The scent of salt and oil hit Aisho the moment she snuck off the ship and onto the docks of Nisim. This port town seemed to have been built out of scrap. It had iron shanties, crooked towers leaning over narrow alleyways, and neon signs flickering half-dead. Citizens shoved past her, and the sound of street conflict buzzed in the crowds.

  She kept her head down low as she quickly walked down the rusted, dirty cobblestone. Her bright outfit shimmered like a sore thumb in a place where everything was dark, brown, and grimy.

  It didn't take her long to realize that she had: next to no money, no ID, and no name anyone respected in Nisim.

  She approached a merchant who didn't seem too busy and asked, “Do you know how I can get to Kaizuron?”

  The merchant responded lazily. “What do you need to get to Kaizuron for?”

  “I’m taking the Lancer trials.”

  The merchant rolled his eyes. "Are you lost or just stupid? Lancers don’t come from this place."

  She continued to ask around, but she was either offered a blatant scam or no helpful response.

  She eventually approached two officers near an info booth. “You don’t even exist in this region’s registry,” one of the officers told her.

  The other said. “Try the backstreets. Maybe someone down there will sell you a fake pass.”

  As she slowly walked away, she heard them burst out into laughter. She mumbled, “Jerks.” But with no other option, she had to listen to them.

  That’s where she found a tavern labeled The Dragon’s Breath, a broken-down tavern pressed between a noodle shop and a pawn shop. Its hanging sign creaked.

  Inside, it only got worse. Dusty lanterns, a busted jukebox, a single ceiling fan spinning lazily, and the man behind the bar wore a crimson jacket. He had messy, black, shaggy hair and an annoyed expression on his face.

  “Are you the owner?” Aisho asked, striding to the counter.

  “Congratulations,” the man replied. “You’ve found me. Now, unless you’re here to tell me the sky’s falling or shut me down, I suggest you order something.”

  “Do you know how I can get to Kaizuron?” she said.

  He leaned over the counter, eyeing her goggles, her clothes, and the scuffed boots. “You a tourist or a wannabe?”

  “A future Lancer.”

  “So you’re a wannabe,” he barked a laugh so hard he had to slap the bar to keep from falling over. Eventually, he settled down. “You’re serious?”

  Aisho bristled. “Yeah, very funny. Look, I just need directions, alright? A route. A ride. Something.”

  He shook his head and lit a cigarette, taking a long drag. “Kaizuron is two regions inland. Try to walk there and you’ll be met with a forest infested with powerful beasts. You got a Lancer registry code? A merc pass?”

  “No.”

  “Then you’re out of luck. You’re like a ghost with good fashion. Ain’t no Lancer Trial recruiter gonna look at you twice.”

  Aisho clenched her jaw. “There’s gotta be some way.”

  The man grinned. “Name's Shoji. I was a wannabe Lancer, too. And my advice, Charisma Girl, go home and forget about being a Lancer. ”

  “…Charisma Girl?”

  “You showed up here out of the blue. Just a raw spark. That’s alchemy for getting conned—or worse.”

  “Thanks,” she muttered sarcastically. “Great pep talk.”

  Aisho stepped outside and walked deeper into the alley, hoping to find someone else who could help.

  Three older teens, probably around eighteen or nineteen, blocked her path. Two in front of her and one behind her. One of them had a crooked scar on his cheek.

  “You're that girl asking around about the Trials?” The scarred kid said.

  Aisho frowned. “Why?”

  “Because we help new folks. Real cheap. Just give us your bag and whatever else you’ve got and we’ll set you straight.”

  “Not interested.” Aisho turned to walk away, but saw the other kid blocking her path.

  Scarface cracked his knuckles. “That wasn’t a question. Hey, boys, I’ll take this one.” He slowly raised his hands.

  Aisho slowly put her hands up, trying to figure out a proper fighting form. At this moment, she realized.

  She had never fought anyone before.

  Aisho tried to dash at him, and her veins pulsed golden. Her Yogen kicked in, and in a blink, her body shot forward. But she hadn’t aimed her dash. She blitzed right past him and slammed into the side of a rusted dumpster, bouncing off and landing on her back in a puddle of foul water and noodles.

  “What was that?” one of them laughed. “You trying to fly?”

  Aisho groaned and scrambled up, soaked, humiliated, and buzzing with uncontrolled energy. She had realized they surrounded her again.

  “You're a Dragon Vein user,” Scarface said, and his veins in his body pulsed red. “I am, too.”

  Before he could begin his assault, there was a snap.

  In an instant, the air turned dry. Moisture vanished, like it was stolen from the atmosphere. A thin veil of mist spread outward, and before the two weaker goons could move, frost exploded across their arms and legs, freezing them in place mid-step.

  They screamed in pain.

  “Wh—what is this?!” one stammered.

  A blur moved past Aisho’s peripheral vision.

  Scarface collapsed with a yelp, his leg swept clean out from under him by a hard strike to the back of the knee. He hit the ground, clutching at it.

