Harry stood alone. The arena felt bigger now. Louder. The sand under his feet looked like it was waiting. Harry watched the day fight with so much fear. Every blow he saw made him flinch. Every scream made his chest tighten. The smell of blood hung in the air.

  When they were dismissed, Harry was the first to leave. He moved fast, almost running. The noise of the arena followed him until he pushed through the gate.

  At the arena gate he met monk Gregory, the monk who always attended to him. The old monk’s eyes were soft, but worried. “Do not think of fighting this one,” he warned.

  Harry kept walking but the words followed him. “None of his previous opponents would be able to walk again.”

  Harry’s steps slowed. For a moment, the image of Andy’s fists filled his mind. Harry didn’t listen. He walked out. The sun outside was too bright. It made everything feel unreal.

  “Set aside your pride. Come to the monk cave, there is pride in healing.” Harry’s jaw tightened. But Harry kept walking, not sure whether to give up on the fight, or to fight and die.

  He returned to the training ground in deep thoughts. He practiced some tricks. He realized how fast he had become. How fast he could master the trick. His eyes had become sharp. And his can not make legible small letters from the scroll. “What is going on?” He said. “How is it possible I can read the content of the scroll from here. But he moved anyway.”

  He shifted his feet. The ground felt closer, almost alive beneath him. The scroll on the stone bench at the far end of the field stayed open, its markings dark against the pale page. Even without stepping closer, the lines were clear. Each curve stood out.

  He perfected a tactic. His body dropped low, twisted, and rose again. Sand lifted and settled. He turned, his arm cutting through the air, his leg following without delay. Then moved to another one. The rhythm came easily. He continued to swing the body effortlessly, each movement flowing into the next, like something pulling him forward.

  Then he paused. His chest rose and fell. Sweat slid down his temple. “What happened to me at the river? Was I rescued and empowered by some water Goddess?”

  The sound of water rushed faintly in his ears. The memory pressed against him. Cold. Darkness. Light. He exhaled. “Could this new strength help me in the fight tomorrow?” He asked himself.

  No answer came. The air stayed still. But he had no answer to it. He continued training, memorizing every single step. His feet pressed into the dirt, then lifted again. His hands moved before his thoughts. Each motion slipped into place. It all seems familiar. As if he had done those tricks before now.

  The sun sank lower. Long shadows stretched across the ground. The air cooled.

  As the day darkened he became exhausted. His shoulders dipped. His breathing turned heavy. “I will go and rest,” he told himself. He reached for his scrolls. The edges brushed his fingers. He gathered them up and turned toward the narrow path between the trees. He began to head towards his room.

  The forest swallowed the light. Leaves rustled overhead. Suddenly, a group of Astania boys blocked his part. They stepped out from behind the trees, one by one. Their faces were hard. Their bodies formed a wall.

  Harry flinched back, a sudden fear overwhelmed him. His grip tightened around the scrolls. “What now?” Harry asked. “Have you not done your worst?”

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  Jerry stepped forward. His boots pressed into the soil. His eyes never left Harry’s face. “Our worst is to see you dead.” The words fell heavy.

  Harry drifted back. His foot brushed against a root. “But why, we are brothers.” The boys shook their heads. Their lips moved together. “No,” they shouted in unison. “We are no relatives of a weak bastard.” The sound bounced through the trees. Birds burst from the branches.

  Harry drifted back again. His breath came quicker. “Then let me be, I won’t come unto your midst. Just pretend i do not exist.”

  They shook their heads again. Their circle tightened. “We won't allow you go into that arena tomorrow and disgrace Astania once again. Astania's point must not be reduced because of you once again.”

  The forest felt smaller. The space behind him thinned. It dawn on Harry. The last thread of hope snapped. Their hands were already clenched. Their feet planted. Reasoning won't stop them from doing him harm. He turned sharply and began to run. Leaves exploded beneath his feet. The boys shouted and rushed after him.

  The sound of pursuit thundered behind him. He ran and began to scream for help. “Somebody help!” He screamed. His voice tore through the trees, thin and sharp. The forest swallowed it.

  But the farther he ran the colder the forest became. His breath puffed white. His skin prickled. “Scream all you want,” Jerry echoed. “No one will come to your rescue.” A branch whipped across Harry’s face. He stumbled but kept moving. His lungs burned.

  His legs pumped. His heart hammered. Roots grabbed at his feet. Shadows leaped across his path. His breath hurt and his body becoming slow. Sweat mixed with cold on his skin. Each step dragged. But the fear of death kept him moving.

