Oz stood in the VIP line outside the Altharn Arena. A troll in a well fitted suit had his hand resting on Oz’s chest, separating him from Bless, as he focused on trying to look as harmless as possible.

  It was not going well.

  It was all a bit overwhelming. Oz had expected the arena to be a smaller place, not a full dungeon several times the size of the bank. People gathered in a wild mix of clothes, the people in their line in smart, delicately patterned outfits while the masses in the long queues wore working clothes or things that looked like down market versions of the more extra stuff from Hex and Thread.

  Oz was out of place, not quite fitting in with the masses but not fancy enough for the elite.

  It was only highlighted further by how well Bless fit in. She of course looked like she had stepped straight out of a promotional illusion for the event. Her brass skin reflected the dancing lights and turned them into a soft, molten glow. The sweeping summer dress floated around her, the heavily patterned design of oranges and blacks showcasing her wealth. And her hair, plaited tight, shone with bits of silver and jade that glittered whenever she tilted her head.

  Oz felt the urge to pretend he had never been here. But he had already come too far, and given he'd screwed up by somehow finding the one Noxarcer student getting mugged in all of Opal, he might as well see it through.

  Besides, the fight earlier had not fixed his itch.

  Oz paused and realised he was being rude. He had forgotten about the troll eyeballing him. Which if anything was a testament that someone needed to up his game. The troll’s stare reminded him of the way he looked at leftover curry that had been in the ice box too long, with deep suspicion and the hope that you would find something else hiding behind it.

  Oz felt a smidgen of civic pride for his old town. The eyeballing here was nowhere near as threatening as back home. There was a level of threat you could leverage when it was just you and the other guy and miles of nothing in all directions.

  "Who is this Little Miss?" The troll’s voice rumbled in his chest, cutting through even the chaotic thumping coming from the arena.

  "Braval, you know I do not like being called that. And this is Oz, he is a Noxarcer student like me. The dog is his familiar." Bless supplied, chatting to the big troll like an old friend. The Ozzer pointed out the jump in her voice as she mentioned Noxarcer, clearly Bless was very pleased with getting into the Academy. Oz absorbed that information as he continued to mentally restrain Chops who did not appreciate the troll looming over them.

  Given Bless had led them straight to the VIP line, he hoped that she knew what she was doing. It had been going fine, they had talked a bit about the Academy while they waited. That was until the troll and his two flunkeys, who also wore black suits and shades despite it being night time, had spotted her and called her forward, only to lock up when they realised he had followed her to the front.

  "One of the other students already hanging on?" A suit behind her chuckled. Oz suspected that the man was also trying to eyeball him, the sunglasses did not help him.

  "No, he helped me, some riff raff tried to mug me on the way here. Oz handled them for me, our meeting was by chance."

  "Some people bothered you." The group went very still. Oz watched three pairs of eyes check her for injuries.

  "Oz and Chops jumped out a cab to help me. He made sure they did not even get close to me, and I did not have to use my spells. It is not a big deal, everything is fine." Bless tried to wave them off. Oz winced, there really was no way to make an adult worry more than to tell them everything is fine, they were adults, they knew that even on the best day everything was not fine.

  "We will look into it. Seems awfully suspicious though. You sure he is not in on it?" The troll went back to eyeballing him and Oz had to resist the urge to say something he would regret. The Ozzer was not helping, it was very offended at the implications and providing a litany of insults for him to use. Chops, picking up on his irritation, began a low growl.

  "Wait, his rings say Grimbrow, you one of them stabby lawyers?" One of the flunkey suits pointed to his rings, and the three gave him another calculating look.

  "You know the Grimbrows?" Oz perked up.

  "Do bouncers at a tunnel fighting arena know of the famously litigious group of tunnel fighting nutcases? Yes. You have their face too, but what is that accent? Where you from, kid?" The troll eased back, his hand moving away from Oz’s chest.

  "I am more the fighter part than the lawyer part, but yes, that is my clan. I am from Greywater, not local." Oz frowned. He had had so much going on he had not really thought about his clan. For years they had just been silent, never responding to any messages, never reaching out. He did not hate them, he just did not think about them.

