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The roar of the crowd was a physical thing, a wave of sound that hit Mike in the chest. Indra's hand was high against the bright afternoon sky.
"LET THE TEST... BEGIN!"
Her hand dropped.
Lexa moved.
She didn't wait, she didn't circle. She exploded from her spot, a powerful burst of speed, her twin blades out. This wasn't the sparring of the past two months. This was a test. This was her, at her fastest, her sharpest, her most lethal.
Mike, his single katana held in a relaxed, two-handed grip, didn't move.
He waited, his mind quiet and calculating.
She closed the ten-yard gap in a second, her first strike a diving, high-low combination, a move he had taught her, now perfected with her own fluid grace. Her right blade aimed for his throat, her left for his ribs.
Clang. Shing.
Mike's single blade was a silver flash, a rising, circular parry that intercepted both of her swords at once, deflecting them wide. The impact, far greater than Lexa anticipated, sent a shock up her arms, but she was already spinning, using the momentum. She was a storm, her blades a continuous, flowing assault, never giving him a single beat to counter, just clang-shing-thwack-clang, a constant song of steel on steel.
He was a mountain, unmoving, his feet planted, his blade parrying every thrust, every cut, with ease.
"He's just blocking!" a warrior yelled from the crowd.
"She's so fast!" another whispered in awe.
But Anya wasn't watching the melee. She was a tactician. She knew, better than anyone, that Lexa could not win a head-on battle of attrition.
She was buying time.
With a speed that belied her rank, Anya sprinted, not at Mike, but to the edge of the pit. As was custom for such a test, the ring was ringed with the "Weapons of Trikru." She grabbed a warrior's longbow from the rack, her hand going to the quiver of arrows beside it. She nocked, drew, and aimed in one fluid, practiced motion.
Mike's enhanced hearing picked up the thrum of the bowstring an instant before his brain registered the whistle of the incoming arrow.
He was still engaged with Lexa, his katana locked with her twin blades.
He couldn't dodge.
He twisted his wrist, breaking the bind with Lexa, and swung his katana in a high arc, slicing the arrow out of the air, the two halves of the shaft spinning harmlessly past his head.
The crowd gasped.
But it was a feint. The moment his blade was high, Lexa was low, her left-hand sword darting in, aimed straight for his thigh. He leaped back, the razor-sharp tip grazing the armor on his leg with a loud screech.
A second arrow was already in the air, this one aimed at his chest.
He parried it, but the force of the bodkin-tipped shaft was massive. It left him open for a split second. Lexa didn't miss it. She lunged, her right blade aimed at the gap in his armor at his armpit.
This, Mike's brain supplied, is not working.
He was being disrespectful. They were fighting as a single, lethal unit, a perfect blend of ranged and melee, of tactics and fury. They were the two strongest warriors of Trikru, and they were fighting with everything they had.
And he was still treating it like a sparring match.
He had to honor their strength. He had to show them he was worthy.
Lexa lunged. He ducked under the thrust, her blade whistling over his head. Anya's third arrow was on its way.
He didn't parry it.
His left hand shot up, a blur, and snatched the arrow out of the air, inches from his face.
Everything stopped.
Lexa, her lunge over-extended, froze. Anya, her hand already reaching for a new arrow, lowered her bow. The entire village went utterly silent.
Mike stood there, the arrow held between his index and middle fingers. He looked at it, then at Anya, who was staring, her mouth open.
He smiled, and a predatory grin formed on his face.
"Good. Very good," he said, his voice easily carrying over the sudden silence. "My turn."
He dropped the arrow. And with his free left hand, he reached over his right shoulder.
SHIIIIING.
The sound of his second katana, a twin to the first, sliding from its scabbard, was the loudest in the valley.
The crowd roared.
This was the first time anyone had seen him use his second blade.
"Anya!" Lexa screamed, a warning, as he vanished.
He didn't run. He flowed. He crossed the battle pit in three long, silent strides, moving with a speed that was not human. Anya had time to do one thing: drop her bow and draw her long-knife.
It wasn't fast enough.