  The blur that Aisho had seen was a girl who looked around her age. She landed gracefully in front of Aisho with her back turned. She wore a white hoodie, a black skirt over fishnets, boots laced to the ankle, and brown hair tousled like she'd just rolled out of bed angry.

  She didn’t look back. “You done embarrassing yourself, Charisma Girl?”

  Aisho croaked, “How do you know that name…”

  “I was in the tavern,” the girl said. “You just didn’t notice me.”

  Scarface stood up and took a step back. “You trying to play hero now, punk?”

  The girl tilted her head, slowly stretching out her neck.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “You got a name?” she asked.

  “…Why?”

  She smirked. “I like to know what to carve on the ice.”

  “So cool,” Aisho whispered.

  “If you’re going to die, you’d at least want to be remembered, right? That’s the nicest I can do.”

  Scarface’s face twisted. “You think this is a joke?! My Yogen can make my body tougher than steel. You think your little chill’s gonna stop me?”

  The girl looked at Aisho from the corner of her eye. “You’ve got power,” she said, “but no control. Let me show you what it looks like when someone trains their Dragon Vein.”

  Scarface’s arm turned grey and metallic as he swung at her with a reinforced punch. She ducked low, avoiding the strike by inches, letting Scarface stumble past her. It was fluid.

  The veins in the girl’s legs pulsed light blue for a moment.

  Frost spread in a wave from her boots. The ground and walls near Scarface turned slick.

  She pivoted with a single foot planted and swept her palm across the air.

  Multiple jagged ice spikes formed out of the alley wall and shot at Scarface. Cracked him across the ribs, back, and chest with brutal precision. But not enough to impale him. He grunted and dropped to a knee.

  “Damn this ice…” he wheezed.

  “You’re lucky. If you didn’t have that iron body Yogen, my spikes would’ve gone straight through you.”

  Scarface grunted in anger.

  “That’s a skill of mine,” the girl said.

  With a flick of her fingers, a tiny snap echoed, and the frost holding the other two goons’ limbs shattered. They collapsed, groaning. The parts of their bodies that had been frozen were shredded and bloody.

  She turned to Aisho, giving her a once-over. “You really wanna survive Kaizuron? Learn to fight.”

  Aisho, still stunned, managed to nod. “That was…amazing!”

  She shot up and ran straight to the girl, asking a dozen questions. “Are you a Lancer? If not, then are you taking the Lancer Trials? What’s your name? Can you train me?”

  The girl seemed visibly annoyed by Aisho’s enthusiasm. “Okay, okay, stop. I was only helping you. My name is Yuta, Yuta Akashiro,” she looked away. “And I’m no Lancer, but I’m planning on winning the Cracked Fang Tournament; the winner gets a ride to Kaizuron for the Lancer Trials.

  Aisho settled down, “Cracked Fang Tournament?”

  “Yeah, there’ll be a Lancer recruiter at the tournament.”

  Yuta began to walk away before she turned back to Aisho. “There’s a place. A dojo outside the west ward. Run by an old paranoid man named Daryl. He’s a Gold-ranked Lancer, maybe even stronger than gold, but dropped out. Teaches strays how not to die. You want in?”

  Aisho’s eyes lit up, but she tried to stay nonchalant. “Yes.”

  “Be there tomorrow. Don’t be late. And shower. You smell like noodles and trash.”

  Yuta vanished into the busy streets of Nisim like a ghost.

  Aisho stood there, shivering, sore, but grinning like an idiot. She ran after Yuta and called to her, “Yuta!”

  Aisho eventually caught the eye of Yuta. For a moment, it seemed like she turned around to see who was calling her. But after realizing it was Aisho, she began to run.

  Even though Aisho couldn’t fully control her Yogen, she tried to power it, but it didn’t work. She eventually caught up to Yuta.

  “What do you want?” Yuta snarled. “I don’t have a lot of time.”

  “Are you going to that dojo? I’m not from around here, so I have no place to stay.”

  “You're a runaway?”

  Aisho hesitated before answering, “Yeah.”

  Yuta paused for a moment, then grinned. “Same here, and so is the other guy at the dojo. The only thing is, his situation is much more extreme.”

  She continued walking. “His right hand is covered in bandages. I don’t think he likes talking about his backstory, so just don’t ask about it. Ok?”

  “That’s great.”

  Yuta scowled, “Huh?”

  “Oh, sorry. I mean, it's great, I made a new friend here in Nisim who I can relate to. I was starting to get worried that I’d be stranded here in Nisim, miss the Lancer Trials, and not have a way to go home.”

  Yuta frowned because it seemed like Aisho didn’t listen to a word she said. “Here, follow me this way.”

  The duo went down a back street. The streets of Nisim began to shift in noise as they moved further from the busy streets. They passed a food vendor stirring noodles in a smoking wok, and Aisho’s stomach growled.

  Yuta noticed but didn’t say anything about it. “Hey, I don’t think I got your name.”

  “Name's Aisho Omari.”

