Round 2: Christoph Vs Chosen of the Gods

[Christoph]

Epilogue

From his corner table, Elijah sat and watched the tavern fire dance. The Seaside Maiden buzzed with activity. He parted ways with Sarah after the match; she returned to the Academy and he came here. It was one of his favorite places; it possessed the gritty charm of a seedier, scum-infested bar, but lacked the smell. The entire establishment ran like a well-oiled machine. Barmaids navigated through wooden tables with expert precision, avoiding obstructing chairs and the groping hands of lonely men. Nobody went thirsty and each guest was made to feel exactly as welcome, or unwelcome, as he wanted. Belov, a former chef and bartender, admired the gruff efficiency. It reminded him of home.

He leaned back wearily, nursing a tin tankard of dark beer. A shot glass and a full bottle of clear, hard Salvic liquor sat untouched on the table. He hung in limbo, still deciding between sober brooding and piss drunk raving. On one hand, he wanted nothing more than to drown his frustration and worry in alcohol for just one night. Come dawn, he would need to face the repercussions of his display at the arena. He would surely pay for insulting the most powerful people in the country. On the other hand, he needed to keep his wits. Experience and a life of reading literature taught him an important lesson. Nothing attracts company quite like sitting in a poorly lit corner, wearing a dark cloak.

"I find you at last." The voice came as if on cue. Eli looked up; a middle-aged man with a distinguished grey and black beard approached, taking the chair across the table. The stranger wore clothes of brown and green, simple but well-made. "For a man so seemingly obsessed with fame, you prove remarkably adept at disappearing." He spoke like an educated man. A rich man. Belov knew the type: a man of means with the intelligence to avoid acting like a pretentious ass.

He could not help but smile. "I possess that talent. And I would hesitate call myself 'obsessed' with fame."

The stranger's laugh was soft and warm. "My dear boy, you quite clearly possess a near suicidal obsession with fame if your little display earlier today is any indication." He snatched the liquor bottle and poured himself a glass. There was something odd about the man's voice -- harsher vowels and thick consonant pronunciations. He sniffed the clear liquid, shrugged in a way that seemed to say 'I've had worse', and downed it. "You made many powerful people angry today, Elijah Belov."

"Have you come to warn me?" Eli scoffed, the memories from earlier rising up like bile in his throat. He snatched the bottle and took a swig. It burned delightfully on the way down. "Save your time. I've insulted better men than them."

"I have come to congratulate you, my friend."

Eli set down the bottle and looked up, his brow furrowed in confusion. "What? Why? I'll be lucky to ever fight before a major crowd again if those stuffed shirts have anything to say about it."

"And that would be tragic, were your only goal in life to fight fake wars in front of bored nobles." The stranger stroked his beard, his grey eyes twinkling with mischief. "I know a thing or two about you, Elijah. I know what you did in Salvar's civil war."

"So does everyone." Belov returned to his beer, his voice somber. Even strong Salvic liquor could not dull his memories of home. "What's your point?"

"I know that more than anything else in the world, you want to go back there." The bearded man stood. "You want a second chance to save your country and set things right, and there are people willing and waiting to help you. We just needed take the true measure of your spirit first. You showed that side of yourself today."

Elijah blinked and stuttered, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind. "Who... who are you?"

"I am Alexander Kitaev." The man smiled and pressed an iron medallion onto the tabletop. "Keep that with you, and we will find you soon. You are not the only Salvic fugitive in this city looking for a way home."

* * * * *

"I thought I might find you here." Sarah's voice floated softly through the evening air. Elijah had left the tavern well after nightfall, anxious thoughts buzzing in his head. He soon found himself on the roof of a coastal warehouse. He practiced with his sword, moving like a dancing flame beneath the night sky. The moon hung above like a coin and washed the sea in silver light. Waves crashed rhythmically against the beach below. "Were you avoiding me?"

"No... well, maybe a little," he replied, sheathing his sword and walking to the railing. "I've been avoiding everyone, really. I needed to clear my head. I have a lot to think about."

