"So, she told you, huh? Well, good. I guess I did cut it pretty close," Kushim admitted, nodding slightly.
"Cut it close?" I scoffed, poking him lightly in the chest. "Giving me one day to prepare isn't 'cutting it close,' you jerk."
"Relax, you'll be fine," Kushim replied, a playful grin forming. "And even if you're not, at least you got to plow your field or plant your seed—or however farmers put it. You get the idea."
"You little shit," I laughed despite myself. "And I definitely haven't planted any seeds. I'm barely even human—Heather wouldn't be able to get pregnant."
He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Think about it. Half-angels and demons exist, and they're less human than you. I'm pretty sure you're safe there."
Honestly, he had a point, and that worried me more than the fight itself. What if I was actually going to be a father? The idea sent a chill down my spine. I wasn't even twenty-four yet—old enough, I suppose, but not exactly prepared to raise a child.
I shook off the thought and quickly changed the subject. "Forget about that. What do I need to do to prepare for tomorrow?"
Noticing my seriousness, Kushim's expression changed. "Well, there's not much left. I ordered a set of steel armor and some padded under-armor from a trader. I'll pick it up later today, and you'll need to try it on to make sure it fits. Other than that, we just need to discuss strategy. I don't know exactly who—or what—you'll face, but they're making this sound like a major event."
"You bought me steel armor? Why?" I asked, disbelief in my voice. "That's a huge expense—like ten years' worth! Brother, please return it. You can't spend that much on me."
I felt conflicted, both amazed by his generosity and uncomfortable with the extravagance. No one had ever done something this kind for me.
"Nonsense," Kushim said firmly, giving me a friendly smile. "You're my first—and only—student. Let me spoil you a little. Besides, if you step out there looking poor, what does that say about me as your mentor? Consider it a reward for getting this far."
He waved away my protest, clearly unwilling to argue further. Reluctantly, I accepted his kindness, feeling warmth and gratitude rise in my chest.
With that settled, Kushim said a quick goodbye to go meet the trader, and I returned to my quarters. Mark was sitting quietly by the cell door. I bowed slightly in greeting.
"Master Mark... how are you feeling tonight?" I asked gently, noticing how slowly his eyes opened. Recently, I'd observed he was moving more sluggishly, his frame becoming noticeably gaunt.
"Me? I'm fine, dear boy," he replied softly. His voice had grown weaker, though he maintained his familiar composure. "What about you? Are you ready for your apotheosis?"
"Apotheosis?" I laughed softly, shaking my head. "It's nothing nearly that grand. It's just another fight like all the rest. But... if we could pray together, I think I'd feel more comfortable."
In truth, I was worried Mark might not have the strength for prayer. He seemed so frail now, his body visibly worn and weak. Guilt and sympathy welled within me as I considered his final days spent locked in this miserable cell, with only me for company.
"My boy... I would be honored to pray with you." Mark slowly shifted his frail legs into position and carefully formed the small pyre shape with his hands, the familiar gesture symbolic of devotion to the Flame of Rebirth.
I approached the cell door and mirrored Mark's posture, carefully forming the pyre with my own hands. This time, however, I didn't merely recite the prayer alongside him—I sought to truly embody each word, pouring my sincerity and heart into every syllable.
Flame that dies and flames again,
Burn away the weight I carry.
Let ash be my past,
And fire, my becoming.
May your light see me through the dark,
And your warmth forge my will anew.
If I fall, let it be to rise again.
If I rise, let it be in your flame.
As the words left my mouth, I felt something shift within me. My body eased. My soul felt lighter. For a moment, the weight I'd carried for so long lifted—burned away in the presence of that quiet reverence. It was... an amazing feeling.
I gave Mark a quiet thanks and turned back toward my cell. It wasn't much of a walk—it was right behind me—but I still felt uneasy lingering in the hallway between cells. I wasn't sure how much tolerance the guards had for "loitering," even now.
Once inside, I sat and looked over at Mark.
"So… you've been outside. What should I do if I win tomorrow?"
He glanced up and shrugged. "Whatever you feel you need to do. But if I were you? I'd leave. Use that little window of freedom and run."
I frowned. "Has age dulled your sense of reason? What about Heather? What about Kushim? What about you?" I pointed at him directly.
"Me?" he scoffed lightly. "Don't worry about me, boy. I'm old. I've got one foot in the grave already. My time's about up, and I've made peace with that. As for the others? I'd say take them with you. Heather, she'll probably go with you without question. Kushim though… he's a tougher case. I don't think you'll get him to leave so easily—but there's always a chance."
"Still... it doesn't feel right to leave you behind," I said quietly, a trace of guilt in my voice. Deep down, I knew that if the chance came, I probably would leave. The idea of freedom was just too tempting to pass up.
"Don't be daft," Mark replied with a faint smile. "Go live your life. Don't waste your time worrying about an old man like me. But... the thought is appreciated, truly."
I was about to say more when I heard the familiar sound of humming echoing softly down the hallway. Kushim. His voice carried that same carefree tone he always used, like nothing in the world could ever really shake him. A slight clinking of metal accompanied him. He was headed straight for my cell.