  Until two weeks ago he had always thought they had ignored him. But with what he knew was going on with the post about his benefits, the isolation, maybe there was more to that story.

  The itch got worse.

  "Where in the Nether is Greywater?"

  "It is the slagside of the frontier." Oz responded.

  "Yeah, I do not think he is trying anything."

  "Did you think I am an idiot? That I cannot spot someone trying to cosy up to me after all this time!" Bless crossed her arms and glared at the troll who shrank back.

  "No Miss, it is just well the Boss will not be in a good mood when she finds out you got bothered."

  "You do not have to…" Bless paused and sighed. "I know you have to tell her, but please stress that I am okay."

  "I will, and that is why I am asking the questions. I figured it is better me than her. The Boss, well she can be kind of intense."

  "I can just go in through the big queue." Oz offered, aware he had somehow got wrapped up in something more complex. Who was this boss, and why would they care about Bless.

  "Nah, she will want to meet you. I will get you both sent straight up to her. Faz, you escort the Li… Miss Altharn upstairs."

  "I am sorry, I had assumed my Aunt would not be like this."

  "Wait, your name is Altharn? Like the arena?" Oz spluttered as the troll’s parting words finally caught up with him and they stepped through the doors into the building. Bless looked ready to respond, but then they entered the doors and all thoughts of communication ceased.

  [You have entered Altharn Arena]

  The bass hit him first, outside it had been part of the background, now he felt it pounding from the soles of his boots to the top of his skull. They walked through grey stone corridors, posters of old champions looming over them like they wanted to charge into the present.

  They turned a corner, moving away from the thin stream of the elites they had been following. Instead they headed towards a curving gallery, one side of which was open, the sound pouring out and hitting him almost like a physical weight. Oz patted Chops, hoping the noise was not too much for him.

  Oz squared his shoulders and walked out onto the gallery. The arena opened beneath him, an enormous dome lit from within by drifting illusions, each one replaying a moment of past glory. A fighter mid leap, another roaring in triumph, their images wreathed with artful explosions of colour that reminded him of graffiti.

  Below, thousands packed around strange scaffolds and rune etched platforms. Lights snapped and spun. The air tasted of beer and ozone.

  It was too much. Too loud. Too big. But Oz clenched his jaw and kept walking, leaning heavily into his scowl and the Ozzer’s dim memories of otherworldly places that equalled this, so as not to reveal he was completely overwhelmed. Behind him, Chops poked his head between the railings, trying and failing to take it all in.

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  They finally reached the end of the corridor, entering a small box that Oz now recognised as a lift. The doors slid shut behind them, and the sound died down. Beside him Bless was fidgeting.

  "You alright?" Oz asked.

  "Please do not be weird about it. My Aunt is the Keeper of the dungeon, and the black sheep of the family. My grandparents are very disappointed in her. They think she should be some high end champion in an emissary dungeon or front line fortress, but apparently she is a stain on the family honour for just wanting to live her own life and run a small dungeon."

  "This is small?" Oz’s brows knit.

  "Compared to my grandparents’ expectations, it cannot compare. Even if she loves it." Bless paused. "I am sorry by the way. I did not expect them to be so… untrusting."

  Oz looked to the suit in the lift with them, noting how the man had faded into the background. It felt odd to speak without involving the man, but the Ozzer advised him that involving him would not be the right thing.

  "Not your fault." Oz grunted. "Honestly that Braval guy was just doing his job. Was not that intimidating, the local bar had a minotaur bouncer and he could give you a look that said he had already dug your grave and would march you straight to it."

  "You do not look too happy though."

  "That is just my face." Oz replied, and heard a snort from the suit. If he was honest the lingering mood of discomfort was about being reminded that the Grimbrow family was not just him and his dad. He had a whole clan out there and now he had no idea what they might be to him.

  Oz was not about to freak out about the fact that the girl he was speaking to belonged to a family who considered being a powerful Keeper below them. He just drowned those thoughts out with the thumping bass.

