The Concordium was everything Mithra wanted and imagined but somehow more. Marcus right now wanted to take a stroll before walking towards the training grounds, so Mithra was able to get an impromptu tour of the place. In the game setting, the characters usually lived in one of four sections of the Concordium. Olympiarchy, Bifrost Covenant, Sunscales or the Celestial Republic. These outer sections are then split further into temples of their respective pantheons or better known as houses.

  It looked like things changed from what he read and saw in the game. At the heart of the Concordium lay the Plaza, a circular open space paved in pale stone worn down smooth by centuries of footsteps. There were small green spaces around the plaza, and we passed by demigods sitting underneath trees. At the plaza center, a colossal water fountain as wide as a small arena stood erect. Its basin was carved with reliefs of clashing monsters, heroes, and gods locked in eternal motion. The statues crowning the fountain changed every year, reshaped by divine artisans to honor the victors of the annual tournament. Though the competition welcomed every pantheon, the final winner almost always fell to either the Norse, Egyptian, or Greco-Roman faction. This year, the fountain belonged to the Olympiarchy.

  Encircling the Plaza was the midsection of the Concordium, known as the Common Grounds. It was a broad ring of living space that felt less like a district and more like a communal city canopy. Here the architecture ignored borders and divisions, almost every design from ancient to modern history was woven together tastefully. The Common Grounds was stacked upwards with neighborhoods of nearly every culture. It was hard to point out a theme, it looked like each street will take you to a different part of the world! Every terrace had something unique and cool to check out, it felt overwhelming. Each rooftop for the small buildings were braided with ladders, cables, or skybridges of jade so nothing ever felt more than a breath away. The skyline had towering pagodas glinting with solar tiles, next to them were massive Indian gopurams that pierced the air like sculpted mountains. Carved in these buildings were carved warrior deities and monstrous guardians. It was a terrifying living mosaic of gargoyle creatures that would come alive should the Concordium ever be under attack. Pyramid buildings and unique gothic architecture with stained mosaic glass were sandwiched between them.

  This was where the Concordium made its boldest statement, unity before division. Shops, training halls, libraries, forges and communal housing filled the ring. It was purposely made this way, their designs blending so seamlessly that it was often impossible to tell where one culture ended and another began. Demigods of every lineage crossed paths here whether it was argument to be settled, training, trading or bonding everything would happen in these streets. It was actually hard not to get hungry when passing through here! Demigods picked up food from carts here or sat in the open kitchens that aired the smells of various roasted spices.

  Despite the good intention, most young warriors only lingered here briefly except for the Celestial Republic faction. Generally when it came time to rest or train, many went back to their own facilities at their own factions. Only retired warriors of the Concordium lived here after they fulfilled their service requirements.

  Marcus' feet finally landed him near the training grounds, where he was swinging mindlessly at an Automaton combatant set at the max difficulty. Mithra's consciousness was swarmed with emotions and a slideshow of memories. Mithra caught glimpses of a life foreign to his own. It looked like everyone expected Marcus to be like his parents. To inherit their glory, their legacy, the weight of their reputation crushing down like a physical thing. Mars's strength. Athena's intelligence. The perfect combination. Except Marcus was neither strong enough nor smart enough. His divine heritage split him down the middle, neither side fully accepted him. Neither side thought he was enough. It didn’t help that he was from opposing cultures as well that reluctantly united. So he'd found another way to feel powerful. Make others feel small.

  His blade rattled against the metal puppet and each clash grew louder. The scrapes of their colliding blades were followed by a desperate exhale.

  *CLANK* *CLANK* *CLANK*

  Mithra felt the suffocating shame of it, Marcus's self-loathing bubbling up through the cracks in his consciousness. All those years of bullying he did to others, couldn’t heal his pride. He used fear to earn the respect that genuine skill never got him, but that never filled the cracks either. What really got to him, was when the losers he picked on, became stronger than he did. The most prominent being Tracy Johnson. Just how were they able to tap into their potential? Why couldn’t he use his gifts like they could! Marcus trained furiously through tears and even through injuries. He had nothing to show for it. Each night much like later in the evening, he’d lie on his bunk staring at his parents' medals tucked under his pillow, wondering why he couldn't just be better.