  “So…” Aisho started, glancing at Yuta. “That guy you mentioned, Daryl. Why’d you call him a Gold dropout?”

  Yuta kept walking but tilted her head back slightly. “Because he was one. Gold-ranked Lancer, I mean. Strong as heck, too. Real clean fighting style. Precise. Like, he could end a fight in three moves if he wanted.”

  “Why’d he drop out?”

  Yuta’s steps slowed a bit. “There was this freak accident on a mission. No one talks about the details, but from what I’ve heard, he lost his squad in a skirmish with some bandits. Some say it was sabotage, others say a beast got them. He came back with a shattered arm and half his face burned. Could’ve healed with his registry code, but he never went to a healer. Quit the organization entirely and disappeared for a while. Showed up years later in Nisim, paranoid and angry but still crazy skilled. He set up that dojo and started training runaways like us.”

  Aisho listened carefully. “Sounds like he’s seen a lot.”

  “More than most Lancers ever will. And even with that injury, he could still wipe the floor with half the Silver rankers out there.”

  They walked in silence for a moment.

  “So… about those Lancer ranks, how do they work?” Aisho asked, “I’ve heard of them, but never really understood.”

  Yuta counted off the ranks on her fingers as she spoke. “There are four main ranks: Bronze, Silver, Gold, and Platinum. Everyone starts at Bronze once they pass the Trials. That ranks mostly for minor gigs, escort missions, pest control, and the occasional smuggler bust. You get your first license, a basic registry code, and access to a couple of regions.”

  “Silver?”

  “Silver rankers can take real missions. Combat, retrieval, recon, even low-tier bounty hunts. You’re expected to handle beast-class threats and deal with local politics. You get upgraded access to regions, better pay, and a couple of privileges. Still dangerous though. Most don’t make it to Gold, though.”

  “Gold is the elite,” she continued. “They’re usually the ones leading squads. They get special missions from regional leaders and high-ups. Big rewards, but big risks too.”

  Aisho nodded. “And Platinum?”

  Yuta gave her a sideways glance. “Platinum is… different. That rank’s reserved for legends. People with world-class Dragon Veins, exceptional feats, or ties to the Inner Council. Not many exist. They get to make calls that can change cities. Shoji used to dream of getting there.”

  That name caught Aisho. “Shoji? The bartender?”

  Yuta chuckled dryly. “Yeah. He used to be like us. A wannabe with a dream.”

  “Did he even take the test?”

  “Jeez, you’re asking all these questions. Making me feel like some dictionary.” Yuta responded. “But he did take the test, failed, and never took it again.”

  Aisho was quiet for a second, then said, “He told me I’d get conned or worse if I kept chasing the Trials.”

  “Sounds like him. Mean as ever. But he’s not wrong. Kaizuron chews up people like you.”

  Aisho seemed a bit offended. “People like me?”

  “Inexperienced. No control over your Yogen. You’re like a grenade with a loose pin.”

  “But still,” Aisho said, “I have to try. I didn’t come all this way just to turn back because a bartender told me to.”

  Yuta gave her a small smirk. “That’s what I like to hear.”

  They walked a little further, passing a cracked sign with “West Ward.” Beyond it, the buildings were smaller and older. There were fewer people out on the streets in this area.

  Aisho cleared her throat. “Earlier, Shoji mentioned a few things I didn’t understand. A Lancer registry code and a Merc pass. What are those exactly?”

  “Like I said earlier, I’m not a dictionary.” Yuta stretched her arms behind her head. “But I’ll inform you, I guess. The registry code is your official identity inside and outside the Lancer Organization. It keeps track of your rank, mission history, Yogen classification, and bounty earnings. Without one, you're nobody. Can’t even step into restricted regions.”

  “And the merc pass?”

  “That’s a temporary ID for people who aren’t in the Lancer Organization, like freelancers or bounty hunters. It lets you operate in certain regions but comes with restrictions. Merc passes also allow for discounts while travelling.”

  Aisho let that all sink in. “Jeez, that’s a lot of information. So…the Cracked Fang Tournament will be our opportunity to get to Kaizuron?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then I’ll win it.” Aisho grinned, but it slowly faded. “Wait… does only the winner get to earn a free ride to Kaizuron?”

  Yuta didn’t respond right away, but her lips twitched. “Unfortunately for you, yes. I’ll be the one to win it.”

  “Huh? We haven’t even gotten to the tournament yet and you’ve already declared yourself the winner?”

  Yuta smirked. “Yup, pretty much. You’ll just have to prove me wrong.”

  They arrived at the dojo’s perimeter. It looked nothing like Aisho expected. The building was squat, rectangular, and patched together with an entire assortment of resources. Its only sign said “Dojo.”

  The door was open. Inside, Aisho heard the rhythmic thuds of someone hitting a training dummy.

  Yuta turned to her. “Welcome to Daryl’s.”

  Then she added, smirking, “If you thought getting to Nisim was tough… this is where it begins.”

  “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”

  — Psalm 34:18 (NIV)