"Oh Elijah, you are worrying about it too much." She moved beside him and ran a hand up his back, resting at his shoulder. "Worrying is my job. This is not as bad as it seems. Some rich people are angry at you, but everyone is talking about you, now." She judged his side playfully with her elbow, and then leaned ever so slightly against him. "It will be fine."

The two gazed together across the gentle waters, enjoying the chill, salty breeze. Elijah imagined that he could see Salvar on the horizon. He wondered what Sarah imagined when she looked out at the sea. They shared what would have been a comfortable silence under other circumstances. Belov's thoughts refused to rest. He pulled the medallion from his pocket, looking it over for the hundredth time. It was a dark iron disk stamped with the image of a wolf wreathed in flame: the crest of House Kitaev, one of the most powerful noble families in Salvar.

"I'm not worrying about that," he said at last.

"What do you mean?" she asked. He could feel her eyes on him, but did not meet them. "What do you have there?"

"A decision to make." Eli closed his fingers around the medallion. "A chance to... to..." His voice caught in his throat. How could he tell her? 'I'm leaving for a war-torn wasteland. Have a nice life.' For two years he had worked to return to Salvar, and now his chance had finally come. Sarah didn't push him for answers; she just waited as he battled his thoughts, knowing that he would say what he needed to say. She knew him so well. She traced her soft fingertips along his jaw, waiting. Finally he said, "I'm going back to Salvar."

"What?" She took a half step back. Though she kept it from her voice, the moonlight illuminated the hurt and confusion in her eyes. "Why would you go back to that place?"

"That 'place' is my home, Sarah."

"And you are an outlaw there." Exasperation crept into her voice, but felt... rehearsed, as though she had expected this day to come. "What would you do there, besides die?" She paced back and forth behind him.

"This has always been my goal, to go back and set things right, both for me and for the country itself." He sighed sadly and hung his head. "I never told you what happened there." Sarah stopped pacing. "The rumors tell of my bold exploits against the Ethereal Sway, of my charismatic leadership and cunning victories. That's because I planted most of those rumors myself, and there's some truth to them. But they don't know what it cost. They don't know the choices I had to make, the terrible things I was forced to do. All the times that others paid the price of my failures. Nobody knows that half the mess in Salvar is my fault. Nobody but you, now."

"Elijah..." She approached him, but he stalked away, walking to the opposite side of the roof. He looked out over the half-sleeping city.


"That's why I need to go back, Sarah." His voice softened. "Ever since I got to Corone, I have worked toward a way home, and now I have a chance." He held up the medallion. "Allies."

"I would be lying to say that I never expected this." Sarah walked up next to him again. Neither one looked at the other. "I always hoped that you would see sense in time and just... enjoy what you have in Corone." She sighed sadly.

"I'm sorry. I really am. I never expected this to happen so soon. Maybe in five or six years, but not now. I'm not even ready to leave myself, but..."

"But you may not get another chance." Her hand found his face again. She gave a somber chuckle. "I understand. I know how it feels to search for purpose. You may be crazy for wanting to go back, but if it truly is your goal, you would be crazy to pass up a real opportunity to achieve it. Besides, fighting for bored spectators squanders your potential."

"Thank you. That means a lot." Elijah turned away and blinked down his first tears in years. Gods, he was going to miss her.

"I need to ask you one favor, though."

"What favor?" He turned to see her looking at him with a sly smirk and mischief twinkling like gems in her eyes.

"Take me with you."

"What?" The words knocked the breath from his chest. "What about your life here? What about the Academy?"

"What about it?" She shrugged. "I could spend my days buried in books, reading about past accomplishments, or I could go accomplish something for myself. I could stay in this city and search futilely for purpose, or I could go with you. Eli, wherever you go is where I want to be." Sarah leaned closer, and so did he. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Elijah did what he should have done months before. He kissed her. For the first time in years, he didn't feel alone.