The afternoon stretched long beneath a high, unblinking sun.

  In the village of Durgle, the dojo stood quiet, its wide doors open, its polished floor marked with scars from countless battles. Dust drifted lazily through beams of light that cut down from the high windows. The air smelled faintly of sweat, wood, and old earth.

  Cid stood alone at the center of the floor.

  He glided across the boards in smooth, controlled movements, fists cutting through the air. No crackling energy. No glowing gauntlets. Just muscle, balance, and breath. Each punch was deliberate, each step measured. He practiced footwork, pivots, dodges, old techniques drilled into him long before he’d ever learned he was Chosen.

  He exhaled slowly.

  I’m a brawler first, he reminded himself. Chosen second.

  The doors creaked open behind him.

  “Good to see your old moves,” Master Keno said as he stepped inside, his voice calm and approving. “Strength comes from within, not from abilities.”

  Cid stopped and turned, sweat slicking his brow. He nodded, rolling his shoulders. “You were right. I get cocky. I get arrogant. I don’t mean to, sometimes it’s just easier to be that guy, you know?”

  Keno smiled faintly, eyes distant for a moment. “Of course I understand. I was young once.” There was something nostalgic in his tone, as though he remembered that same fire burning far too hot in his own chest.

  The dojo doors swung wide again.

  Heavy footsteps followed as the Shoven entered, Drongo at the front, broad and imposing, the others behind him like living walls of muscle. Cid’s gaze locked onto Kharvuk. He cracked his knuckles slowly, the sharp pops echoing in the quiet hall.

  “Are you ready, Cid?” Kharvuk grunted.

  Cid didn’t smirk. Didn’t boast.

  He simply bowed.

  The reaction was immediate. Tronka’s face split into a wide, unsettling Shoven grin, too many teeth, all of them sharp. Cid stepped forward calmly, reached for the glowing gauntlets at his wrists, and unclasped them. He placed them carefully on the floor beside a support post.

  Tronka froze, eyes widening.

  Cid glanced up and gave him a sly wink.

  “I’m ready,” Cid said quietly.

  Kharvuk stepped forward. They bowed to one another.

  Then the fight began.

  Kharvuk charged like a battering ram, the ground trembling beneath his weight. Any other man might have panicked. Cid didn’t. He stepped aside at the last moment, letting the Shoven’s momentum carry him forward. Kharvuk stumbled, slamming into the dirt.

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  No comment. No joke.

  Just movement.

  Charge after charge followed, each one slower than the last. Cid danced around him, letting Kharvuk burn energy while he conserved his own. Sweat poured down the Shoven’s scaled neck, his breathing growing heavy.

  Then Cid struck.

  As Kharvuk lunged again, Cid leapt, twisting in midair, and landed squarely into his back. The impact drove the breath from Kharvuk’s lungs. Before he could recover, Cid was already in front of him, fists flying. Clean strikes. Efficient strikes.

  Kharvuk swayed.

  Then collapsed.

  “Kharvuk is down,” Keno called. “Cid wins round three.”

  Cid exhaled hard, relief washing through him. Keno lifted his arm, but Cid barely noticed. He walked straight to Kharvuk as the Shoven stood and dusted himself off.

  “Good fight,” Cid said sincerely. “And… sorry for the way I acted before.”

  Kharvuk nodded once, respectful, and returned to the others.

  Keno’s voice echoed again. “Next contender, step forward. Grathun.”

  A massive figure moved into the ring.

  Grathun was taller than the rest. Wider. Built like a fortress. Cid swallowed, forcing his breathing to steady. This fight would be different.

  They bowed.

  The silence stretched.

  Grathun didn’t charge.

  Cid frowned slightly, thrown off by the pause, then pain exploded across his face as Grathun’s fist slammed into him. Cid flew across the dojo, crashing into the dirt as dust erupted around him.

  He lay there for half a second, stunned. For a heartbeat, the old fear whispered, what if he’d misjudged himself without the gauntlets?

  Then he stood.

  Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. He spat it onto the floor and wiped his sleeve across his lips.

  “Finally,” Cid said with a breathless laugh, “a worthy contender.”

  Grathun charged.

  Cid sprinted forward, feinted a punch, then slipped under Grathun’s arm and drove his fist into the Shoven’s side. Grathun grunted, stumbling. Cid vaulted over his tail and kicked him square in the back, sending him face-first into the dirt.

  Grathun rose, and hit back.

  Another punch sent Cid flying.

  Strong, Cid thought as he forced himself up. But slow.

  This time he waited.

  Grathun swung.

  Cid ducked beneath the arm, struck the ribs again, then snapped his foot upward, cracking Grathun across the face. Green blood splattered the floor.

  They stood there, chest to chest, both breathing hard.

  Grathun lunged again.

  Cid raised his hand, and caught the punch.

  The shockwave rippled through the dojo, air buckling outward. Keno and the Shoven stared, stunned.

  Cid twisted his hips and drove one final punch straight into Grathun’s chest.

  The giant flew backward, claws scraping helplessly across the floor before he slammed into a wooden post. The beam splintered. Grathun collapsed and did not rise.

  “Well,” Keno said, awe clear in his voice, “that’s another round. Round four winner, Cid.”

  Keno lifted Cid’s arm once more. Cid stood there breathing hard, exhausted—but grounded.

  Only Tronka and Drongo remained.

  Keno smiled broadly. “I think it’s time for a rest, and some food. The hall’s just across the courtyard. I’ll meet you all there.”

  “You’ve pushed far enough for today. The next fights deserve a rested mind.”

  As they filed out of the dojo together, Cid glanced back once, at his discarded gauntlets still resting against the post.

  For the first time, he didn’t feel like he needed them.

  He wasn’t iron without the spark anymore, he was iron that could stand on its own.

  Thanks for reading!

  Every time someone spends a few minutes in the world of Shahero, it honestly means more than I can properly put into words. Seeing people follow the journey of Tyron, Samantha, Lazarus, Freya, Cid, and Zara makes all the hours of writing worth it.

  If you enjoyed the chapter, feel free to leave a comment or follow the story. I read every comment, and it genuinely helps the story reach more readers here on Royal Road.

  A few people have also asked how they can support the project as I work toward eventually publishing the book. If that’s something you’d like to help with, there’s a support link below that goes toward editing and preparing the story for print.

  No pressure at all though—reading the story is already huge support.

  Question for readers:What moment in this chapter stood out to you the most?

  See you in the next chapter.

  — Matthew Cooke-Sumner