In the three days since Novak had arrived at the monastery, Celia had never been less interested in her studies. It was apparent that many of the other Ryntai felt the same.

  After just one day of convalescing, their mysterious visitor was up and about, wandering the monastery by day and disappearing into the surrounding woods by night. Many saw the traveler's behavior as highly suspicious, and although he did not bother anyone directly, even the instructors started to feed into the rumors about him.

  Sweat poured from Celia's face as the hot sun beat down on her and her fellow apprentices. Today was their heavy conditioning day: four hours of running up and down the mountain, an hour's break for lunch, two hours of strength training, and a final two hours of practicing martial arts with a spent and worn down body.

  It was nothing new to Celia, but today, her lack of focus was on full display. The rhythm of her breathing faltered, her steps lost their pace, and her usual near-perfect execution of each move was replaced with sloppy form and poor footwork.

  When the agonizing day of training finally met its end, Master Troi dismissed the formation of apprentices. Celia took a moment to wipe the sweat from her brow with the sleeve of her tunic before heading off toward the monastery. Walking through the courtyard, she noticed Novak standing by one of the doorways, quietly observing the monks' training regimen. she wondered.

  Despite the clothing he had been loaned, Novak's presence was difficult to miss. He carried himself in an unusual manner, like he was putting far too much effort into appearing relaxed, but beneath the facade, he was ready to spring into action at any moment. Celia wondered what kind of life Novak had lived to keep him on edge all the time.

  Their gaze met briefly as Celia approached, and he offered the faintest of smiles before his face returned to its usual stony demeanor. "Hello again," he greeted her.

  "Oh, hello," she replied, stepping out of the crowd to stop and chat with him. "How are you feeling today? Any better?"

  "I'm about back to full strength, I think," Novak replied with a shrug.

  Celia nodded. "That's good to hear," she said before gesturing toward the training grounds. "So... what do you make of our humble monastery?"

  Novak looked around at the surrounding buildings and let out a soft chuckle. "It's quiet," he remarked. "But I like it."

  Before the girl could respond, Alistair emerged from the crowd and pushed Celia aside as he stormed toward Novak. "You!" he shouted, jabbing a finger into his chest. "What do you think you're doing?"

  A nonplussed Novak swatted Alistair's finger away and eyed the young man strangely. "I was curious about your training regimen," he replied calmly. "Is that a problem?"

  Alistair scoffed. "Yeah, it is," he hissed. "We're not here for your entertainment."

  Novak shrugged. "Well, it looked interesting." He eyed the rest of the apprentices, most of whom had now wandered off through the monastery. "It doesn't look like you have much time to yourselves," he remarked. "Maybe go take a break instead of bothering me."

  Alistair's eyes narrowed as he stared daggers at Novak, but Celia stepped between them. "Alistair, leave him be," she said firmly. "The man's a guest here; you've no right to talk to him this way."

  The young man glared beyond her, his gaze firmly fixed on Novak. "Something is off about this guy," he snapped back. "It's not safe for him to be here. Everybody can see it, but nobody wants to say anything. He shouldn't have free reign of our home like this."

  "That sounds like something you should take up with your headmaster," Novak replied. "I have permission to be here."

  Celia rolled her eyes as she watched the argument unfolding before her. She had seen Alistair do this verbal dance routine many times before; he had something of a habit of goading his fellow students into sparring matches as a way to flaunt his superiority—and he was good at it, too.

  While there certainly was a truth to what Alistair was saying, Celia knew his main goal was to get a rise out of Novak. Novak, of course, seemed perfectly content to let Alistair do all the talking while he stood there with an expressionless face and deflected his jabs.

  Alistair growled in frustration when Novak failed to immediately take the bait. He took a step back and folded his arms across his chest. "You're not welcome here," he spat. "You should leave before you get us all killed. Or worse."

  Novak closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "Look, kid," he began. "I know exactly what you're trying to do here. I've seen your people sparring with each other for sport, and it's obvious that you want to test yourself against the big bad stranger to show off in front of everyone." He paused for a moment to let his words sink in. "That about right?"

  Alistair blinked. "Wha—"

  "And normally, I'd relish the opportunity to knock someone out of their ivory tower," Novak continued, "but your headmaster warned against doing anything to jeopardize anyone's safety. So, regrettably, I'll have to pass."

  "Please," Alistair replied, giving an exaggerated laugh. "You can't hurt me. I bet you can't even hit me."

  Celia watched the slightest of smiles form along Novak's lips. "Kid, I could break you in half," he shot back, his voice suddenly taking a hard edge. "You don't want this."

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  "Come on—you've clearly recovered from your injuries by now," Alistair replied, flashing a wide smile. "Aren't you bored of just wandering around? Why don't we put an end to the mystery of who you are and test you against one of our best?"

  Novak looked down at Celia, who shrugged apologetically. "He's not gonna let this go," she said quietly. "He's like this with everyone."

  After a few moments of contemplation, Novak grinned and gave a nod. "Fine," he said. "If it gets you off my back, let's do this."

  Celia watched as Novak followed Alistair out into the courtyard and took a position opposite him on the training field. Alistair wandered over to a rack full of wooden training weapons with a confident stride and began perusing the selection before him. He eventually settled on a pair of quarterstaves and tossed one toward Novak, who caught it deftly in his hand.

  "Do you even know how to use that?" Alistair asked mockingly.

  Novak flourished the staff and took a few swings through the air to test the weapon's heft. "It's a stick. How hard can it be?" he replied. He looked trained, but Celia could tell his movements were rusty. "So, how do we do this?"

  "First to four strikes," Alistair replied. "Avoid hits to the head, joints, and uh... sensitive regions."

  "Works for me."

