“Even in the most difficult times, all we need to lift ourselves up are a few words from a friend.”

  - Unknown

  As evening came on and the sun was burning oranges and reds into the sky, Raziel shivered so hard his teeth hurt from clacking together. Over and over, he’d thrown himself into the water, each attempt more desperate than the last. Sitting next to the fire, willing its warmth into his chest, he felt a familiar desperation. It hadn’t been so long ago that he’d been fighting to do magic for the first time. This was worse. At least then he hadn’t known what he was missing.

  Miles sat by the fire as well, though he hadn’t been in the water in some time. It wasn’t because he’d given up. Each time he’d gotten into the water he’d stayed longer before losing concentration. But he looked even more exhausted than Raziel felt. He stared into the fire and the firelight turned his glasses opaque with its reflection. He’d tried to help Raziel understand how to activate his aura but, like using magic at all, it was a difficult trick to communicate to another person.

  Raziel was considering one more leap into the water when Hiro walked up with Hoeru in tow. The changeling looked much as he had when he’d walked away. Unhappy and worn thin.

  “So, how’s training?” Hiro asked merrily.

  The only answer was Raziel’s clacking teeth.

  “Great! Let’s go. It’s time to go to work.”

  “W-work?” Raziel asked, horrified. This day hadn’t been as strenuous as the previous weeks but constantly freezing and shivering was more tiring than Raziel would have believed possible. He felt limp and boneless as a soaked towel.

  “Work. Your job.”

  “I h-have a j-j-job?”

  “As of today all three of you do.”

  “W-why?”

  “Because living isn’t free. Every student in the Daishinrin schools works to help keep this place running.”

  “What’s Ichiro’s j-j-job?”

  “Ichiro helps at the arena.”

  “What about S-s-s-sumi?”

  “Sumi isn’t a student. Quit stalling and come on. Put on fresh uniforms and let’s go. You don’t want to be late for your first day.”

  It did feel better to get out of wet clothes, Raziel had to admit that much. But he couldn’t change his arm wraps. Fortunately he’d been holding them close to the fire and they weren’t completely soaked anymore. He’d almost gotten used to the pins and needles feeling of losing feeling in his fingers. The only thing he could do was to press his arms against his body and hope what little body heat he had would be enough to finish drying them.

  The chill in the air settled in as they walked through the forested paths down the mountain. Raziel missed having more than just shorts and a vest. He wasn’t sure which he wanted more, a shirt or shoes. Miles didn’t seem to be having any more fun with the situation, keeping his vest wrapped tight around his chest with his arms, but if Hoeru was bothered by the cold, he didn’t show it. He seemed more worried to be leaving Sumi behind, constantly looking back at the school over his shoulder.

  They walked until the sky was fading to blue and black. Raziel could see the skyport tree off in the distance when he recognized where they were. They stood beneath another of the colossal trees, not far from its base. One of its enormous roots created a canopy before it plunged into the center of a small river. But the moment Raziel began to recognize the spot it resolved from tree roots, grass and river stones, into tables, and a bar.

  Small candles scattered about and glowing bulbs that hung from the huge root overhead provided light. It should have been cold but as soon as they were within the vague boundaries of the restaurant the wind died and there was a pleasant ambient warmth, like sitting just close enough to a fire.

  Down by the river’s edge, customers sat on cushy mats while others sat at tables and chairs formed from smaller tree roots emerging from under the ground. At the back, in an overhang of the tree’s main mass, there was a kitchen and a cook hard at work.

  The cook glanced up at them. He was a thick, squat elf, his features looking almost squashed like he was made of wax and had been left out in the sun. Raziel recognized him. He hadn’t noticed the cook the day he’d decided to go through with his training. Now that he wasn’t so distracted by existential crisis, he saw that the cook was the same one who’d made him food the first day that he’d been in the Daishinrin when he’d met Hiro.

  “Master, is this your favorite restaurant?” Raziel asked Hiro.

  “It’s my favorite restaurant that still exists.”

  Raziel shook his head and looked around.

  “What are we going to be doing?”

  “An excellent question, Miles. Let’s ask Master Gorou,” Hiro said and walked back towards the deep overhang of vines and roots where the chef had set up his kitchen. The smell was incredible; a mixture of spices, cooking broths, meats, and fresh cut vegetables. Raziel was already hungry and those smells drew out his appetite like a hooked fish.

  “Master Gorou,” Hiro said, inclining his head. He towered over the squat elf but the nod of his head was more respect than Raziel had seen Hiro show anyone else. “I’ve brought your helpers like we discussed.”

  The cook looked up, squinting at Hiro from beneath a brow that seemed as deep set in his face as his kitchen was in the tree. Gorou did not answer Hiro. Instead he just grunted and tossed his head in the direction of a seat at a bar that had been formed from yet another tree root. If Hiro was offended by Gorou’s gruff lack of words, he didn’t show it. In fact, he seemed almost giddy as he headed over to his seat.

