The sun had barely risen, and the docks were already bustling with activity. The air smelled of salt and damp wood as workers moved crates and barrels.
During their break, Zehron sat on a wooden crate, sipping water while his coworkers—Orien and Vaelen—lounged around, wiping sweat from their foreheads.
Orien groaned. "I swear, if I have to lift one more damn crate today, I'm throwing myself into the ocean."
Vaelen smirked. "You'd sink faster than the boss's patience."
Zehron, silent as usual, let out a short chuckle.
Orien nudged Zehron. "What's so funny? You barely laugh, and when you do, it scares me."
Zehron took another sip before finally speaking. "I need you both to fight me."
Silence. Two pairs of eyes blinked at him.
Vaelen leaned forward. "Wait, what?"
Zehron crossed his arms. "I'm joining the underground fights. Need practice."
Orien nearly choked on his bread. "You? In an underground fight?" He wiped his mouth. "Brother, I mean this with all due respect—" He turned to Vaelen. "How do I say this with all due respect?"
Vaelen sighed. "You don't."
Orien turned back. "You'll die."
Zehron exhaled through his nose, unimpressed.
Vaelen, rubbing his chin, spoke more seriously. "You sure about this? You're not exactly known for brawling."
Zehron shrugged. "There's no other choice."
Orien clapped his hands dramatically. "Well, if you insist on dying, who am I to stop you?" He grinned. "Fine! I'll fight you."
Vaelen shook his head but stood up anyway. "This is a bad idea."
Orien stretched his arms. "Which makes it the best idea."
Zehron simply got into position, his green eyes calm and soft as ever.
Zehron start to be in a position as Orien and Vaelen circled him, the wooden planks beneath their feet creaking with every movement.
Orien grinned, bouncing on his feet. "Alright, pretty boy. Let's see what you got."
Vaelen, more reserved, sighed. "Try not to break his nose, Orien. He still has to work after this."
Zehron didn't respond—he simply observed. His posture was stiff, untrained. He'd never fought before, but his mind was sharp, and his body moved with an instinct he didn't fully understand yet.
Orien threw the first punch—fast but reckless. Zehron dodged, barely, but stumbled back from the sheer force passing by his face. Before he could regain his footing, Vaelen swept forward, aiming a kick at his leg. Zehron reacted—too slow. The kick hit his shin, knocking him off balance.
He hit the ground hard.
The dockworkers laughed.
"Damn," Orien muttered, reaching down to help him up. "Might've overdone it a bit—"
Zehron didn't take his hand. Instead, he pushed himself up, his expression unchanged. He rolled his shoulders and raised his fists again.
Vaelen raised a brow. "Huh. Thought you'd give up after that."
Zehron simply exhaled. "Again."
Orien smirked. "Alright then."
They clashed once more. This time, Zehron moved better. He dodged Orien's punch, but Vaelen's jab clipped his ribs. He winced but endured it.
Zehron's instincts sharpened. He started to predict their movements—not perfectly, but enough. When Orien threw another punch, Zehron caught his wrist, twisted it, and shoved him off balance. Orien stumbled back, eyes wide.
"What the—"
Vaelen tried to take advantage, aiming another kick at Zehron's side. But Zehron reacted faster this time. He pivoted, catching Vaelen's leg mid-swing. Instead of holding it, he used the momentum to push Vaelen backward, forcing him to hop awkwardly before regaining balance.
Orien and Vaelen exchanged glances.
Orien wiped his mouth. "Alright, I'll say it—this ain't normal."
Vaelen nodded. "You've never fought before, but you're already learning mid-fight."
Zehron, catching his breath, touched his bruised ribs.
Orien let out a low whistle. " Give you a few months, and you might actually be dangerous."
Vaelen crossed his arms. "You sure you're not secretly some noble's bastard child? Got that hidden warrior blood or something?"
Zehron tilting his head, "No."
Orien groaned, rubbing the back of his head. "Of course, he doesn't give us a real answer."
Orien, still wary, rolled his shoulders. "We're not done yet."
Zehron gave a slow blink, the corners of his lips twitching upward. "Good."
This time, he was the one who moved first.
He dashed toward Orien, forcing him to react. Orien raised his arms in a guard, expecting a direct strike—but Zehron feinted. Instead of throwing a punch, he twisted to the side and slammed his elbow into Orien's ribs.
Orien grunted, staggering back.
"What the hell—"
Vaelen saw an opening and lunged at Zehron from behind, aiming to put him in a headlock. But Zehron sensed him—he instinctively ducked, grabbing Vaelen's arm and flipping him over his shoulder.
Vaelen landed hard on the wooden dock, coughing. "Okay—ow!"
Orien, still clutching his ribs, narrowed his eyes. "You're learning mid-fight."
Zehron didn't answer. His breathing was steady, his body moving in a way that felt natural. Every attack, every reaction—it all flowed like he had done it before.
Orien exhaled, then nodded. "Alright. One last time."
They clashed again.
Vaelen aimed a fast punch at Zehron's face, but Zehron dodged—by a hair's breadth. Instead of retreating, he stepped forward, closing the distance before Vaelen could react. He delivered a precise knee strike to Vaelen's stomach, forcing him back.
