“About last night. You mentioned your brother.”

The centaur remained unresponsive.

“It seems, he caused you a lot of pain…

It’s not the first time.”

Altan was baffled with a questioning gaze.

“The night you invited us over… We, the three of us, heard it. Not all of it, but, you were sweating. Struggling in your nightmare…”

Despite the lively streets just several houses away, everything felt quiet. To Altan, there were only the thumping of his heart and Ren’s calm words.

“…You went silent after that, so we kept it to ourselves. Last night. It lasted much longer. More violent. It didn’t feel like you could break free, not by your own… So we woke you up.”

Ren paused, and Altan waited for him.

“It’s your personal life. You didn’t talk about it. So we don’t ask either. But Randal, he is really worried about you... You seem to be getting more stressed.” Ren paused once more. “We too have an elder brother. Our relation is also… not well… I think that’s why he begs us...” “Please don’t hate Ran.”

Altan kept his eyes on the paved alleyway.

“About us… Our problem’s probably not the same as yours… Our brother has always been hating us… shooing us away every time we tried to get closer…” “He didn’t like us. We also weren’t that close to him like… at all… We couldn’t understand his reason. It’s just… too much of a hassle to try to understand him when he didn’t even want to try, so we stopped trying… It’s probably best for us this way… We are like strangers with the same parents… At least we wouldn’t get into a fight.”

Altan changed his posture. His fore legs laid back shifting his weight to the hind legs. He headed up to the sky. The passing clouds eased his heart. “I thought about that too. I love him. Love him so much. It pained me every time I remember what he did… to my mother… to my brother… to me… It pains me to have to hate him. I don’t want to hate him. I don’t want to… I just want to run away… to forget… forget that I have ever had a brother like him… forget everything about him…” Altan tried… He tried… to keep tears from overflow… but it was futile… One by one they swelled up into tiny crystal balls before breaking into stream.

 

The salty pearls…

so clear and pretty

like world treasures…

fell…

shattered on the brick way.

 

“…but I could not… kill him… I have to kill him…” His voice broke. Altan shut his eyes, desperately fought the coming tears. Rather than hatred, the twins could only feel pain. He was agonising over those words.

To desire the death of the person he loved…

Pressing against his eyelids, Altan just wanted to stop. He just wanted to stop these tears.

Altan was not born strong. He was not raised to be strong because he was not expected to carry the duty of the strong. He had not expected it to change. He was content with his mother, his younger brother, and the frequent visits of his older half-brother.

In one day, he is the heir of the strong. In one day, he was decided to be raised as the strong. In one day, he was expected to take on the responsibility of strong. His mother was gone, his younger brother was gone, and his beloved half-brother was the cause.

He didn’t want to be strong. He didn’t want to be in pain. Then… how did he come here, to this city? How did he arrive at the gate of pain? Did he hate that brother of his that much? No. It couldn’t be. He still loved him, even knowing he was the cause of his suffering. Then why? What is this hatred he felt? Confused and conflicted, his feelings were in turmoil.

Everything he did, he wants none of it. Why did he still do it? Why did his mouth say “yes”? Two opposing forces clawed at each other in the fragile vessel. He was torn apart by his own contradiction.

The suffocating wave of emotion permeated into the twins. An old feeling made new.

Been so long, they forgot how common this scene was. One succumbs to their own pain, unable to save themselves.

They knew of only one thing to do, one thing their friends taught them. Just like that time when the veteran relieved his mount of its mortal wound. Just like that time when the widow collapsed at the charcoal bodies of her husband and sons. The twins pulled Altan closer, encircled the thinner frame. This is the only thing they knew, offering solace and protection.

Resting his head on their shoulder, droplet after droplet dampened the moss-green coat.

 

From afar, Randal clenched his fist. It was disheartened seeing Altan’s inaudible cries. He has only known Altan for some days, but he knew the young centaur was like the sun, bright and cheerful. How he wished whatever was tormenting Altan was in front of him. He would lunge at it smashing it until nothing remains.

More than rage, there was another feeling looming in his heart. Envy. He felt envious of his masters. “It’s for Altan. It’s for Altan.” Randal recited the unspoken mantra while casting his desire to the abyss of his psyche. His longing stare conveyed the unrequited feeling. He wished he was there for Altan.

 

His weeping has mellowed down, yet the twins made no effort of pushing him away. Too occupied to sort out his feeling, Altan remained within their hold. He listlessly wiped off the tear trails. His chest didn’t hurt as much as before. There were only minor aches accompanied his breath.

