The next matches blur together, quick defeats, desperate brawls, the crack of bone and dull thud of blunted steel. It all starts to bleed into one long breathless rush.

  Each man fighting with all they have.

  And even among them... I manage to I hold my own. Every bout is hard, my opponents plenty skilled, at least by my standards. But I've made it through to this point here, the semi-finals.

  “Watch out Seven!!” Osric’s voice sounds over the cheering crowd, he and Elsie both eagerly cheering me on.

  "HrArrgh!" The armored brute charges, face bloodied, axe arcing wide. I meet him with a panting breath, limbs heavy and sore.

  His axe slams into my cudgel as I raise it to protect my head. The wood cracks, loud and sharp, splinters flying. I twist it, feel it strain, then let go. The weapon stays lodged in his dulled blade.

  He ignores it and swings again, but the additional weight slows the strike and I'm already upon him. I drive a fist into his jaw, knuckles slamming bone. He stumbles, reeling, dizzy. I twist, snatching the cudgel free of his axe with a sharp jerk, then swing.

  It shatters against his helm.

  He drops. Out cold.

  I win. Again.

  Which means now, there are only two names left.

  Mine.

  And Daniel’s.

  Seems like our wager is on.

  Gandre steps into the ring, raising his arm. "The red sash stands victorious. The match is decided."

  The crowd cheers again, and I exhale slowly, sweat cooling against my skin.

  A herald steps up beside Gandre, calling out, "There will now be a recess before the final bout. Fighters may rest and refresh themselves. The finals shall begin at the next bell."

  I exhale, grateful for the reprieve. My arms throb with dull ache, my legs stiff as timber. The clamor of the crowd fades into the hum of celebration beyond the pit. I’ve yet to see much of the festival, perhaps now’s the time. A brief wander, something warm to eat, maybe something sweet. I’ve a few coppers to spare.

  I'm drawn back into the festival’s rhythm. Music winds through the alleys, pipes and strings playing with the steady beat of drums. A woman dances barefoot in the snow-dusted square, her dress spun with ribbons, coins jingling at her hips. People toss coppers at her feet, and she grins without breaking stride.

  Past her, a butcher's spit turns slowly, whole hog roasting over crackling wood. The scent pulls at my gut. I trade a coin for a thick slice, dripping with grease, and eat as I walk.

  Children race by, chasing each other with painted wooden swords, their cheeks red from cold and laughter. One nearly tumbles into a nearby stall, drawing a scolding shout from the vendor as he scoops candied nuts into canvas bowls. The old women waiting for their treat barely glance at the commotion, too deep in gossip, their laughter rising with the steam from the warm sweets in their hands.

  I pass a row of booths hung with herbs and dried flowers, their scent sharp in the cold air. One offers charms and amulets, iron to ward the fae, salt to repel spirits, thorn rings for childbirth luck. Just beyond, a blacksmith hammers away at a portable forge, his anvil ringing loud and clear as he guides children in striking copper blanks into crude little coins, each grinning at their misshapen prize. The rhythm of it pulls me along, deeper into the heart of the festival.

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  It all blends together, color, scent, sound. A pulse of life I hadn’t realized I missed until I felt it pressing close around me. It reminds me of Mistvale. Of Rose and Emily, and the Harvest Fair we spent tucked between bonfires and mulled cider. We had nothing of this scale, but it was more than enough for the three of us.

  The noise thins as I walk, the press of bodies giving way to open cobblestone. Stalls grow fewer, more scattered. The music fades behind me, replaced by the distant clatter of hooves and the creak of wagons. The buildings here are older, simple stone and timber, smoke curling from chimneys. A few townsfolk linger, but they quickly drift off as I reach the edge of the festival’s bounds.

  I turn to head back, but pause.

  Leaning against a weather-worn stone house, half in shadow, is a familiar figure. A gold streak woven through long dark hair catches the light.

  Luna.

  Standing alone. Watching the festival from afar.

  I step quietly across the cobblestone, approaching her. Luna doesn’t look at me at first. Her arms are crossed, posture tight, eyes following something in the distance I can’t see. Her mood doesn't seem particularly festive, not that that's a surprise.

  I come to a stop a few feet away, then lean beside her, hunching slightly so I can look at her properly. She glances up, meeting my gaze for a breath, then gives a curt nod.

  Better than a glare I suppose.

  "Enjoying the festival?" I ask, keeping my tone light.

  She shoots me an annoyed look.

  I shrug. "You should enjoy it. Have some fun."

  She rolls her eyes, turning away.

  "How goes your little tournament?" she asks, nodding back toward the center of town.

  I tap my chin, looking towards the fighting pit. "Well enough I suppose. I’ve earned my place in the final tilt. One more bout and I’ll stand as victor."

  Her brows lift, just slightly. "And your opponent?"

  "Daniel, of course."

  I pause, then add with a laugh, "So I suppose we’re fighting for your heart now. Should I expect a token of favor? A ribbon, perhaps?"

  She glares. "You'll be fighting for the thirty silver, not my heart."

  "I thought about objecting to the wager. To including you in it." I say, shrugging my shoulders. "But it's not in my nature. And I didn't have thirty silver to bet against him." Then I glance at her. "Would you have preferred it if I had?"?

  She stares at me for a long moment. Just before it grows too uncomfortable, the corners of her mouth twitch. She looks away quickly, but not before I catch the trace of a smile.

  "No. Better to chase something for yourself than be another skirt-sniffing cretin."

  She sighs. "Still, to barter my time so eagerly and right in front of me? Very brazen. You’d best watch yourself."

  I shrug again. "Wasn’t my idea. He’s the one who made the offer."

  "I know." She says looking back toward the festival. "Do you think you'll win?"

  I shake my head. "My odds are poor. He's won every bout in a single exchange, he's better than me."

  She raises an eyebrow, waiting for more, but when I don't continue, she speaks up. "You don't look worried."

  I offer her a faint smile. "Got a secret weapon."

  Her eyes narrow slightly. "What is it?"

  "It’s a secret," I say, grin widening.

  She looks at me annoyed. "Then why mention it at all, you idiot?"

  I shrug. "Thought I'd give you a reason to come watch."

  She lets out a huff and crosses her arms, pouting. "Irritating."

  I glance at her sideways. "Hoping I’ll lose? You could end up getting a dinner with the mayor’s son."

  She scoffs, crossing her arms tighter. "As if I need your stupid bet for that."

  I raise an eyebrow. "You did say he was handsome."

  She narrows her eyes. "So what? Is that all it takes with you?"

  I nod solemnly. "Pretty much. Put a mildly attractive woman in front of me and it’s over. My willpower crumbles like dry bread."

  Her mouth twitches. She turns her head away, trying to smother a smile.

  I continue on. "But I suppose you're right. Why would you even consider him, with a face like mine around you?" I grin, pulling the left side of my messy hair back with one hand, exposing my rather plain features. "What do you think? Pretty, ain’t I?”

  She glances toward me and snorts, unable to hold back a laugh. "You wish. That malformed face wouldn’t look out of place in a leper colony."

  A laugh... how about that?

  “Hmph. You really are rude.”

  The great bell tolls, low and solemn across the rooftops.

  I straighten. The final bout will be soon.

  Luna glances over, arms still crossed. "You’d best get moving," she says, tone flat but with the corners of her mouth still slightly raised.

  "Wouldn’t want to miss your chance at thirty silver."