  He would need to speak to Venna and find out more about whatever was going on with the investigation.

  The lift arrived and they were spat out into a long corridor. The ever present beat of music and noise returning as they walked across a gantry hanging from wires above the arena. Pinned to the wires were images he knew well. They were from the Yurl’s saga and spoke of the history of tunnel fighting.

  The art of Torrek Khaza Yurlev, better known by the common name of Tunnel Fighting, was big business in the republic. It was a Dwarven tradition, commemorating the great hero Yurl. He learned that Clan Duzal planned to betray his prince while out on a hunt during a great festival they hosted. Knowing he would expose them, the Clan tried to kill Yurl and he only escaped by abandoning his armour and weapons and swimming out into great underground Lake Duzal, from which the treacherous clan stole its name.

  Yurl had no weapon, only his clan wrappings and some spoils from his hunt. Still he was a loyal dwarf. He took the flint that washed to the edge of the lake and made himself a blade, from the trophy horn he had collected he made a hilt. With this simple knife he fought his way through the waterways that fed the hall.

  He barrelled through guard after guard, and with every break he got he carved runes into his blade. After the eighth guard and finally in the hall, Yurl came to the sealed doors of the feasting hall. By then his simple stone knife was so powerful that when he reached the great doors of Duzal he carved through the steel as if it was butter, and warned his future king of the deception.

  Yurl's feat was lauded, and as dwarves are prone to, arguments arose. Some claimed his feats were impossible, and more said it was merely hard. And then they set about trying to prove each other wrong.

  From that argument came the sport widely known as Tunnel Fighting. Two fighters in a corridor twenty standard paces long, four wide and the same tall. No active skills allowed. Their only protective gear a variant on clan wraps. Their only weapon a stone dagger.

  The goal, to get past the other guy and stop him getting past you.

  If you win, you got fifteen minutes to improve your blade before you enter the tunnel again. Rinse and repeat until you had gone through your eight opponents or lost.

  Or at least that was the original version of it. Now there was a strike system for knife wounds, a begrudging agreement that some headwear was essential, and a list of approved runes.

  The movement to roll these changes back had faltered after an internal division over whether their slogan should be ‘No eye gouging? Not eye catching!’ or ‘Bring back the stabbing!’

  Back home arenas were a twenty foot trench with the standardised posts every five paces. With two pits on either side acting as the safe zone.

  Here Oz saw glass walled alleyways with balconies overlooking them. The rich and refined gathered on the balconies sipping drinks and chatting while below on tiered benches the rabble gathered waiting for blood to paint the glass.

  There were multiple alleys dotted all around the arena in a rough square and giant screens of illusion glass on the walls. He had heard from his dad that this was how proper Tunnel Fighting matches should be but he had never seen it. It was not like Greywater had enough fighters to run more than a couple of matches at once.

  Oz had not even noticed they had reached a set of double doors before they began to swing open revealing a room that sat at the top of the arena overlooking it all. The chamber at the arena’s crown was surprisingly elegant, though its style leaned towards the violent. Rows of stone knives hung along the walls, arranged with ceremonial precision. Thick rugs made from immense furred creatures sprawled across the floor, their size alone hinting at the danger they once posed. Small groups gathered around low lacquered tables along the perimeter, murmuring in subdued conversation. They glanced at the newcomers before looking back over three open sides of the room that opened out over the arena.

  As Oz stepped into the room he felt some manner of enchantment soften the shouts and crashes from below into a distant hum. It also meant he could finally hear again. It also meant he could make out the voice that boomed over to them.

  "Bless, it is so good to see you! Come on in! You have grown so much since I last saw you." Bless’s aunt towered over the room, burnished bronze skin gleaming like she had been freshly polished. And while most Valkyries wore their conjured armour like walking fortresses, she had opted for a metal corset and spiked shorts that looked exactly like something a bored teenager would draw when they had just discovered what curves were.

