The sun shone high in the sky, making it awkward to call it "evening." But how does one divide a day into segments on a planet where the sun never sets?
The sun shield over Luminara darkened the sky, giving offworlders the illusion of dusk. The darkening was soothing, as long as one could overlook other telltale signs, such as the afternoon shadows and the absence of the vibrant array of colors that a setting sun would typically paint across the sky.
The sun shield would gradually darken into the night to accommodate the physical needs of offworlders who rely on regular day and night cycles for their circadian rhythms.
The tournament attendees — competitors, spectators, and service providers — retired to their accommodations. The crowded streets emptied, and only a few pedestrians remained in the once bustling thoroughfares.
No longer wearing the vibrant, many-colored robes of her judicial position, Kyou ascended the steps to the Skybox in white robes trimmed in green. She walked gracefully, with all the poise of an elf of her status, but tread softly to avoid drawing attention to herself. It would not do to be questioned about her whereabouts this evening.
She approached the Skybox door and knocked once. A dim, green-hued glow emanated from the other side, seeping through the gaps. She firmly gripped the doorknob. She pushed the door open. She stepped through the door. Her foot did not find solid ground. She fell, seemingly to her death, but she did not utter a sound
Okomikeruko caught her plummeting form in one of his mid-air portals. Kyou's speed came to a sudden stop with a tight hug, but she delivered a painful heel strike on his foot as a reward for his prank.
She left his arms and ignored his hopping on one foot. "You don't actually feel pain like that," she admonished, which stopped Okomikeruko's antics.
"You know that, and I know that, but I wanted you to feel satisfaction for that kick."
"You don't need to worry about my satisfaction," Kyou said over her shoulder as she approached the display version of the Colosseum.
"Ready to see the boys' fights?" Okomikeruko asked as he strode up to stand beside her.
"Not yet. First, show me those muffin mascot vendors. There was something off with them."
Okomikeruko initiated control of the diorama. His and Kyou's eyes glowed green as they observed it. He reduced the scale of the diorama to view the entire seating area of the Colosseum. Then he altered the flow of time to coincide with the moment when Kyou first noticed the vendors.
"There," Kyou points.
Okomikeruko narrows the scope of the diorama, leaving only the vendor visible. They examine his spirit rings. Orange. Insularan, just like Mai. But it didn't have a mortal ring.
"Soul and spirit," Kyou mused to herself. "Fairies?"
"Close," Okomikeruko confirmed, then his countenance darkened. His voice became uncharacteristically serious. "Your accomplice is mad."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"These are muffins."
"I know they're selling muffins."
"No, this creature is a muffin." Okomikeruko adjusts the view and strips away the vendor's costume. Sure enough, the entire being was a baked good given life by a sprite. "This abomination is a pastry golem."
Golems were creatures of matter and magic. To create a golem, a shell was first crafted from materials such as clay, stone, or metal. Then, a ritual tempted a sprite to take possession of the construct and pilot it as though it were its own body. Sprites were notoriously covetous of mortal bodies, so it was never tough to tempt one.
Okomikeruko's horror was palpable. He was the Avatar of Feasts, among other titles. To use food for such a purpose violated his conscience to the core. Were Mai under Chie's domain and stewardship, Okomikeruko might advocate for her damnation for her crimes against culinary sanctity. But as a Museling, Mai was outside his jurisdiction. His fists shook as he struggled with his righteous but impotent fury.
"Mai baked these things?" Kyou's eyes widened in unmasked dread. "What have I gotten myself involved in?"
Meanwhile, Satori hosted a meeting with the Dark Worlder in a specially sealed chamber that further blocked out sunlight. Torches blazed in sconces adorning the walls, bathing the room in a warm, golden glow. Daraku had removed his light-absorbing armor and sat, relaxed yet aware of his surroundings, like a wolf.
Satori was seated facing him. This meeting was long overdue. Neither offered nor accepted responsibility for delays. No opportunity presented itself until now, on the eve of the semifinals.
"Those Solaran boys have proven to be quite the handful this year," Daraku mused before drinking from an ornate goblet filled with bloodwine. "Makes me wonder what they feed them on that foreboding planet."
"I suspect their abilities have more to do with their upbringing alongside an Avatar during her mortality than their diet." Satori quipped.
"Ah. That explains why Sumitsu sits with them and not with our Avatars." He shrugged. "No matter, they will both lose to us on the morrow."
"Then, as an emissary of the Dark World, you can demonstrate your devotion to peace in honorable combat with me," Satori agreed. "I am most grateful to you for this opportunity to share my devotion to your cause in this way."
The pair had known each other for centuries. Satori spent many years infiltrating the influential movers and shakers of the Dark Side of Vechnost after the Twilight War split their world in two.
It had taken that long for Satori to gain access to Daraku, and even longer to gain his trust enough to devise this plan. Demonstrating his strength and humility to the Elves of the Light Side could be the first steps for planetary reconciliation.
Daraku took another sip. "Something troubles you."
"These boys are wildcards. I doubt not your abilities, but…" Satori trailed off.
"Wildcards indeed. Their combat prowess, adaptability, and cunning make them worthy opponents. My battle tomorrow with Goji will be an excellent spectacle. Two rookies made it to the semifinals."
"You are hardly a rookie."
"Is that not the term for first-time competitors?"
"It is, but it also indicates youth and inexperience, neither of which describes you."
Daraku let out a throaty laugh, almost a bark, in the dimly lit space. Satori grinned at her compatriot's sense of humor.
The night lingered on.
