Haschel's match flew by. It was a miracle that his opponent made it as far as he did, and Dart wasn't at all surprised when Haschel was declared victor only six minutes in. After the match was over and the men had cleared the arena, Dart made his way down to the waiting room, where Haschel stood waiting. Ginger was also there, and grinned widely when she spotted Dart coming down the stairs. He stiffened, preparing for the onslaught.

"Dart!" she cried before rushing over to him. "Congratulations on making it to the semifinals! I'm a huge fan of yours now, and I'm just sure that you're going to win." She winked and touched his forearm.

Laughing nervously, he replied, "Thanks, Ginger. I'm glad I've been entertaining you." Then glancing over to Haschel, he pleaded with his eyes for help.

"Hey, Dart!" said Haschel from the other side of the room. "Why don't you come and wait with me?"

Dart nodded awkwardly to Ginger before rushing over to stand beside him.

"Just a minute or two and then they'll bring us out and announce us all," said Haschel.

"Aren't there four of us in the semifinals?"

"Yeah, the others will be coming out on the other side. Symmetry, or something." He gestured across the arena, and Dart strained to see anyone in the comparatively dark room. He thought he saw a couple silhouettes, but he couldn't quite make them out.

"So it's you, me, and the archer. Who's the fourth?" asked Dart.

Haschel shrugged. "I missed the first match this morning, too."

After another moment of waiting, the announcer exited the other side of the arena and moved to the center as cheers rang throughout the audience.

"This is it!" he said dramatically. "We have reached the last stage of our tournament. The most exciting, the most daring, and the most dangerous. Which one of these men will claim the right to go head to head in our final match?"

He waited for a moment for the screams to die down before adding, "No doubt you already know all their names, but let's introduce these fine warriors to you!" He held out his hands, and Dart and Haschel moved forward into the light as two men did so on the other side. They all came to stand behind the announcer.

The archer, Atlow, Dart recognized from the earlier match. But the other man had escaped his attention until now. He carried himself with an air of confidence despite his wiry appearance. The man was young, not much older than Dart himself, and his hair was a silvery platinum, brightly reflecting the overhead lights. He wore black, adding an air of mystery, and he was tall, lean, and pale. He didn't seem quite so intimidating, but Dart knew that appearances could be deceiving. Their eyes met for a split second, and Dart shuddered. He couldn't help but feel that this man knew him, although Dart was fairly certain that they'd never met before.

The contestants lined up behind the announcer, and he walked over to Dart, who stood at the end of the line.

"First, we have the young flame, Dart!" He grinned and waved to the crowd as they applauded.

"Next, the master of the Rouge School, Haschel!" Similar cheers greeted Haschel as he raised his fists.

"Third, the fearsome bowman, Atlow!" Atlow's grim face turned to a grim smile.

"And last, the platinum-haired Lloyd!" The last man's expression remained completely unchanged as spectators cried out in applause. He seemed to have acquired quite a fanbase.

"One of these men will be named the strongest warrior in all of Endiness, but who will it be?" incited the announcer as the silence returned. "In just thirty minutes, make sure you're back in your seat to see the first semifinal match between... Haschel and Lloyd!"

The announcer turned to them and indicated that they could leave, and Dart turned toward the waiting room and marched forward, waving to the crowds as they cheered. Haschel followed him, and soon they were both standing inside the little room.

"You going to just wait here?" Dart asked.

"Yeah, no need to go back up. But you should go see your friends. You'll be able to have a better vantage point anyway."

"Okay. I'll see you after, man."

Dart clapped him on the shoulder before heading up the stairs and finding his way to his friends. He found a seat between Lavitz and Shana, shooting her a quick smile as he sat down.

"Let's watch Haschel win this match!" he said excitedly, rubbing his hands together.

"I hope he does," said Lavitz. "I haven't seen Lloyd fight before, and I have no idea if he's any good."

"Yeah, but we know about Haschel. He could probably keep up with even us in combat."

"True."

"He'll be fine! And then I'll win my match, and we can go at it in the final round. See if his speed really holds up next to a dragoon's."

