Hezo

Hezo stared at her, bewildered, as she thrust her fist toward him. A duel challenge? He studied her for a few seconds, then lowered his eyes to that bold little fist, hovering near the contested cob. Did she even understand the mistake she was about to make? Hezo was not just anyone. He was a noble, trained by the most renowned masters of martial arts from the Fire Tribe. She didn’t stand a chance, not at her age. A laugh burst from his throat.

— Will you still be so eager to fight once you know who I am? he taunted with a superior smile.

The girl tilted her head, indifferent.

— So what? she shot back, her tone flat, almost irritating in its neutrality.

Hezo narrowed his eyes.

— I’m a noble of the…

— I don’t care, she cut him off sharply. Either you fight and maybe earn the cob, or you give up and I eat before it gets cold. Your choice.

She said it with a calm weariness, almost bored.

A tense silence. Then Hezo struck his fist against hers.

— I accept.

The merchant, clearly overwhelmed, scratched his head absently, then shrugged and set the cob back on his stall.

— Wura! a man’s voice called from behind her. What are you doing?

The two adults they had seen earlier — her parents, no doubt — were hurrying forward, worried, as the children took their stances.

— Wura, you can’t be thinking of fighting after what just happened! her mother cried, brows furrowed.

— Papa, Mama, step back, Wura said firmly, slicing the air with a confident gesture. This is between me and the little noble. The caramel cob is at stake.

— Wura! her father pressed. Your mother is right, you…

— Crush him! the mother cut in, her eyes now burning just as fiercely as her daughter’s.

Hezo blinked, stunned. Mother and daughter wore the same feral smile, the same fire blazing in their gaze. As for the father, initially dumbstruck, he finally let out a resigned chuckle, as if he had expected this all along.

A pang twisted in Hezo’s chest. A united family. Something his had never been. He set his jaw.

— Come on, I’m waiting, he urged.

Wura leapt, fist forward. Hezo dodged with a fluid step, tried to grab her, but she slipped away. Using her momentum, she drove a knee into his stomach. He absorbed the blow without a cry, crouched low to sweep her legs. She fell, but sprang up at once. With an agile roll, she kicked both feet into his chest before retreating. Hezo smothered a groan, clutching his ribs.

No. He would not be beaten so easily.

Drawing a deep breath, he reset his stance. He charged. His fist slammed into Wura’s abdomen, sending her staggering back. She held firm. The exchanges continued — kicks, punches, swift counters.

She’s relentless… Hezo thought, panting.

Wura was struggling too. Their bodies bore the marks of each blow. Around them, a circle of children and adults had formed, cheering each move. In Rada, duels were always a spectacle, no matter the fighters’ age.

Wiping the sweat from her brow, Wura lunged again. Hezo did the same. This last assault would decide the victor. But suddenly, the girl’s amber eyes shifted.

Fatal mistake, he thought, a smirk tugging at his lips.

But something was wrong. She looked truly alarmed. He followed her gaze.

A plump man, arms full of sweets, was about to bite into their caramel cob.

It all happened in a fraction of a second. Hezo lunged, sliding under the man’s feet, tripping him. The cob flew upward in slow motion… and Wura, quick as lightning, leapt and caught it mid-air.

Hezo rolled aside to avoid the man who crashed to the ground in a cloud of dust. When he stood, covered in dirt, nothing betrayed his noble birth anymore. He glanced at Wura. She was holding the cob against her chest with care. She had won. Or rather, he conceded her the victory. Hands stuffed in his pockets, he trudged back to the cloth Fifamè had spread.

— Hey, you! Wura called.

He turned. She was holding out both arms, each hand offering half of the cob. Her face shone with a sincere smile — gentle, almost warm.

That gesture, so simple for others, struck Hezo straight to the heart. He had thought only his mother had ever shown him such tenderness. The rest of his family had been nothing but coldness and disdain. His hands trembled slightly as he accepted half the cob. And for the first time in a long while, he smiled.

Sitting side by side, they shared the cob — cold now, but delicious all the same.

— So… all that fighting for nothing, in the end, Hezo remarked.

— Not really. At least I got to test your strength. You’re impressive for your age.

— You’re not bad yourself. Do you have a master?

— Yes, she answered proudly, rubbing her nose with her fingertip. My mother. The family champion.

— Incredible, he breathed, eyes shining.

A laugh rang out behind them. Wura’s mother held out a small brown package.

— Here, chocolate from the Ivory Lands. You’ll love it.

— I… I can’t accept this, Hezo stammered, embarrassed.

— Come now, it’ll help you recover after fainting, her father insisted. Look at Wura, she ate some, and look at her now.

Hezo thanked them timidly. But suddenly, an image crashed into his mind: the dream. The lifeless bodies, the pools of blood… Those faces — he recognized them now. They were here, right before him. His stomach twisted. He staggered back, pale, then turned on his heel and fled.

He leaned against a tree, his gaze vacant. A heavy dread filled him.

What is this madness?

Footsteps approached.

— If you don’t like chocolate, you could’ve just said so, Wura teased with a chuckle.

Hezo stared at her.

— Wura… When you lost consciousness… did you dream? he asked, troubled.

A silence. Then she nodded.

— Yes. I saw a great blazing palace. And deep within, a woman… chained. Wasted, withered, almost dead. But still breathing… barely.

Hezo turned ashen.

Mother?

He drew a long breath, trying to steady the tremor in his voice.

The vehicles were moving again. The hour of parting had come.