  His spiraling thoughts were interrupted. A sound cut through the evening air. Not the normal sounds of the Concordium winding down for night. It wasn’t the chatter of demigods heading to dinner or the resounding hammering of the forge district.

  This was different. Marcus's feet changed direction without conscious input, following the sound toward the outer training yards where the light from the main pathways didn't quite reach. Where the shadows got longer and the supervision got thinner. It was in places like these that didn't make it into official reports, he was familiar with these locations. Grunts followed with laughter with sharp edges.

  There was an alley between two storage buildings that opened up into a cramped courtyard filled with abandoned equipment racks and discarded practice automatons. Three figures in his house’s armor surrounded a fourth who was on his knees. His arms wrapped around his ribs, face already purpling with bruises.

  Tracy Johnson.

  Mithra recognized him from Marcus's memories, despite his condition it was a bit jarring seeing the protagonist he read and watched being alive and real. It felt surreal and uncanny. The prophecy child, the son of Neptune, the hero that was destined for greatness while everyone else scrambled for scraps of glory. He had the kind of face that made you want to trust him before you even heard him speak and it didn’t help he was also annoyingly handsome all things considered.

  "Looks like the great hero can't even throw a punch," one of them laughed. Another admits the laughter sent a kick to Tracy's ribs that made him fold like wet paper.

  "Let's see if the Fates save you now," another added, pulling something from his belt that gleamed dully in the fading light.

  It looked like some type of divine artifact. Small, crystalline, pulsing with a heat that Mithra could feel even from across the courtyard. The air around it shimmered, going dry and hostile. One of the Mars House bullies fed his divine energy into it, allowing the item to envelop them in an arid domain.

  A holographic environment of a desert surrounded them. Not a metaphorical desert, but an actual one! Even though it was evening, the sun brought back the morning and bleached the surrounding area white. The moisture evaporated from the air in seconds. The temperature spiked until breathing felt like inhaling glass. Tracy, the mighty scion of the sea god, suddenly looked like a fish gasping on dry land.

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  “Move! Save water boy, you can’t let them do this!” Mithra pointed to Tracy.

  The demigod pulled back his fist, aiming for Tracy's face. Marcus stood not moving. Mithra felt Marcus's body coil with the instinct to turn away and to ignore it. Mithra clenched his teeth in frustration, this third rate character is going to let the protagonist of the story get folded over his insecurity.

  “If Tracy doesn’t take that stupid quest, who knows what would happen!”

  “You’re better than this!” Mithra screamed at him. Marcus didn’t respond but Mithra could feel his emotions. He wanted to let it happen because getting involved would mean trouble. He did more than enough, this was Tracy’s problem not his.

  MOVE.

  The thought exploded through Marcus's consciousness with the force of a divine command.

  Marcus's body moved.

  Mithra didn't know how and didn’t care. He had to save the hero regardless of what happened! He felt a surge of current shock his core, but by fighting against it he was able to pilot the body! Pushing against the waves of electricity wasn’t easy, it felt like the world wanted him to watch in the backseat. Unfortunately, that wasn’t going to cut it anymore for Mithra.

  Marcus crossed the courtyard in three smooth strides. He tackled the demigod holding the artifact to the ground tumbling with him. He rolled without losing his inertia and shot out his hand catching the bully's fist mid-swing. Marcus’s free hand gripped an opening in the Greek armor using it as additional leverage and support. In one sweeping motion using his hips as an anchor, Marcus slammed the Ares demigod to the ground. Marcus tactfully pivoted himself with that throw coming in front of Tracy. Throwing caution to the window, he’s now wedged into their fight now.

  "That's enough," Mithra said with Marcus's mouth. Something about his voice felt different to everyone. It was too calm, too certain, and none of Marcus's desperate need for approval came bleeding through.

  All the bullies froze. Turned. Stared. Marcus to them was too uncanny, like he'd just sprouted a second head.

