"I'm up!" Alarion groaned.

It was a lie. Not a good one, but teenagers were not known for their cunning deceit. Yet it had been surprisingly effective. Two short words, half mumbled into the pillow, and the repeated knocks on his bedroom door had ended as abruptly as they'd begun.

Alarion hadn't had a bed in years. He'd been little when they'd left home. And only slightly older when the war scattered his family to the winds. When he was sold, put to work, smuggled, and sold again.

Slavery was a crime to the Vitrians, which meant that children like him were more often 'adopted' by abusive families. Trained to lie about who they were, about the grueling tasks put before them whenever some official came snooping. Creature comforts and even necessities were never for someone like him to enjoy. He'd been more comfortable sleeping on rocks in that gloomy basement than half the households that had hosted him over the years.

To laze about in a warm cloud of cushions and comforters? He'd have been a fool to pass up the opportunity.

If only it were to last a little longer.

"I said I'm up!" Alarion shouted abruptly into his pillow as a sudden chill washed over him.

Elena had been rather hands-off with his schedule before they'd arrived at the manor. Either she hadn't cared or saw some value in letting the young man lounge in well-deserved comfort. She'd always send someone to wake him eventually if he pushed the limits of basic decency, but beyond that, he'd been left to his own devices. She'd been patient.

Sierra was not.

The young woman loomed over the side of his bed, a thick blanket in hand and a murderous look in her eyes.

"You are lying to me." The girl said, incredulous.

"Wha-?" Alarion asked, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he rolled onto his side, gathered a sheet about his waist, and sat up. "No, I'm just… How did you get in here?"

"I have a key." The girl spat, still incensed. "And do not change the subject. You are not up. You are sleeping. Ten minutes ago I-"

"Shh." Alarion requested, ignorant of the ways of women. "I'm awake. I just need to catch my-"

The bed jolted beneath him. One moment, he lay amidst fluffy paradise, the next, the cold ground rose to meet him as Sierra flipped the mattress nearly vertical. He landed hard, still disoriented by sleep, but with the presence of mind to grasp for a sheet before the bed fell back into place with a thud.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, glaring up at her from the ground with nothing but a sheet to cover him.

"You… you liar!" the girl spat out, unable to fully form a thought as she glared. A few heartbeats passed between them, and then she finally seemed to realize the extent of what she'd done. "Breakfast is outside. Eat, dress, and be in the yard in twenty minutes."

Alarion followed her departure with an expression that was one part frown, one part bewilderment. He waited for her steps to disappear down the hallway before he finally made for the door and closed it behind her, leaning against its frame.

Across from him, the siren of a down bed sang its song to him.

"No," he told himself emphatically. When that didn't work and he found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, Alarion redoubled his efforts. "No. Get up."

Reluctantly, Alarion turned his attention to getting ready. Before long, he was dressed, reasonably groomed, and with a mouthful of bread as he paced the stone corridors that led him toward the courtyard. A step ahead of him hovered glowing notifications, one counting down the remaining seven hours of his quest timer, the other detailing his newest condition.

Well Rested – 5% bonus to all attributes for two hours. 5% Bonus to Maximum Stamina and MP for eight hours.

He didn't think the summary was quite accurate. If anything, it vastly undersold just how incredible he felt. Despite what his initial grogginess might have suggested, Alarion had never slept so well. He'd gone to bed sore, exhausted, overstuffed, and woke ready to face the world.

Come to think of it, why wasn't he still sore? After his first day of training with ZEKE, he'd been penalized with the muscle fatigue condition. Yet today, nothing. Was it because the stamina spent in the [Void Arena] didn't ultimately use his muscles? Or was it an added benefit of the [Well Rested] condition?

He didn't know, nor did he care at that moment. A clock chimed in one chamber as he passed, and Alarion had no desire to get even further on Sierra's bad side. He picked up the pace, jogging down the hallway, past manor staff and guardsmen.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

Elena and ZEKE awaited him in the courtyard, gossiping amongst themselves. The blue of the Vitrian woman's eyes sparkled in the late morning sun as she laughed at some joke ZEKE had uttered, then darkened at the sight of Alarion. She excused herself with a gesture and hurried toward him. "What did you do?"

Alarion scratched at the side of his head briefly, then shrugged.

"Alarion," Elena continued sternly. "That girl has served my husband for months, and I have known her father since she was a toddler. I have never seen her so angry. What did you do?"

"I told her I was up." Alarion let the words linger until Elena's glare demanded further explanation. "I wasn't. I was still in bed. I might have said it a couple of times."

"Oh for…" Elena scowled. "Literal children. Alarion, what have I told you about lying?"

"Not to."

She sighed. "We should have had this conversation sooner, but I thought you were too-" Alarion narrowed his eyes and Elena quickly adjusted her intended word choice. "-direct for it to be an issue."