They continued to chatter back and forth for the next half hour until the match neared its start. Dart glanced around the arena, noticing the hordes of people, far more than he had seen at any previous match, and he hoped that he would still be able to tune them out when he fought Atlow.

Haschel and Lloyd entered the arena and readied for battle. At least, Haschel did. Lloyd drew his sword, but did little more than stand there staring Haschel down while Haschel assumed a fighting stance.

The battle began in a flurry of motion that was hard to follow. Haschel was heavily relying on his speed, trying to strike fast and hard before Lloyd had a chance to return blows, but Dart was taken aback by Lloyd's response. He was fast - somehow faster than Haschel - dodging this way and that without even bothering to raise his sword. Haschel did not back down, but continued to attack, punching left and right, sweeping toward Lloyd's leg, never making contact.

Suddenly, Lloyd dropped his sword and raised his arms. He caught one of Haschel's punches with his wrist and swept it to the side before jabbing forward with his left hand, hitting Haschel with such force that he stumbled backward several steps.

"What...?" said Dart.

He couldn't quite believe what he had seen. A spread of murmurs ran throughout the crowd, and he shared a bewildered look with Lavitz.

Haschel recovered quickly, but it was clear that he was taken aback as blood flooded from his nose. He raised his fists, defensively this time, and waited. Lloyd seemed wholly unconcerned, knelt down, and retrieved his sword. He held it before him, half inviting, half threatening. Haschel eased forward again, much more cautious this time.

Lloyd struck so abruptly that Dart wondered if he had missed something when Haschel cried out and clutched his arm. The red shone even from the great distance between them, and Dart felt concern rise in his throat. He sense both Lavitz and Shana tense beside him, and a quick glance showed that even Rose was intrigued with the battle. She leaned forward, brow furrowed, lips pursed, critically eyeing the man with platinum hair.

Again, Haschel readied himself for combat. He made several jabs at Lloyd, none landing. Then, in another whirl of motion, Lloyd grabbed Haschel's wrist, twisted him around, and wrapped his arm around Haschel's neck. The point of his sword was pressed against Haschel's spine, and for a split second, Dart thought that he was actually going to run him through. He and Lavitz stood abruptly, preparing to rush down to the arena to help him.

But the sword remained in place, and Haschel conceded the match. Lloyd released him, and Haschel fell forward, clearly gasping for breath; Lloyd had been squeezing his neck. He sheathed his sword and walked nonchalantly toward the center of the arena, not giving Haschel a backward glance.

"I'm going down there," said Dart, starting to move.

"Me, too," said Shana, standing. "I can heal him."

"It's probably best if you wait," interrupted Lavitz. "Let them patch him up down there, and you can heal him later. We shouldn't be showing off any magic."

Reluctantly, she nodded and sat down.

Rushing through the throngs of people discussing the match, Dart made his way down to the waiting room and found Haschel sitting on one of the beds, arm outstretched as an attendant cleaned the still-bleeding wound while Haschel held a cloth to his nose.

"Haschel!" he called out as he approached. Haschel looked up at him with a complex expression: sadness and disappointment mixed with shame.

"Hey, Dart," he said sadly.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I think my pride is hurt worse than my arm." He gave a faint chuckle.

Dart grinned and said, "Never serious."

"Except when I'm fighting."

"That guy was ridiculous, though," encouraged Dart. "Nobody could be that fast."

"Hm, maybe. You'll have your hands full with him, that's for sure."

"Don't remind me."

"How long until your match?"

Dart shrugged. "Half an hour, maybe more."

"You ready?"

Dart shook his head. "I thought so, but after that... I'm not so sure anymore." He watched as the attendant wrapped Haschel's cut in white cloth and tied it off tightly before walking away. Once he was out of earshot, Dart whispered, "Shana can fix that for you this evening, if you want."

"I might take her up on that! And you'll be fine. Atlow is no Lloyd. How hard can it be to beat a guy with a bow, anyway?" Haschel fingered the dressing on his arm.

"He got this far, didn't he?"

"Yeah, but you're the dragoon. You may even be good enough to beat Lloyd. Atlow will be no problem."

