Chapter Text
Word that Riz Gukgak was back in town quickly got around Elmville. The son of the well-known adventurers Pok and Sklonda Gukgak, child prodigy, mysteriously defeated by Fabian Seacaster—it seemed everyone knew at this point about his sabbatical and how he’d finally returned to Elmville, older and faster and stronger than ever. Word on the street was, he was searching Elmville for the kid that’d beat him for the ultimate rematch, which of course was a fight anticipated by many a battle enthusiast.
It honestly seemed like the last person to know about this was the kid himself.
- - -
Adaine clapped her hands together. “Alright, you two. Our first club meeting is in session, and we need to talk triads, because they’re coming up quickly.” She pulled out three small notebooks and began to pass them out.
Fabian, sitting at a desk two rows from the front, raised his hand as she placed one in front of him.
“I’m going to explain what they are, Fabian, don’t worry.”
Fabian put his hand down, sharing a look with Pok, who sat on the table next to him, before reaching for the notebook and tucking it into his jacket pocket.
Fig, her boots kicked up on the desk in front of her, blew out a long breath. “I haven’t competed in so freaking long.”
“Then you’re on par with the rest of us,” Adaine assured her. “Fabian’s only fought three times in his life, and I’ve really only read books about it.”
Fig raised her eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“I mean, I know how to do combat spells and stuff, I’ve tried them, but I’ve never fought anybody before.”
“Why?”
Adaine shrugged. “I just never really had anyone who could battle with me before, seeing as my only friend at this school is this dunce over here.”
“Hey,” protested Fabian.
“Don’t you have a sister?” Fig pointed out.
Adaine looked away. “Why would she ever want to battle me?”
The room was silent for a second.
“Sorry,” Fig mumbled.
“It’s all good,” Adaine said airily. “The point is, I talked to the school about entering the three of us as a triad team for the upcoming school brackets, and they agreed. We’re going to be competing in about two weeks, and since none of us are particularly ready to do well, we’re going to have to train, and fast. These”—she held up her own notebook—“are our logbooks. Fortunately, most high school triad teams are pretty crap.
“But before we get anywhere, let’s talk about the rules. High school triad competitions are structured in a bracket system, with each school being paired against another. The first two rounds are simultaneous one v ones, where each member individual of the team competes with individual members of the opposing team. The school that wins the majority of the fights moves onto the next round.”
“Oh,” Fabian noted. “So if the three of us were competing, and two of us won—”
“—then you don’t have to worry about screwing up,” Fig finished.
“Exactly,” Adaine said. “The final round is a three v three, where all three members of each team are put into the same arena and made to fight. In this round, the last team standing wins, so again, even if you get tapped out, your team can still win if all three of the opposing team get tapped before all three people on your team do. We’ve honestly got a pretty good class composition for triads—wizard, bard, fighter. We’ve got spellcasting, physical fighting, and even some heals. Not as good as a cleric, but good enough. Those heals will come in helpful.”
Fig raised her hands. “Hey, beggars can’t be choosers.”
“Wait,” said Fabian, “why would we need heals?”
“You’re used to preteen and ameteur fight rules,” Adaine explained. “In high school competitions, injuries are allowed. Killing is, too, actually, but not necessary or the goal. You still only need a fatal tap. But if you do die, there are clerics at every fight. They also heal you back to full health before each round.”
“I told you way back, the older divisions get bloodier,” Pok reminded him.
“Damn,” Fabian said. “So you could actually die doing this?”
Adaine shrugged. “Yeah. You’ll get revived, though.”
“You can trust battle clerics, they know how to do your job. You’ll be fine,” Pok said encouragingly.
“That would be a lot more reassuring if it wasn’t coming from a dead man,” Fabian muttered. The angel only cracked a smile in return.
“Anyway,” continued Adaine, “those are the basics. If you’ve got any other questions, ask them now, because we’ve got to get started training.”
“No questions here,” said Fig.
“Yeah, none,” Fabian agreed.
“Awesome.” Adaine, grinning with a slightly wicked edge, pulled out a large textbook and put it down on the table in front of her with a heavy-sounding banging thump. “Let’s get to work.”
- - -
“My darling boy!” roared Bill Seacaster as Fabian arrived back home to Seacaster Manor that day.
“Papa!” Fabian replied in surprise. “You’re back?” Bill had been on a six-month trip overseas for most of the year. With all that had happened in the last couple of days, Fabian hadn’t been keeping track of what day it was.