  But Master Kanfu heard the voice. He was walking across the Astania river. “That is Harry's voice,” he told himself. “He must be in danger.” He began to run towards the forest, tracing Harry's voice.

  Leaves snapped beneath his feet. Branches slapped his sleeves. The sound of the boy’s scream kept breaking through the trees, thin and sharp, pulling him deeper into the dark.

  With time, Harry kicked his leg on a tree's root. The ground rose suddenly in front of him. His foot caught. His body pitched forward.

  Then he fell.

  “Ahhhh!” He screamed, pain shooting through his bones. His scrolls scattered. Dirt filled his mouth. His hands scraped against stone and bark. The boys closed in. Their boots crunched around him. Their shadows fell over his body.

  “Oh!” Jerry exclaimed, breathing heavily. He placed both hands on his knees, his chest heaving. “I thought you were going to run forever.” Daniel wiped sweat from his brow. His eyes were bright and cruel. “You almost made it interesting.”

  Harry pushed himself up on one elbow. His vision swam. “Please, let me go,” Harry pleaded. Jerry straightened. A slow smile spread across his face. “Maybe in our next lifetime. Not this one.”

  He grabbed Harry by the collar and yanked him up. Harry’s feet barely touched the ground before Jerry’s fist crashed into his face. Harry’s eyes went blank. Pain exploded in him. The world tilted. A ringing filled his ears. His body folded, but hands held him upright.

  The boys rushed in on him. All fifteen began to blow and march him. Fists slammed into his ribs. Feet kicked his legs. Elbows drove into his back. Harry cried out. Air burst from his lungs. His bones screamed. Blood spill from his mouth. Something cracked inside him. He tasted blood.

  The forest echoed with dull thuds and ragged gasps. He dropped to his knees. Someone dragged him back up. Another blow sent him spinning, and hit body hit the ground.

  Then he heard a voice inside him.

  “Harry, get up and fight back.” The sound cut through the pain. At that instant, his left hand pulsed with light. It flared suddenly, white and sharp, so bright that the boys froze. They staggered back, hands rising to shield their eyes.

  “What is that?” a boy named Akuna asked. The glow washed over the tree trunks. It painted their faces pale. Fear flickered in their eyes. They all exchanged glances. Their breathing turned uneven.

  Harry looked down. His left hand burned. Light spilled between his fingers. His skin felt hot, alive. He stood up slowly. His legs shook, but they held. The light wrapped around his hand like fire. He felt intense heat pulsing through his left hand. “What is this?” he whispered.

  He struck the hand against his thigh. He rubbed it with his other palm. Intending to quench the light. But the light only grew brighter. It spilled across the ground. Leaves glimmered. Shadows pulled back.

  Master Kangfu broke through the trees just as the glow burst wider. He slowed. His eyes fixed on Harry’s hand. He halted from a distance. “What is this?” he asked himself. He slipped behind a tree. His breath was quiet. His gaze never left the glowing fist.

  The boys kept drifting back. Their boots scraped the dirt. “Whatever this is,” Daniel said, his voice low, “it is a surge of divine energy.” Jerry snorted. “No. That cannot be.” He spat to the side. “A bastard cannot be that favored by the gods.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I am sure that is intense leprosy.” A few boys laughed nervously. Jerry stopped retreating. He stepped forward. His boots pressed into the glowing light on the ground.

  “Whether your hands mysteriously glow or not,” he said, “I am here to kill you. And I will kill you.” He raised his fist. His muscles tightened.

  He swung. Jerry’s blow flew straight at Harry’s face. Harry graped himself for the pain. But surprisingly, Harry did not move. The fist hit him. But nothing happened. No pain, no scream. It was as if his face have turn numbed.

  Jerry blinked. The voice echoed again in Harry’s head. “Fight back.” Jerry snarled and struck again. His fist shot forward. Harry caught the blow with his left hand. The glowing fingers closed around Jerry’s knuckles. A sharp crack split the air. Pain tore through Jerry’s arm. He screamed. His knees buckled.

  Harry released him. Before Jerry could speak, Harry’s other fist drove into his ribs. The impact boomed. Jerry’s chest caved inward. A sickening crack followed. Jerry flew backward as if thrown by an invisible force.

  His body slammed into a tree. Bark burst. Leaves rained down. He slid down, gasping, eyes wide.