Danger is sweet

Hot is an understatement. It’s boiling. Sweat drips, the sun’s rays directly shining on her. Seulgi fans herself with the front of her chiton to no avail. 

She had awoken to a servant hovering before her. As mentally conscious as she could be, Seulgi tried to listen carefully to the servant who was passing on a message from Brother Rolof. Her mentor. Needless to say, the mention of his name had her fully awake and hobbling out the empty compound at 10 am, doing her best with her injured legs.  

Thinking back, she was very foolish. Why did she worry about being late? When Brother Rolof himself is over half an hour late, leaving her to wait outside in the garden. This is pure torture. She’s melting into a puddle of frustration, sweat, and hunger.  

Fanning faster, Seulgi considers ripping off the sleeves of her chiton. They had served her well yesterday, in the cold musty Archives, but now they are just like wooly capes attached to her shoulders. They must go. 

Seulgi flexes her fingers, activating her avatar. Opening wide, she latches onto her right sleeve. Focusing. Sharp teeth gnawing, chewing at the linen, making a circular cut. 

A tap on her shoulder startles her, the tearing sound of shredded cloth follows.  

“This is the first time we’ve met just ourselves and I have to say, you have excellent style, Seulgi.” Turning around, she sees Brother Rolof, chuckling at her. Pointing at the gaping hole in her chiton extending from her shoulder to her hip. Seulgi quickly deactivates her avatar and stands straight. 

“Uh, hi sir?” she says stiffly. 

“Hmm, I do quite like the ‘sir.’ Keep calling me that,” he adds, his scraggly beard.

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well, I’m sure you know I’m not here to comment on your fashion sense. Today is your first official day of training so prepare yourself.” His smile merges into a thin line. Eyes sharpen, glaring directly at her. Seulgi can only tighten her arms by her side. Shoulders back, feet together. 

“Drink this first,” he orders. Brother Rolof opens the flap to his satchel, withdrawing a flask, handing it to her. She takes the flask, uncorking it. Inside is a clear liquid, odourless. Trusting him, she drinks it in one gulp. 

Immediately, she feels the effects. She can feel the wounds on her legs mending, closing. Skin melding together. Strength returns in her legs. Her other body aches disappear as well. 

Warmth envelopes her, similar to when her avatar is activated. Except this is more intense, yet familiar and comforting simultaneously. 

“Was that the Earth Mother’s sacred water, sir?” Seulgi asks. 

“Correct. Are you feeling all better?” Brother Rolof says.  

 “I feel like I can run a whole mile without stopping.” His eyes narrow further, lip curling. Hand beside his ear, prompting her to continue. 

“Sir.” 

“Good. We can’t have you hobbling.” His harsh demeanor collapses. Brother Rolof grins, showing sincerity. 

“Now let’s begin your training,” he says. 

“Huh?” 

“Do you want to stand in the heat all day? Follow me now and do try to keep up.” A gray wolf shimmers around him, feet picking up.  

“Before we go in, understand that no one knows who we are and I’d prefer we keep it that way. You are Susan and I am Ragnar from now on. Questions?” mutters Brother Rolof. Both donning black robes, wearing masks. Seulgi was sweating heavily before, now she’s sure she is sweating a flood. Dampness emits from her pores. 

They’re standing in front of the tavern’s door, in the seedy part of town. But really, all she hopes is that it’s cooler inside. 

“Why do you get a cool name and I have the middle-aged granny name? And how is this relevant to my training?” says Seulgi. He shakes his head, opening the door.  

“Mouth shut, Susie.” She rolls her eyes and adjusts her mask. Seulgi doesn’t know what to think of Brother Rolof anymore. Here they are, 11 am at a tavern, looking like a pair of grim reapers. 

Entering, a wave of smoke hits, overwhelming her. The acrid smell snakes around them. It’s no wonder since the few patrons are holding cigars. Seulgi coughs into her sleeve, coughing harder as Brother Rolof slaps her back in a horrible attempt to soothe her. 

“Easy there. Now follow my lead,” he says in a low tone. Hand around her shoulders, he guides them to the bar counter, stepping over unconscious bodies, to the wooden stools in the corner, away from prying eyes. 

Brother Rolof slams his other hand on the counter, catching the attention of the barmaid. The  slender woman in a tight dark green tunic comes over, sauntering.

“Ragnar! I haven’t seen you in awhile,” the barmaid says. Leaning over the counter, Brother Rolof hugs the barmaid while Seulgi glances everywhere. Taking in their surroundings. This certainly isn’t the cleanest place. Upturned tables, chairs, suspicious puddles on the stone floor decorate the tavern. 

“Hani, it’s good to see you. Business is well, I assume?” Rolof replies, sitting back down. 

“Never been better, it’s a full house once the sun sets. How’s your theatre troupe doing?” Hani says. Theatre? The masks on their faces suddenly make sense. Seulgi sits on the edge of her seat, anticipating Brother Rolof’s answer. 

“Ah, you know how it is. Stagnation. But I’m sure the kids will be inspired again soon,” says Rolof. 

“Mhm, and who is this here?” Hani looks at her, eyes twinkling with curiosity. Propping her elbow on the table, inspecting the newcomer. 

“I’m Seu—”

“Susan!” exclaims Brother Rolof. Another rough slap to her back. Another fit of coughing.

“She’s my niece, you know, however I see her as a daughter. Truly, a tragedy. Her parents died in a chariot mishap when she was but a babe,” Brother Rolof continues, sniffling for added effect. Voice somber.

“Alas, there was no one to take her in! So bless my heart, I raised her. A few years ago, she was of age so she was sent to the Arena. Like... usual.” He pauses, trailing off. 

“Not that I had high hopes for her in the