After waiting a few minutes and finishing my coffee, Blaze still hadn’t returned. I got up, walked back to the kitchen, and topped off my cup. Hers sat half full on the table, untouched, I left it. I had just started to sit again on my living room chair, when her door creaked open.

  She stepped into the hallway, backlit by the glow of her bedroom light. For a moment, she didn’t look like the Blaze I knew. The brown robe’s hood was up, casting shadows across her face, while her burgundy hair spilled out on either side in loose waves. She gripped the staff tight in her right hand, its base resting on the hardwood floor.

  The darker brown rope belt that came with the robe, cinched it tightly about her waist, the hilt of a dagger peeking out from the rope. Her leather sandals matched the rough, monastic look. Nothing about her said FBI. She looked like she’d stepped straight out of a medieval manuscript, or a dungeon.

  Balancing my coffee, I gave a half bow. “Fire Mage Blaze. Well met.”

  She strode into the room without answering. Her sandals were almost silent as their leather softly slapped the floorboards. Their whisper ended as she stopped and stared at me. I set my cup aside and rose to meet her gaze. If her irises had been flames instead of brown, she’d have been perfect on the cover of some fantasy novel.

  The silence stretched. We stood, our eyes locked in place, waiting for the other to speak. I could feel the weight of her gaze pressing down on me, sharp as a drawn blade and solid as the staff she carried.

  Finally, her voice came, low and steady. “Draw your sword. Touch me with it before I strike you with my staff.”

  “She’s challenging me to a fight? In the living room? What the hell?” I thought, trying not to let it show on my face. I set my cup on the table next to my chair.

  Moving slow, I took two steps to the coat rack and pulled my rapier from its scabbard. I didn’t give her my back. “I wish I knew what she’s after.” A quick DISPLAY STATS showed nothing unusual, no buffs, no debuffs, no control effects. Just Blaze.

  “No magic. No psionics,” she said flatly.

  “Agreed.” I said. At least she wouldn’t be setting my house on fire. Her words as emotionless as when she came out.

  I raised my blade in salute, bringing it vertical before my face, the hilt just under my chin, then swept it down and back up into guard. Modified Capo Fero’s Quarta…my default on guard stance. My left-hand hovered over my left foot, just forward of it, palm open, just below my face. Right hand lower and closer to my body. Right foot under my refused right shoulder, a step behind my left foot.

  Blaze mirrored me in her own way; staff angled across her body from right shoulder to left hip. Her left foot half a step in front of her body, which was mostly flat to me. Her knees slightly flexed, eyes wide open to see my whole body, not just my blade.

  The problem was, I hadn’t fought in over a decade. Kobolds and goblins didn’t count; they just soaked damage until they died. This was different. I was sloppy and out of practice. And I’d never crossed a rapier against a quarterstaff.

  I’d played with a quarterstaff more than a quarter century ago, so I had a few clues. How well did she know how to use it?

  Her first strike answered that. It came fast, the bottom of her staff sweeping low for my forward left foot. Instinct jerked me back a step, her swing cutting the air just short of my toes. I stomped my left foot ahead of my right, and reversed my body dropping forward into a lunge, my sword now leading. It forced her to backpedal a few steps.

  She reversed hands, striking with the staff towards my head. The wood whistled past as I ducked. I was too slow with my free hand to catch it.

  We reset, circling. This time, I pressed forward a step. My leg muscles started to ache. She’d caught me on a full stomach after a long day, and I was running on stubbornness. “Nicely done. Shall we continue?” I asked, though she gave me nothing back…only silence.

  Blaze remained silent. This time her staff struck at my sword, to knock it out of the way. I disengaged under and came back on guard. I didn’t advance. Her second strike aborted mid-swing. She had expected me to counter attack.

  All that had taken less than twenty seconds.

  We eyed each other across less than ten feet of living room, the space barely large enough for what we were doing. “Shall we continue, milady?” I asked again with a quick salute. This time she silently saluted with her staff vertical, then came back on guard with it held diagonal across her body.

  When I advanced, she shifted grips, right hand back, left forward, the staff’s tip aimed at me. On my next step she lunged, thrusting for my face. I swatted it aside with my free hand…just in time, as she retracted, and lunged again, going low for my leg. A flash of pale skin showed as her robe shifted, revealing she’d shed her pants when she changed into the robes.

  She gave me no time to dwell on it. I was sweating now, legs already burning. The staff kept me on defense, forcing me to move faster than my body wanted…than it could much longer.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  My legs were hurting. I’d just had a filling dinner, and I wanted to rest after clearing the dungeon today. Blaze wasn’t giving me a choice. Or a chance to figure out why the hell she was doing this.

  And the worst part? It was fun. Dangerous, exhausting fun. My muscles screamed, but adrenaline hummed in my veins.I hadn’t done this in years. And my body couldn’t take this too much longer.

  “Time to end this before I collapse,” I thought. “Hope she doesn’t want to go more rounds.”

  I feinted forward, then dropped into a classic fencing lunge. As expected, she hopped back. I drove forward off my right foot into a second lunge, pain tearing up my thigh. At the same instant, she swung for my head. My left hand wasn’t in a classic lunge…it was up…and by luck I managed to catch her staff before it connected with my head.