He was on her. But he didn't attack. He danced. His two katanas became a silver cage, a blur of motion that trapped her, his blades slapping her knife from her hand, spinning her around, and ending with one of his blades gently tapping her on the shoulder. She was disarmed and "dead" in under two seconds.
"She's out!" Nyko bellowed from the crowd, laughing.
"LEXA!"
Mike spun, his two blades now a silver halo, as Lexa, screaming a Trikru war-cry, met him in the center.
What had been a sparring match now became a battle.
He didn't just parry; he attacked. He met her two blades with his two, and a deafening noise of steel followed.
He was a master, and this was his art. He was stronger, he was faster, and he was, for the first time, showing her everything.
He trapped her left blade with his right, her right with his left. He spun, breaking her guard, forcing her back. She was skilled, her footwork perfect, but she was facing a master. She was on the defensive, sparks flying, her breath coming in harsh gasps, her eyes wide with thrill.
It ended as fast as it began.
He parried a desperate lunge, used his other blade to trap her crossing-sword, and spun, his body moving like water.
In one instant, they were locked in a stalemate.
In the next, Lexa and Anya were standing side-by-side, breathing heavily, disarmed.
And Mike was standing in front of them, his arms crossed. His right-hand katana was extended, the cold, flat side of the blade resting gently on Lexa's head. His left-hand katana was extended, its flat resting just as gently on Anya's.
He had won.
The battle pit was silent for a beat. Then Mike, his face split by a wide, happy grin, looked over at Indra.
Indra, who was staring, dumbfounded, at the sheer artistry of the victory, blinked. She found her voice, her professional duty returning. She raised her spear.
"Does Anya, Chief of the Trikru, give up?" she bellowed, a new, deep respect in her voice.
Anya, her chest heaving, looked at the blade at her head, then at Mike. A slow, proud smile spread across her face. "Yes!" she yelled, her voice clear.
"Does Lexa, Second to the Chief, give up?"
Lexa glared at the blade, then at Mike's smirking face. "Yes!" she growled, but the growl was full of laughter.
Mike pulled his katanas back and sheathed them on his back.
The crowd exploded.
"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!!"
The roar was deafening, a joyous, thunderous sound. Spears were hammered against shields. Children were screaming. The village celebrated.
Mike stepped up to Anya. "You could have gone a bit easy," she said, her voice dry, as she tried to catch her breath.
He leaned in, his smile softening. "That would be disrespectful to you... love."
He hadn't even realized he'd said the word. But he saw the blush that flooded her cheeks, a sight he now knew he would die for. He then did something that shocked her and the entire village, a second time.
He bent down, slid one arm under her legs and the other behind her back, and lifted her into his arms.
Anya let out a startled yelp, her arms instinctively flying around his neck.
"Mike! Put me down! I am the Chief!"
"You're my Chief," he said, and he carried her, to the sound of thunderous applause, to the center of the pit. He set her down gently, kissed her forehead, and then turned to Lexa, who was standing there, arms crossed, trying, and failing, to look annoyed.
He scooped her up in the exact same way.
"I am not a sack of pauna jerky, Mikky!" she laughed, as he spun her around once.
"Never said you were," he grinned, setting her down beside Anya.
The crowd surged. They were happy.
Lexa, their brave, grieving Second, had found love again, a love that all of them, even Indra, could see was a hundred times stronger than what she'd lost.
Anya, their Iron Chief, a woman who had sacrificed everything for them, was smiling. Not a leader's smile, but a woman's smile, bright and free.
And Mikky, their ghost, their demon, their strange, powerful protector, was theirs. He was Trikru. He was family.
The rest of the day was a blur of joy.
The feast was the largest in a generation. Casks of juba juice were opened. A great pauna was roasted. The music started, drums and flutes, and the warriors began to dance.
Mike, Anya, and Lexa changed out of their combat gear and into simpler, more comfortable clothes. They sat at the central fire, the place of honor, and for the rest of the day, they were simply... together. They laughed, they ate, they talked, and for the first time, Mike felt truly, completely, at home.