Happy to see Haschel's spirits a little higher, Dart stayed and talked with him for several more minutes before heading back up and depositing him with the others. When Shana asked if he was nervous about his upcoming match, Dart shrugged it off and tried to exude an air of confidence, though in truth he'd begun to doubt his own abilities. He'd been confident in Haschel, too.

With fifteen minutes left before his match, he made his way back down to the waiting room, where Ginger waited to bombard him with conversation about the last match. He steeled himself as she approached and nodded politely whenever she stopped for breath. Trying to put distance between them, he meandered over toward the arena entrance and strained to see his friends up in the stands. He managed to spot them and catch Shana's eye, and he waved up at them. Two minutes to go now.

He thanked Ginger for... something before stepping out into the arena. The stands cheered as he came face-to-face with Atlow. Dart readied his sword as Atlow knocked an arrow. Luckily, Dart had seen the man fight earlier; he knew that he needed to close the distance between them, and fast.

As soon as the gong sounded, he did just that. He darted forward at an angle, an arrow whizzing by his ear. Dirty cheat, he thought. The attack would have killed him had he not moved so fast. Before Atlow could even get another arrow from his quiver, Dart was in front of him. He couldn't help but grin at Atlow's startled expression, and he immediately started attacking.

His sword danced to and fro, swinging right and left, making ringing contact with the steel inlaid on the bow. He pressed his advantage, shuffling Atlow around the arena until something caught his eye. Standing in the door of the other waiting room was the silhouette of a tall, lean man, with hair that glinted in the light. Lloyd was watching him.

Taken aback by the eerie circumstance, Dart hesitated slightly. Atlow took full advantage of the distraction and kicked Dart backward. He cursed as he struggled to keep his balance, and tried to cast Lloyd to the back of his mind. Atlow was already at the other side of the arena, knocking an arrow. Dart prepared to rush toward him just as Atlow dragged the arrow along the stone wall, causing a spark and igniting a flame. Before Dart could react, the burning arrow was hurtling toward him.

Part of him wanted to laugh. The irony that Atlow was trying to defeat him with fire was almost too much for him. Instinctively, he reached up his hand to divert the flames elsewhere, and the arrow with it, but just then he noticed movement in the corner of his eye. Lloyd had shifted expectantly.

The realization of what he was about to do struck him to his core, and he practically felt Lavitz lean forward in the stands, wishing for him to stop. A display of his power in front of so many spectators would instantly arouse suspicions about them, spreading through the city like wildfire, and inevitably ending in their arrest.

But there was nothing to do: the arrow was flying at him, burning furiously, and he had wasted precious time raising his arm like a fool instead of trying to get out of the way. Desperately, he shifted to the side, hoping against hope that he would be fast enough, but he knew the instant that he failed. Pain seared through his right arm as the arrow sank deeply into his muscle, followed by a dimly warm sensation as its fire tried to burn him.

He cried out, and his left hand flew to the flaming arrow now lodged in his bicep. He struggled to focus; his injury from Gorgaga had not been nearly this deep or painful, and he dimly realized that he had lost hold of his sword. It lay uselessly at his feet. He stared at the arrow protruding from his arm, buried several inches in his skin, and the blood streaming toward the dirt below him. He reached up to pull it out.

Focus, Dart, he scolded himself. The battle isn't over. He would sacrifice too much time, and lose substantially more blood, should he try to remove the arrow. It could be dealt with after, but now, he needed to fight.

Breathing heavily, he shot a look over at Atlow to see him knocking another arrow, and determination rose within him. He could feel the heat of the dragoon threatening to take him over, and part of him desperately wanted to let it. But he thought of Shana in the stands, and of what would happen should Sandora get their hands on her, and he cast the though away, pushing the fire down until it was just smoldering cinders deep inside him.

He knelt down and grabbed his sword with his left hand, his right hand numb and his upper arm throbbing. Atlow fired, but this time Dart was ready. He easily sidestepped the bolt and sprinted forward, enraged.

