Sweat poured down Iggy's face in waterfalls. Blood rushed to his straining face as he struggled to push himself up from the ground. His arms felt like someone had replaced his underdeveloped muscles with molten lava. A shuttering exhale escaped his lips before he collapsed to the cold floor of the empty hallway.
Tenn, who leaned against the wall with his arms folded, clicked his tongue.
Iggy rolled over onto his back, sucking in rapid breaths while blinking away the silver spots dotting his vision.
"Fifteen press-ups? Is that seriously the best you can do?"
"I'm trying my best," Iggy wheezed. "Between working in the mines and taking care of my mother, I never had time to exercise."
"You'd think years of physical labor would've done something for you."
"Yeah, well, all it did was almost get me killed."
He scowled at the memory of his near-death days before in the mines. Using his quivering arms for support, he propped himself up and threw his head back. His sweat-coated hair clung to his face for dear life. After a few moments, his breathing returned to normal.
For the past few days, he and Tenn had been training in various corridors throughout the Chyron. The courtyards were too crowded during the day, and Iggy was still on Vonn's hit list. Empty halls and their respective cells were the best places to carry out his training.
Today's lesson centered around Iggy's fitness—or lack thereof.
His stamina was next to nonexistent. His strength wasn't far behind. While he was quick and agile, his bum ankle even made walking a chore. He could barely do a press-up without wanting to die. How did he expect to survive the arena?
A dejected sigh left his lips.
"Get up," Tenn ordered.
"Can't I just lay here for a while?"
"You wanted me to train you, didn't you?"
Iggy sighed.
"Get up, Iggorii."
Groaning, he forced himself to his feet. He clasped his hands together and held them behind his head, attempting to allow more oxygen to fill his lungs. It didn't work. He squinted at the Andradan ahead of him, who grabbed two long, metal rods from the ground.
"What're those?"
"They were mops." Tenn tossed one to him, which he nearly dropped. "Now they're sparring weapons."
His face lit up. "We're sparring?" Grinning, he gripped the rod with both hands and pretended to strike down imaginary foes. Out the corner of his eye, he could see Tenn frowning disapprovingly at him.
"You are even worse than I thought," the old man said.
Iggy ignored him. He pointed his pretend weapon at him. "Alright, show me what you've got then."
Tenn allowed himself to smile. He twirled the metal rod in his hand with enough dexterity to make Iggy gawk. The Andradan had pulled his jumpsuit down during the start of the day's lesson, revealing the white undershirt he wore underneath. His toned arms flexed as he spun the pole. The dark ink decorating his pearly skin particularly caught Iggy's eye. With a low grunt, Tenn slashed the rod through the air in a wide arc. Spinning on the balls of his feet, he brought it close to his body, both of his hands grasping where the hilt of a sword would have been.
He was in his element. Not only was Tenn a capable fighter, but he was also a master swordsman. He would have no trouble making it far in the games. As for Iggy, he wouldn't have stood a chance against someone like Tenn.
His face fell, his shoulders following suit.
Tenn smirked at the boy. "Was that up to your standards?"
"Whatever."
Tenn continued demonstrating a few maneuvers with his fake weapon. As Iggy studied his movements, he continued to build upon the theories he'd been constructing every night since he arrived on the Chyron.
When he first asked the old man what landed him on the ship, he hadn't been very forthcoming with his answer. He'd asked a few times since then, and each time he was met with the same, vague response. Whatever it was, Tenn clearly didn't want him knowing. To say that was suspicious was a massive understatement. Vonn had mentioned something about the man being a big deal back on Galenrad, one of the main worlds dominated by the Andradans. Along with the Elysians, they were a spacefaring species, their numbers spread widely across the galaxy. While Elysians populated much of their own empire, Andradans were mostly found in the Axaris Systems. With that in mind, along with Tenn's rebel tattoo, Iggy got to thinking. If Tenn wouldn't reveal the secrets of his past, perhaps he could trick him into doing so.
"Hey," Iggy said, interrupting the man's routine. "I've got a question."
Tenn lowered his rod. "Go on."
"Where'd you learn all this?"
He fell silent.
"Vonn said something about the Seventh Battalion? What is that?"
"That doesn't concern you—"
"Look, if we're going to be partners, we have to be able to trust each other."
Tenn snorted. "Partners? We're not partners. I'm only training you because I'm bored on this wretched ship, and you annoyed me into doing so."
"Keep telling yourself that, old man."
The Andradan cut his steely eyes at the Arigorii. "Watch it."
Iggy raised his hands innocently. "I just wanted to know how you got so good. I've never seen anyone fight like you. Granted, I haven't seen many people fight so the bar isn't very high, but—"
"Please." Tenn pinched the bridge of his nose. "Stop talking."
Iggy immediately swallowed his words.
"The Seventh Battalion is the most revered group of warriors on Galenrad. Thousands of years and hundreds of generations of greatness and legacy. My father's father's father fought in some of the greatest battles our people have ever seen."
"So, they taught you how to fight?"
"To put it simply, yes." Tenn rubbed his wrist. Iggy hadn't noticed before, but he sported a crude brand, just below his thumb. He didn't recognize the symbol, but he figured it had something to do with the Seventh Battalion. "I was their Lord Commander."
