What had he gotten himself into?

Fully armored, broadsword hanging at his waste, Dart sat uncomfortably in the "Hero's Box," an area close to the arena reserved for competitors and their companions to watch the tournament. He had decided to come early to watch some of the earlier matches to learn the feel of the arena and size up some of the competition, but now he regretted it. Each of the first two matches were grisly to watch, with such fierce contestants that he had worried they would not yield. Several warriors had already suffered painful wounds, and Dart was glad that they weren't life-threatening. But the thing that made him the most uncomfortable was the sheer number of people watching, even so early on the first day.

The circular arena was actually sunk into the ground, with sheer walls to prevent escape. Fifteen feet above the fight, about three hundred people sat in raised stands, cheering on their favorite contestant, booing when they were injured or bested. A plethora of signs warned against throwing anything into the arena, especially during an event, but Dart had noticed several of them heave various items in anger whenever their hero lost.

Dart had never seen so many people in one area before, and he began to worry for his own wellbeing once he entered the arena. What if the shouts threw him off? What if his opponent was the favorite, and the crowd attacked him after the match if he won? So many negative scenarios flew through his mind that it was hard to even focus on the fight transpiring before him.

These two men, the fourth battle of the day, had entered on opposite sides of the arena and started attacking almost before the bell had even chimed to begin the fight. Both wielded swords, and both focused more on dealing damage than on defending themselves. Already, each had several taken several strikes, and their clothing was getting bloodied very quickly. Dart knew that their elevated heartrates did not serve to prevent blood loss, and a few minutes later, each warrior was caked with it. Their footwork was sloppy, and they relied more on strength than strategy. Potentially a fatal mistake.

Still, as Dart watched, one of them began to falter: the man with the heavier armor. In an attempt to prepare a better defense, he had sacrificed his stamina. Slowly, his movements grew more and more clumsy, and eventually, he realized his situation and yielded the fight.

Raising a bloody sword in the air, the winner shouted as the stands erupted into applause, deafening Dart momentarily. After the winner's name was announced, the two warriors sauntered out of the arena, one limping slightly.

Dart's heart began to pound. I'm next, he thought. Each of the matches had an hour time slot, which was more than enough for a simple one-on-one battle. As a result, there was usually at least a half hour between matches - plenty of time for contestants or spectators to mill about and explore the other attractions adorning the sides of the tent. Ringing the edge were innumerable concessions, carnival games, betting tables, and other forms of entertainment. Right now, Dart didn't care about a single one of them; he had precious few minutes before he would be the one fighting.

His leg bounced off the balls of his feet as he watched the time slide by on the giant clock hung on the far wall. He had only twenty minutes now, five until he had to be in the waiting room downstairs.

A large canvas below the clock indicated the rankings of each contestant in the form of a bracket. Thirty-two contestants whittled down to one winner. Right now, the first tier was full of names, but the second tier only had three: the winners of the first three matches. Even as he waited, Dart saw a young boy climb up on a ladder and paint the name of the most recent winner onto the chart. If he was lucky, his would be the next to go up.

As the clock ticked closer to the hour, Dart swore and stood abruptly before turning and heading to the left and down the stairs leading to the waiting room. His heart thudded. Where were his friends? They should be here by now to support him.

He emerged from the stairwell into a rather small room with a single doorway leading out into the arena, although a low railing made it possible to see the fight from any seat. Benches lined the wall to his right, and several chairs sat around a small table before him. To the left were two beds, and the contender from the previous match lay in one of them, being tended to by a doctor. Most of the blood had been cleaned off his arms and face, but the sight combined with Dart's nerves to make him feel a wave of nausea. He pulled out a chair at the table and sank into it, sitting rigidly in an attempt to mask his unease.

Hadn't he been excited about this tournament? How silly that it now filled him with fear. He knew battle, and he knew war, but to show off his skill like a sport just seemed wrong to him somehow. He was hoping for an easy victory, but there were too many variables, too many possibilities of what could go wrong.

