For the smallest moment, as the water finally rose above his head, Ato struggled, his legs pushing upwards, his spine curving backwards. But he was held in place, unable to make any progress, and Ato regained his composure, and ceased to fight. And then, he could barely feel the hands holding him, could not feel the water, anymore. Ato was floating, in darkness.

  Starved of sensation, Ato's mind raced, looking for something, anything. His Song pawed around himself, looking for mana, trying to understand his surroundings, to make sure he was safe. He sensed Kenri behind him, Setri, the other warrior. He sensed the other students outside the pool, some sitting, waiting for their turn, others moving their lips, bending towards each other to whisper, and Hava kicking at the ground, bored. And in the corner, that same, weak, strange note of Song. Pritii. He focused on it, trying to understand it, how it felt small, so small, yet...grand.

  And for a moment, he wondered about her, how it must feel to live so long, to be the last elf, to have watched the same village for more than five centuries. I wonder if she feels…tired... And then, it was almost like Ato blinked, and suddenly, he was alone. Feeling nothing, sensing nothing, not even the hands holding him. Alone.

  Is this...what death feels like? But Ato had scarcely any time to wonder at this, before,

  "Gods...he's not breathing... Gods..."

  Ato is somewhere else: it is cold, cold, colder than any time he can remember. The world is covered in white dust, he is staring down at a man, a pale man, like the men who sometimes visit the village and—

  "Wake up... Hey, wake up... Hey... Wake up!"

  And Ato looks at the man's chest, sees his own hands pressed to them, pale hands, like the man's, covering some warm red spot beneath a rough fur coat, and the spot is wet, and the red is growing...

  "Wake up... Please..don't leave... Please."

  Who's voice is that?

  Ato is puzzled, listening to a voice so close, so familiar, that it could almost be his voice, yet it is so rough, so low...

  Who's voice is that?

  "Gods...please... Not like this... I promised you... I promised... Please... Gods... Seigur..."

  Who's voice is that?

  ...

  Oh.

  And Ato is back, thrashing, grabbing, pulling, his head above the surface, and he is choking, coughing, as Kenri, Setri, the other warrior, try to hold him still. He is screaming, crying, drowning in waist deep water, and Setri is holding him up, arms under his armpits, pulling him onto dry stone floor, pumping his chest, till Ato is hacking, water spurting from his throat.

  Finally, Ato is actually back, and he looks to the ceiling, thinks he catches a glimpse of long black hair, before Setri's face fills his vision. He looks worried, confused, disturbed, and Ato thinks that it is strange, to see something other than annoyance or blankness cover his face.

  "Are you...alright?"

  Ato blinks. "...yes."

  "What happened?"

  Ato tries to understand the question, tries to remember what led him to this moment, but all he can recall is floating in water.

  "I do not...know." Setri is silent, worry still crossing his features, but now it looks like he is questioning something. He stands up, extending a hand to help Ato up, and Ato takes it. Setri looks at Ato, and bows his head, and Ato freezes a moment, before bowing his head back.

  "Tomorrow, Ato."

  ...what?

  "Tomorrow..?"

  Setri looks up at him, annoyed, but also...worried?

  "Tomorrow, Ato. Duel me."

  "What?"

  Setri stood in the grass on the outskirts of the village, a crowd, pulsing drums, encircling him. Across from him, his brother. Ato.

  Setri could almost spit the name. Even if he had learned to ignore his brother, his antics…he could no longer look away. Setri looked at Ato—saw his troubled face, his hands trembling even as he grasped at his dueling staff—and found resolve. Setri had fought many by now—bandits, dragons, even Lichfolk—he knew what the world outside was like. His brother was a joke. Setri would rather die than let him shame their people.

  Ato stared at his brother. He didn't know what to think. He looked at Kenri, who simply observed the scene along with the warriors and mages, concern on his face. But, he did not stop it. Such was the way of things: a duel was a tradition of honor, peacemaking. A full warrior denying a duel was something akin to spit on the challenger's face, and whatever Ato or Kenri thought, Ato was a full warrior now.

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  Ato looked at Setri's hand, clasped around the dueling blade at his hip. Ato would not die—most likely—but, he would like to escape being maimed, as well. He took a breath. "So...do you plan to attack soon?"

  Setri sighed, frustrated. Just to hear the boy's voice made his chest burn. "Do you?" "Maybe. Well...if you decide to continue standing there like a stalk of harin, I might have to become a farmer." A few snickers spread around the crowd. Setri's face burned.

  "Do you take nothing seriously? Are you a child?"

  "Well, I am only seventeen..." Setri's patience ran out. He channeled into his toes, propelling himself at Ato in what would have seemed almost like a flash to anyone looking, his sword flying from his scabbard to cut Ato down. Setri would end this in a moment.

  Ato sensed The Song, just like he had been waiting for, and quickly jumped to the side, turning on his heels to face Setri as he flew past him. He did not channel. He knew his limits: he would not be able to last as long as Setri, was not as skilled as him, could not feel the rhythm like others.

  But, Ato had something few did. He closed his eyes a moment, feeling his brother’s note, making out every twitch of his fingers, his legs, the way he prepared to channel another burst of mana. He smiled.

  Ato was obsessed. At every bout he had, every match he watched, Ato—just a bit, for only a moment—felt relief. Every burning note channeled through his skin, as he risked his limbs to simply throw a punch, and every note he sensed in the bodies of his peers as they fought him or each other, fed that yawning hunger within him that he had felt since that day at the Great Tree. He had spent years watching every warrior in his village with rapt attention. He had done the same to his brother.

  He could never have done anything else, after all.

  Ato readied his staff. He knew his brother, but his brother did not know him. At the present moment Ato was calm, calculating, and his brother was angry, unfocused. These were the things that decided matches.

