Chapter 3: The Space Between the Punches
The morning haze in Elaris hung low like a sleepy mist, the cobbled streets still damp from last night's rain. Kai sat silently on a creaky wooden bench outside a crumbling food shack, holding a half-eaten bread roll like it owed him something. His knees bounced with tension, his eyes staring off into the distance, but his mind wasn't looking at anything in front of him.
It had been two days since the incident—the botched meetup with Sir Alexander IV, the sudden attack, and most notably, the man known only as Sir 8.
That homeless, dreadlocked, half-drunken mess of a man had saved Kai from a brutal mugging and then acted like he didn't even care. The man had the grace of a panther, the precision of a soldier... and the mouth of a cranky old uncle. Sir 8 wasn't easy to talk to—he was sharp-tongued, dismissive, and smelled of stale beer and something like burnt cloves. But for some reason, Kai kept going back.
Now, Sir 8 stood a few feet away, back leaned against the same alley wall he seemed to haunt. He had a brown jug in one hand and a cigarette in the other. The ends of his long dreads were frayed and dirty, but they moved with a weird elegance when he turned his head to speak.
"You ever stop staring off into nowhere?" Sir 8 muttered, not even looking at Kai.
Kai scoffed. "You ever stop drinking?"
Sir 8 raised an eyebrow but didn't fire back. Instead, he took a slow swig from his jug, then swirled the contents as if he were in some fancy vineyard. "Touché."
They sat in silence again. People walked past, carriages rolled by, but the world around them moved in a different time zone. There was a strange peace here, almost sacred. But it didn't last.
Kai finally stood. "Alright, that's it. I'm not gonna waste another minute. Train me."
Sir 8 didn't even blink. "No."
"What do you mean 'no'?"
"I mean no. Like 'no' as in the word you say when you mean hell no."
Kai clenched his fists. "Why not? You saved me. You clearly know how to fight. You could've just left me to get robbed but you didn't. Why?"
"Because I didn't want to see a dumb kid get stomped in front of me," Sir 8 snapped, turning. "Don't read into it like some sob story. I'm not your mentor, your savior, or your backup plan."
"I'm not asking for a babysitter, I'm asking for a chance."
"I'm not giving it."
And that was how the first day ended.
Day Two
Kai followed him again. From the alleys to the markets, like a shadow with too much pride. Sir 8 pretended not to notice, even as Kai kept asking.
"Why do you live out here?"
"You deaf? I said no."
"I saw the way you moved that night. Nobody does that without training. Come on—"
"You don't know anything about me, boy. You don't know the wars I fought or the demons I drink to forget. You see these fists and think they can make you a hero?"
Kai paused. "...Maybe not. But they can show me how to not feel useless anymore."
That stopped Sir 8 for a second. He didn't answer. He just walked away, slower this time.
Day Three
They sat around a small fire Sir 8 had built out of old crates and some crumpled posters. He poured Kai a drink. It smelled like wet coins and tasted like disappointment.
Kai coughed. "This is awful."
"Then stop asking for favors," Sir 8 replied. But the tone was softer now.
They didn't talk much that night, but the silence felt different—less like a wall, more like a space.
Day Four
Sir 8 found Kai asleep against a barrel. He threw an apple at his head.
"Get up. I ain't carrying your body when you freeze to death."
Kai stood, groggy. "You came back."
Sir 8 snorted. "Didn't say I wouldn't."
Then, out of nowhere, Sir 8 asked, "What's your story, anyway?"
Kai blinked. "I failed the squire exams. First round. Thought I'd make something of myself. Thought I was strong. Turns out... I'm just a kid who couldn't make the cut."
Sir 8 nodded slowly. "Well. You're not wrong."
"Thanks," Kai muttered sarcastically.
"But... you ain't wrong to keep trying either."
They stared at the fire again. The night breeze rustled through Sir 8's dreads, and Kai swore he could see something hidden in the man's eyes. Pain. Distance. Maybe even guilt.
That night, Kai asked one more time: "Will you train me?"
Sir 8 looked at him long and hard. Then he stood and walked off without a word.
But he didn't walk far. As he disappeared into the shadows, a glint of steel flashed from his coat—a small bounty poster, half-torn and old. The face looked exactly like Sir 8. Kai hadn't seen it yet.
But the readers might wonder: Why did Sir 8 really keep Kai around?
What was his plan?
And why did it seem like he was waiting for something... or someone?
To Be Continued in Chapter 4