His leg began to bounce again, and he quickly reprimanded it.

"Dart, it's you!" The unfamiliar voice made him jump, and he turned quickly to see the girl with red hair who had helped him register. Grinning from ear to ear, she rushed toward him and shook his hand a little too vigorously. "I was hoping you'd be put on my side of the arena. It seems like I got all the cute ones this year." She winked at him.

Intensely more uncomfortable, Dart shifted awkwardly and tried to think of what to say. Luckily, the girl laughed and spoke again before he had to.

"I'm just teasing you! Sort of... I never introduced myself, but my name is Ginger. I guess you're the next competitor?"

Dart nodded stiffly.

"Excellent! So you already know all the rules. Be smart, be fast, and win! It starts in ten minutes. You ready?"

"Definitely," he forced out with a smile.

"Got anybody special in the stands...?" She winked again.

"Some... friends."

"Oh, don't look so sour! You're gonna do great. Look at you!" She reached out and poked his shoulder before exclaiming, "Wow! You feel really warm." She then pressed her hand to his forehead, and he recoiled from the invasion of privacy. "Are you sick? Is that why you look so upset?"

"No, no," he said hurriedly before forcing the heat away. "Just nerves, I think." He offered an awkward chuckle, and she smiled. I have to pay more attention to that, he thought. I can't let any fire get through in that arena.

He stood and walked toward the doorway, eager to get out from Ginger's grasp. "Is it time?" Hopefully he didn't seem too rude.

"Yes! Good luck, Dart! I'll be rooting for you."

The sentiment meant nothing to him. Not only was Ginger little more than an acquaintance, but he wouldn't be able to focus on any of the cheers anyway. He stood there, eyeing the hordes of people, for several minutes before he was told to move. He took a deep breath and walked out as the crowd roared. On the other side, a burly man in heavy armor hefted an axe while he strolled to the white circle painted on the dirt in the middle of the arena. He eyed Dart with contempt and an evil grin.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" a bodiless voice rang out. "From the north side of the arena: hailing from southern Serdio, Gorgaga!" The warrior lifted his axe, encouraging the onlookers as they cheered for him. "And from the south side of the arena: from eastern Serdio, Dart!"

Dart could barely hear his own thoughts above the din of the crowd, and refused to flaunt the way his opponent had. Instead, he took this opportunity to search the crowd for three specific people.

"Go, Dart!"

The cry was barely audible, but Dart honed in on that familiar voice, whirling suddenly until his eyes met hers. Shana, with Lavitz and Rose on either side of her, was waving frantically to try to catch his attention. A smile broke out on his face, and he waved to them. Shana and Lavitz were standing excitedly, like most of the crowd, but Rose was seated. Most might consider her apathetic to the whole affair, but Dart could tell that she was giving him more attention than normal; she was intrigued.

"And the battle starts in three..."

Dart turned back to Gorgaga.

"Two..."

He drew his sword.

"One..."

Turning slightly and placing his left foot forward, he assumed a defensive stance.

GONG.

Much like those fools Dart had seen earlier, Gorgaga rushed at him, bearing his axe aloft to bring it down on Dart's head. Smoothly, effortlessly, Dart sidestepped the wild attack and slashed at the back of the man's leg, cutting just barely into his calf. His blow was carefully controlled as he wished to avoid another situation like with Lavitz and Drake. The cry of pain elicited cheers from the onlookers, and Dart suddenly remembered where he was. He glanced up at the throng of people, half of them on their feet, and felt his heard pound once again.

Gorgaga took the opportunity and slashed at Dart's right arm, and he only barely managed to swing out of the way.

Focus, Dart, he scolded.

Lifting his sword, ready to defend himself, Dart eased left as his enemy did the same. They circled each other for a few seconds, each waiting for the other to initiate another round of blows. Dart knew that his actions were more precise and his battle senses honed by his dragoon spirit, but even so, Gorgaga seemed to move sluggishly and sloppily. He was reminded of the foolish Sandora soldiers in Hoax. Watching his footsteps closely, Dart could see that he was untrained and undisciplined.