Orien, recovering, rushed in—but Zehron sidestepped with perfect timing. He grabbed Orien's wrist and twisted, forcing him to kneel. Before Orien could react, Zehron hooked his leg behind Orien's and knocked him flat on his back.
A heavy silence fell over the docks.
Orien wheezed. "Okay, yeah. I'm officially terrified."
Vaelen, panting, wiped the sweat from his brow. "You've never fought before?"
Zehron flexed his fingers, staring at them as if they belonged to someone else. "Not once."
Orien propped himself up on his elbows, looking deeply offended. "You—You threw me around like a damn ragdoll!"
Zehron tilted his head. "You attacked first."
Orien groaned, flopping back onto the dock. "I hate you."
Vaelen crossed his arms, observing Zehron closely. "If you train properly… you'll be unstoppable."
Zehron exhaled, a slow smirk forming. "That's the plan, but....
…It's not enough."
Orien, still panting, stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "Not enough?!" He gestured wildly. "Mate, you just turned us into your personal punching bags, and it's not enough?!"
Zehron shook his head. "The underground fight isn't a brawl. It's brutal, ruthless. What we just did won't be enough to survive in there."
Vaelen exhaled, exchanging a look with Orien. They both knew he was right. Skill alone wasn't enough—experience, technique, and endurance mattered just as much.
Orien wiped the sweat off his forehead and grinned. "Alright, alright… I got a plan."
Zehron glanced at him, about to ask what plan, when—
"OI! WHAT IN THE BLAZES IS GOING ON HERE?!"
A booming voice echoed across the docks, cutting through the chatter.
Zehron, Orien, and Vaelen froze as a thick-set man with a salt-and-pepper beard and a permanent scowl stomped toward them. It was their boss—Garron.
Dockworkers scattered, suddenly looking busy.
Garron's beady eyes scanned the scene—Zehron standing tall, Orien still on the ground, and Vaelen looking suspiciously sweaty. His eyes narrowed. "Fighting on the docks, are we?"
Orien, without missing a beat, shot up and dusted himself off. "Absolutely not! Just… stretching! Yep, really intense stretching!" He made an exaggerated motion, nearly falling over.
Vaelen sighed. "We were sparring."
Orien whirled on him. "Vaelen, why—why do you do this? Why do you betray me like this?"
Garron grunted, unimpressed. "Sparrin', huh?" His gaze landed on Zehron. "And you, young boy? Got tired of lifting crates and decided to start throwing people instead?"
Zehron met his gaze evebly but remains silent
Garron huffed, crossing his arms. "I don't give a rat's arse why you're doing it, but do it on yer own time. If I catch you lot slacking off again, you'll be out of a job, got it?"
Orien immediately straightened. "Crystal clear, sir! Work is our life, our passion, our true calling—"
Garron pointed a thick finger at him. "Shut it."
Orien nodded quickly. "Shutting it, sir."
Garron gave them one last glare before stomping away.
The moment he was out of earshot, Orien exhaled dramatically. "By the gods, I saw my life flash before my eyes."
Zehron turning back to Orien. "What's the plan?"
Orien grinned mischievously. "Oh, you'll love it."
Orien clapped his hands together. "Alright, listen up. We're getting out of work early."
Zehron raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"
Orien grinned. "Simple—we put on an act."
Vaelen groaned. "Orien, no."
Orien ignored him. "Yes. You two are gonna act like you're in unbearable pain—like your ribs are shattered, your legs don't work, and the gods themselves are punishing you." He gestured between them. "We'll go to old Tervin and tell him we're leaving early because of our 'injuries.'"
Zehron stared. "And you think that'll work?"
Orien smirked. "Trust me. Tervin's old, half-blind, and he doesn't care enough to question anything."
Vaelen sighed but eventually nodded. "Fine. But if this gets us in trouble, I'm blaming you."
Zehron exhaled, shaking his head. "Let's just get this over with."
With a dramatic groan, Orien slumped forward, holding his side like he'd been stabbed. "Ohh, the pain! My poor, fragile body… I can barely stand!"
Vaelen, though reluctant, limped beside him, clutching his shoulder. "I think my ribs are broken…" he muttered, trying to sound convincing.
Zehron sighed, then winced on purpose, pressing a hand to his stomach. "I… don't think I can work anymore today."
Orien grinned inwardly. Perfect.
They hobbled their way to Tervin, the grumpy old dock supervisor who was slouched in his chair, barely awake. He squinted up at them as they approached.
"What now?" Tervin grumbled.
Orien put on his best suffering face. "Sir… we—we can't go on. We worked too hard earlier, and now—now I fear for my life."
Vaelen coughed weakly. "We're in bad shape. If we don't rest, we might not make it to tomorrow."
Zehron, keeping it simple, just nodded. "We'll make up for it with extra work tomorrow."
Tervin stared at them for a long moment. Then, he waved a hand. "Whatever. Get outta my sight."
Orien grinned in triumph. "Thank you, sir! You have a kind heart!"
As soon as they turned away, they dropped the act, moving normally.
Vaelen sighed. "I can't believe that worked."
Zehron smirked. "I can."
Orien stretched lazily. "Well, gentlemen, we're free. Time for phase two of my genius plan."
Zehron crossed his arms. "Which is?"
Orien grinned. "Finding you a real fight."