"Why didn't you accept the offer?" I asked, keeping my voice low as we shuffled forward in the agonizingly slow line. "It seemed like he was really eager to get that... what was it again? 'Gar'?"
Muna's gaze was fixed on the back of the person in front of us, his expression a carefully constructed mask of indifference. "I don't know," he said, his voice flat, devoid of its usual quiet strength. "It brought back memories I don't want to recall. That mineral... it brings back my past." The words were heavy, each one dropping like a stone into a deep well.
"Oh. My apologies." The words felt inadequate, a flimsy bandage on a wound I couldn't see.
"No worries," he said, though the tight set of his jaw told a different story. "We just have to navigate our way through this line. We should've known we were being scammed when the rest decided to check the 'resorts' instead." He kicked a loose pebble, sending it skittering across the sun-baked stone road with a sharp clatter. Ever since yesterday, in the forge, he hadn't been himself. A shadow clung to him, a heaviness in his movements that wasn't there before. I had to confirm. Normally, I don't interfere with people's private storms, but I couldn't turn a blind eye to this. I call him brother.
I tried to lift the mood, forcing a chuckle. "Haha. Yes, indeed. Especially that Alana, wording it so nicely. 'A strategic retreat for resource acquisition.' One day I'll see to it. That smart mouth of hers is bound to dig up a bunch of trouble."
Muna offered a weak chuckle, a hollow echo of his usual laugh. He dropped his heavy pack to the ground and stretched, adjusting the collar of his coat. As he did, a lanky hooligan, swaggering past with his crew, tripped spectacularly over the bag. He went down with a loud crash of limbs and a yelp of surprise, his friends bursting into a cacophony of cruel laughter.
"Aww, Quake's falling again!" one of them jeered. "First he fell for the passed-around girl, now he's fallen for a man's bag!" The other wasted no time, pointing a grubby finger and slapping his knee, catching his breath only to burst into another fit of howls. Muna stood there, confused, a statue amidst the chaos. The rest of the crowd subtly averted their eyes, creating a wide, nervous berth around the bunch of hooligans.
"Quake" scrambled to his feet, his face flushed a blotchy, furious red, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might shatter.
"I-I'm sorry for my insolence," Muna expressed, his voice steady as he lowered himself into a full, ninety-degree bow. "Please forgive me." A surge of pride swelled in my chest. He was being the bigger man, the better man. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, a triumphant thought echoing in my head. I raised him! I taught him that! Ha! That guy must be completely stunned by that apology right about now. Nothing will happen. This is over.
BOOM.
The sound was wet and final, a sickening thud that cut through the laughter like a knife. Muna's feet were still planted firmly in the ground, but his face was now buried in the dusty earth beneath him. The thug's hand had moved faster than sight, a piston of brutal force that had hammered Muna's head into the stone. My heart sank into a pit of ice.
"Don't you know you're supposed to prostrate?" the thug sneered, looming over the still form. "You look like our people, but you don't act like you should!"
I feared sincerely for our safety. Not because I doubted Muna could tear this punk limb from limb—I knew he could. But because beating him, and beating him completely, would draw the kind of attention we were explicitly sent here to avoid. Our entire plan was predicated on being ghosts, on being utterly unremarkable until we could handle the consequences. I just hoped—no, prayed—that Muna, in this moment of ultimate humiliation, would miraculously turn a blind eye.
I saw him bend his knee.
He bent the other one.
He... prostrated. His forehead pressed flat against the dirt, a gesture of absolute submission. My breath finally released in a ragged gasp, but the relief was poison. Could I really just lie in wait, a silent spectator, and trust someone else with our comfort, our safety, our very lives, for the rest of this trip?
Just as I was about to reach him, Muna got up like some sort of plank, without help from his knees or hands. I could sense the rage burning the atmosphere around him, and to be honest, I couldn't have expected less given what just happened.
He reached forward, planting one foot in the direction of the three thugs who bombed our day. Instinctively, I stopped him. What good would it do us if we beat them, but are exposed once more? Our liberty taken away from us as an exchange for what merely looks like power?
