Even from the beginning, Malo never had a dream to fight. It wasn’t like he had always imagined that he would one day end up as someone with the title of being the strongest. It was a choice made for him, dictated by the sheer talent his body had been gifted.

  It was his supposed calling.

  As a child, before the fights, Malo kept to himself. He was well-mannered, obedient, polite to the other kids, never speaking out of turn.

  Was there a reason for that?

  Malo didn’t know.

  He did it because it was expected. Would that count as a reason?

  He also spent time watching the sky.

  Yet again, he had no reason for it.

  Was the sky entertaining? No, it wasn’t. Nothing in it would capture the attention of a child.

  So, what was it?

  What made him stare for hours at an ordinary sky, with drifting clouds that seemed to go nowhere, a sun that rose and set in a strict routine, and a pale blue that always stared back at him?

  Perhaps that was it. Something about the ordinary, the meaningless rhythm of the clouds, the obedient sun, the fixed color, held him. Things that anyone else could easily ignore became impossible for him to look away from.

  That’s why he hated rainy days. He wasn’t allowed to go out during them. He disliked not being able to watch the sky just because of a change in temperature, and a number of tiny drops of water that couldn’t hurt him.

  This unremarkable, peaceful time spent watching the sky was what relaxed Malo, since his childhood wasn’t that happy.

  On rainy days, when he was stuck inside, when the peaceful and ordinary sky wasn’t there to distract him, he was forced to remember why he wasted so much time under the sky.

  He was bullied.

  Strange, isn’t it?

  How could someone like Malo be bullied?

  The answer was simple: he saw no point in fighting back then.

  Malo had never been a clever child. He got nearly every question wrong in class, was often caught daydreaming, and for staring out the window at the sky. He was also unusually large for his age, constantly bumping his head on door frames, stubbing his toes on chairs, or otherwise injuring himself in ways that made other kids snicker.

  It was because of these things that a few mischievous children decided to target him. They called him names: “Ogre,” “Stupid Giant,” “Smelly Orc”—silly, cruel names meant to provoke laughter.

  However, Malo didn’t mind. He continued to treat everyone kindly, even when others took advantage of him with cruel pranks. If someone stole his pencil, hid his shoes, or even spat in his food, he never retaliated.

  Was he afraid? No.

  He simply didn’t see the need.

  When Jain heard about it, he was furious. He scolded Malo relentlessly for not fighting back.

  Malo was confused, but Jain was his older brother, and in his mind, Jain was always right.

  So the next day, when someone reached for his hair, Malo tried to gently push them away.

  The entire class froze in horror as the bully was sent flying into the wall, leaving a massive dent behind.

  Malo instinctively tried to apologize when he saw the damage, but all he received were fearful stares and whispered words laced with spite.

  In that moment, Malo realized that everyone feared and hated him for his strength.

  He remembered how, before this, they had mocked him for being weak.

  No matter what he did, it seemed, he could never win. Everyone would always be against him.

  From then on, he found himself watching the sky even more often.

  Soon after, Malo was brought along by Jain to sparring matches at the local arena.

  Apparently, Jain had heard what had happened and was proud of him. He even wanted to train Malo properly.

  “Your strength is a gift,” Jain had said.

  It was the same thing everyone else seemed to repeat.

  But to Malo, strength felt more like a punishment. It was too much for him to wield. Even if he held back, people would ridicule him for being timid. If he tried to show it, he would be feared and branded a monster.

  Yet Jain insisted this training would help him control his power. At the arena, Jain had him watch the fighters, to see what he could one day become.

  Malo’s eyes traced every movement. One fighter used his leg like a whip, the crack of each kick slicing through the air. Another endured blow after blow, each kick making Malo flinch as if he could feel the pain himself. He shivered as a powerful slam rocked the ground, sending dust and echoes flying.

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  It was terrifying and painful to watch. Malo couldn’t imagine the agony of actually being in the fight.

  Why do people willingly do this? Why do they seem to enjoy it?

  Was there any purpose in these fights?

  “What a savage way of living,” Malo thought quietly to himself.

  Then he watched as one fighter collapsed to the ground while the other stood over him, victorious. The fallen fighter slowly rose, mumbling to himself with a disappointed expression. But when the victor extended his hand, the loser grinned, shook it firmly, and declared that next time, things would be different.

  Malo was confused.

  After such a grueling, painful fight, wouldn’t resentment linger toward the winner?

  He turned to another bout, where one fighter shouted at his opponent for holding back on him. The angry fighter, who was the winner of this specific match, looked displeased with his own victory, as if a half-hearted triumph wasn’t enough.

  Why are you angry? Malo wondered. Shouldn’t you be glad you won?

  He didn’t understand their passion. So much pain and suffering, all endured for a savage contest built entirely on hurting one another.

  Fighting seemed so meaningless. Win, and you should be satisfied. Lose, and you were simply too weak. That was all that mattered.

  Malo couldn’t understand why anyone would indulge in a concept so simple, so two-dimensional.

  What else was there?

  “Fighting isn’t about winning. It’s about trying to win.” Jain spoke up.

  Malo frowned. “I don’t understand.”