  Soon Miles, Hoeru, and Raziel all stood in the kitchen feeling as though they were unwelcome, unwanted, and unnecessary. The glare that Gorou turned on them was more than enough to communicate all of that, along with a general derision for everything that couldn’t be chopped, boiled, or fit nicely into a bowl.

  The stout old elf sidled over to them with the air of a man coming to clean an outhouse. He looked over each of them, running his tongue along his teeth with a curled lip before finally letting out a single huffing grunt. He pointed at Miles and then to a pot that hung over a cook fire.

  No further instruction was given. Miles looked like he was being sent to clean his own torture rack but he scurried over to escape Gorou’s glare. Or maybe he was just happy to be near the fire. Still, Gorou’s eyes followed the mousy boy as though, if he were not watched, he might set the entire tree on fire.

  Next, he turned his gaze on Hoeru. The old elf rubbed at his nose with a thumb and then grunted and nodded towards another end of the kitchen where a flat, plate sized piece of wood, had been laid out. A variety of vegetables were on one side along with a cutting knife. Hoeru slunk away, looking over his shoulder like he was worried the elf might leap on him and start biting.

  At last, it was Raziel’s turn for whatever strange judgement this was. He stood straighter, turned his chin up and glared right back at Gorou. The old cook was not impressed. He grunted and pointed at a spot near the entrance to the kitchen.

  There were no obvious kitchen implements there but by the time Raziel glanced back at the cook, he had already gone back to plating something. Unsure of what to do, Raziel went to stand near the spot that he thought Gorou had indicated. Miles stirred the soup pot like it might explode if he did it wrong, while Hoeru patiently chopped vegetables into semi-regular sizes.

  Raziel stood where he was, waiting to be yelled at, but it never came. Raziel didn’t think it was because he was doing a particularly good job of standing there. If anything, Gorou’s scowl only seemed to darken as more and more customers arrive, seating themselves on the cleverly shaped stumps and on the mats down by the river.

  Hoeru was intent on his task but Miles’ was simple enough that he and Raziel could shoot confused glances at one another. Miles looked as unsure that he was doing what he was supposed to as Raziel. Raziel couldn’t help but be jealous of the fact that, at least Miles and Hoeru were doing something besides stand there. Had Gorou judged him too incompetent to do anything at all?

  Raziel eventually found himself watching Gorou. The cook’s movements were fascinating. Not because of what he was doing. Preparing food was something Raziel had seen and helped with many times in his life. Watching Gorou was a unique, specific pleasure. There was no wasted movement in anything he did. It wasn’t merely the rote repetition of actions Gorou had taken hundreds of thousands of times. It was like Gorou had spent countless hours not simply doing the actions, but intentionally perfecting them. There was a simple, subtle grace to each smooth motion of his thick hands, something that made the ugly elf seem otherworldly.

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  Finally Gorou pulled out a tray, set a plate on it and filled the outer edge with what appeared to be some sort of crunchy chip. Then he took a bowl and set it in the center before moving over to where Miles stood. Miles flinched when Gorou reached near his head, but the cook was merely taking a laddle from a nearby hook. He spooned some of the soup into the bowl and tossed the laddle at Miles who fumbled it twice before managing to catch it. Gorou put the bowl on the tray and brought it to Raziel.

  Hesitantly Raziel took the tray, afraid to spill a drop. It smelled so good that Raziel was tempted to eat it himself. Gorou nodded and then turned to where Hoeru was chopping vegetables. Raziel watched while Gorou took the knife from Hoeru and rechopped several of his vegetable.

  “Psst,” Hiro whispered in a stage whisper. “I think you’re supposed to take that food to someone.”

  Raziel looked down at it and then at Hiro.

  “Who do I take it to though?”

  Hiro just shrugged and pointed at himself jokingly. Raziel rolled his eyes and looked out at the other customers. Most were seated with other people. Only two besides Hiro were alone.

  There was no way to decide between them so Raziel just walked to the closest one, an older dwarf student, one whose vest and pants were orange, trimmed in a deep, dark blue. The dwarf grunted something that Raziel took as thanks and immediately tucked in.

  As Raziel returned to the kitchen he found Gorou setting out another, bigger tray with more dishes on it. Initially Raziel was pleased to see it had four dishes on it. Only one table had four students seated at it, two in brown, and two in Baromah’s green. But as Raziel approached he realized he had no way to know which of the four should get which dish. None of them were the same. So he just guessed and hoped. No one complained.