“Well, of course I’m back! It has been quite a while since I laid my eye on you, eh, boy?” Bill clapped Fabian on the back and laughed uproariously. “What a half-year! How’s your mother getting on?”
“As usual,” Fabian muttered. “In her egg, not caring about anything.”
“Well, that’s your mother for ya, ain’t that right, me boy?”
Fabian shrugged and sat down at the kitchen counter. “If you say so.” He reached for an orange. “Papa, I… I’ve decided to take up adventuring again. I— I joined my school’s competitive battle triad with my friend, Adaine.”
Fabian’s father whirled around, eye wide. “Do I be hearing you right, boy? You’re taking up adventuring again?”
Fabian nodded slowly.
“Well, of course that’s lovely, my darling boy!” Bill laughed again. “This is wonderful! I’ve always said you were more cut out for Aguefort anyway, but you so determinedly refused!”
“Okay, let’s not go overboard,” Fabian said quickly, “I just joined my high school’s battle team. No big deal.”
“But of course!” Bill pulled up a chair next to Fabian. “You’ve reminded me— I’ve got news for you, boy!”
“News, papa? Of what sort?”
“You’ve got a visitor!” Bill patted Fabian’s shoulder enthusiastically. “Little goblin boy, came running up to the doorstep and hurriedly asking for one Fabian Seacaster just earlier this morning!”
Fabian’s fingers had frozen in the middle of peeling the orange in his hands at little goblin boy. He’d really only known there to be one young goblin in the town of Elmville. “What did you say?”
“Said he be looking for you, and wants to battle it out! I assumed he came to avenge some kind of debt you owed him or some sort like that. I told him you weren’t home, of course.”
Fabian swallowed. “Did he… did he say anything else?”
Bill slid over a grubby, folded sheet of paper. “Why, he left this little note for you.”
Fabian unfolded it carefully.
XXX-XXX-XXXX
Please call me. Maybe I won’t lose again this time.
-R
“Fuck,” Fabian muttered under his breath.
“What kind of trouble have you be getting up to up to since I been gone, boy?” Bill seemed highly amused by this whole thing.
“N-nothing,” Fabian insisted, “this is from… way before. I don’t… I haven’t even seen him in years.”
“Fascinating.” Bill plucked a slice from Fabian’s orange and popped it in his mouth. “Well, a true Seacaster never backs down from a challenge to a battle, eh, me boy?”
“O-of course, papa,” Fabian said hurriedly. “I’ll… I’ll be in my room.”
He quickly excused himself from the table and bounded up the stairs two at a time.
- - -
“Why would Riz be looking for me?” Fabian demanded, pacing throughout his bedroom. He’d ripped up the note and stuffed it in his trashcan, much to Pok’s disapproval. “Better question— why was Riz looking for me at my house ? How did he know where my house was? Is he stalking me? Since when was he back in Elmville?” He tore a hand through his hair and flopped onto the bed. “What am I supposed to do?”
Pok sat at the foot of the bed. “Call him?”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“Actually, I don’t. Please elaborate.”
Fabian sighed. “You do. Think, Pok. Riz wants to fight me again. He wants a rematch. He’s been gone for six years, and he shows up on my doorstep looking for a rematch. What the fuck am I supposed to say to that? And— and I’m not the person he’s looking for. How am I supposed to fight him the way that I am?” He buried his face in his hands. “Fuck, do you think he’s been gone all that time just to prepare for a fucking rematch? I’m… I’m not the person he thinks I am.”
Pok moved closer to Fabian. “You’re… scared of fighting him again, aren’t you?”
Fabian waved a hand in the air. “I’m not scared, I just… it’s… he thinks I’m someone special, just like everyone else in this fucking town does, and I’m not. I can’t fight him again. He needs to understand that I was just a blip in his life and move on.”
Pok looked deeply contemplative. “I don’t think he’d ever be able to accept that, really. Riz always had a hard time moving on from anything, especially a mystery. I wonder what it was that made him want to leave for that long. Surely it wasn’t simply losing a fight.” He chuckled. “I’ll bet Sklonda must’ve taken some convincing. Riz’s mother,” he clarified, glancing over at Fabian.
Fabian nodded. “Yeah, I’ve… heard of her. Hard not to.” He looked up at Pok. “Both of you are super famous in the adventuring community at this point.”
“Wow. Really.” Pok shook his head. “A lot can change in six years.”
