Chapter 27

  Ash and Blossoms

  Cid stepped through the village with rain still needling down on his armour, the mud tugging at his boots like it wanted to keep him there. The caravan waited near the edge of the market square, wooden wheels sunk deep, ropes slick, five Shoven gathered around it like a wall of muscle and bad attitudes.

  Tronka was the loudest, as usual.

  “Oh, you showed up then,” he grunted, tilting his head with that awful half-grin. “Thought you’d chicken out.”

  Cid rolled his shoulders, pretending the cold didn’t reach his bones. “Yeah, I’m here. Let’s get this show on the road.”

  The sun was already sinking behind the marshland, staining the clouds a bruised orange. Long shadows stretched across the huts as the caravan lurched forward, four Shoven at the front leaning into the pull bar, feet sinking and squelching with every step.

  Cid followed, cloak soaked, teeth chattering. “Does it ever stop raining?” he muttered, breath puffing white in the chill.

  “Of course not, boy.” Drongo snorted, amused. “This is the marshes. Cold and damp, but it’s our home. Besides, us Shoven don’t mind the wet.”

  They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds the slap of rain, the suck of mud, and the steady grunt of effort as the caravan crept along the path. Somewhere ahead, one of the Shoven lifted an arm and waved back at Cid.

  “I think it’s your turn now,” the Shoven grunted. “If you can handle it.”

  Cid circled to the front and took his place beside them. He gripped the bar and pushed.

  The caravan moved like it had been waiting for him. The extra weight drove his feet deeper into the mud, but he shoved through it with ease, legs burning, jaw set, pride refusing to let him slip.

  “How much further?” Cid asked, forcing his voice to sound casual.

  “Not long. Maybe an hour.”

  From behind, Tronka’s laugh bubbled up. “I hope you aren’t getting tired already.”

  Cid didn’t even look back. “Not likely. Just sick of your smell.”

  Silence, then the sudden scrape of heavy feet in the muck.

  “What did you say?” Tronka surged forward from the rear, all shoulders and teeth, getting right into Cid’s face. His breath was hot and foul, rain rolling off his brow ridge.

  Cid held his ground, chin tipped up. His pulse thudded once, hard.

  Before it could turn into a brawl, Drongo stomped between them, eyes narrowed.

  “Tronka.” His voice was low, dangerous. “I swear to the gods, if I hear another word out of you on this trek, I will take you back to Emperor Slamm and he can deal with you.”

  That shut Tronka up fast. Drongo grabbed his arm and shoved him back toward the rear of the caravan.

  As Tronka passed Cid, he leaned in close enough that Cid felt the brush of wet armour. “Watch your back, humey,” he whispered.

  Cid didn’t answer. He just kept pushing.

  The Shoven beside him spoke quietly, keeping his head forward so no one could accuse him of softness. “You’ll have to excuse him.”

  Cid blinked. “Why?”

  The Shoven hesitated, then rumbled, “He lost his family some time ago. Human rebellion.”

  Cid’s hands tightened on the bar. The idea sat wrong in his head, Tronka as anything other than a bully with fists and hate.

  “Oh…” Cid swallowed. “I’m sorry to hear that. I… I didn’t realise you guys…” He trailed off, then admitted, half embarrassed, “Suppose I never thought about it. I’ve never seen a female.”

  The Shoven’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “The females aren’t here. Kept on Shaln. Only males were brought here. Been this way the whole time. When the male children are old enough, they’re brought here to be with their parent. The daughters stay there… and create more.”

  He said it like a fact, but his eyes dropped.

  “I have two daughters,” he added, voice rougher. “I’ve never met them. And I doubt I will.”

  Cid stared at him, something tightening behind his ribs. Emotion on a Shoven still felt unreal, like watching fire burn blue.

  He didn’t know what to say. So he said nothing.

  The walk dragged on like punishment. But eventually the land began to change—the marsh thinning, the ground firming beneath their feet. Mud gave way to damp earth and stone. The rain softened to a drizzle, and the air sharpened with the scent of pine.

  Cid looked up, and there it was.