Despite knowing that he was in little danger, as he felt the tension of battle mount, the push of the fire within him grew in intensity. He fought to shove it down; he could not afford a dramatic display of magic in front of so many people, even that which he could access in his human form. That kind of attention would only bring trouble.

This time, Dart struck first, feigning an attack from the right but swinging up from the left. He was clearly the faster of the two, and easily made contact, dealing Gorgaga the very blow that he had tried to place on Dart, cutting across his opponent's dominant arm.

Another cheer swept the crowd, and Dart struggled to remain focused. Gorgaga arced his axe toward Dart's head, quite obviously foul play in a no-kill tournament. Ducking, Dart avoided the attack and tried to step forward, but the gasp from the crowd distracted him. His feet did not obey, and he stumbled forward, falling face-first into the dirt. Cursing repeatedly, he scrambled to get up as he heard the swoosh of an axe. At the last second, he rolled out from under it, but not quite fast enough. The sharp blade pierced through the thinnest part of his armor, cutting deeply into his side, forcing a cry to escape him. Ignoring the pain, he rolled once more, using the momentum to lift him onto his feet, hand still tightly gripping his sword hilt.

He glared at Gorgaga, who just laughed with demonic glee. But something was wrong. The pain in his side was spreading abnormally, like something was forcefully crawling its way through his veins and trying to stop his heart.

"Is this... poison?" he asked, clutching his side and intensely grateful for the power inside him that was fighting against it. He was fairly certain that if he were not a dragoon, he would be doubled over in pain, unable to fight any longer.

Through a sneer, Gorgaga's gravelly voice said, "A thousand gold is a lot of money." And with that he rushed forward, no doubt expecting an easy victory. But Dart was no ordinary man. He brought his sword up with both hands, blocking the heavy attack that came down toward his head, ignoring the jolt that ran through his left side. Gorgaga threw his weight on the axe, trying to push Dart to his knees, but Dart refused to go down. Vaguely, he was aware of the rustle in the crowd as he shouted and pushed the man off him before lifting his right foot and kicking him backward with all his strength. He struck at Gorgaga's core, forcing him backward to the ground, axe spinning away across it. He was helpless.

Stepping forward, left hand bloody as he clutched his burning side, Dart kicked the axe out of Gorgaga's reach and placed his blade mere inches from the man's throat.

"Yield," he said with all the authority he could muster, despite panting from his wound.

"You little-" began Gorgaga, shifting his weight to try to stand.

Dart brought his foot down on Gorgaga's chest, pressing him into the dirt, and let the cold steel of his sword rest on his skin.

"Yield."

After an angry growl, Gorgaga held his hand up, pointed to the ceiling, and spun it twice, yielding the battle.

Muscles relaxing slightly, Dart removed his sword and his foot and walked back to the center of the arena. Still grumbling, Gorgaga followed suit, and they were soon joined by Ginger. The three stood in the center as the loud voice rang out once more.

"And the winner of this match is... DART!"

The spectators outdid all their previous cheers as Ginger lifted Dart's arm into the air, eliciting yet more applause. His eyes drifted to his friends, and he saw Shana looking happy but worried, Lavitz ecstatic, and Rose somber, no longer interested in the event. He smiled as he saw Shana's face, and without thinking, he winked at her.

But then the moment of celebration was over, and he was being ushered out of the arena into the waiting room.

"Now, Mr. Dart," Ginger was saying, "we need to get that cut checked out and bandaged up! It could get infected, and we don't want that happening. You could get sick, and then you couldn't compete anymore!"

"No, I'm fine. I'll handle it," he replied. He was eager to get back to Lavitz and Shana, and he knew that Shana could fix it anyway. His fiery blood had burned away the poison, and now all that was left was the dull throb of broken skin and muscle.

"That won't do! Just let us clean it up for you!"

"I promise, I can manage." He mustered up a smile, trying to convince her that he was fine, and to his relief, she conceded, though not without a doubtful glance at the blood now covering his hand and soaking into his trousers.