His left arm was much more resistant to his commands than his right, but he'd spent long hours building up his strength in both arms during his time in the wilderness, and that was all he needed. Atlow was so bewildered that Dart had not conceded the match that he could barely keep up with his movements, dimmed as they were with his wound and off-hand attacks. Smashing with all his might, Dart hacked at the ridiculous bow, striking it as close to the center as possible, and then again and again and again. At last, with a mighty crack, the bow split in two, falling to the ground as two useless sticks tied together with a string.

Dart pressed his sword against Atlow's chest, glaring at him, until the man raised his hand and signaled his surrender. His ugly face contorted in rage, frustration, and loss, but Dart didn't care. He awkwardly sheathed his sword and stomped back to the center of the arena to be declared victor. Ginger came out looking worried, and held up his left arm this time as the crowds roared.

I'm glad they got a dramatic fight, he scorned.

Without a backward glance at Atlow, who no doubt mourned the loss of his prized bow, Dart plodded back to the waiting room.

"Dart, we really need to take care of that wound," said Ginger, her voice a little higher than normal.

He considered declining like he had last time, but he felt the blood still sliding over his fingers and decided otherwise. It would not do to walk around town with an arrow sticking out of his arm.

"Fine," he said callously before sitting on a bed.

Two attendants came near him and examined the wound before saying, "We have to pull the arrow out. It will hurt." They the offered him a piece of wood to bite down on, and he placed it in his mouth and braced himself.

The flavor of pine filled his mouth as one of the attendants fingered the arrow. Dart could see Ginger, horrified and watching from a distance, and he wished that Lavitz and Shana were there. Seeing Shana's face would do a great deal to calm him right now. But he said nothing. Every gentle push on the arrow was agony, and he closed his eyes.

In one swift motion, the attendant wrapped his hand around the shaft and yanked it out. Dart screamed, tears pricking his eyes. He leaned his head back as his heart raced and his vision blurred. He tried to focus on breathing to steady himself, but it didn't seem to be working. He could sense the flesh that had torn out with the arrow.

Feeling blood pulsing from the wound, Dart glanced down at it before immediately turning away from the hole. He struggled to relax the muscles in his arm, wound up tightly from the pain, but he couldn't seem to control his own body. He felt embarrassed as the tears slid down his face, and he was afraid he might grind his teeth down flat if he didn't relax soon.

He spat the piece of wood onto the floor as an attendant took a clean cloth and pressed it forcefully onto his arm, causing his head to spin again. The other attendant tied a tight tourniquet just above the wound to slow the bleeding, and they waited a few minutes for it to work. Dart felt his hand going numb, and he flexed his fingers as he felt tiny pinpricks in the tips. Then the attendant replaced the blood-soaked cloth with a fresh bandage before tying it securely and proceeding to clean the blood off Dart's arm.

It was another fifteen minutes before they would let him leave. The attendants instructed him to leave the tourniquet on for the rest of the day and to make sure he changed out the bandages every few hours, and they gave him several fresh ones. They promised to check it over the next day before the final match and told him to be there at least a half hour early. He nodded impatiently as they spoke to him; if he could just get back to Shana, everything would be okay again.

Because she can heal it, he told himself. That's all.

He would have bounded up the stairs had he not felt so dizzy. As he reached the top, he saw his friends: Haschel pacing nearby, Rose leaned up against the wall, Lavitz standing with his arms crossed and a worried look on his face, and Shana with her head buried in her hands. As they heard his footsteps, they all turned toward him.

Shana jumped toward him faster than anyone else and grabbed his hands gingerly. He saw tears in her eyes. Something caught in his throat at the sight.

"Are you okay?" she asked desperately, her lip trembling, eyes glancing between him and his arm.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he said, trying to sound as reassuring as possible.

"I heard you scream."

He tried to smile. "They had to take the arrow out, that's all."

She suddenly glanced around her, aware of the people watching, and nodded slowly before backing away slightly. He found that he had preferred it when she was closer.

"That looks pretty bad," mumbled Haschel, eyeing Dart's arm.

"Yeah, let's get you back to the inn. You need some rest," inserted Lavitz. And we need to heal you.

They turned toward the exit, but several men and women suddenly swarmed them, eager for a discussion with one of the two finalists in the tournament, but Dart completely ignored them. He was intensely grateful when Haschel and Lavitz both worked to shoo them away, and he found himself falling in line with Shana. He could hear her sniffling, and thought of how he would have felt had their positions been reversed.