  Jain leaned back. “Fighting is usually seen in a bad light. Typically, people fight out of aggression, and it can even make relationships worse. Because of this, the act of fighting itself is seen as evil, but how can the act be evil when it’s the people who fight who are the ones at fault?”

  Malo considered this carefully.

  While it made sense, fighting was still a way for people to hurt each other.

  “But no matter what, people still get hurt in every fight,” Malo said quietly.

  Jain didn’t deny it. “True. To start a fight and to end a fight, pain is needed.”

  “Then why fight?”

  “Fighting is simple,” Jain explained. “It’s a match between two people, each using their strength, hands, legs—anything—to win. It’s dangerous, it hurts, and it isn’t kind. But it can also be one of the most beautiful things to witness. That’s why people can’t look away from a good fight. A fight between two people who aren’t focused on hurting each other. A fight where both only want to win, thinking of nothing else. Dreams, hopes, anger, grief, the future—they have no place. All they do is distract from what fighting truly is: trying to win.”

  Malo tilted his head.

  Jain continued. “A good fight isn’t just beautiful, but it’s also enjoyable. Two people displaying all their strength, using every skill and bit of knowledge to gain the upper hand. A fight focused on winning leaves no room for ill will. Only one thing remains: enjoyment. The enjoyment of meeting someone equal, someone who can push you beyond your limits. Someone who shows there is no time to rest, who reminds you why you must keep fighting, and why you must keep trying to win.”

  Malo's thoughts were tangled. “I still don’t get it."

  Jain smiled at Malo. “One day, you will,” he said softly. “One day, you’ll meet someone who’ll show you just how fun fighting can be. It’ll be so thrilling that you won’t even notice the pain. You won’t think about how to hurt them the most. All that will matter is doing your absolute best to win.”

  He paused, letting the words sink in.

  “When that day comes, you’ll understand why fighting can be beautiful. And you’ll be happy and thankful that you kept training, that you used that gift of yours well, that you managed to reach that point.”

  Malo noticed a small tear in Jain's eye.

  “You’ll thank yourself for enduring everything up until then.”

  ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Malo exhaled, his eyes distant as he remembered Jain’s words. “Since I was a kid, I’ve always been fighting. Not that I really chose it, but fighting was the one thing that made people stop fearing me and start respecting me.”

  He continued. “It was easy. Every match was the same, ending with a single hit. No one could last more than that, and yet, everyone still enjoyed it. They liked seeing me destroy every opponent effortlessly. For some reason, it captivated them.”

  “And what about you?” I asked.

  “I didn’t understand them,” he admitted. “What was so fun about watching me win all the time?" He paused. “Then I thought back to when Jain first introduced me to fighting. He said that one day, I’d be in a fight so thrilling that I wouldn’t notice the pain or the suffering. I’d be too focused on simply trying to win, rather than trying to hurt my opponent.”

  I scoffed. “That’s not possible.”

  Malo looked back down. “Because of that, I’ve developed a habit of stalling my matches. Rather than ending them in one hit, I’ve given my opponents chances, chances to make me enjoy the fight, to see what Jain meant….....but it's never worked. And since no one wants to see a dragged out fight, I’ve been forced to end it anyway, while hoping that maybe someone might be able to get back up.”

  He then looked at me. “But you’re different.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re amazing. You used your speed and intelligence to evade all my attacks and counter at any chance." Malo smiled at the thought of it. "Losing to you, it made me angry. But not at you, at myself, for not being strong enough to make it last longer.”

  He nodded, but not at me. It felt as though the gesture was meant for someone else. “Beric, with you, it’s possible."

  A faint shimmer began to glow around him.

  I froze.

  Body-strengthening magic.

  “Thank you, Beric,” he said quietly, “for reminding me there’s a reason to keep fighting.”

  I readied my stance.

  “You reminded me that as long as I keep fighting, no matter how dreary or mundane my matches may be, it will come. It may only be a single match—lasting minutes, perhaps seconds—but it will come. A bright, exhilarating match that reminds me why I began fighting in the first place.”

  He exhaled slowly.

  “That’s why I want to keep fighting. Not for the spectators, not for honor, not for revenge. I want to fight you for myself. I want to enjoy this battle before it ends, before boredom and tiresome matches return. I want to give everything I have, in the short time we share, for just one more chance.”

  Malo’s gaze lifted to the sky. "Until the sky disappears, until the clouds leave, the sun fades, and the color turns to black, I will keep fighting.”

  He lowered into a charging stance.

  He gave a bright smile. “Thank you."

  In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

  Within the small-time span of me recognizing that he had disappeared, he was already in the air with his knee aimed squarely at my face.

  Reflexively, I summoned a small barrier, but his force was overwhelming, and I was sent flying backward.

  The crowd’s jeers fell silent and were replaced by a tense hush.

  Dizzy, I staggered to my feet and met his gaze. Malo’s right arm was pulled back, ready to strike again at a moment’s notice.

  At the commenting stand, Gabno was too shocked to speak. He was waiting for Adam to call the match, but Adam himself was too stunned to even move.

  Jain, however, returned to his chair and leaned back with a wondrous look. “......It’s come.”