“I know.” Fabian fidgeted with his hands. “Including Riz. He must be so strong at this point, he was already so good six years ago.”
“And you don’t want to fight him again?”
Fabian went quiet. “I… is it bad that I kind of do?”
“Of course it’s not bad.” Pok hovered an arm over Fabian’s shoulders and Fabian imagined that he could feel it. “But you don’t feel ready.”
Fabian shook his head.
“Well, you know what the best course of action when you’re not as good as you want to be?” Pok leaned towards Fabian and grinned conspiratorially. “You practice. You get better. You, say, train as hard as you can for the high school triad tournament Adaine signed you up for. How does that sound?”
Fabian couldn’t help but grin back. “I’d say that sounds perfect. Thanks, Pok.”
“You got it, kid,” Pok replied with a wink.
- - -
Adaine spent the next two weeks rigorously training Fig and Fabian, strategizing and warning them against doing anything stupid.
“We’re going to want to play to our strengths,” Adaine said. “Fig, I put you on deck as lead since you have the most experience. Fabian, you’re third player, and I’m second.”
“Works for me,” said Fabian.
“Fig and I will need to keep our spell slots open, since we’ll be using them for all the fights of the day,” Adaine continued. “Fabian, that’s not a problem for you, but the principle is the same—don’t tire yourself out too early on, because you’re going to have to keep going.”
Pok had also had a conversation with Fabian. “I want you to do this fight yourself, okay? I’ll give you some pointers between rounds, but no possession or instruction from me en media res, got that?”
“Yeah,” Fabian had said, “Totally. Makes sense. I honestly want to see how I’m doing as well, without your help.”
Unfortunately, this promise also meant getting his ass completely kicked by the others every time they practiced. The third time he was knocked halfway across the makeshift arena at Seacaster Manor by a tasty bass lick from Fig, she strode across and planted a combat boot on his chest before he could sit up. “Hey, are you fucking taking this seriously or not, Seacaster?”
Fabian rolled his eyes. “I’m doing my best.”
She stepped off of him, and he dusted off his shirt as he stood up. “Look, I want that championship, okay? And if we lose it because of you, then I’m not fucking around when I say I’ll throw you in the lake again.”
“Fig, can you not bully our third member, please?” Adaine asked tiredly. “No matter how incompetent he is, we still need his ass whole to qualify for the competition.”
“I feel full of love, thanks a lot, Adaine,” Fabian muttered, picking up his sword from the ground.
“Not gonna be any point in qualifying if we can’t get past the first round,” Fig snapped.
“There’s still the two of us, chill out,” Adaine said, flipping through her textbook calmly.
Fabian threw up his arms. “Can you two stop talking about me like I’m a lost cause? I’m trying my best, I’ll get my act together.”
“You’d better. It’s in two fucking days.” Fig jabbed a finger at his chest, tail swishing in irritation.
Adaine bit her lip as she closed her book.. “It is kind of soon, Fabian. Are you sure…?”
Fabian sighed and tugged on his hair. “Look, just… you two focus on not losing no matter what. I’ll figure myself out from there.”
Fig collapsed into a sitting position on the ground, legs crossed. “You two had better get your game up, because I swear to the gods if you lose me this tournament…”
“What? What did I do?” asked Adaine.
Fig waved a hand at the textbook she was clutching. “You can’t fight without your fucking book. You gotta learn to think on your feet, girl.”
Adaine looked hurt. “Why do you care about winning so bad anyway? You literally were talking about how trash battling was not two weeks ago.”
“I just… want to prove I’m a champion, alright?” Fig flicked some invisible dirt off of her skirt. “It’s stupid, but I was fucking good at battling. I’m not letting you two drag me down.”
Adaine shrugged, but she still looked contemplative. “Sure, Fig. Whatever you say.”
Fabian brushed himself off as he joined Adaine in leaning against the wall. “We’ll do our best, Fig. Really.”
Fig shrugged and strummed her bass. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
- - -
The day of the tournament, Fabian was decidedly not ready.
Fabian traced a finger along the hilt of his new sword, a gift from his father in excitement from Fabian’s announcement. It was lighter than he expected, far more balanced for his grip than the cheap one he’d been using to practice. It was a kind gesture, expected of Bill Seacaster’s gradiosity, which was nice and all, but Fabian still felt his stomach twist, disoriented as he stepped into the battle grounds, held in the gym of the hosting school.