It was almost as if he understood me.
....
So, why am I amongst the crowd in the arena cheering Muna on to beat the fear of God into that senseless baboon? Well. we'll go back a bit. Right as were about to leave, he went on to call Muna some words, that as a Knight with a bit of honor, I cannot say. After some motivation, Muna ignored him. Then what proceeded to come out of that hooligan's mouth were along the lines of : "Listen to your husband".
And so here we are.
The crowd cheered as Muna pummeled and pummeled. He didn't even enjoy it, he had a clean, straight face the whole time. The ring was stained with blood, the mat soaked with Quake's regret. I wanted to fell sorry for the guy, but then again, the feeling of accomplishment from seeing him get beaten weighed more than my sentiment.
"So, how did it feel?" I asked him, while inspecting a sword I had in my hand.
He cleaned his hands, that were soaked. He didn't lift his head, but he chuckled. " I mean, it felt surreal, weird even. But, I think I needed that. All my life I never knew what it meant to hold power. Power over someone that quickly turn into overwhelming. Not that I never experienced it firsthand, I was just on the receiving end." He looked to the sword I was eyeing, with a look of confusion mixed with interest.
"What sword is that? I've never seen such a strange design" he asked, reaching out to it. I gave it to him, and his hand dipped a little bit under its weight. "Woah. I think, I've fallen in love. In a deep, poisonous love." he expressed, as he clenched the sword. A big smile crossed his face. i simply giggled.
"Poisonous indeed. It speaks only in a language of malice. To lift it is to make a pact, a pact to devour all who stand before it. Its blade is not sharpened to cut, but to obliterate; it makes the theft of another's fleeting breath a trivial act, a simple crush of metal that extinguishes a candle's flame. It demands two hands, not for control, but as tribute—a hungry mouth that feeds on the very strength of the one who dares to wield it, leaving them weaker with every swing. The cruel curve of steel that kisses its hilt is no guard; it is a cage, a sinister embrace that protects the hands of the wicked so they may kill and pillage without fear of retribution. And its length… it does not simply reach. It swarms. It is a plague of sharpened iron that darkens the sky before a multitude, promising not a fight, but an eradication.
Compare it to a loose woman.
Both demand a partner, a tribute. The sword asks for the strength of your arms simply to be lifted; she asks for the strength of your spirit simply to be known. She is a hungry mouth that does not eat bread, but devours the gold in your pockets and the light from your soul, leaving you a pauper in both worlds. To wield the one is to feel your own vigor fade with every swing; to know the other is to feel your morality drain away, a slow poison that convinces the youth that weakness is love and surrender is strength.
There is only one conclusion: all who carry such a sword, all who take such a woman to their side, believe themselves masters. But they are merely the sheath, and one day, they will suffer the consequence of the sharp edge they believed was theirs to command. And once they fall, the woman, the blade, will move to its next victim."
"Hmm. 8/10. It was long, very long. Try to make it shorter, a reader wouldn't want all the details, only the most driving and sickening. But alas, it is better than your last. Its comparison to a loose woman was good, so was the end. It was truly captivating to hear. A bit more, and you'll someday write a chronicle." Muna replied. His face remained glued on the sword.
I let out a huge sigh.
"I'll take that" I said in defeated, and took out my little notepad. I scribbled down all I remembered I said, including Muna's pointers.
Muna finally dropped the sword, and let out a huge yawn. "The sun is going down" he said. "We should find our way back to the meeting spot. We'll count today as a failure, we couldn't find the rest"
"Oh right, we were here on a mission, of sorts." I looked around the bustling arena. The big ring being mopped, the beer mugs clinking, the market area where were in that was filled with haggle. We were in the middle of this all. I was so into it that I hadn't noticed when Muna was gone.
"Kyle, brother, over here!" He yelled from outside. I could see him stand in the midst of people I couldn't quite make out. He then shouted out to me again.
"I found them".