  Once everyone in the restaurant had their food, Gorou handed Raziel a carafe and pointed Raziel to a barrel in the back. On a nearby table there were dozens of small cups and the barrel itself was full of fresh, cool water. Raziel took the hint and filled the carafe and brought everyone cups. And by the time he was finished, it was time to take another customer more food.

  And so the night went. Customers came, ate, and left trays for Raziel to collect. Gorou didn’t tell Raziel to clean the trays and bowls but the glare that he turned on Raziel wasn’t any more fierce than the rest had been so Raziel continued to do so between carrying out trays. The customers also left carved, colored sticks that were roughly the length of a finger and ranged in color from a pale leaf green, to a light summer sky blue, and occasionally, a deep rose red. And almost as soon as one set of customers left, another set would come in to take their place. There was never a line of people waiting. Customers, mostly students with a variety of colors in their uniforms, would come in and in what seemed like minutes, an empty tray and a few sticks would be all that was left.

  The only exception to the pattern was Hiro’s food. Gorou came and served the master his bowl himself, though not with any reverence. Gorou all but tossed each plate or bowl down in front of Hiro. Raziel was shocked that not a drop of the soup was lost. The cook turned away while Hiro was still looking panicked about the potential loss of his beloved soup. That was the only time the entire night that Gorou’s expression could not be described as a scowl.

  It should not have been exhausting work. But when he wasn’t standing at the entrance to the kitchen surveying who had finished their drinks and needed a refill or cleaning trays and bowls, he was moving. Gorou kept Miles and Hoeru at a variety of tasks over the course of the night. The cook never corrected any of what they’d done but he also never seemed satisfied either. He’d almost always scowl at what they’d done, grunt disapprovingly, and then do the task himself for a few minutes presumably as an example.

  And yet, no one ever had to wait very long for their food. Which meant that Raziel was almost always moving. And by the time the stream of customers finally began to peter out, Raziel felt like he was nearly in a trance state of pure exhaustion, his mind having escaped to fall asleep in some corner of his brain while leaving the rest of his body to sort itself out.

  Someone tapped his shoulder. Raziel twitched, realizing he’d been standing still for some amount of time. He wasn’t sure how long. He looked around frantically for someone who needed their food brought to them but the tables were empty, save for Hiro. Gorou was holding a tray of food, one that smelled particularly wonderful despite having spent the evening getting used to the scents filling the kitchen. It held two bowls of the thick soup and once Raziel had taken the tray Gorou pointed to an empty table. When Raziel looked confused, Gorou scowled harder and all but bodily dragged Raziel over to the table and pushed him into the chair. The cook walked away, grumbling to himself.

  Soon, Gorou had bullied Hoeru and Miles into their own seats with their own bowls of food but, though Hoeru’s bowl was considerably larger than the normal ones, neither of them had two bowls. Raziel shrugged and picked up his spoon. He certainly felt hungry enough to eat everything in front of him, including the bowls themselves.

  Raziel dipped a spoon into the broth, gathering as many of the separate ingredients as possible, and brought it to his mouth.

  Raziel’s diet for the last several days had been whatever Ichiro chose to throw together that day. And while he’d never felt like he was going hungry, he hadn’t truly felt like he was being fed either. Flavor exploded across his tongue, savory, salty and warm enough that it felt like he had taken a big bite of life itself. The single bite was so rich that even as his stomach growled aggressively for more, Raziel couldn’t help but chew slowly, joyously, trying to extract every last drop of flavor. When he finally did swallow the food and warmth seemed to expand to fill, not just his stomach, but his arms and legs and head.

  He was just considering the fact that, if this one bite was that filling, there was no way he’d be able to eat two bowls. That was when he looked up to see that someone else had walked in. Someone familiar.

  Daichi stood by the entrance, his cool gaze surveying the mostly empty restaurant. Raziel was surprised to see something approaching indecision on Daichi’s plain face. But Raziel suddenly understood who the second bowl was for, though he couldn’t for the life of him understand how Gorou had known to make it.

  “Hey,” he said around a second bite of food that he didn’t remember getting. His body must’ve gone around his conscious mind when it had realized it wasn’t getting fed quickly enough. Raziel gestured with his spoon to the second bowl.

  Daichi nodded and seemed slightly relieved at the acknowledgement. The elf sat across from him and, especially here in this empty place, away from the cheering crowd and the ceremony of the arena, Raziel was struck by how normal he seemed. If anything, he looked a bit awkward.

  At his third bite, Raziel realized that he didn’t have a drink and some cold water would be just the refreshment he needed. He started to stand but Gorou cut him off. The cook tossed a pair of empty cups on the table and pouring water into them with a quick, curt motion that should have spilled water everywhere but somehow didn’t lose a single drop. He was gone before Raziel could say ‘thank you,’.

  “He’s rather cold,” Daichi said, quietly taking the seat opposite Raziel.