Adaine dragged him and Fig over to look at the bracket board before the fight.
“Eight schools,” she said, gesturing to the list. “That means three rounds. Remember, two one-on-one fights, before finals—”
“A triad fight,” Fabian offered. “I remember.”
“Right!” Adaine beamed, which made Fabian kind of feel like he was a kid being called a star student by a teacher. He wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about that.
Fig shouldered her bass. “Don’t screw up, either of you, you hear me? I’m only doing this with you guys because I want the championship.”
“We know,” Fabian said.
Adaine scanned the bracket board again, sucking air through her teeth. “Aguefort’s here.”
Fabian perked up. “Really? You think Mazey’s here?”
“Don’t think she fights for the triad team,” Adaine said. “And she would’ve texted us.”
“Oh,” Fabian said, “true.” He wondered what Mazey would say if he saw him here, fighting again. Would she be proud? Or say ‘I told you so’?
“Aguefort is really good,” Adaine was saying, twisting and untwisting her fingers. “Don’t know if we’ll be able to win against them. Thank the gods we’re not up against them, lucky draw.”
Fig pointed at the board where Aguefort Academy was written. “We’ll be fighting them in finals.”
“If we make it that far,” Fabian added.
Fig glared at him.
“We will make it that far,” Adaine interjected confidently. “We’ve got this.”
“As long as you two keep it together.” Fig walked away from the bracket board. “C’mon, let’s get checked in.”
While Fig and Adaine went ahead, still talking as they approached the registration table, Fabian stayed back, swinging his sword lightly. “What do you think?”
Pok materialized, sitting cross-legged in midair. “What do I think about what?”
“About the competition.” He gestured to the rest of the giant gymnasium, at the large groups of scary-looking students and weapons.
“I think it’s a great learning opportunity,” Pok said lightly.
“You think I’m going to lose,” Fabian grumbled.
“I don’t, I promise. I just think you have a long way to go and a lot to learn, and you’re… about to find out where you stand.”
“Same thing.” Fabian began to follow the girls. “Well, whatever. We’ll win. Fig and Adaine are great. And who knows, I may just win.”
- - -
Before the fights, the girls kept using Message cantrips to talk to each other and Fabian, whispering rules and pointers and insults at each other. Fabian found it extremely nerve-wracking.
He managed to hold his own against his human warlock opponent for the first minute, parrying and dodging the first few hits surprisingly well, even landing a good strike to the arm. Unfortunately, her superior stamina quickly overpowered him, and he found himself knocked to the ground after just a few rounds by a well-placed Eldritch Blast.
He stumbled out of the ring for the cleric only to see Fig watching. She’d beat her half-orc fighter in about a minute. “He was good, but I could tell he was underestimating me,” she said dismissively. “He was so predictable, I had him down with a Thunderwave almost immediately.”
They both went over to watch Adaine, whose fight lasted longer. The heat was on as she heard the announcements that they were now with one win and one loss, meaning that it depended entirely on her to win for her team to move on. Fortunately, Adaine took the pressure well—her opponent, a Wild Magic sorcerer, was strong but imprecise. Adaine took advantage of his Wild Magic surge—which sent the poor boy flying over ten feet into the air—to knock him into the ground with Magic Missle and hit him square in the chest with a Ray of Cold.
She sighed in relief when she won, straightening up only for Fig to run into the arena and grab her.
“You did it! We’re moving on!” Fig cackled and high-fived her and Fabian. “Fabian, up it up, man! We carried this time, but don’t be dead weight, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Fabian muttered sarcastically.
Pok hovered next to him. “I could give you some pointers.”
Fabian blew out a long breath of air. “Yeah, that would be great.”
- - -
Round number two, Fabian was up against a barbarian guy, and he was being fucking annihilated.
He could hear over the speakers that Fig won against her rogue opponent within her first two minutes again. A few minutes into the fight, though, a ringing had started sounding in Fabian’s ears, and he couldn’t hear anything but his own thoughts of I’m fucking screwed and the little noises of approval and—more commonly—disapproval that Pok was making while flitting about on his wings and following along with the intensity of the fight, so he had no idea how Adaine was faring against her cleric combatant.
The barbarian dude in front of him swung with his club, and Fabian yelped as he managed to avoid getting his head bashed in.
“Fabian, focus the fuck up,” came a Message to his mind in the familiar voice of Fig. “You’re not going to lose us this. I won, but Adaine lost. Come on, my guy, keep up.”