"Very well, then. You hurry on back to that pretty girl! But first, you should know that your next match is in three days, at..." She glanced at a sheet of paper lying on the table. "Oh! Nine in the morning. Looks like you'll be first that day."

Nodding his thanks, he promptly turned and rushed up the stairs.

He barely saw Shana coming before she slammed into him, arms around his neck. He winced at the pain it conjured in his side, but said nothing. His right arm wrapped loosely around her, while the other tried to keep pressure on his wound. She felt cool to the touch, somehow satisfying despite his constant desire for warmth. For a moment, he didn't ever want to let go, but that was when she pulled away.

"You did a great job!" she said happily. "Although you did have me worried there for a minute," she admitted, eyes glancing down at his bloodied hand.

"You had us all worried there for a minute," came Lavitz's voice from behind her. He approached and carefully placed his arm around Dart, patting him on the back, careful not to jostle him. "But that does look pretty bad," he said, indicating Dart's side. "We should go get that patched up."

"Agreed," said Dart, feeling the hurt slicing through him.

They made their way back to the inn, several people congratulating him along the way. Every step sent jolts through his side, but he did his best to smile back. He was more than pleased to find himself back in his room several minutes later with no one but his friends. He struggled to remove his armor, wincing and even grunting at the pain, but he refused to ask for help, ignoring the worried eyes of Lavitz and Shana. Afterwards, his head spun, and he pulled off his tunic and stood bare-chested, holding his side in pain.

"It's probably best if you sit down," said Shana worriedly, although her eyes refused to meet his. He squinted at her strange behavior, but said nothing.

"Will it hurt?" he asked, sitting in one of the rickety wooden chairs. His entire forearm was now covered in blood, his pants soaked through to the knee.

"No," replied Rose.

Lavitz stepped forward with a clean towel and said, "You've lost a lot of blood. I hope you don't have another match soon. You'd do well to rest up first."

"Not for three days," said Dart, struggling slightly to stay awake.

"That's good."

Shana took the towel and started dabbing away the blood around the wound, glancing nervously up at him every few seconds. To give her more space, he reached back and lay his arm on the back of the chair. Color rushed into her cheeks, but she stared fixedly on her work.

Suddenly, he was keenly aware of how close she was.

As the towel pressed against the cut itself, Dart drew in a sharp breath, closed his eyes, and gripped the chair tightly.

"Sorry," she muttered.

"S'okay," he said through gritted teeth. He had been through much worse than this.

At last, she pulled back, setting the towel on the table, and turned to Rose.

"So, what now?" Her hands fidgeted nervously.

After taking a deep breath, Rose began to speak. I wonder if she gets tired of teaching us this stuff, thought Dart.

"You have to channel the power of the dragoon spirit. Feel it within you, and focus on what you want to do. The white silver dragoon is unique in that your power comes from a desire to protect others, rather than a desire to vanquish. So use your care of Dart to help fuel the power."

Nodding, Shana bent down again and placed her hands near the wound. No doubt trying to mimic what she had seen Dart do in the past, she closed her eyes to focus. Waiting patiently, Dart watched her. Her hands were mere inches from him; he could feel the cool of her skin pull from his heat. When nothing happened, she drew her face tighter, crinkling her eyebrows and nose, and he stopped thinking. His right hand twitched, longing to jump to her face, but he fought back to keep it still. Now was not the time.

He was suddenly distracted by a bright light and looked down to see the white healing energy emanate from Shana's hands, pouring directly into his skin. A soothing sensation flowed through his side, and he breathed deeply as the relief came. A moment later, Shana opened her eyes to see his smooth, uncut skin and smiled widely.

"It worked!" she exclaimed.

Dart stood, but cringed when the movement was not as painless as he had expected. When his head began to pound, he sat back down in the chair.

"Are you okay?" asked Shana, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Did I do something wrong?"

Her hand was cool against his skin, soothing. As he fought to stay in the present, he shook his head slightly, unable to properly answer her. Anchoring his consciousness to her touch, he waited for his dark vision to clear.