  Momentum carried me down and I fell to my right side, slamming into the hardwood floor. My blade’s tip grazed her right thigh as I fell, slicing just above her knee where the robe had opened.

  Blaze screamed too. Surprise, pain, shock, and something else tangled in it. She dropped her staff and dropped to her knees beside me as I rolled onto my back.

  “Are you alright? How bad is it? Do we need an ambulance, or Ingrid?” Her voice was sharp, almost panicked.

  “I’ll live. Megan’s next door. She’s faster.”

  Her eyes unfocused for a second as she messaged. “She’s on her way. Just stay down.”

  Game notifications confirmed I’d taken damage from the fall on my knee. Two points.

  “I’ll live.”

  “I know you’ll live. You’re next to impossible to kill. Keep it that way,” she told me as she cradled my head in her hands. She held me for a few minutes.

  She cradled my head until the knock came. “They’re here,” Blaze said softly, lowering me back to the floor.

  Ryan and Megan rushed in. Megan’s sharp eyes scanned the room, taking in the scene. “What the hell have you two been up to?” she demanded, already kneeling beside me.

  “Ryan. Wet napkins. Blaze is bleeding. And dry ones too.” Megan barked.

  “On it,” he called, darting to the kitchen.

  Megan’s HEAL washed over me, dulling the pain but leaving the soreness.

  Ryan returned, handing her the napkins. Blaze pressed the wet ones to her leg.

  “Hold still girl,” she ordered, taking the napkin and wiping the small but steady line of blood on Blaze’s leg. “You’re lucky. He missed anything important.”

  “Now what have you two been up to?” Megan demanded.

  When I looked over at Ryan, he was wiping up a few drops of blood on the floor with another wet napkin, then dried it with several more paper napkins.

  Trying to push myself up, Ryan stopped me and didn’t let me do it on my own.

  “Put him on the couch. Then he can lie down to rest.” Megan told her husband.

  Ryan and Blaze got me up between them and settled me on the couch, legs stretched out. Ryan cleaned and sheathed my sword, leaning Blaze’s staff against the coat rack.

  “Thanks,” I told them, breath still rough. “We were…testing some things. I hit her leg harder than I meant when I fell.”

  Meg’s look said she had words, but Ryan murmured something in her ear until she settled.

  “Good thing you weren’t casting spells,” he said. “Could’ve set half the block on fire.”

  “No magic. No psionics. Those were the rules,” Blaze confirmed. “We wanted to practice what happens if it fails.”

  “Makes sense,” Ryan admitted. “I’ll remind the guild. Speaking of…we’re almost Guild Level 2. Falstaff says we should hit it by week’s end.”

  Meg’s expression softened. “And none of us ever thought we’d meet the president. Or fight beside her. She gave us those patches. You think she’ll come back?”

  “I think so,” I said carefully. “But let’s focus on what’s here. What’s coming next. That’s what matters.”

  Ryan nodded. “News says dungeons are showing up in other states. You think we’ll get one here?”

  Blaze answered before I could. “They’ll announce the local one tomorrow. That’s where we were today. And there are rules. Five people per party. If you exit, you’re locked out for a day. It starts easy, then gets dangerous fast. You need a Healer. A Thief helps.”

  I added, “If it gets bad, don’t push your luck. If a whole party dies, their bodies stay in the dungeon. Gone. REVIVE only works if your Healer has it, or someone pulls you out in time.”

  Blaze rested a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll take care of him. Don’t worry. Thank you for coming. If you need us, let us know.”

  “We know,” Ryan said. “You’ll come a running, just like we did. Don’t worry. We will. You take care of him. We’ll let ourselves out.”

  Ryan and Meg exchanged a look, smiles tugging at their faces as they left.

  The quiet after the door shut was heavy.

  “Why?” I asked finally.

  “Why what?” Blaze replied.

  “Why dress up, challenge me like that? You didn’t look like you. What happened?”

  Her voice faltered. “I…I wanted to find out something. About you. About me. About us.”

  “Us?”

  “What would happen if we fought. Without magic. At the dungeon’s end, you ran out of MANA. You used your sword. I nearly ran out too. Another spell and I’d have been finished. I didn’t even think of my gun until afterward.”

  “Where’d you learn to use the staff?”

  She glanced down. “A summer job in high school. Worked with a guy who did the faires like Bhaarrt and Ingrid. He played a Little John character and worked in a place where you could fight with padded staves. He taught me some basics. We were…sort of a thing.”

  “Did he teach you how to fight against a sword?” She didn’t answer.

  “That explains a lot. But you know…I could have killed you.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t. Just like I wouldn’t do that to you. It felt like I was back there again, sparring with him. Strange.” She hesitated, cheeks flushing. “But that wasn’t the only reason.”

  I leaned forward. “Other reasons?”

  Her blush deepened. “Do I have to tell you?” She breathed deeply, eyes darting away, then back. “You won. So maybe…maybe I owe you the truth. Maybe it was a dominance fight. Maybe I wanted to know what you’d do. You won. I guess you can make me tell you.”

  Before I could respond, she slipped off the couch, sat at my feet, and lowered her head onto my uninjured leg left leg.

  The weight of her head pressed warm through the fabric. My mind stalled.

  “Who are you,” I asked without thinking, “and what the hell have you done with the woman I know?”

  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZUiWnHgYw74

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