Fabian’s heart immediately sank at those words. If Adaine lost, then… the outcome entirely relied on him. He gritted his teeth as he managed to semi-successfully parry. “I’m trying. I’m sorry, Fig, I think we can’t win you this championship.”
“It’s not about me and the fucking championship!” Fig’s voice sounded exasperated. “Don’t you get it? Adaine signed us up for this under the school’s name behind administration’s back! If we don’t win this, they’re going to shut down her club!”
“What? ”
“Fabian, your left!” Pok called out. Fabian quickly dodged, trying to focus on the fight and the conversation at the same time.
“Why didn’t she tell me? ”
“She didn’t want to fucking psych you out or something, but listen—you’d better get your ass in gear or you can kiss this club goodbye. ”
Fabian cursed under his breath, groaning as he stabbed forward and missed. “Pok,” he muttered under his breath, “they’re going to shut down Adaine’s club if I lose this.”
Pok sighed. “I think it’s a little late for that.”
Fabian yelped as he was knocked back and somehow managed to stay on his feet. “There’s no way I can save this fight?”
“There’s always a way,” Pok replied, “but I don’t know if you’ll be able to find it like this.”
Fabian parried and swung wildly. “Can you please help me? Adaine’ll be fucking devastated if her club shuts down.” He ducked down and swung again.
Pok was quiet for just a moment, while Fabian narrowly avoided a blow to the stomach. “I can… possess you again? I know I told you I wouldn’t, but…”
“I’m doing my best,” Fabian pleaded, “but I’m not fucking ready this time. And Adaine needs this win.”
Pok nodded solemnly. “It’s a deal then. Get ready.”
Fabian used his own body weight to push the barbarian backwards. As his opponent stumbled, he felt Pok take over his body, the strangely elastic sensation coming over him again, almost as if he were suspended in his own body.
“Make sure you watch, and feel, and learn, got it?” Pok asked in Fabian’s mind. “Don’t just follow along like a marionette, or you’ll never learn.”
“You got it,” Fabian replied telepathically, and settled in.
The next time the barbarian brought his club down, Pok-as-Fabian parried and spun out of the way effortlessly. Fabian did his best to feel the sensations through his body, as if he were actually doing them, as he spun around, feinted, and lunged to the right. Fabian could see his combatant’s face start to twist with confusion as “Fabian” seemed to improve instantly.
Fabian followed along with his body as he sidestepped, slashed, dodged and redirected with seemingly no effort. Barbarians can take hits, but they sure can’t do much if they can’t land any.
His opponent began to charge, and Fabian felt his hands flex on the handle of the sword.
Feint, pivot, tap.
Just as the barbarian thought he was going for an opening, he found himself slashing at air as Fabian ducked, spun, then slipped under his opponent's arm before touching the tip of his sword to the fatal zone.
Immediately, his skin tingled, and he felt Pok leave his body.
“Fabian Seacaster wins!”
“And that’s how you beat a barbarian,” Pok said, twirling his gun. “Good game, kid.”
Fabian sighed in relief. Their team was moving on to finals.
Adaine and even Fig cheered and hugged him as he left the ring, in desperate need for heals. “Dug deep, didn’t you, Seacaster?” grinned Fig.
Fabian wiped at his sweat and gratefully accepted a water bottle from Adaine. “We’re finalists,” he said in a hushed tone. “Can you believe that?”
Adaine clapped her hand to her mouth. “We’re against Aguefort.”
Fig’s smile faded just a little.
Fabian resisted the urge to choke out his water. “Oh. I forgot about that part.”
“Pfft!” Fig waved a hand in the air. “It’s just Aguefort. We could beat them. As long as Fabian keeps doing his magic.”
Fabian glanced as inconspicuously as he could at Pok.
“I’ve gotta admit, kid,” Pok said, “I don’t know about the moral implications, but it feels good to fight again. I’ve got your back, so long as you say you’re paying attention and actually learning.”
“Of course I am,” Fabian reassured.
“You are what?” asked Adaine.
Fabian spluttered. “I— I am— what I mean is, I will. I will keep, uh… keep doing whatever it was Fig said I was doing. Yeah. You got it. You can count on me.”
Adaine raised an eyebrow at him, but let it slide. “Focus in, guys. One more fight, and we got this competition in the bag.” She grinned with barely controlled excitement.
The third round arena was greater than the first two by far. Fabian looked around, as they entered, trying not to feel overwhelmed.
