly?"
Orin blinked. Then grinned wider. "So I can fight strong guys! And marry lots of wives!"
Code stared, unblinking. "…You're serious."
"Of course! Why else would anyone train?"
A breath left Code, slow. "Very well. Show me."
Orin crouched low, aura bursting alive—black haze swirling, blue sparks snapping sharp across his arms. The dirt at his feet cracked in a ring, pebbles lifting as the pressure mounted.
He lunged.
The first punch ripped forward, all weight behind it, fast enough to stir the air into a sharp whistle.
Code shifted, no wasted motion. A half-step sideways, torso angling—Orin's fist tore past his ribs, missing by an inch.
A palm pressed lightly against his shoulder.
BOOM!
Orin slammed into the dirt, ground cracking beneath him. Dust shot up in a cloud. He coughed, spat soil, then rolled and sprang back up, eyes burning brighter.
"Good! Again!"
Aura flared hotter, shadows whipping like smoke, sparks crawling down his arms. He hurled himself forward, fists blazing—jab, hook, uppercut, a sweeping kick.
Code's movements were sharp and clean.
A wrist flick turned Orin's punch aside. His forearm redirected the hook with a quiet snap. Orin's kick met a light shove at the knee, twisting his balance. His wild headbutt never landed—Code sidestepped, and Orin's forehead shattered a fence post instead.
Splinters burst. Blood ran down his brow. Orin only laughed.
"Too wild," Code said evenly. His tone didn't rise, but the steel in it carried more weight than a shout.
Orin roared, rushing again, blood dripping into his grin. His fists blurred, each strike sparking the air, dirt exploding beneath his bare feet. One hook howled wide, and Code's forearm caught it, redirecting it past his chest.
Orin's other hand snapped upward, messy but imitating the move Code had just used.
For an instant, Code's eyes narrowed. He copies mid-battle…
But the angle was off. His elbow wrong. His stance wide open.
Code shifted his weight, fingers tapping Orin's sternum.
CRACK!
The ground shattered under Orin's heels. His aura broke apart as his body flew backward like a doll, tumbling across the field. He crashed into the dirt, gouging a trench three meters long.
He lay there, chest heaving, blood streaking his lip, mud smearing his cheek. For a moment, silence.
Then laughter.
"Ha! You're amazing! Teach me that!"
Code studied him. The boy's small frame was battered—bruises blooming purple, cuts bleeding freely, breath ragged. And yet, in his eyes, not an ounce of fear. Only fire.
"Strength without discipline," Code said, voice low, "is a storm without direction. Discipline makes it strike true."
Orin pushed himself up on shaking arms. His fists clenched, aura sparking again despite his battered state. "So… I just have to hit harder?"
Code's brow twitched.
"No," he said sharply. "Balance. Breath. Flow. Master yourself before you master others."
Orin spat blood, grinned wide, eyes wild. "Got it! I'll break all of that until it's mine!"
This time, Code's lips curved into a faint laugh—short, surprised, unwilling but real.
They rested in the grass. Orin sprawled flat, chest heaving, grinning at the sky despite bruises blooming across his body. Code sat cross-legged, calm, cloak rustling faintly.
"There's a world beyond this village," Code said at last. "Schools, sects, empires. Men who've trained their whole lives to master spirit, blade, fist. Power that makes bandits look like children's games."
Orin's eyes burned. "Stronger than you?"
A faint smirk touched Code's lips. "Much stronger."
Orin burst into laughter. "Perfect! I'll fight them all! I'll crush every last one! And then—" he pointed skyward, voice cracking with joy, "every princess will line up to marry me!"
A groan cut him off.
"Idiot!"
Yira stomped into the field with a basket of food, cheeks burning. "Stop shouting nonsense about wives!"
Orin grinned, springing up despite his aches. "Relax, Yira! You'll be the first in line!"
Her jaw dropped. "I—what—?!"
Mira's worried call floated from the village, while Hegar's deep laugh rolled behind it.
Orin stood there, battered, bruised, aura still flickering faintly—and grinning wider than the sun.
Code's gray eyes narrowed as he studied the boy. Not fear, not doubt—only hunger.
This child won't stay caged here. One way or another, he'll change the world.