“Couldn’t you choose a different path (other than killing your brother)?”

Altan replied with a quiet but determined “no”.

“You have been thinking about this for a long time… haven’t you?”

“…Yeah…”

“I, no. We… we still wish you choose something else.”

Altan meekly shook his head. “It won’t do… I. I have to face it.”

Gowen grimaced. “NO.” He grabbed Altan’s shoulders. “It’s not what you want. It will just hurt you more. You must not do it.” The two brothers have decided to take this carefully since this was not their business. Gowen’s instinct, however, was stabbing his gut. He felt that something was wrong, and Randal had begged them to help Altan. It may look forceful and rude, but he couldn’t leave Altan to his device. “You don’t have to do any of this. You don’t have to decide anything. You can just run away. We will help you.” You are just a kid. You are not to think about killing. It’s not for you.

For a moment hope glared up in his eyes but like a spark its light faded leaving only hopelessness behind. “You can’t… you can’t help me.” Altan pulled his hands away. “Sorry.”

His fake smile frustrated Gowen, but before he could snap Altan out of it, his brother interrupted. “I understand.” “Hey. What’s this about?” “It’s his resolve. We can only support it.” “No we don’t.”

“Gowen. I thank you. But Ren is right. I have decided. I won’t be swayed.”

Among the many things he hates, he hates when people knowingly harm themselves. Gowen couldn’t stomach Altan’s smile. It felt like a burning rod was stuck in his belly. Gowen pulled Altan to his side by his arm. “I am not convinced.” “Gowen!” “You stay out of this, Ren!” He looked back at Altan assuring the boy paid him full attention. “You. Do not have to do this.”

Altan lowered his head. His other hand pried open Gowen’s grip. “I… can’t…”

“No! You can. You can choose not to.”

“I… just… can’t…” With those words, tears returned.

Gowen inhaled his frustration. “Find us at Balvich if- No. Just come. Anytime.”

“Thank you, Gowen.”

Randal headed toward them with a worried look. “Is everything ok?”

He must have heard me yelling. “Nothing.”

“Are you ok, Altan?”

“I am good now.” Altan hugged Randal. He gave the boy a good squeeze. “Thank you…”

---

 

Bidding their farewell, everyone departed. The centaurs pulled their luggage toward the bustling downtown. Batch and his caravan needed to continue up north. Meanwhile, Clarinet and the boys would travel with a different O’lotto caravan to the city of Reihil.

Getting on the horse wagon, Gowen did all the walking. He chose a seat where he could face the wall. The sullied boy shut himself in his corner.

As the wagon steadily moved, Ren said randomly. “His way of speaking, his story… His bringing-up is not ordinary… You know this.”

“I am.”

“Then how do you suggest we help him?”

Gowen kept his eyes on the painted wooden interior.

“If he went with your plan, we may have to deal with the authority... (Ours. And Theirs.)”

“Then should we just watch?”

This time, it was Ren who remained silent.

---

 

“O’kistra.” Called out, the pale skin elf. “Mr Bilguun has arrived.”

The bearded elf promptly gave his aide a delightful thank. His already-cheerful expression elevated to an even higher note. “Please show them in.”

O’kistra Adini has been having a wonderful time today. Two beautiful appointments by coincident settled on this very same day. Today is a joyous occasion worthy of thousand banquets. He couldn’t help but feels like a child before their first expedition. So much happiness, it was hard to keep himself from jumping up and down, grinning like a maniac.

The first one was from Master Kul’rak, the best swordsmith in the land. This morning the master swordsmith brought the Dimensional Blade to O’kistra with a demand, “please find it an owner”. There was no attached condition so he could do anything whenever he wants as long as he could find an owner. O’kistra had just the idea.

The obscurity of the Blade’s origin has been the subject of folklores and rumours for untold millennia. It has been this way since its appearance dating back to the Age of Gods. Records and documents describe this double-headed spear as indestructible. Enchanted Mithril, pure Orichalcum, or Adamantine alloys, all failed to deform it including the most destructive magic. Whether it harbours other secret nobody knows and so does he.

O’kistra doesn’t care. He is not a collector, weapon specialist, or merchant. He is an arena master. He wants only the most entertaining performance on the arena. To indulge in the ecstasy of awe and spectacles as flesh meets flesh and metal screams at metal, to lose oneself at the high of adrenaline as fighters display their testimony of pinnacles, such were the purpose for his existence.