"I know lying is bad," he said defensively.

"Yes, but in an Ashadi way, not a Vitrian one," she explained. "In our culture, lying isn't merely bad. It is vile. In many cases, it is criminal."

Alarion crinkled his nose. "For oversleeping?"

"No." Elena dismissed the idea before correcting herself. "In my… and now to some extent, your culture, it is abhorrent to lie about things of material significance. To a court, to the public, to your family. Even what the Ashadi call 'white lies'. You need not always be direct in your motives and can certainly omit, but speaking a blatant falsehood is distasteful. She was not angry that you overslept. She was angry that you lied to her."

"I was sleeping!" he protested.

Elena held up a hand. "I agree, her reaction was… excessive, though your poor self-control is no excuse. Her branch of the House is more traditional. They take greater offense to slights of honor, even when others consider them minor. I will speak to her, and when we are done, you will also apologize."

"I can talk to her now," Alarion said after digesting Elena's words. "I don't want her to feel angry all day."

She smiled. "She will need to cool down, and you need to spend your time wisely."

"The quest." Alarion frowned. He'd forgotten already.

"The quest," Elena said curtly. "We will not give you another try if you fail, so spend this time wisely, Alarion."

With that, she deftly plucked one of his hairs and moved toward the center of the field to begin her incantation. ZEKE quickly took her place, moving alongside the young man as the two turned away from the distressingly unnatural spell-casting.

"You realize that when you fail, I will insist we train you with daggers." The Steelborn commented as casually as though he were discussing the weather.

"Mm," Alarion replied, his eyes on the clouds as though looking at them could distract from the odd warping of the surrounding space.

"And when you see how effective they are, you'll wonder why you wasted so much time on this frivolity."

Alarion said nothing as a color out of time crept momentarily into the edge of his vision.

"Tiny daggers, too. A stiletto. Or maybe a Poignard. Perhaps one of e-"

"Ezekiel, behave. Alarion, the arena is prepared for you."

Alarion flashed ZEKE a delighted smile and turned toward the waiting orb. He made it nearly a dozen paces before he realized his error and had to slink back past ZEKE to retrieve his preferred weapon. With his face sculpted into that mutilated grin, ZEKE couldn't help but smile, but Alarion still scowled as he returned.

"I'm rea-"

He didn't finish the words before the orb exploded outward; the darkness crashing over him in waves. He kept his footing this time, one leg braced behind him as the orb emptied and began to fill the volume of the [Void Arena]. It crept up along the edges, tendrils of liquid smoke crawling their way across invisible walls and ceiling until all around him was that ink blue dark.

"I'm ready," he repeated. Elena and ZEKE had some way of viewing the arena's interior while he was fighting, but Alarion wasn't speaking to them. He felt good, confident in a way that had eluded most of his previous attempts the evening prior. He would have his victory before that timer wound down to zero.

The surrounding darkness dripped toward the center, forming into a shapeless mass that then resolved itself into the figure of his hated foe. For his part, Alarion spent the time stretching. He rolled his shoulders and took a few test swings of his greatsword. It remained unwieldy, but it felt lighter. More comfortable in his grip. More familiar.

Drip by drip, the form of the scaled beast emerged moment by moment. As the seconds ticked, Alarion moved toward it, positioning himself directly before the dragon, as he had become accustomed.

Three. Two. One.

"Ra-"

Crack.

Alarion grinned, his first strike an unqualified success.

It had been one of the first tactics he'd developed against the beast, after he'd gotten over the sheer mortal terror of confronting it. The dragon was nothing but smoke while it was coalescing, but that intangibility abruptly ended the moment before the dragon roared. So long as he braced himself for the wave of pressure and timed his attack just right, he could inflict a punishing early blow against a foe still too arrogant to defend or evade.

That said, this time was different.

Alarion had landed the first strike roughly twenty-five times in his previous attempts. In each, it had hurt the dragon, but even a wicked, crushing slash to the jaw had not staggered the creature out of its roar. He hurt it. It inflicted the fear condition, and they both retreated to size up their opposition.

This time, he'd struck with enough force to stop the tremendous cry in the dragon's throat. It took a step back, more startled than afraid, and Alarion's instincts overrode his rote understanding of how he should fight the dragon. Rather than retreating, he stepped in with a reverse cut, bringing the downed weapon up in a vertical arc that caught the dragon's front limb below the wrist with enough force to breach the scales and send a spatter of blood arcing over Alarion's shoulder.

He moved in, readying for a third strike, when a flash of motion drove him back inches ahead of the raking claw of an enraged beast.

He'd hurt it. Badly.

"I'm ready," Alarion repeated, as much to the dragon as himself. A grin spread ear to ear as he braced the Imperial Greatsword on his shoulder and prepared to push his advantage.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.