  A village nestled against the mountain range, surrounded by a tall fence. Beyond the gates, trees bloomed with pink blossoms, their petals clinging to wet branches like stubborn colour in a grey world.

  Cid breathed out, relief washing through him. The gates creaked open and the caravan rolled in.

  He stepped through and forgot, for a moment, that he was cold and soaked and exhausted.

  It was beautiful.

  Then he saw him.

  “Master Keno!” Cid blurted, excitement snapping him fully awake.

  He dropped the pull bar and hurried forward, clasping Keno’s arm the way fighters did—firm, honest, no ceremony. Keno returned it with a grin that looked like it had been waiting.

  “It’s good to see you, boy,” Keno said. “Feels like weeks have passed. But it’s only been a couple of days.”

  Cid laughed, breathless. “Believe me, it feels like weeks. I haven’t even had a second to breathe.”

  Keno’s eyes flicked past him to the Shoven clustered together, dripping rainwater onto the stone path. His grin widened, amused. “So… ready for your training? I see you’ve already met your sparring partners.”

  Cid froze. “Wait, these are my sparring partners?”

  Tronka’s laughter exploded behind him, full-bellied and delighted. “That’s right, humey!”

  Cid stared, horrified, then looked back at Keno. Keno shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “Well, you didn’t think I would get humans,” Keno said calmly, “when you’re to take on all those Shoven out there?”

  Cid scratched the back of his head, awkward. “Yeah… I suppose you’re right there.”

  “Anyway,” Keno said, tone softening. “Let’s sit. Tell me all.”

  They gathered at a table while the Shoven hung back, muttering among themselves. Cid told Keno everything, how the High Council building was attacked, how the craft went down, how he’d followed Shoven tracks into a village he hadn’t expected to survive. He even pulled at his armour to show the damage, the mud stains, the scorch marks.

  Keno listened without interrupting, eyes steady.

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  When Cid finished, Keno let out a low whistle. “That is a lot. It’s a miracle you made it here. Let’s hope the other Chosen are having better luck.”

  Cid’s laugh came out thin. “Yeah… let’s hope.”

  “You must be exhausted,” Keno said, finally standing. “We start training first thing in the morning. You and the Shoven can eat, rest. Come.”

  He gestured them toward the quarters, then stopped at the doorway.

  “Get some rest,” he said simply. “Prepare for training. Good night.”

  Cid made his way to the guest room and pushed the door open. It was small and cramped—stone walls, a narrow table, a single torch, and a bed that looked like heaven.

  He sank onto it, armour creaking, and stared at the ceiling.

  His mum. His girlfriend. The desert plains. A life that had felt solid three days ago.

  Then sleep took him like a knockout punch.

  Morning arrived too fast.

  A loud thud hammered his door. Cid groaned and rolled over.

  Another knock, harder.

  Cid blinked awake, sat up, and dragged himself to the door. “Alright, alright. Don’t bash my door down.”

  He opened it.

  Tronka stood there, hunched to fit the frame, teeth showing in that same terrifying grin. “Hurry up. I want to see you eat dirt.”

  Cid stepped out, stretching. “Not likely.”

  They walked through the village together, blossom petals stuck wetly to the paths, the air clean and sharp after rain. Cid tried to keep quiet.

  He didn’t manage it.

  “I hear you lost your family?” Cid said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “Was it?”

  Tronka stopped dead, shoulders rising. He turned slowly, anger rolling off him in waves.

  “What is it to you?” he growled.

  Cid’s stomach twisted. “No, no, you’re right. Forget I said anything.”

  He kept walking, leaving Tronka behind.

  For a few steps, there was only silence.

  Then heavy feet caught up.

  “Wait,” Tronka grunted, voice rougher now. “Yeah. I did.” Tronka said. “My son.”

  Cid glanced up, surprised.

  “That must’ve been hard,” Cid said quietly. “But you still left the Shoven clan after that… went with deserters?”

  Tronka nodded once, stiff. “Because I don’t want to fight anymore,” he said. His voice cracked on the last word like it hated weakness. “My son deserves better. And now I am better… for son.”