The moon was high and full, showering the quiet village in silver light. The last of the partiers had stumbled to their cots. The fires were low embers.
Mike walked through the silent paths, his heart full, his body tired in the best possible way. He reached his tent.
He pulled it back.
The tent was not dark. It was filled with the soft, flickering glow of two dozen candles, casting a warm, golden light.
And Anya and Lexa were there.
They were waiting. They had shed their heavy, formal leathers, their coats, their armor. They wore only simple, soft, linen clothes. Their hair was unbound, falling over their shoulders. They looked... soft. Vulnerable.
Lexa was standing by the cot, a familiar, mischievous smile on her face.
"You kept us waiting for long, Mikky."
Anya was sitting on a trunk, her hands clasped in her lap. She looked... shy. She couldn't meet his eyes. This, more than anything, shocked him.
The Iron Chief of Trikru, the warrior who had faced him with a bow and blade... was blushing.
His mind, his old-world sensibilities, kicked in. He felt a sudden, sharp pang of... worry. "Is... is this not too fast?" he asked, his voice rough.
"Back... where I'm from... people... they take it slow."
Lexa's smile softened. She walked to him, her bare feet silent on the furs. She took his large, scarred hand. "We know," she said, her voice gentle.
"You've told us. But we are not from your time. We are warriors. Life is... short." She squeezed his hand. "We could die tomorrow, in any fight. We don't have the luxury of 'slow,' Mike."
Anya, her voice quiet, spoke from her seat. "We do not know if we have tomorrow. But we have tonight."
She finally looked up, her eyes full of love, which took his breath away. A small, pleading, beautiful smile touched her lips.
"So," she asked, and it was the first time she had ever used the name, her voice a soft, loving caress. "Would you spend tonight with us... Mikky?"
His heart. It was over. He was done.
He didn't speak. He just walked, pulling Lexa with him, until he was kneeling in front of Anya. He took her hand, so she and Lexa were now connected, with him as the bridge.
He looked at Lexa, her fiery, passionate eyes. He looked at Anya, her deep, steady, mountain-like soul.
"Yes," he said, his voice thick. "You are warriors." He looked at Lexa. "But you won't die on the battlefield." He turned to Anya. "Not while I'm breathing."
His voice dropped, and he spoke with an intensity, a conviction, a vow that was more binding than any law.
"I swear upon it. I swear upon my name. I will always be the shield who protects you. And I will always be the sword who cuts for you."
It was too much for Lexa. A single, silent tear, the first she'd shed in joy since Costia, slipped down her cheek. She'd had a partner. She'd never had a protector.
Anya just... broke. The last of the Chief's iron armor melted away, and she let out a choked sob, a sound of such relief that it brought Mike to his knees. She wasn't a Chief. She wasn't a leader. She was just Anya. And she was loved.
Mike rose. He looked at Anya, at her tear-streaked, beautiful, real face.
He leaned in and kissed her.
It was not a kiss of passion, not yet. It was a kiss of reverence. It was slow, and deep, and it was a promise. It said, I see you. You are safe. You are mine. Anya, caught off guard, froze, and then she melted. Her hands, which had commanded armies, came up to grip the front of his clothes, her entire body sagging against his.
He pulled back, leaving her breathless, her eyes half-closed, and turned to Lexa and kissed her, too.
And this was fire. It was the spark from the sparring pit, the thrill of the fight, the joy of finally, finally closing that last, tiny gap. As he kissed her, his hands unclasped the heavy tactical coat from his suit, letting it fall to the floor with a heavy, final thud.
He broke the kiss, his golden eyes burning, his heartbeat going crazy. He looked at Anya, now watching him with dazed, loving eyes. He looked at Lexa, her face flushed, her lips swollen, her eyes daring him.
His hands found their waists.
He pulled them both closer, one in each arm, their bodies fitting against his as if they were made to be there.
"Tonight and forever... I'm yours."
He lifted them both with an ease that was breathtaking and took a single step toward the massive bed of furs, the tent filled with candlelight and the silent, electric promise of the night to come.
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Next chapter I will write my first +18 scene. Wish me luck🫡