  "Marcus?" the one he was holding said, confusion warring with pain as Marcus's grip tightened more. "What the hell are you-"

  "I said that's enough." Mithra released him, standing between the bullies and Tracy. He was the shield between them, "He's my opponent tomorrow. You don't touch him."

  "It was orders from Arcturus," the second bully said slowly, like explaining basic concepts to a child. "We need to cripple Johnson before the duel. Make sure he can't—"

  "Change of plans, it’s going to be a fair fight with no shortcuts." Mithra cut him off with narrowed eyes.

  The bullies exchanged glances. The violence had paused, hanging in the air like a held breath. The desert’s heat continued to beam down upon them in the brief silence.

  "Since when do you care about fair fights?" the third one finally said getting up from the floor, carefully he rotated his arm slightly wincing at the pain.

  "Since now." Mithra motioned Marcus to bend down, he picked up the desert artifact glancing at it briefly before crushing it between his fingers.

  “Especially since I’m the only one who still honors where they came from. Tell me, would Ares be proud of you?” The crystal shattered with a sound like distant thunder. The desert effect evaporated instantly, cool evening air rushing back in to fill the void. Tracy gasped, color flooding back into his face.

  Mithra glanced at the bullies, and there was an iron in Marcus's voice that had never been there before. "Report what I said, the duel will happen clean. If he has a problem with that? He knows where to find me."

  For a long moment, nobody moved.

  Then the bullies left, muttering and shooting confused glances back over their shoulders, leaving Mithra and Tracy alone in the courtyard. Tracy pulled himself to his feet, moving like everything hurt. His sea green didn’t lose its sharpness despite the beating. It did however lose its humor, his eyes fixed on Marcus's face with an expression caught between suspicion and genuine confusion.

  "What's your game? What’s this about a duel?"

  Mithra extended a hand, Marcus's hand. There was a lot of push back doing this action, he felt his soul screaming. There was a distinct tearing at the seams of his lungs to his heart. Man, Marcus must really not like him!

  Mithra felt Marcus's consciousness stirring underneath, slowly clawing back toward the surface. He didn’t have the strength to fight him right now either, but he had to speak."We’re demigods.”

  Tracy looked on with silence.

  “Between gods or against monsters, we’re all fighting against the same fate aren’t we? In the end, what do we have if not each other."

  Tracy stared at the offered hand for three long heartbeats and slowly took it. Marcus pulled him up, he felt the weight of another person's body trusting him not to let go. It was such a simple thing. A basic gesture of humanity. Mithra’s ghost smiled as he watched the two, it sucked being kicked out of the driver’s seat. However, he was able to see the dumb kid grow up a little. Though Marcus didn’t show it on his face, Mithra felt the intense flooding of emotions through his consciousness.

  Pride and it felt like a warm fire. It wasn’t kindled from the hollow feeling of making others fear you. It wasn’t sparked from the ugly satisfaction of putting someone else down. It wasn’t stoked from the showboating of your parents' accomplishments. It was real pride. The kind that came from doing something good, because it was the right thing to do.

  "I challenge you to a duel. Tomorrow at the arena, that's where we settle this."

  “Why? First you save me and now you want to fight me… What are you looking to gain out of this?” Tracy looked at him bewildered. Marcus wasn’t sure either, but he knew one thing.

  “To redeem myself. To change.” Marcus began to walk away, a lot of things he did today felt really out of character and he needed some time to collect himself.

  "Minatius!" Tracy called out behind him. Marcus stopped, turning. Both Mithra and Marcus could tell, there were many things Tracy wanted to ask.

  "Thanks," Tracy said with a sigh, seemingly giving up. He rubbed his ribs where the kicks from before had landed."I... yeah, thanks."

  "See you tomorrow, Johnson."

  The walk back to the barracks felt like wading through honey. As the familiar weight of self-loathing and inadequacy came flooding back, there was something else there too. The flame from before pulsed in his chest although it was a candle flame in the storm, it still stood burning regardless.

  ‘I helped someone’, Marcus thought. ‘I stood up for someone. I did something RIGHT’.

  “Yeah, you did”, Mithra replied back, not sure if Marcus could hear him “like a hero”.

  ‘Is this what my parents felt?’