"No," said Rose. "Your magic is limited in human form, just as it is with any of us. Your healing was effective, but incomplete. You healed the external damage. Now it's up to his body to deal with the internal damage. Not to mention the blood loss."

"We should give you some time to rest," inserted Lavitz. He looked meaningfully at Shana; her worried glances in Dart's direction made it obvious that she didn't want to leave. Dart wasn't sure that he wanted her to, either.

"Right..." she said hesitantly. Then turning to Dart, "I'll bring you some damp cloths to clean up the blood. Then you can sleep for a while if you want."

Dart nodded as the three of them left, Shana grabbing the soiled towel and casting one more backward glance on her way out.

In the lonely silence, Dart sighed heavily. He had succeeded in his first challenge, but had almost been killed by an idiotic brute with an axe. He swore to do better next time. He knew that he was better than that, that the battle should have been supremely easy, and that he shouldn't have been wounded at all. In the next match, he wouldn't be so distracted. Now that he knew what he was doing, he would be able to tune out all the screaming voices and focus on the battle. He had to be better. Yesterday, he was mostly hoping to win the grand prize to repay Lavitz for all he had done, but now what he really wanted was to prove himself as a warrior.

Grunting with his movements, he stood and made his way to his bed. As he sat, the door opened, and Shana stepped in carrying a plethora of clean, wetted towels.

"Let me clean you up," she said, making her way over to him.

She set the pile of towels on the floor and picked one up, grabbing Dart's arm and starting to wipe it clean. Her movements were soft and tender, but well-practiced. She had done this before; Dart recalled the rooms full of wounded soldiers in Hoax and how well she had tended to them.

"You're really good at this," he said.

"I'm not doing much," she chuckled.

"You say that, but... things like this... matter."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you always do things where most people wouldn't give a second thought. But... even though people don't see it... you're really good at this kind of thing."

She smiled softly and glanced up at him. "Well, thank you."

Moving on to his hand, so very bloodied from clutching his side for so long, Shana remained focused on her work. Dart knew that he could clean his own hands, but something kept him from stopping her.

They sat in silence for a while - Shana working, Dart watching - until she grabbed a fresh towel and moved to his side. She bent in close to him as she pressed the towel against his skin, making him wince as she moved over the healed cut. It felt like a nasty bruise.

"That's probably why the dragoon spirit chose you," he said.

"What?"

"I mean, you're first aid skills... And your desire to help people, even if they don't notice."

"Oh... You think so?"

"Yeah. You're the perfect fit for a dragoon that's full of healing magic."

Smiling again, she said, "Thank you. I appreciate that."

She worked for a few more minutes, a little happier than she was before, and Dart was content. When all the blood was gone, she leaned back and looked at him.

"All done!" she announced. "You need to get some rest now. Let your body finish healing."

He nodded, but was distracted. Her eyes, always her eyes, cleared away his thoughts, leaving him speechless. Finally, he managed to say one word: "Shana."

"Yeah?" She waited for him to speak, something in her eager.

There it was again, that desire to touch her face. She was close to him, easy to reach, and he'd need only to move his hand. He could pull her close, and -

What are you doing?

The powerful cry came from within his own mind, and he turned away from her intoxicating eyes. His was thinking irrationally, emotionally. Suddenly feeling very exposed, nervous even, he instinctively pulled away from the situation.

"You're right, I should probably... get some rest."

He turned away and shifted closer to the center of the bed - farther from her. Whatever was going on inside him needed to be quenched. He had been wounded, and had lost a lot of blood. He was dazed. That's why he was behaving like this. If he slept, no doubt all would be back to normal by the time he woke.

"Right," she said.

He ignored her tone and lay back on the bed as she stood, gathered the towels, and headed for the door. As she walked out, he looked at her one last time; she was angry. The door slammed behind her, and he sighed, dropping his head onto the pillow in frustration. He didn't want to deal with this; he wanted to sleep and pretend that it never happened.