They made us bow.

Like it was some noble initiation ritual, not a staged fight between a chalk-wielding mage and a kid with a hero complex and way too many swords.

I bowed. Against my will.

Flom did too. Sort of. He just tilted his head like he was already deciding where to strike.

The moment we stood up straight again, he pulled out the wooden sword.

Of course.

Me? I crouched down.

Pulled out my chalk.

“What are you doing?” he asked, sword ready.

“Getting prepared.”

“For what?”

“To not die.”

He charged.

I drew fast.

A messy, shaky circle. Not my best work.

He got close. Too close.

I threw dirt in his eyes.

Literally.

He stumbled back, cursing under his breath.

“Bastard—”

“Hey, watch your language. There are kids watching,” I shot back.

The circle of kids around us shouted—half rooting for me, half just wanting to see blood.

Jonka stood on the sidelines, arms crossed, stone-faced.

I finished the circle. Four basic runes. The bare minimum shield.

Stepped inside.

Flom stared.

“You’re gonna hide behind a drawing?”

“And you’re gonna run around with a stick. Different strategies.”

He charged again.

The wooden sword clanged against the circle. Bounced off.

He blinked, confused.

“What’s this?”

“A reminder that running away isn’t always the smartest move.”

He growled.

I took the chance to start another circle, crouched down, hands and knee dirty.

This one had to be precise. Efficient.

He hit the shield again.

The circle flickered. Damn. Too weak. Too slow.

“You think you’re clever hiding behind doodles?”

“I’m clever. The hiding spot is just a bonus.”

He gripped the sword tighter, switched hands, got ready.

The real sword was still sheathed. At least he wasn’t that dumb. Yet.

I finished the second circle.

It crackled softly. Tiny sparks. Not impressive—but enough.

“Go ahead,” I said, stepping back.

He ran.

I activated the circle at just the right moment.

A gust of wind—weak, but enough.

He tripped.

Face planted.

The crowd went wild.

“Cheater!” he shouted, scrambling up.

“You fell,” I corrected. “Gravity’s a merciless witch.”

He stayed down a few seconds, breathless, furious.

But he didn’t charge again. Didn’t say a word.

Just looked at me.

“One day, I’m gonna win.”

I blinked.

That again?

“Sure,” I said. “When I run out of chalk.”

He got up and walked off.

No drama. No yelling. Just a bruised ego.

Jonka finally clapped.

“Impressive control, Hat.”

“I panicked and threw dirt in his face.”

“Exactly. Effective improvisation.”

I pocketed the chalk and went back inside the castle. Dirty hands, scraped knees, clothes a mess.

But I won.

Sort of.

Hand-drawn magic—that was my specialty.

And Flom?

He’d be back.

Guys like that always come back.

Especially when someone draws better circles than they can swing sticks.

Except I hadn’t even taken two proper steps before I stopped feeling my body for a fraction of a second.

I grabbed onto the nearest thing to keep from falling… which unfortunately was Jonka.

She caught me, and our eyes met.

Her looking down, me looking up.

I felt ridiculous.

She didn’t laugh.

Not really.

Just raised an eyebrow, like she was studying me more than helping.

“You okay?” she asked quietly. Not worried. Curious.

“Yeah,” I lied.

My vision still flickered, like my brain forgot to hold the frames together.

Jonka didn’t let go.

“You shouldn’t push yourself so hard. Circle magic takes more than you think.”

“And you shouldn’t drag others by the arm like that. I could disintegrate on touch, you know?”

She squeezed tighter.

“If you disintegrate, I get your chalk.”

“Cruel.”

“Practical.”

We stood there for a few seconds. Me still trying to figure out what just happened—the blackout, the void, the weird weight in my chest. Her holding me like a cracked, interesting vase.

“Show’s over?” someone asked behind us.

Flom. Coming back.

Of course he was coming back.

But now, with no sword.

Nothing in his hands at all.

“What do you want now?” I asked.

“I’m not here to fight. Just wanted to say… you’re good.”

Silence.

Even Jonka looked surprised.

“Good at what?” I asked.

“Being annoying.”

We stood quiet for a moment. I don’t know why that caught me off guard…

“You’re—”

Before I could finish, a sharp pain stabbed my chest.

My vision darkened—and this time, it didn’t come back.

I blacked out.