  He absolutely did not know where to look. The Ozzer unfortunately had several opinions. So Oz stared fixedly at her face, jaw tight, locking his eyes on her silver hair and those razor sharp eyes that told him she not only saw the whole battle happening behind his expression, she was enjoying the show.

  "Auntie!" Bless ran up and hugged her, miraculously not impaling herself on the combat corsetry.

  "It is so good to see you. We have so much to catch up on. Also welcome to you too Mr Grimbrow. Wow, you are a big’un." She grinned savagely, looking him up and down.

  "Hello… Keeper?" Oz paused. Nothing in his life had prepared him for someone so forward.

  "None of that, I am not my parents. I’m Tess, and I’d love to hear more about your exciting evening with my niece. However, I will take a minute to catch up with my her alone. Why don't you speak with Kazzar for a bit." The Valkyrie waved at a dwarf who was studying Oz with a critical look.

  "Bless, I am so pleased you got out. Your mother will be so pleased." He heard the Keeper gush as she led her niece away.

  "You think so?" Was all he heard before the pair headed off to seats at the front balcony and their voices were lost under a wave of magic.

  The other dwarf started to close on him, but before he could say anything Bless shouted across the room. "Uncle, be nice, he is a student at Noxarcer like me."

  "Do not you worry, just want to talk dwarf things. And then dear niece we are going to have a chat about why you are not carrying a knife." Kazzar smiled back. Bless immediately looked worried.

  "You are not carrying a knife?" Oz spluttered, looking at Bless with a bit of worry. Leaving home without a knife was like leaving without your pants.

  "Oh Nether, now there are two of you." Bless sighed, and her Aunt laughed.

  "So you are a Grimbrow." The dwarf approached. He looked like he had stepped straight out of a training manual on tunnel fighting. His coffee coloured beard was thick and neatly plaited, each braid threaded with fine gold wire that caught the lamplight. His skin was pale with the faintest bluish tint, like someone who spent more time under mountains than under the sun. He wore traditional fighting gear, a heavy vest built for taking hits, and clan wraps coiled tight around his arms, one of them holding a spare knife tucked in with casual practicality.

  He gave Oz a long, appraising once over, the kind that measured weight and intent, but there was no hostility in it, just curiosity, maybe even a touch of respect.

  "Not a local."

  "I can tell that. They would know not to come here today."

  "Are they banned or something?"

  "No, just too good for anything that is not a professional bout. This is an amateur all comers night."

  "But I am not a professional?" Oz frowned, and the other dwarf laughed.

  "Well you definitely have the face of a Grimbrow. Tell me what Trinity you normally end up with by the end of the matches."

  "I normally go for a classic Blade Trinity. Sometimes I switch out Force for Shock for a Lesser Spark though."

  "See that you have options, and can even consider a more complex rune like that is already more than most. Honestly most of this lot will be lucky to get a Trinity at all."

  "But…" Oz frowned, a Trinity was the bare minimum. Or so his dad had insisted, and that was before his mum was gone.

  Oz frowned. Maybe… Maybe he should really start checking some of the things his dad had taught him.

  "I know, I know. This is all a bit of a farce. Keeps the gold rolling in, keeps the Gritlickers happy. I am Kazzar of the Cairnwalker Clan. Thanks for helping my niece out earlier."

  "Ozren Grimbrow. Most call me just Oz. Oh and this is Chops, he is my familiar."

  "He seems a good sort, would be great support in a tunnel fight." Kazzar chuckled as Oz raised an eyebrow. "While tonight and the professional matches are without skills, we do occasionally run powered events."

  "I like the arena design, feels intimidating though, never seen glass tunnels before. Feels like it would be distracting."

  "Type of crystal actually. There is magic to it so the fighters cannot see out of it, just looks like stone. Look, it seems like you were planning on a bit of tunnel fighting tonight, but I do not think that is happening."

  "Slag." Oz muttered to himself.

  "Well, how about a quick round of Echoes. I have got to admit I am kind of interested in seeing how you fight."

  "Now that sounds like a great idea." Oz beamed.