This “treasure” is perfect as the prize for a big tournament. It shall serve as the mean to decide its owner and as his payment for the effort. The brilliants of the generation, gathered under the great dome. Just the mere thought gave him a hard-on no narcotic can hope to produce. O’kistra grinned to himself. For such an event, there is no rush. A tournament is only great when its roster of best players in their best condition. The news will be announced to every corner of the world. The players will be well-informed and ready. Organising such a tournament is the same as making art. You can’t rush art. O’kistra rubbed his palms in anticipation. This tournament will age like fine wine.

As the sound of hoof steps tapping on his granite floor drew ever closer, his inner self danced in joy. Here come the second main course!

O’kistra raised his hands in celebration. “Mr Bilguun!” He rushed to the centaur as quickly and as formally as he could. “Welcome! I hope your journey was comfortable.”

“Good to see you, master O’kistra.”

Half a year ago, he was contacted by a centaur. The content was simple. He was requested to support a rare individual. Centaurs by themselves are powerful fighters. If the other end mentions “a rare individual”, he could only speculate how great that one would grow. That little label successfully roused his interest, but he is still a professional. He couldn’t give the verdict without seeing the real deal. The other party understandably agreed and promised to meet up. Since the expense is on them, he found no reason to say “no”. At last, the moment of true has come.

If their advertisement was honest, he may consider pushing the tournament down a decade or two. Those that were worth his checklist won’t die in that window of time, so the more the merrier.

After a short greeting, he went to the main point. “So where is that boy?” There were three centaurs in the room. Bilguun is not counting. Batzorig is too old according to the details he received. The last person, the young boy in red hair, is just… definitely not the one. He has been in this line of profession for centuries. He met all kinds of people be they elf or centaur. He knew when he met a truly remarkable one regardless of their outer appearance.

Visibly distressed, Bilguun awkwardly tugged on the boy’s hand. “Come here, Altan.” He gestured toward the boy. “He is right here.”

O’kistra dropped his smile.

Noticing the arena master’s displeasure, Bilguun reassured. “Master O’kistra. He is not as bad as it looks.”

Rallied his shattered hope, the golden hair elf managed a response. “If you say so…” True to be told, it’s just polite speak from his side. No matter how he viewed the boy, every signal agreed with his conclusion. He has already wasted the time. It wouldn’t hurt to carry on for a bit. “You don’t mind if I ask him to run a few tests?”

“O-of course.”

After the aide ran off to prepare, the arena master invited the centaurs to come with him. They arrived at a sand field far inside the premise. Awaiting them was the aide from earlier along with another person. This man shared some facial traits with O’kistra but the air he gave off was closer to that of a seasoned warrior.

O’kistra introduced the man as O’gan Adini, his brother. O’kistra briefly explained to them the procedure after which the adults vacated the field. Since there isn’t a suitable furniture to accommodate for the centaurs, the elves stood together with their guests inside the shade of the building as they observed O’gan and the young centaur.

Despite fully aware of Altan’s capability, Bilguun couldn’t help but feel guilty at his earlier words. The boy’s poor performance unfolded exactly how Batzorig imagined much to Bilguun’s uneasiness and the host’s dismay. To be honest, Altan is not too terrible for his age group, but for all the advertisements Bilguun sold, the boy was far from acceptable. Be it strength, reaction, swordplay, or magic, they were equally disappointed.

O’kistra knew centaur youths. In his journey of searching for talents, he saw many. The last test, a sparring match, highlighted nothing else except this boy was among the lower end of the spectrum. The arena master could only let out a depressing sigh.

“I… I know he was not as you expected but please hear me out. He has potential.”

O’kistra repeated the word with mockery and upset. “Potential?” His face… he was so done for and yet he retained his professionalism to see what else can the centaur play.

For Bilguun, there is only one card he could play. He has already decided on its long before they made the trip. The catch? It’s a big risk. If he read O’kistra wrong, thing could end disastrous for them. He hesitantly whispered into O’kistra’s ear.

O’kistra stared at his nodding guest. The revelation ran through his cogwheels. As the final answers arrived, he walked back inside with a gloomy face.

In contrast to his expectation, the result was drastically different. Thinking it was due to distrust, Bilguun quickly added. “I assure you what I said is the true. It is absolutely true.”