  A tear slid down the side of his face, cutting a clean line through the grime.

  Cid didn’t know what to do with that. A Shoven crying felt like the world turning upside down.

  He swallowed. “It’s okay, Tronk. I think you’re a good guy.” He forced the words out, honest. “And I’m sure your son would be proud of you.”

  Tronka grunted hard, like the sound was trying to crush the softness. Then, without warning, he shoved Cid.

  Cid hit the ground with a thump, mud splashing up his cloak.

  Cid burst out laughing as he pushed himself up. “That’s more like it.”

  They reached the dojo, bigger than anything Cid had trained in back home. The doors creaked open and the space swallowed them: a wide arena, solid beams, high roof, the smell of old sweat and wood.

  Inside, the other four Shoven waited, and Keno stood between them like a judge.

  “Morning,” Keno called. “Nice of you to make it.”

  Cid stared around. “This place is massive. Why didn’t we have this in my village?”

  “Well,” Keno said dryly, flicking his gaze to the Shoven, “your competition was just a little bit smaller back home.”

  Cid snorted despite himself.

  Keno’s tone shifted, sharp, commanding.

  “So, Cid. Chosen speedster and brawler. You are here for your training.” He stepped closer. “You are to defeat all five of the Shoven who accompanied you here. Once you have completed that, you are free to go.”

  Cid’s grin faltered. “All five?”

  “This is not like sparring back home,” Keno continued. “They will come at you with full force. They will not hold back.”

  Cid’s throat tightened. He nodded anyway. “I understand, Master.”

  “They have been told not to kill you,” Keno said, almost casually. “However, they are more than welcome to break a bone. So I suggest you keep moving.”

  Cid nodded again, more carefully this time.

  “Then we shall begin.” Keno lifted his hand. “You shall first be taking on Tusk.”

  Tusk stepped forward, the same Shoven who’d whispered on the trek, the one who’d spoken about daughters with that quiet sadness.

  “Usual rules apply,” Keno shouted. “Bow before fighting. Keep it clean where possible.”

  Cid and Tusk bowed.

  Then Tusk charged.

  He came like a boulder rolling downhill, fast, heavy, unstoppable.

  Cid dodged, his speed snapping him aside like a flicker of light. The Shoven grunted, surprised.

  “Well that’s the first time I’ve seen that,” Drongo muttered.

  Tusk turned sharply, eyes locked. He charged again.

  Cid zipped around him again, too quick to track.

  Tusk growled in frustration, building up for another run.

  He launched.

  Cid moved.

  But Tusk stopped short, feinted, and swung his long arm out.

  The fist slammed into Cid’s stomach like a hammer.

  Cid flew back and cracked against a wooden post, breath leaving him in a painful gasp.

  Tusk loomed. “Your magic can only protect you for so long.”

  Cid spat air, forcing himself upright.

  Tusk grabbed him by the head, squeezing as he lifted him off the floor.

  Cid’s vision blurred. Pain flared.

  Then Cid’s arm snapped back and he drove one brutal punch into Tusk’s side.

  Tusk grunted and dropped him.

  Cid hit the floor, rolled, then exploded into motion, one full lap around the arena, speed building, the gauntlets humming faintly as his momentum grew.

  He charged straight in and punched upward, right into Tusk’s lower jaw. Sending vibrations through the dojo, with a crack of sound as it ripples across.

  The impact launched the massive Shoven across the dojo. He hit a beam and the wood cracked with a sharp groan.

  Keno muttered under his breath, “He always breaks my damn dojo…”

  Tusk stood up, swaying. He spat green blood onto the floor and smiled, actually smiled at Cid.

  Then he came again, swinging punch after punch.

  Cid danced around them, sidestepping with speed, slipping inside the slow arcs to land two strikes for every one Tusk threw.

  Tusk’s breathing grew heavy. His punches slowed. His arms started to drop.

  He stumbled.

  Cid didn’t hesitate. One last kick, clean, hard, sent Tusk crashing into the stands.

  Tusk tried to rise.

  His legs gave out.

  “Cid wins his first battle!” Keno roared.