Iggy nearly choked on his own spit. "Lord Commander?!"
What the hell is he doing on this ship?
His brows furrowed as he remembered something. "Wait a minute, isn't Galenrad in the Cadmus Rift? That's outside Elysian territory. How'd you get captured by Elysian soldiers?"
"Who said I got captured?"
Now he was really confused.
"Okay, so what happened then?"
Tenn tapped his metal rod against the ground. "Enough chit-chat. It's time for your first lesson in sword-fighting."
Iggy pursed his lips. He'd gotten some information, but not nearly enough. It was a start, though. If he kept digging, he eventually would've struck something valuable. His little detective mission could wait. Learning how to handle a sword—or mop handle in this case—was far more important.
With his rod in hand, he stepped forward and listened to the instructions Tenn gave him.
#
"Have you killed before?" Iggy asked Tenn during dinner.
The man's darkened like a storm cloud looming over an unsuspecting village. His lips pressed into a flat line as he flexed his jaw. Iggy immediately regretted his question. Dropping his eyes to the table, he mentally cursed himself.
"Sorry," he began, "I shouldn't have asked."
"Yes."
He lifted a brow.
"I've killed before."
Iggy remained silent for a few moments, choosing to nibble on the piece of bread that had been sitting on the edge of his tray. After a while, he glanced at the man sitting across from him.
"How many people?"
Tenn paused as if he were counting the deaths in his head. Iggy was afraid of the answer.
"Too many."
The man was a soldier after all. It came with the territory.
Another question pricked at Iggy's mind. He didn't want to ask it; things were already tense as it was. But he knew he'd drive himself crazy if he didn't. Tenn likely already found him annoying. Scratch that. He knew the old man did. What would one more probing question do?
"What did it feel like?"
Tenn squinted at him. The boy couldn't tell what he was thinking behind those cold eyes of his. Most of the time he couldn't decipher what hid beyond them. This was one of those times.
"Why do you ask, boy?"
"I'm going to have to kill someone in that arena, aren't I."
Tenn hesitated. Then he nodded. He took a sip from the metal tin of water resting near his clenched fist.
"Arigoriis are pacifists," Iggy said, his voice so low that he was mostly talking to himself. "I've never even hurt someone before. Well, there was that one time I stepped on Squok's foot, but that was an accident."
He didn't know much about his people, just bits and pieces he got from his parents and old encyclopedias he could find, but he did know they weren't warriors. They weren't killers either. Arigoriis didn't even eat the flesh of other beings; they opted for the fruits and vegetables that grew across Yensari.
Iggy dreamed of his homeworld often. If he made it out of this alive, that was the first place he was going after he returned to his mother. They had been away for too long. Home was calling them. It was always calling.
"Taking a life changes you," Tenn revealed. He kept his eyes trained on his tray of food, untouched, likely to remain that way. "It corrupts your soul. Clouds your mind. But sometimes...it's necessary."
"Do you regret it? Killing people, I mean."
"In short, no."
"What does that mean?"
"There are some people I regret killing. There are others who I'd kill again, no questions asked, given the chance."
Iggy nodded solemnly.
"When you step foot in that arena, Iggorii," Tenn began, "you'll have to make a decision. When an opponent is rushing toward you with the intention of taking your life, you'll be forced to act. Or else you'll be destroyed. You cannot hesitate. You cannot show mercy."
He weighed the man's words, testing them for validity.
Was that truly the only way he could win? By ending someone else's life?
Before, he'd told himself he'd do whatever it took to return to his mother. But the more he thought about it, the harder it got to imagine himself ending another living being's time in this world. Like Tenn told him earlier, everyone had their own sob story, their own reasons for being on the Chyron. They all were fighting for something—or even someone.
Who was he to place his own needs above theirs?
The fluttering black and gold flag of the Elysian Empire filled his head.
That was when he realized something. The empire didn't care; for millennia, Elysians had been placing their wants over the needs of their subjects. The arena and the games were constructed purely for their entertainment. They didn't care about him or his mother. They didn't care about the millions of Hands and Slavs across the galaxy struggling to feed themselves.
All they cared about was themselves.
Iggy's hands curled into fists. His eyes flickered over to Tenn's neck tattoo.
"Why do you have that?"
Tenn kept his eyes down.
"You're a rebel," Iggy pressed. "That's why you were arrested." But that conclusion only spawned more questions. Any involvement in any kind of insurgency was punishable by death. Iggy had only escaped that fate because Commander au Victorus happened to believe he wasn't actually a rebel.
How had Tenn avoided execution?
"Are you done interrogating me, boy?"
"Not even close."
"Well, I'm done answering questions." Tenn rose from the table, abandoning his dinner. "We'll meet again in the east corridor tomorrow morning. Don't be late."
Before Iggy could argue, the old man wove through the crowd of prisoners milling about the cafeteria. He disappeared into the sea of navy blue. The boy groaned before taking another bite out of his stale bread.
Next to him, a rather scaly-looking gentleman pointed meekly at Tenn's untouched food. Their wet tongue poked out from their beak of a mouth. "You gonna eat that?"
"Have at it."
They devoured the meal in seconds.
Iggy shuddered. He couldn't wait to get off this ship.