“Remember, team fights, different dynamic. Coordination is key,” Adaine repeated to them telepathically as they set up in opening stance, mirroring the other team: a lanky dwarven fighter flexing his hands on a battleaxe, a halfling rogue in the back, twirling two daggers in her hands while blowing bubblegum, and a small half-elf wizard whose quarterstaff seemed multiple feet too tall for her small frame. Then again, it was better than the crystal ball Adaine kept lugging around for whatever reason. It was a wonder it hadn’t cracked yet.
“Three, two, one— begin!”
Fig went straight for it, aggressive as always, aiming a strike straight for the wizard. Fabian felt his insides elasticized as Pok took over, puppeting his body to jump in to protect Adaine from the offense. While the two of them held the front line, Fig swung her bass and shot spells ruthlessly at the tiny wizard girl, immediately knocking her to the ground. Before she could land the fatal hit, however, the rogue managed to feint out Adaine and escape before throwing a dagger, which landed with a sickening thud into Fig’s thigh. Fig hissed in pain and stumbled right into the path of a last-second Scorching Ray to the chest from the half-elf on the ground, going down.
“One down!”
Fabian wanted to turn to look at Fig, but Pok kept him focused. See how they worked together? Find ways to use each others’ strengths to supplement your own weaknesses, and vice versa. He perfectly brought Fabian’s body down to a crouch to dodge a swing from the other fighter before sweeping at the dwarves legs with his sword and knocking him off balance, giving Adaine the perfect opportunity to hit him with a Ray of Cold.
“Avenge me!” Fig called out while the cleric entered the arena with a magical shield up to drag her to the side.
“You got it!” Adaine knocked aside a spell from the other wizard before sharing a quick glance with Fabian. “Let’s get them,” she mouthed.
Fabian focused on the feel of his hands on the sword and followed along with the fluid finesse Pok matched the brute force of the other fighter with. He began to get a feel of the steps; Pok wasn’t trying to overpower them, but out-maneuver them. After a reckless swing of his axe, the other fighter just barely stumbled, and Pok didn’t hesitate for even a moment before sidestepping perfectly and tapping him out gracefully in the small of his back.
“One down!”
Adaine shot Fabian a grin.
Fig hissed out a sigh while Fabian and Adaine held steady, leaning and tilting her head back to catch her breath.
A familiar face in the crowd of spectators caught her eye. She straightened.
She and Riz Gukgak stared at each other, both with eyes widened in recognition. A million thoughts ran through Fig’s head on how to react.
She settled for pressing her mouth into a flat line and nodding at him. He nodded back at her, stiffly. She smiled a little.
Clatter! Her attention shifted back to the fight as Fabian knocked aside one of the halfling’s daggers.
“I’m holding her off, Fabian!” Adaine yelled across the arena to him, fighting the wizard girl that had picked herself up since taking down Fig. “Get the rogue and then get over here!”
Fabian would’ve yelped if he could as the rogue’s blade came close to scraping his cheek, but Pok easily helped him shy away from it before thrusting at the halfling’s abdomen. She deftly lept away somehow while popping her bubblegum. She flicked her wrist and threw her last dagger, which nicked Fabian in the side. He felt the pain bloom but didn’t have time to react as his body was pulled forward, sword landing a fatal tap on the side of the rogue’s throat.
“Two down!”
Adaine pumped her fist distractedly while throwing up a shield. “I’ve got this one!” She thrust out her hand and hit the small half-elf square in the stomach with Ray of Sickness, and the wizard doubled over as she threw up onto the ground.
“Three down!” boomed the announcer.
Fabian’s ears were ringing as Pok’s influence faded from his body with the usual tingle. He breathed heavily, eyes scanning the arena, almost as if expecting more, more to come, more opponents, something.
“We won,” he finally whispered, breaking the silence. Then he rushed over to grab Adaine and spun her around. “We won!”
“We did!” she said, laughing. “Fig, get up!”
“I’m coming in!” Fig didn’t even seem bitter about having been tapped out. She ran over and joined the group in a tackling hug, looking uncharacteristically happy. “We did it!”
Fabian shook Adaine by the shoulders, and she laughed. “You can keep your club!”
Adaine looked at him curiously, dropping the celebratory grin for a moment. “I what?”
Fig broke away from the hug, looking sheepish. “Oh. About that.”
Fabian whirled toward her.