  Cid walked over, offered his hand. “Good fight, Tusk.”

  Tusk took it, hauled himself upright, and limped back to the others.

  Keno’s voice didn’t soften. “No rest, Cid. The other Shoven won’t rest on the battlefield. Kharvuk, you’re up.”

  Kharvuk stepped forward like he’d been waiting for this moment all his life.

  They bowed fast, more formality than respect.

  Kharvuk charged.

  But instead of a clumsy rush, he drove a kick straight into Cid’s chest, snapping him down.

  Cid skidded across the floor, sand and dust flaring up around him. He blinked, shocked, then stood and cracked his neck.

  “Well,” he breathed, grinning despite the sting, “that was a surprise.”

  Cid lifted his arms.

  His gauntlets glowed bright blue, energy swelling around them like water gathering into a wave.

  He thrust forward and hurled the surge at Kharvuk, then followed it in, fists flying.

  For a moment, Cid had him, punch after punch, speed and power layered together.

  Then Kharvuk roared, grabbed Cid mid-strike, lifted him like nothing—

  —and slammed him into the ground.

  Cid yelped as pain cracked through him. He tried to stand.

  His legs buckled.

  “And the winner of round two is Kharvuk!” Keno’s voice echoed.

  Kharvuk stepped toward Cid, hand out to help.

  Cid swatted his arm away and staggered toward the doors, fury and humiliation burning his face.

  Keno sighed and started after him...

  “It’s okay, Master Keno,” Tronka said, placing a heavy hand on Keno’s shoulder. “I’ll go.”

  Tronka followed Cid out.

  “Cid! Wait up!”

  Cid kept walking, jaw clenched.

  “Cid,” Tronka called again, voice sharpening, “don’t make me fight you.”

  Cid stopped. He stared at the ground like it was the only thing holding him upright.

  Tronka came up beside him. For once, he didn’t look like a bully. He looked… tired.

  “I lost,” Cid whispered.

  “You lost one fight,” Tronka rumbled. “You won the first one.”

  “But how will I fight a whole squadron of them,” Cid snapped, turning, “if I can’t beat one?”

  Tronka’s gaze held steady. “You let arrogance win,” he said bluntly. “Fight should come from heart. Not fists.”

  Cid sat down hard on a bench outside the dojo. The wood creaked under his weight. Tronka sat beside him, and the bench creaked again, protesting the two of them.

  Tronka stared out toward the plains. “Do you know how many humans can beat Shoven?”

  Cid shook his head slowly.

  “No,” Tronka said. “Me neither. I have never seen it. And now I have.”

  Cid’s throat tightened. He looked away. “I just want to save this world.”

  “You will,” Tronka said, and it sounded like a promise he’d decided to believe in. “But it is long game. It won’t happen in a day.”

  Tronka nudged him with a heavy shoulder. “You fight well. You will fight better. Kharvuk better watch out next time, humey.”

  Cid’s mouth twitched into a smile. “For a Shoven… you’re alright.”

  Tronka huffed, almost pleased. “For a humey, you are alright.”

  A pause.

  Then Tronka tilted his head. “Hungry?”

  Cid exhaled. “Yeah. I can eat.” He glanced sideways. “But can it not be worms?”

  For the first time that morning, Tronka laughed without malice.

  Cid laughed too.

  And for a moment, beneath the pink blossoms and the dripping eaves, the war felt far away.

  Thanks for reading!

  Every time someone spends a few minutes in the world of Shahero, it honestly means more than I can properly put into words. Seeing people follow the journey of Tyron, Samantha, Lazarus, Freya, Cid, and Zara makes all the hours of writing worth it.

  If you enjoyed the chapter, feel free to leave a comment or follow the story. I read every comment, and it genuinely helps the story reach more readers here on Royal Road.

  A few people have also asked how they can support the project as I work toward eventually publishing the book. If that’s something you’d like to help with, there’s a support link below that goes toward editing and preparing the story for print.

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  Question for readers:What moment in this chapter stood out to you the most?

  See you in the next chapter.

  — Matthew Cooke-Sumner