  Setri flew past Ato, confused. He...knew? Setri turned, seeing Ato standing still, staff at the ready, and almost laughed. No matter. He is still a boy. Setri pounced again, jumping to Ato to begin a flurry of swipes, only to find the length of the staff hitting his face, as Ato threw it as if playing with a dog. Setri’s feet lost grip on the ground, and he slipped, as a fist collided with his stomach, and suddenly he was doubled over, almost falling.

  "Would you say I am winning, brother?" Ato chuckled, as he swung a fist towards Setri’s face, hoping to end the fight early.

  Enough. Setri thought, and he channeled Song into his head, eating the force and pain of the punch, even as he stumbled backwards.

  Oh... Ato had no more tricks, and took a moment to think of something, before he found Setri's blade flashing down on him. He caught it with his hands, screaming from the pain, but the sword still pushed down, the full weight of a warrior's swing behind it, and Ato found his knees bending from the sheer force, his feet cracking the packed dirt under him.

  "What's wrong, no more tricks in that head of yours?" Setri hissed through gritted teeth. Ato channeled Song into his arms, legs, trying his best to push the sword back, as his body began to burn with fatigue. He struggled to think of something, anything, while Setri continued to push, and now, it was Setri's turn to taunt.

  "You like tricks, correct?" Suddenly, Ato felt a force against his thigh, as Setri kicked into Ato's leg. Ato groaned, sliding onto the ground, and suddenly his eyes were burning, and he was panicking, as Setri kicked dirt into his face. Ato struggled to his feet, barely rising, before he felt a fist collide with his face, and suddenly he was almost falling again. He reached out with his Song, tried to block, but he was too disoriented, and the next punch did not come when, or where, he expected, instead hitting his side, after which Ato was grasping at his waist.

  "All you do is joke, Ato. You graduated—I graduated you—but I almost feel like I should not have." Another hit, this time a kick to the back of his leg, and Ato was on the ground again. "Look at you: scrabbling on the ground. You cannot even take a proper duel. How long do you think you'll survive out in the world, when all you have are tricks?"

  Setri's words pricked at Ato's ears, and suddenly, Ato felt tired. Tired of his brother, tired of his circumstances. He had done nothing, and yet here he was, putting up with someone who should have been his mentor. Ato was tired, but he was not done. He made his choice. He channeled mana into his whole body, and when the next kick came, he took the hit, focusing through the burn of his every muscle, reaching out with his Song.

  In his mind, he saw his brother circling him. "You strike me as more a jester than a warrior, Ato." Another kick. Ato channeled, and suddenly he could barely feel it through the mana and burn of his body. Ato groaned, pretending to feel pain.

  "Where is your pride? Are you not proud?" Ato caught his brother's leg.

  "Would mother be proud of you?"

  "What?"

  And Ato seized the moment, channeling a final burst of Song into his arms as he twisted his brother’s leg, pulled him to the ground. Setri groaned, falling, and Ato jumped on him, his fist on his cheek, then another, then another. He almost felt bad, but he sensed his brother, felt the Song, knew he did not feel each punch as much as Ato felt his arms giving out. And, it felt good, if only for a moment, seeing the bruises, hearing the grunts of pain, before the shame set in.

  Gods…what am I doing? Ato threw his last punch, though it barely meant anything by now—his brother was still, simply looking upwards, and Ato was so tired, that it was more like his fist fell downwards rather than hitting him.

  “Do you…yield?” Ato asked, panting.

  “…yes.”

  And that was it. Ato had won. He fell backwards, onto his back, into grass.

  There was no cheering or applause, only the sound of Ato’s breathing, of the wind through grass. Of course, it made sense, no one would celebrate such a duel: if Setri had won, few would have found it honorable. But, even though Ato had beat his giant, it did not seem like victory—all the villagers saw, was two brothers, battered, covered in dirt, their faces twisted in some private, mutual pain.

  Finally, Ato rose, staring down at his brother, whose face turned towards the dirt, solemn. He extended a hand. "I…am sorry, Setri. I should not have said such a thing. But…I do not think I have been worse than you." Setri exhaled, a tear falling to the dirt under him, and Ato paused, before continuing.

  "I do not want to be mad at you. I wish...I could know you. All I have is my father. Please: may we begin again?"

  Setri was silent for a long moment, still looking at the ground. Finally, he sighed. "I am leaving tonight." Ato dropped his hand. He stared at his brother.

  "What?" Setri looked up at him, flashing him a smile. It was not some venomous grin of malice. Just a small, sad, smile.

  "Yes. This place...pains me. You fought well, Ato...brother. You’ve proven yourself a warrior.” Setri grunted, rising to his feet. He turned away.

  “I...regret, how I have treated you. Maybe one day I will come back. Let us share a meal then." He walked away. Kenri met him, and both paused.

  Kenri looked down at Setri, his face troubled. He was almost sixty now, and Setri could see it in the lines around his eyes, the grey in his beard. Setri met his eyes, determined. "What is the matter? Some final lesson to impart?" The old warrior was silent. Then, his arm twitched, his fist traveling to strike Setri with great speed, before Setri caught his hand, his tired arm trembling slightly as it held Kenri's. Both men froze in this position, silent, their eyes meeting.

  Kenri dropped his hand. "I have taught you all I was able, Setri. You are strong: stronger than me now. I hope, that you learn what I could not teach." Setri stared at the old man, whose wrinkled eyes held that same stone, unwavering, care. Setri laughed bitterly.

  "Well, since I am alone now, I will say this: I always found you a bore, old man."

  Kenri gave a small, booming laugh, moving from Setri's path, and Setri walked away, his form growing smaller in the distance. And that was it.

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