“I sort of made that up,” Fig said, tone only slightly embarrassed. “The thing about losing the club. I needed you to lock in, and it seemed like you only do that when your friends are in trouble.” She shrugged a shoulder and gestured at Adaine. “Thought you might work harder if you thought Adaine needed help.”
Adaine spun around, turning on Fig as well. “You just called me by my name. You never do that.”
Fig flushed a slightly darker red. “Did I?” She looked away. “I guess you guys are kind of growing on me.”
Adaine grinned, but didn’t push it. “We’re a triad fighting group! We just won our first tournament! This is cause for celebration, don’t you think?”
Fig bounced on her heels. “Club party!”
“My treat,” Fabian said quickly. “I’ll fund everything.”
Adaine giggled. “I can’t believe it. Our first triad fight. Our first championship. This is… incredible.” She hugged them again. “Thank you guys. So much.”
“Hey, save it for the club party—I want to see how good it is before I decide to stay.” Fig winked at them.
Fabian wrinkled his nose at the feeling of warm magic. “Was that a bardic inspiration? You couldn’t have used that during the fight, Fig?”
“Trust me, you didn’t need it.” Fig playfully punched Fabian’s shoulder. “Nice locking in, Fabian. I owe you one.”
“We’re even.” Fabian offered her a fist bump. “Good work today.”
She pumped it enthusiastically. Fabian wasn’t sure he’d seen the tiefling this happy, ever. “You too.”
- - -
Pok hovered over Fabian’s shoulder. “How’d that feel?”
After the tournament and award ceremony, Fig and Adaine had left their separate ways. Fabian had opted to walk home, but he hadn’t left yet, instead finding a seat at a balcony on the second floor of the school gymnasium that overlooked the town below.
“It was… really good,” Fabian admitted. “I see why you and Adaine like it so much. It’s… exciting, and it wasn’t even me that was fighting.”
Pok grinned. “I’m glad. And, you know, I think you have it in you. You’re going to be so good at this, I can just tell.”
Fabian felt himself warm at the compliment. “Thank you.” He leaned forward on the balcony railing. “And thank you for your help today. That was… really, really cool. I think I definitely want to get back into battling now.”
“I’ll be with you every step of the way,” Pok promised.
Fabian smiled and felt the wind blow gently on his face as he looked out at the streets below. “I’m glad I have you.” He closed his eyes. His very first time competing, and he helped his friend win the championship, and even possibly made a new friend… things were truly better than he could imagine.
His peaceful content, unfortunately, did not last very long.
“Fabian?”
Fabian froze, immediately going rigid when he heard a hauntingly familiar voice just behind him.
A voice he hadn’t heard in six years, and somehow, he knew exactly who it was.
He closed his eyes, sent out a silent prayer, then stood up and turned around.
He realized he had never seen Riz in normal clothes before—if ‘normal’ could be used to describe what Riz was wearing, which was a pair of smart slacks paired with a starched shirt and vest. They made him look a lot older than Fabian knew Riz to be. He noted that a shadowy sword was holstered in his belt, as well as a gun. An honest-to-goodness fucking gun. Must run in the family, he thought, remembering the magic arquebus under his bed.
And, if he allowed himself to be honest, Riz had aged well. What Fabian had remembered to be a tiny watery-eyed boy was now a tall (by goblin standards, anyway), floppy-haired teenager with fainter freckles and long fingers and glasses and large eyes that were currently narrowed and staring right at Fabian.
“Hi, Riz,” Fabian said resignedly.
Riz walked up to him briskly, face hard set in a strange mixture of surprise, confusion, and determination. “Why didn’t you call? Did you get my note?”
Fabian rubbed his forehead. “I, uh, didn’t… didn’t know that was from you,” he lied. “I don’t know… scammers… spam… whatever… I threw the note away. I didn’t— uh… yeah. Didn’t know it was you.”
He glanced over at Pok, who at this point would usually cut in with a sarcastic comment about how un-smooth Fabian was being. Instead, he found the angel staring intently at his son.
It had been six years since they’d seen each other.
“I told your father to tell you my name,” Riz said slowly, eyebrows inching towards each other.
Fabian waved a hand in the air dismissively. “My— my papa’s a forgetful man. He’s… he’s getting older.”
Riz nodded along slowly as if he didn’t quite believe Fabian—he probably didn’t, Fabian’s deception wasn’t shit, but he apparently couldn’t get his mouth to do words in front of Riz—but he didn’t press further. “I see. Well, I’ll give you my number now.”
