Aghartha

Aghartha leaned against the railing of the hotel, his gaze locking with the night view of the city; neon lights, lit windows with moving things that could be recognized as silhouettes. The man looked down. Something over five stories high from the ground - is this even a hotel or a tiny skyscraper? Who cares. Aghartha let out a sigh and reached for his pocket in his vest and picked a cigarette. He didn't know what else to do - he had finished training, read and studied for the day. He couldn't help but let out a frustrated groan as the lighter refused to work, strangely working only after the groan. Unable to do anything but accept the lighter's refusal, he slid the lighter in his pocket and exhaled the smoke from the cigarette. He leaned onto the railing once more, diving deep in his thoughts. A certain memory moved him from the present to the internal sight.

Smoke filled the arena, and Aghartha walked in on his early days of official fencing. The crowd was covered in hushed, excited whispers. Adrenaline filled the young memory-him, his hand trembling unnoticeably to others - but a dizzying sensation for him. As he stopped, a huge and bulky figure cleared from the smoke. Eesh, Aghartha's spine shivered even now at the sheer mass of the other man. "New 'ere?", a low, rumbling voice called out from the smoke; cold and dismissive. Memory-Aghartha was too taken off-guard that he couldn't answer, already internally wondering if he should run away or not. Before he could manage himself, the figure lunged at him, the other's sword merely a hair away from Aghartha's ear. With his trained speed, though, had scurried away from the other man's blade. The crowd's volume had risen to cheers as the battle had began - with the bulky man taking a false start. But he'd catch up. Memory-Aghartha had attacked from behind as the other man was still likely wondering where he had so suddenly disappeared - or whatever he did. His blade had given a strike to the other's nape, leaving it to bleed. Shit. The man roared with sudden pain of the contact and turned sharply around, and with action filled with fury, attempted to strike his own shot to Aghartha's rib cage.. which partly succeeded - PARTLY. The swing had hit the smaller man below the rib cage, leaving a deep wound. Pain filled Aghartha, which quickly turned to overwhelming anger. Aghartha didn't know he had won until the crowd had moved to screaming and cheering. He looked at the ground, and saw the man sitting down, panting and sword beside him, his whole body trembling way too much to snatch it into his hands. Memory-Aghartha didn't know what to do - was it too much? Would he ever be allowed to fencing ever again? He looked up to the couch, who was walking to the two. This was it. His short-lived dream is going to be shattered.

Except, like some miracle, the coach crouched down beside the man, offered a hand as if this was absolutely normal. Then, the coach looked at Aghartha, his voice detached from this world with the current presence, spoke: "It's midnight. Get in your room, Aghartha"- wait, what?

No, that's not what he had said..