The carriage rattled to a halt just outside the imposing iron gates of the Proving Pits. The dust from the road had barely settled before the door swung open. The Lion, restless and eager, vaulted down to the cobblestones, stretching his limbs with the fluid grace of a predator released from a cage.

  Lion: "Alright, then. Let's get this over with so we can grab a bite...!"

  He adjusted his obsidian mask, preparing for the inevitable: the hush of the crowd, the whispers of awe, the adoration that usually followed his silhouette like a shadow.

  Instead, he was met with a wall of noise.

  A stream of citizens poured from the Pits' exit, their faces flushed, eyes wide and manic. They pushed past the carriage, laughing loudly and chattering with a fervor that bordered on hysteria, barely sparing a glance for the legendary champion standing in their midst.

  Pocna climbed down from the driver's seat, dusting off his coat with a wry smile.

  Pocna: "Well. Seems we picked the perfect time! The energy is palpable."

  Lion: "Perfect time...? Where are they going?! I've just arrived!"

  Pocna let out a short, knowing laugh.

  Pocna: "Is that jealousy I'm picking up on...? Seems you've grown a bit too dependent on the roar of the crowd and admiration of the masses, sir."

  The Lion shook his head, feigning indifference as he turned towards the entrance gates, fighting against the tide of departing spectators.

  Lion: "Ridiculous. This is simply not the welcoming party I usually receive, t-that's all."

  Another small group pushed past him, their conversation heated, animated by a mixture of horror and delight.

  Lion: "Hey! You there!"

  His voice, projected with practiced authority, cut through their chatter. The group stopped, blinking as they finally registered the towering figure in black and gold leather.

  Amazed Onlooker: "I-it's... it's the Lion!"

  Engaged Citizen: "Oh, man! This is gonna be a tournament for the ages... Cancus might just kick his ass!"

  The Lion's head recoiled slightly, the concept striking him like a physical blow.

  Lion: "Kick *my* ass...? Who are you talking about?! Why is everyone fleeing the Pits as if they've seen a ghost?"

  Engaged Citizen: "Heheh... Not a ghost. A demon, maybe. Let's just say you may not be the big kid on the block anymore, Lion...!"

  The quietest member of the group, eyes wide, smacked his companion on the back of the head.

  Quiet Fan: "Watch your tone, you idiot! You're speaking to the Lion himself...!"

  The Lion waved a hand, dismissing the slight. His focus was singular.

  Lion: "I care little for boasting or manners. 'Cancus' is the name, you said...?"

  The three men nodded in frantic unison.

  Amazed Onlooker: "It was brutal. He didn't just beat the proctor... he butchered him. Like it was nothing. Poor bastard didn't even survive the trial round. Don't think I've seen the Arbiter look so... disturbed... in a long time."

  Lion (thinking): "He killed a proctor during a trial...? That's no proof of proficiency, it's outright murder."

  Engaged Citizen: "Oy!"

  Snapping back to the present, the Lion saw the loudmouthed man extending a stained handkerchief and a pen.

  Engaged Citizen: "Could ya sign this for me? My daughter would surely love it!"

  The quiet fan nudged him with a sharp elbow.

  Quiet Fan: "You're so full of shit!"

  The man ignored him, thrusting the cloth closer.

  Engaged Citizen: "Well? Pretty please...?"

  The Lion raised his hand -- the flesh one -- in a gesture of dismissal, stepping around the group to continue towards the gates. The allure of fame tasted suddenly like ash.

  Lion: "You can go ahead and ask this Cancus fellow. I'm already late for lunch..."

  Engaged Citizen: "Aww, come on! Don't be like that-"

  The man took a step to follow, but a heavy hand clamped onto his shoulder. Pocna stood there, his grip on his sheathed sword relaxed but unmistakable in its intent.

  Pocna: "The Lion is busy -- and hungry. You don't want to upset a lion with an empty stomach, do you? Have a nice day, gentlemen..."

  Swallowing dryly, the man nodded. The group scrambled away, disappearing into the city's smog. Pocna jogged to catch up with his master.

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  Lion: "Tch. Not the 'big kid on the block anymore'. The mouth on these Aeans..."

  Pocna: "They sure seemed quite confident. Perhaps you will indeed meet your match this time...!"

  Lion: "Don't even joke about that, Pocna."

  His tone was devoid of humor.

  Lion: "I better not meet my match in the middle of a damn city."

  Pocna: "... Oh?"

  Lion: "A fight like that... if two storms collide, Pocna, the devastation shouldn't happen where people live. It should happen as far away from anything and anyone as possible."

  Pocna laughed heartily, slapping his thigh.

  Pocna: "Ohoho, that's the spirit! Knock 'em dead, sir...!"

  Lion: "I'm not joking-"

  Suddenly, the air pressure dropped.

  It wasn't a wind, but a vacuum. A sensation of absolute, suffocating cold violently raked down the Lion's spine, causing every hair on his body to stand on end.

  A dark-hooded man with an eyepatch, his face angled down and concealed by shadows, passed him on the way out of the Pits.

  Lion (thinking): "T-that presence...!"

  Cancus (thinking): "That presence..."

  For a heartbeat, the world seemed to tilt. The hum of the city was swallowed by a ringing silence. They looked over their shoulders simultaneously, gazes locking for a fraction of a second -- emerald green meeting a single, visible eye of icy blue. Neither stopped their gait, passing like two sharks in deep water.

  Pocna noticed the Lion's posture rigidify.

  Pocna: "Something the matter...?"

  Unwillingly, a nervous grin carved itself on the Lion's face.