Shit, shit, shit. “Um. Yeah. Okay. Uh, but, I don’t— I don’t have my crystal on me.”
Riz shrugged and pulled a ballpoint pen out of his pocket. “Do you have any paper?”
His mind shifted to the notebook Adaine had given him, still in his jacket pocket, still blank. “N-no.”
“Okay. Give me your hand.”
“What?”
“Your hand?” Riz held up his own and beckoned Fabian towards him. “I’ll write my number on it.”
No way to get around this one. It was too bad Fabian didn’t have a hook hand like his father. Or maybe two. Just to be safe. Maybe he should get one, although this seemed like a drastic reason to get his hands chopped off. He resigned to reaching out his right hand. Riz grabbed it and quickly scrawled some numbers across Fabian’s palm. When he was done, he tapped it, and Fabian felt his claw scrape lightly across his hand.
“There.” Riz capped his pen and stuffed it back into his pocket. “Text me or something. And also… nice game today.”
He was watching. Fabian tried not to let that psych him out and shrugged in what he desperately hoped was a nonchalant manner. “Yeah. Thanks.”
Riz nodded curtly. “Well, um… yeah. See you.” He seemed to not be sure what to do with his hands, twisting one of them into a weird, awkward, salute-wave thing, before raking it through his hair and turning around, quickly striding away around the corner.
Fabian blinked and stood there for a good few moments, staring at the spot Riz where used to be.
Pok finally spoke up, seeming to have unfrozen. “He’s… fifteen now.”
Fabian turned. Pok was slightly teary-eyed. Fabian had never seen the angel’s eyes water before.
“I’m sorry, I forgot,” Fabian said quietly. “It’s been a while since you’ve seen him too, huh?”
Pok nodded slowly, then shook his head. “It’s… fine. I’m dead. I was bound to miss him grow up. Still, I… wow.”
Fabian leaned back against the balcony railing. “He looks just like you.”
Pok smiled. “You’re a little charmer, aren’t you?” Then he jutted his chin at Fabian’s hand. “You going to call him?”
Fabian checked his hand. The numbers were a bit smudged. He could probably still make it out if he tried, but…
“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “Probably not.”
Pok sighed, but he came to stand next to Fabian, wings folding as he mirrored Fabian’s pose against the railing. “I won’t push you. I guess fate’ll decide when you meet him again.”
Fabian glanced at Pok and quickly amended, “I-I mean, I know he’s— he’s your son. You want to see him again. I-I guess… I guess I could call him? Just so… you know, you can kind of… fight him through me? I guess? I don’t want to stop you from seeing your son just because I’m too much of a coward to fight him.”
“I’d never make you do that, Fabian,” Pok assured him. “It would be nice to fight Riz again, but I want you to work at your own pace, you got that?”
Fabian nodded, sighing as he turned around to lean over the edge of the balcony. “Do you think I’ll ever improve on your own?”
“I think you will. You just gotta keep trusting yourself and learning.” Pok offered Fabian a fist bump. “Good job today.”
Fabian grinned and mimed bumping him in the fist.
- - -
Mazey Phaedra, class president, was called into Professor Aguefort’s office later that day.
“Ah, Miss Phaedra!” Arthur said cheerily, welcoming her in. “Welcome, welcome. I have an assignment for you. We’re taking in a new sophomore student as a shadow in the coming week, and I’d like you to make sure he feels welcome at this school.”
Mazey furrowed her eyebrows. “This coming week, Professor? It’s spring. Shadow season was nearly six months ago.”
Arthur only grinned inscrutably. “That’s the way, my dear Miss Phaedra! Now, here’s the student’s file.”
She took it. “A sophomore, you said? Shouldn’t he have a buddy that’s his year?”
Fully ignoring her, Arthur Aguefort gestured towards the file. “Inside, you’ll find his information. I trust you more than anyone to make him feel welcome. Now, open it up! Chop, chop, my dear, we haven’t got all day.”
Mazey decided not to push further—it was usually best not to when dealing with the principal. She opened up the file and wasn’t sure whether to gasp, groan, sigh, or take out her crystal and take a picture before hurriedly texting Fabian.
“I hope,” Arthur said, eye glinting as if he knew exactly what he was doing, “you’ll treat our shadow student Riz Gukgak well.”
Mazey settled on sighing. Why was this kid everywhere?