  The two squared off in the courtyard's center, each now with a quarterstaff readied. They flourished their weapons and began circling one another, occasionally prodding the other's defenses for weaknesses. Alistair was relaxed and calm as he moved—he expected nothing less than a swift victory over his opponent. Novak, however, was tense and focused, his eyes locked on Alistair's every movement as he searched for an opening to strike.

  Alistair shot forward, his staff spinning wildly as he pressed the attack. Novak was caught off guard but brushed away the incoming strikes, the clack of their weapons echoing through the courtyard with each parry. Novak swung back at the apprentice monk, but his defenses were solid, and a lunging attack ended with him laying face-first in the dirt with a staff pressed against his back. "One to zero," Alistair said smugly.

  Novak grunted as he hopped to his feet and readied his weapon without a word. Alistair gave his defenses another careful prodding but was momentarily stunned when Novak brushed his staff aside and attacked. He came in with a solid downward blow but let the weapon gently come to rest on the monk's shoulder. "One to one," said Novak.

  They backed away and returned to carefully circling one another. Celia could see more caution in Alistair's movements as his confidence faded, but Novak had that same tense calmness about him.

  Novak shifted his grip and changed his stance, now holding his staff like a spear. He advanced on Alistair, making several easily deflected thrusts as he burst forward. An overwhelmed Alistair retreated until his back was against the southern wall of the courtyard. Novak made his move, but it was too sloppy, and Alistair managed a counterattack. He deflected the blow and dropped his staff lightly atop Novak's shoulder. "Too aggressive," Alistair remarked. "Two to one."

  The monk felt a light tap against the inside of his thigh and looked down to see Novak's weapon firmly planted between his legs. "Why don't we call that one a draw?" Novak asked with a smirk before backing away. "Two to two."

  There was a lull in the fight as the two returned to the courtyard's center. Celia noticed several other students had emerged from the monastery to watch the match, but she could hardly blame their curiosity. Novak was an outsider—a complete unknown—and was obviously far more skilled than anyone expected. She knew Alistair wouldn't be so easily beaten, though. He'd been training for years, and Novak was out of practice.

  Novak shot forward, and their weapons clashed again and again. He had thrown caution into the wind and was attacking more and more aggressively while Alistair did his best to hold out for an opening.

  His patience soon paid off, or so he thought, and the monk lunged with a heavy thrust of his staff. Novak was ready for him; he sidestepped the attack with little effort and the tip of his weapon stopped against Alistair's midsection. "Two to three," said Novak. "You should be more careful, kid. I hear these sticks can be dangerous."

  Celia chuckled as she watched Alistair's face turn red with anger. The two returned to their starting positions, but this time, Alistair attacked first. He charged in swinging, forcing Novak on the defensive. He managed to deflect the flurry of initial strikes but was too slow to stop what followed.

  A wet smack resounded through the courtyard as the weapon connected with the side of Novak's head, and a collective hush fell over the spectating Ryntai. Novak's staff rattled against the courtyard's stone tiles as it slipped from his grasp, but he did not stay dazed for long. Celia stared in amazement, as did Alistair; a hit like that would have put anyone on the ground.

  Novak spit a glob of blood from his mouth and let out a low growl before he began stomping toward Alistair. His hands were empty, but his eyes were filled with rage. Alistair brought his staff to bear to defend himself, only for some unseen force to snap it in half as Novak made a sweeping gesture. The stranger's hands moved with uncanny speed, and Alistair found himself pinned against the ground with Novak's knee planted firmly on his chest. "We're done here," Novak hissed. "Understand?"

  Alistair gave a nervous nod, and Novak rose to his feet. He glanced about, suddenly aware that the fight had gathered an audience, and his anger faded into unease. Novak stormed off toward one of the entrances to the monastery, but Celia blocked his path before he could leave. "What the hell was that?" she demanded.

  "Move," Novak ordered.

  The girl stood defiantly, arms crossed as she awaited an explanation. Novak looked to the rest of the monks, who watched him curiously, before returning his gaze to Celia. Though he was trying his best to hide it, Celia could see genuine fear creeping into the corners of his eyes.

  "Please," Novak repeated, his tone only slightly softer now. "Move."

  Celia stepped aside with a heavy sigh, and the stranger disappeared into the depths of the monastery. While the rest of the Ryntai began to disperse, Celia turned her attention to Alistair. She ran out and helped him to his feet before giving him a cursory check for injuries. He was unharmed for the most part but still shaken. "Alistair, are you alright?" she asked.

  "That man was ready to kill me," he muttered. "I could see it in his eyes. In the way he moved."

  Celia dusted off her companion and patted him on the back. "Well, I'm glad you're okay," she said. "But you did kind of ask for it."

  "Yeah... I guess I did," Alistair conceded as he rubbed his sore shoulder. "It's just... by the end of it, I could tell he was playing with me. And it pissed me off. I didn't expect that last strike to land, but holy hell, I wish it hadn't. He is dangerous, Celia. And Gifted too."

  The girl nodded. "I saw it, too," she agreed. "The way he took that hit and the way he broke your staff."

  Celia shook her head. Their visitor had finally opened up to them, in a sense, but all it gave them were more questions. she reminded herself.

  "I think we should tell Master Zan about this," Alistair said after a moment of contemplation. "That guy's trouble and the headmaster should know about it."

  Celia sighed and shook her head. She knew Alistair was right but couldn't help but feel he was overreacting. "I don't think that's necessary," she replied. "He just needs some space right now. I'll talk to him later and see if he's calmed down."

  Alistair glared at Celia disapprovingly but relented with a shrug of his shoulders. "Look, I know you're curious about him," he said, "but please be careful. We don't know what he's truly capable of."

  Celia smiled and shrugged. "Well, you know me," she said. "No promises."