It may have been stupid. He may have just been dazed, or maybe he just felt guilty. There may have been no proper explanation whatsoever. But he reached out and grabbed her hand. And he held it tight all the way back to the inn.

"There was nothing you did wrong," insisted Lavitz. "Stop beating yourself up about this."

Dart and Lavitz sat on their beds, facing each other. Dart's arm had been miraculously patched up by Shana's healing power, but it was still supremely sore. Every time he moved it, it hurt badly. The arrow had pierced all the way to his bone, and it was up to his own body to heal the deepest of the damage.

"I could have dodged the arrow, if I had just been paying attention!" complained Dart. "If I hadn't tried to stop the arrow, and had just moved out of the way, it all would have been fine!"

"You were running on instinct. That's what happens during a battle. As a dragoon more than ever. Controlling fire is kind of your thing now. Your dragoon spirit was fueling you toward that end. But you didn't do it. You actually managed to keep from using your magic, and that's more impressive than knocking an arrow away would have been."

"But now I have to fight the match tomorrow with a sore arm, and any advantage I may have had will be gone. Even after Shana healed it, I can barely lift my sword without cringing."

"Dragoons heal quickly. It'll be almost back to normal tomorrow."

"Yeah, almost." Dart stood and began pacing angrily. "That small difference could mean the match."

Dart recoiled as Lavitz's expression shifted to one of pity, and he asked, "Why do you put the blame for everything on yourself?"

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm a hurt little puppy."

Standing, Lavitz stepped in front of Dart, forcing him to stop and meet his gaze. "I have never thought that. You are the strongest and most capable warrior I know. And that was before you were a dragoon. You saved my life twice, you saved the lives of hundreds of men in Hoax, and thousands more when you killed that dragon. So why do you consistently blame yourself for everything that goes wrong in the world? You have done far more to benefit it. Just having you as a friend has changed who I am. Not only am I alive, but I'm now a better person because of you, and I know that Shana feels the same. Probably even Rose, if we could ever get her to admit to it." He placed his hand on Dart's shoulder. "This is not your fault."

Dart stared at Lavitz for several seconds before moving to sit on his bed. He rubbed his face in his hands, feeling a great lump in his throat.

He was right. Lavitz was always right. Dart had blamed himself for everything. For Shana's imprisonment, for the danger in the cave, for the men who died in the Seventh Fort, for Shana's illness. This was why he was angry. It wasn't because he had gotten shot with an arrow, but because he'd struggled for so long to control what was happening around him, and he had failed. Again. Yet another wrong decision had led to this, and he hated himself for it.

Lavitz came to sit before him and said gently, "You have to forgive yourself for not being able to save everyone from everything. You're not all-powerful, and that's okay. Nobody is. You're just human, like the rest of us. You don't have to be perfect."

What could Dart say? He knew that he'd overburdened himself with worries, but it was not so easy just to let them all go. He wondered if Lavitz had ever felt this way, and if he had blamed himself for what happened to his knighthood, or even his father. He thought about asking, but the only words he managed to say were, "Thank you."

"I've told you this before, but you're not alone anymore. You don't have to carry everything by yourself."

It was an invitation for Dart to express these burdens, to voice them so that Lavitz could share in the weight, but something in Dart refused to let go. He couldn't decide if he was being selfish, refusing to show Lavitz what he wanted to see, or kindly trying to spare his friend the struggles that plagued him. But he said nothing.

After several moments of silence, Lavitz sighed and said, "Good night, Dart." Then he blew out their candles and slid into his bed.

Grateful for the comforting wrapping, Dart pulled the sheets close to him and lay staring at the ceiling. He almost laughed; if his eyes were knives, he would have sawed all the way into the fourth floor by now after all his nights of lying awake. All the nights staying up and worrying about Shana. Holding onto the shame.

How do you let go of something you've clung to for so long?

Author Note: Don't worry! The Hero Competition is coming to an end. Hopefully, you all are dreading what comes shortly after that as much as I am. All that's left is the final match, and then everything changes.