  Lion: "I'll be damned, Pocna... Maybe there really are greater forces at play here."

  With a sense of impending doom, Pocna and the Lion entered the cavernous gloom of the Proving Pits.

  Meanwhile, inside a certain smithy nestled in the industrial district...

  Rota: "Kheep it in plashe, Lhele...!"

  With a half-eaten sandwich shoved in her mouth and a screwdriver in one hand, Rota was wrestling with a complex mechanism clamped to her workbench. It was a pneumatic launcher, a brass cylinder attached to a tightly coiled spool of high-tensile wire, ending in a wicked, spring-loaded grappling hook.

  Lele: "Grrrr..."

  Lele groaned, her attention divided between a careless nap and the precise focus required to telekinetically keep Rota's invention steady.

  The bell above the workshop door chimed -- a cheerful sound that Rota currently despised. She swallowed the bite of sandwich whole, pounding her chest as it lodged painfully in her throat.

  Rota (yelling): "Be there in a minute!"

  Suddenly, the bell rang again. And again. Violent, impatient jingles that suggested the door was being held open by a crowd.

  Rota: "Ugh..."

  She glanced at the soot-stained clock mounted on the wall.

  Rota: "They're early... Not good."

  Lele: "Yip."

  Sensing the shift in Rota's focus, Lele took the opportunity to withdraw her magic. The cylinder wobbled, threatening to roll off the bench. Rota scrambled, catching it inches from the floor.

  Rota: "Gods damn you! Can't you see we're busier than usual today?! Stop napping and guard the bench!"

  She shoved the device under a pile of rags and rushed to the front counter, wiping grease and crumbs from her mouth.

  Rota: "Right...! Gentlemen."

  Four men stood in the cramped front room. They wore the nondescript leather of dockworkers, but the air around them was heavy with menace. One of them stepped forward, a heavy, blood-stained leather pouch in his hand.

  Thug: "Got yer money right 'ere."

  Rota looked at the pouch. The dark stain on the leather was still tacky. She hesitated. Seeing her reluctance, the man sneered and tossed it onto the counter. The heavy thud caused the pouch to burst open. Coins spilled out, gold and silver and slick with fresh crimson, rolling across the wood and dropping to the floor with dull, wet clinks.

  Thug: "So? Where's our gizmos?"

  Rota: "They aren't ready yet. I told you to wait until five."

  The thug shrugged, picking at a piece of dirt under his fingernail.

  Thug: "Five, four, three... Job's done when it's done. Not me faul'tit ended early."

  Rota: "Yeah? Well, not my fault either. Come back later, please."

  Thug: "Later...? Ya think that's how we roll? Can just start 'n' stop whenever we feel like? Tough luck."

  He took a two heavy steps towards the counter, resting his elbows on it.

  Thug: "Look, I ain't *unreasonable*."

  Rota shook her head, her patience fraying like a worn rope.

  Rota: "You're wasting my time and yours, Vulfer."

  Like a predator, Vulfer smiled.

  Vulfer (Thug): "Aye. So, giv' me what I need'n I'll be on my way."

  Rota slammed her hands on the countertop, meeting his gaze.

  Rota: "You're being awfully *unreasonable* right this second, wouldn't you agree?"

  Vulfer: "Nah. Yer being awfully thick-headed, is all."

  He jerked a thumb toward the back of the workshop, where the machinery hummed.

  Vulfer: "Yer a smart lass. No chance in the deepest pockets 'o the void ya haven't started yet."

  Rota raised a brow, crossing her grease-stained arms.

  Rota: "I don't do half-baked deliveries. You ordered and paid for a full four, you're getting a full four."

  Vulfer: "See? There's that thick-headedness again. Look, the Rend ain't yer typical customers, yeah? So drop yer rules and start makin' some exceptions."

  Rota: "You're lucky I even do business with you lot."

  Vulfer's smile widened, devoid of warmth.

  Vulfer: "Yer lucky we even letcha do any bisness. Period. Accidents happen in workshops all the time. Fires... explosions..."

  

  

  He grabbed a sticky gold coin from the counter and tapped it rhythmically on the wood. Click. Click.

  Vulfer: "How many've ya got done?"

  Rota squinted, weighing the threat against her pride.

  Rota: "Two."

  He tossed the coin over his shoulder to the waiting thugs, clapping his hands together.

  Vulfer: "Stellar! So, two we'll be takin', then. We'll drop by for the rest later."

  Rota shook her head.

  Rota: "This isn't what we agreed upon."

  Vulfer shrugged, reaching over the counter to grab a rag, wiping the blood from his fingers.

  Vulfer: "So? Got yer coin and then some, didn't we? What're ya complaining about?"

  She looked at the blood money scattered across her counter, the red smears staining the wood. A deep sigh left her lips.

  Rota: "If all my clients were like you, this place would be a madhouse."

  Vulfer raised a brow, nodding in mock agreement.

  Vulfer: "True. But, better a mad house than a burnt down one, eh?"

  The other thugs chuckled, a low, ugly sound.

  Defeated, Rota went to the back. She returned a moment later, placing two of the brass grappling launchers on the counter. The metal gleamed in the dim light.

  Vulfer swiped one, testing the weight, while another thug grabbed the second.

  Vulfer: "Pleasure doin' bisness."

  He waved her goodbye with a lazy two-finger salute from his forehead, turning on his heel.

  As the door chimed shut behind the last of them, silence rushed back into the workshop. Rota stared at the door, her hands shaking slightly.

  Rota: "Pleasure's all yours."