"I have studied Naroki's evolution through his bouts," Satori spoke softly, almost reverently. "He began as an instinct fighter. He let his subconscious take control. It was sloppy, imprecise. But as he fought, he was more intentional. He trusted his instincts but honed them through economy of movement. He has learned the art of winning in three strikes or less. He reminds me of myself when I went through that process. Tomorrow, I will show him how much more he can grow."
Daraku nodded; he, too, witnessed the same progression in Naroki's fighting style.
"Goji is another matter entirely," Satori continued, her reverence replaced with a hint of disdain. "He fights like a gremlin on a wing. He watches. He observes. Then he penetrates defenses in ways I haven't been able to comprehend fully. Magic seems to bounce right off of him. Do not rely on magical attacks or defense, it will do you no good."
"My magic will be focused entirely on regeneration," Daraku assured her. "Attack and defense will be purely physical. That was always the plan."
Satori nodded. She sat in silence for a breath, then lifted her goblet in a toasting gesture. "To victory," she suggested, and Daraku echoed her words and accepted the toast.
In the apartment set aside for them, Goji rested on his bed. The sticky remains of his chocolate chunk muffin lingered on his lips. He focused on deep breathing exercises to help him heal and regulate his pain.
Naroki sat by his best friend's bedside, observing his efforts to stay in control. He mentally tallied the injuries all over Goji's body. Gauze, bandages, and stitches plastered in disinfecting ointments and pain-relieving oils covered over half of Goji's skin.
"Please explain to me why you aren't forfeiting," Naroki asked, an uneven blend of awe, frustration, pity, and exasperation coloring his tone.
"Because I can," Goji replied stiffly, licking chocolate stains off his lips. "I want to keep going. I haven't lost yet."
"You've lost your mind. Doesn't that count?" Naroki's tone was jovial, but he was dead serious in his heart.
A gust of steam preceded Sumitsu's entrance from the showers. She had made use of the hot water provided at this apartment as part of her nightly routine. Such luxuries would be absent upon their return home to Jitsuno's monastery. So she would make the most of these creature comforts while she could.
The boys had never seen a towel in a particular configuration, like a tower upon Sumitsu's head. They stared at it. Their stares made Sumitsu self-conscious.
"What? Is there something on my face?" She was unaccustomed to such blatantly disrespectful behavior from her boys.
"There's something on your head," Naroki explained.
"This towel?" she chortled. She demonstrated how she used the towel twist to dry her hair by unmaking and remaking it. She giggled at their awestruck expressions. She shook her head in disbelief. "You two have made it to the semi-finals as rookies, and you are surprised at such novelties?"
Her gaze lingered on Goji's injuries. She tried to ignore them for his benefit, but could no longer remain impartial. She was about to say something when her focus shifted to Naroki and the bandages covering him.
She sighed and sank into a cushioned chair. The weight of the towel on her head paled compared to the weight on her heart. She carried on her conscience every wound on her boys.
She had the power to heal one of her boys completely, but she lacked the authority to do so. She knew she could not heal the other one, no matter how much she wished she could. And she had to withhold her healing powers to keep their enemies guessing.
"You two have, so far, kept your promises to do your best and also not die. Tomorrow…" Sumitsu trailed off. Satori and Daraku had a history of ruthlessness. She had no illusions about what tomorrow held. Her boys were at a disadvantage with their cumulative injuries, while they faced killers who were fresh and ready for them. "I just…"
"Please believe in me," Goji said, with a smile on his face. "I will keep my promise. I will defeat that awesome werewolf tomorrow. You don't need to worry so much."
"We've come this far," Naroki assured her. "What would Shinjin want us to do?"
Sumitsu sat in stunned silence. They were right. They were here to do their best and, if necessary, to sacrifice their lives in honor of her father, their God. Her love for them, her desire for their safety, and her concerns took a secondary role to the devotion they showed.
Every other Templar competing made the same vow. But every other Templar would be resurrected; they would be healed and restored. These boys were different. Surely the same rules didn't apply to them, right?
She knew her calling to be the Avatar of Obedience put her in a position where she would not always understand the reasons for Shinjin's commandments. Still, she would lead by example by obeying them fully. A weak smile was all she could muster.
"Show me Goji's match with the Dryad."
Kyou stood rooted to the spot as the events depicted in the diorama jumped about backwards until a clear facsimile of Goji and the Tree-man on the stage was in view, frozen in time.
"Show me the moment."
Okomikeruko willed the diorama display the fight between the Templars at an accellerated pace until the Tree-man became a pile of logs. The figure of Kyou bounding onto the stage and unearthing Goji slowed to a crawl.
"Before that. Show me the moment his fist connected."
The figure of Kyou ran backwards and out of view. The wood gathered itself up and reformed the Tree-man. The flash of green light appeared and dimmed, then the moment froze in time.
"Show me his fist. Get us closer."
The figures enlarged until Kyou was right next to Goji. She saw his fist. It didn't connect to the Tree-man's spirit ring shield.
He passed right through it.
The magic had no effect. There wasn't a clash. He didn't break through it. No cracks, no fractures, no stress of any kind was visible on the ring. It just might as well not have been there.
"There." Kyou's voice was barely a whisper. "The proof I needed. He doesn't break through divine barriers. He ignores them completely." She straightened, the pieces falling into place. "Every world has a name for him. The Anomaly. The Unbound. The Harbinger. All pointing to this moment, this boy: Goji of Solaris."
She paused and bit her thumbnail, a tell whenever she was deep in thought.
"What are you going to do?" Okomikeruko asked.
"That depends entirely on whether he survives his match with the Dark Worlder werewolf tomorrow."