Seeker

Shinobu had three practice dummies set up across the floor of the training barn. It was past midnight and he had the place to himself. He moved from one figure to the next, traveling over the floor with a dancer’s grace, then exploding blows into the dummies’ bodies as he moved past them. He had no weapons tonight—only his fists.

The largest dummy was roughly the size of his father, and he paid it special attention. One strike for every day of the last month. He pummeled the figure’s midsection, driving the rough mannequin back along the floor. Then he was on to the next one. This one was close to Briac’s size, and it was easy to imagine Briac’s face on it as Shinobu rained punches into the canvas. And the third one, the smallest dummy, who was that? Maybe Quin? He felt an outpouring of pity as he attacked it. He worked its face, hitting harder and harder. The more deadly Shinobu was, the faster his fight would be finished. He was putting the figure out of its misery. With an uppercut, he knocked it to the ground.

“Nothing was what we thought,” he muttered to the small dummy as it lay on the floor. “I stayed only for you.”

In the silence that followed, he stood still and listened, a knuckle dripping blood onto the floor. There was a distant roar. Like a storm. Or like … fire? As he moved toward the barn’s door, he heard voices yelling across the commons.