  “Seems that way. I don’t buy it,” Raziel answered. Gorou began cleaning his kitchen, a process that, like everything else the stout elf did, held an air of ritual. Raziel felt profoundly grateful that he hadn’t been asked to join in the cleaning process. Even lifting his spoon was a daunting task. When he turned back, he found Daichi’s head quirked at an angle, silently questioning his statement. Raziel took another bite before answering, trying to martial his exhausted thoughts into something coherent.

  “I don’t think he’s really as grumpy as he lets on. We made all kinds of mistakes tonight. He didn’t yell at us or act any differently than he did when we got here. I’m not sure why he’s acting so grumpy, but I am sure it is an act.”

  “For a people who do not wear masks, we elves do like to mask ourselves,” Daichi said thoughtfully. Raziel took a bite to cover for the time it took his brain to parse through that sentence to find the meaning.

  “What’s your mask then?”

  “You can’t tell? Maybe I’ve worn it too long then.”

  “Uh… okay. So why are you here?”

  “To challenge you, I suppose.”

  That surprised Raziel enough that he paused bringing his spoon to his mouth again. He examined the other boy. Raziel didn’t know what to expect. It didn’t seem likely that Daichi would come over the table at him. But he was beginning to find that elves were strange people.

  “Okay. Do you mind if we finish eating before we go outside?”

  “What?”

  “I’m not doing this in here and I don’t want my food to get cold.”

  Daichi looked like a dog that was hearing a strange noise for the first time. Then comprehension suddenly dawned.

  “I can’t fight you today.”

  Raziel felt equal twinges of relief and disappointment.

  “Oh. Tomorrow then?”

  “It… doesn’t really work like that. There are certain restrictions around who I can fight and when.”

  “Oh. Did your master give you rules about it or something?”

  “No. These are the rules all students are required to obey. Fights between students of different schools have to be settled in the arena.”

  “That’s a dumb rule.”

  Daichi shrugged.

  “It keeps more volatile students from giving away their school’s secret techniques by challenging people for no reason.”

  “You have secret techniques?”

  “Of course.”

  “Are you sure we can’t fight now?”

  “No, not now.”

  “Well, when can we fight?”

  “That’s why I’m here. I want to make sure you plan to enter the tournament.”

  “There’s a tournament?” Raziel said, leaning forward until he was nearly out of his seat.

  “Of course. You didn’t know?”

  “No, I didn’t know! When is it?”

  “It starts in a few months. It lasts most of the year.”

  “Most of the year? That’s a lot of fighting.”

  Daichi looked like he was thinking that he might have made a a mistake in coming here.

  “The tournament is held on three days throughout the year. Half of the competing schools are eliminated on each day.”

  “Oh, I see. It’s a bracket tournament.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So what’s the guarantee that I’ll have a chance to fight you?”

  “If you make it to the final round of the tournament, you will face me at some point. I promise you that.”

  “So all I have to do is win until I fight you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why do you want to fight me?”

  Daichi fell quiet at that. Raziel took the opportunity to eat more. The conversation was interesting but not enough to fully distract him from his hunger.

  “Fighting you reminded me of someone,” Daichi said at last.

  “Oh? Who?”

  “A friend. One I haven’t seen in a long time and won’t see again for a much longer time.”

  “Oh. A good friend?”

  “Very.”

  “Well, thank you. But that doesn’t really answer my question.”

  “I guess it doesn’t,” Daichi said. He started eating again and said no more.

  They ate in silence for a while, each at war with the other over who would speak again first. Raziel knew Daichi wanted more from him. He wanted a promise that Raziel would fight him. But Raziel wasn’t sure he could give that.

  The whole previous week had been a nightmare. Every day was a struggle, one that only seemed to grow more and more desperate. Raziel hurt so much that he could barely pick out one pain from another. His magic was basically gone and now that he was sitting it was a struggle not to fall into his soup and sleep. It felt like he was being chased down by his own weakness, something predatory always on the verge of catching him.

  But Hiro and Ichiro both saw something in Raziel worth training. Daichi saw something in Raziel worth challenging. All of them knew more about fighting than Raziel. Maybe they knew what they were about.

  “Was it fun to fight me?”

  “No,” Daichi answered immediately. Raziel’s heart fell. But Daichi chewed his next bite thoughtfully. “But I think it could be if you were stronger. But you surprised me. At the end. And that was nice. It’s been a long time since I enjoyed fighting at all. So I’d like to fight you again.”

  All of Raziel’s aches faded at that. They were still there. But for the first time in months, Raziel felt like himself. Raziel smiled ferociously.

  “Whatever it takes. I will meet you in the tournament.”

  Daichi did not return his smile, but there was a glint in his eye like a spark from a stirred campfire.

  “Good.”