O’kistra gave him an exhausted face. “You guys are not some scammers with so much free time that you would spend months to come here just to give me a poor joke.” He looked back the resting Altan. “This boy must have a special characteristic to persuade you that he would satisfy my demand. However, he has nothing worth noting. When you said he has the potential, I am certain you did not mean he is a late bloomer.” Checking on Bilguun, it seems he hit all the marks. “He is not a child prodigy, not a late bloomer. Then he must have something to justify your belief. For us, elves, we know we barely worth the comparation mostly because of our limiter. You can say, to us, you guys are the genius. There is the saying. If the genius can learn something twice as fast as you, the only way to catch up is hoping for twice their lifespan.”

So he knew and believed me. “Then… Why?” Bilguun couldn’t understand. With the personalities of an arena master, why didn’t O’kistra feel happy with a child that has unlimited potential and a long life to pursue it?

“Because among your kind, I know only one bloodline that has significant enough longevity that would spark my interest. He is one of them, isn’t he?” Bilguun’s nervousness confirmed his statement.

The rabbit was out of the bag now but that didn’t explain anything. “I… still don’t get it.”

“Every arena master worth their title would jump in joy knowing they could train and witness a talent blooming into fruition.” O’kistra pointed at Altan. “That kid needs time to blossom…” He then turned toward Bilguun. “…but you. Don’t have such luxury.”

“H-how?”

“Then there comes the question of your identity. Strangely I couldn’t find anything about you. But! I did find something. The current Khagan was in the rage to find his little brother, a scarlet-hair centaur.” O’kistra sneered. “Surely, the boy is just a coincident?” He continued. “But it can’t be. Among the descendants only a few truly inherit the legacy of that bloodline. How rare is it to have the exact same boy with the same blood?” O’kistra looked at his bald guest. “Then, there is this bit about the khagan. Apparently the bloody khagan got his throne by wringing every last drop of true blood from his competitors. He raked up quite the list of enemies.

Are you perhaps one of them?

Or a slave merchant?

Your lack of interest about profit during our initial talk was quite the clue.

Also, that ship of yours. Considering you sailed on a private, easily overlooked ship to this land, it’s not difficult to guess how important this boy is to you. It’s not difficult to guess who got your back. Clicking them together, it’s a matter of deduction… to know what you guys are intending to do, and how much time you have… With such short time, do you think he could become what I satisfy? What make you think I will invest in a crop that would be harvested before they could even mature?”

Being dumped an entire load onto him, Bilguun was stunned momentarily. He quickly thought up a plausible answer. After some dead ends, a narrow path was unveiled. “That’s quite insightful of you. Master O’kistra. However, I believe you overlook one thing. While it’s true we have little time, it is not definite that you would lose your investment.”

O’kistra widened his eyes. “Do you think I do not know who you guys are going to pitch him against? You tell me he could survive? While not too much of a fighter, w what makes you think this boy could catch up in just five years?”

Bilguun stayed silent. He drained all options. It seems mission failed. There was nothing else to do except securing his way out. “Would you-”

O’kistra knew what that doubtful tone implied. The elf shot him a stern look. “I am an arena master. I do not care about your politics. My desire is aligned with my duty which is to the arena as Tezma’gunth dictated. Nothing more, nothing less. Your story, will, remain, your story.”

At least, he confirmed their safety. Defeatedly Bilguun bowed. “Sorry for wasting your time. Farewell.” He was so sure it would go through.

They have a lot of trainers back in homeland, but the situation is dangerous. Furthermore, the centaurs have limited knowledge about magic. Among the many arena masters, O’kistra was the greatest and most influenced. His facility and personnel could help Altan tremendously. The boy has the best chance with his support.

Bilguun headed out to pick up Altan.

Regretfully, they would have to try their luck with others. It would be far less ideal for Altan but it would be something.

“Wait!” It was O’kistra. His face looked like he was about to make a very difficult decision.

Investing in this boy is playing with chance, but not doing so would be forfeiting a chance. It would be a waste to see a flower withers before it could bloom, yet he got nothing to lose in this venture except feeling down for a couple of years after the boy’s demise.

He inhaled a deep breath. “I will take care of him.”

“Ar- (you sure?)” Bilguun swallowed those words. “…Thank you. Thank you. I am sure you won’t be disappointed.”

 

Altan settled down on his quarter. It’s a nice room, much larger and cosier than he thought. For today, he would rely on his own stuffs. His assigned trainer, Mr O’gan, said tomorrow they would renovate the place to be more suitable to his needs. They seemed serious about making it easier for trainees to focus on improving themselves.

Looking at the schedule, his trainer briefed to him before leaving. Altan finally came to term with his fate. This is where his old self ended. This is also where thing start.