The smell of stale chicory coffee and fryer oil hung thick between the cracked red vinyl booths. Toban’s ring carried that exact seal: three talons clutching a shattered orb, engraved in tarnished silver. Toban. The man who’d given him a chance, a job, a semblance of a normal life. The man who, for the past two years, had been Rennik’s only connection to a father figure, however gruff. And now, the same man wore the mark of the assassins who’d slaughtered his grandfather, who still hunted him and Nomi. “Rennik? Are you listening?” Karys stirred sugar into her cup, the spoon clicking against ceramic. Her brows drew inward, tracking his rigid posture. He nodded, too quickly, the movement jarring. He could not tell her. Not yet. The more she knew, the more danger she invited. Two days later, Rennik stood in the Vendele Tower’s executive boardroom, the polished obsidian table reflecting his nervous tremor. Conditioned air smelled of polished glass and cedar. He wore a rented suit that chafed, and the knots in his stomach tightened with each hushed word exchanged between the grey-suited executives arrayed around the table. Karys sat at the head, her spine pressed flat against grey leather. Her glance flicked toward him once, then returned to the agenda screen. Jarlath Dornath entered, a predatory smile playing on his lips. His bespoke suit seemed to hum with arrogance. He moved like a coiled viper, his eyes sweeping over Rennik with undisguised contempt before settling on Karys. “Esteemed board members,” Jarlath’s voice was smooth, resonant, cutting through the silence. “We are here to address the governance of Vendele Enterprises, and indeed, its very lineage.” Karys’s jaw tightened, a barely perceptible motion. “The board has already approved the merger terms, Jarlath. This charade is unnecessary.” “A charade it is not, Karys,” Jarlath countered, his smile widening. He reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulling out a scroll of aged parchment, its edges intricately gilded. “I formally invoke the Blood Proxy rule of the ring, as recognized by the Treaty of the Founders’ Houses.” He unrolled the parchment, its brittle sound echoing in the hushed room. “For centuries, when disputes of ownership or familial lineage reach an impasse, the ring provides a… definitive resolution.” Chairs scraped back against the marble floor. Rennik dug his fingernails into his palms; his grandfather had once cursed that ancient rite as slaughter disguised by contract. Jarlath’s eyes glittered as he fixed them on Rennik. “My claim is simple: Karys Vendele’s engagement to this… this common courier, is a transparent attempt to subvert the will of her family’s legacy. It insults the Houses, and it violates the spirit of the old pact.” He paused, letting the accusation hang. “Therefore, under the Blood Proxy rule, I demand a challenge. A duel for governing rights over Vendele, and for the hand of Karys Vendele. My champion, against her chosen fiancé.” Karys’s face went pale. “Jarlath, this is preposterous! Rennik is… he’s not a combatant. This rule is for warrior houses, not for boardroom directors and their… partners.” She shot Rennik an apologetic look, her protectiveness, uncharacteristic for her, radiating across the table. “I refuse this challenge. It is an archaic, barbaric practice.” Jarlath chuckled, a low, unpleasant sound. “A refusal, Karys? That would be an automatic forfeiture of your rights. The entire firm, and indeed, your hand, would pass to me without contest. Is that what you truly wish? To surrender everything, rather than let your ‘fiancé’ stand for your honor?” He turned back to the board. “The terms are clear. The challenge is issued. Does the… esteemed fiancé… accept?” Every neck turned toward him. His pulse thrummed behind his ears, skin cold beneath the wool. Stepping onto the fighting floor would expose him, not just to Jarlath, but to Toban, to the entire syndicate that had executed his kin. Nomi. The thought of her bright smile, her trusting eyes, flashed in his mind. He had to protect her. But how? By running forever, or by finally turning to face the shadows that pursued them? He looked at Karys. She shook her head once, tiny and sharp, warning him off. But behind that warning sat a woman fighting to hold her ground against a forced marriage and total ruin. He could not run. “I…” Rennik’s throat went dry. He swallowed hard, letting his shoulders cave slightly while digging his heels into the floorboards. “I a-a-accept.” The word, though stuttered, echoed with a strange, undeniable finality. A murmur swept through the room, a mixture of shock and morbid curiosity. Karys froze, her pen dropping against the glossy table. Jarlath’s smile froze, then slowly reformed, sharper, more dangerous than before. Later that evening, the Vendele Tower apartment felt oppressively silent. Rennik stared out at the city lights, his hand resting against the jade disc hidden beneath his shirt. He knew this was a monumental mistake, a direct path to his undoing. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t leave Karys to Jarlath, not when Toban’s mark was on the assassin. He couldn’t keep hiding while the wolves circled Nomi. He had to fight, even if it meant painting a target on himself. His burner phone, kept separate from his official company device, vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, the screen displaying an unknown number. He answered, pressing the plastic casing to his ear. “Hello?” “Rennik.” Toban’s voice crackled through the line, no longer gruff and warm, but flat, devoid of its usual fatherly tone. “Heard you made a big decision today. Stepping into the Circuit, are we? That’s a dangerous game, kid. And when a Shinkai steps into the ring, they tend to bring their whole family into the spotlight.” There was a chilling pause. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to your little sister, now, would you?”

The Challenge