After a long but peaceful journey along the grassy roads of the plains of Eseka, during which Aïma had insisted on teaching Ego the rules of human politeness to ensure that he would not cause any catastrophes simply by speaking, a feat he had already accomplished. They arrived in front of the immense and thick walls of Nomera. Faced with such a structure, it was impossible to enter the city easily without passing through the guard. Aïma made sure one last time that her companion would be able to greet them properly, and the machine responded perfectly. Reassured, the ranger took the initiative and stood before the equally grand gate of the fortress. The gate had a dark, almost sinister hue, but it was nevertheless reassuring. Perhaps this feeling was due to the faint flickering and warm light emanating from the few torches surrounding the walls.
The guards themselves were like statues, if one did not see their mouth breathing at a leisurely pace under their large concave helmet, almost completely obscuring their faces, one would think they were sleeping. Yet, when Aïma presented herself, they reacted with the speed befitting the reputation of Nomera's fighters. One of them assumed a military posture, considering every possibility. A posture that allowed him to wield his lance with efficiency, yet a posture that appeared rather neutral to those who had never fought. The other, with a seasoned eye, quickly observed the two individuals facing him. He said, in an authoritative tone: "Weapons are prohibited within Nomera."
Approaching while continuing to scrutinize the two strangers, he added, "By passing through this gate, you agree to be governed by the city's laws." As Aïma had taught him, Ego remained still, waiting for her signal. This unsettled the guard, who did not expect a fixed gaze that never wavered. One could almost see a form of admiration from the soldier, which quickly turned into a grimace of disgust when he noticed some typical symbols of the people of Teneke on the ranger's attire. Nevertheless, he did his job, the strict necessity that fell within his role. He allowed Aïma to keep her knife, her bow having been lost in the forest, and Ego, well, his armor. The city gates opened slowly, allowing a beam of light with multiple colors to pass through. The colors of the city, the azure and Bordeaux hues of the merchants lining the main alley, attempting to catch the eye of their unsuspecting victim. The colors of the abundance of people celebrating in Nolm Square, surrounding the Coliseum, the city's main attraction. The colors of the evening, with a sun setting in shades of orange interwoven with violet nuances, a proud gradient enhancing the spectacle. The buildings, too, were as dark as the walls, but the vermillion red tones of the lamps and city banners gave them a proud allure.
Here they were, finally, she thought. Finally, she could sleep in a bed, enjoy the warmth of the city, and revel in a few glasses of the only thing she respected about Nomera: bark brew. This sweet extract had a pronounced citrus flavor and was made from sap extracted from the tubers of steel trees. The brew required lengthy refinement and was produced only in the region, the sole human province seemingly determined to uproot those cursed steel trees once they matured, far too robust for their own good. Unfortunately, Aïma faced one of her greatest challenges: in human cities, everything came at a cost. This time, she had only a few fruits to compensate for her lack of funds, fruits abundant in the city but hardly worth the detour. But she was no stranger to this situation. Knowing the citizens and their obsession with strength, she had developed a habit of luring them into bets they couldn't win. The Nomerians, bound by pride to respond to any challenge from the people of Teneke, always fell for it. She had been threatened many times, but it didn't scare her; quite the opposite. She wasn't breaking any laws, and playing with their norms amused her greatly. Moreover, this time, she had a formidable ally, a fierce titan who would surely intimidate anyone daring to challenge them. She searched for the nearest tavern, spotting a few fools engaged in various wrestling games that Aïma found ridiculous. Games where tradition dictated that participants flail about, imitating crabs, with the goal of pinning their opponent to the ground and immobilizing them.
She settled at a table, patiently waiting her turn. Analyzing her opponents. This time, Ego attracted much more attention than she did at the fighters' table. Everyone must have assumed he would be the one they faced, trying to impress the lady. So, after a few victories by the favorite, when it was the ranger's turn, the man took the initiative, saying, "If you want to fight, you'll have to remove your armor, lad!" He was surprised when a feminine, high-pitched voice replied, "But I don't have any." Nevertheless, the man turned toward her, as unflustered as the wrinkles on his forehead. He probably thought victory would come easily. Aïma smiled; he didn't even consider her a threat. He glanced at the four separate tables serving as makeshift rings, moving slowly with a menacing gait. The other candidates mocked her. The ranger could have retorted, but she was too focused on her prey to pay them any mind.
The atmosphere changed completely when she stepped into the ring. The burly favorite, still the crowd's choice, straightened up, displaying his impressive muscle mass. Then he assumed a position, slightly bending his back, spreading his robust arms, presenting his hands like large claws that wouldn't let anything slip away. Aïma flexed her legs slightly, preparing to pounce, an instinct honed during her hunts. To her, he was nothing more than prey daring to challenge her with an aggressive gaze, hoping to escape his fate. The man remained impassive; novelty didn't frighten him. He adapted, a sign of experience. The audience had already started to boo; the ring had turned into a veritable zoo. But everyone quieted down when the man cautiously stepped forward on the stage, beginning to close in on Aïma with his two encircling arms, slowly bringing his hands closer, hoping to grab her. It was the moment the ranger had eagerly awaited. Aïma extended her legs, closed her fist, and tensed her muscles. The speed of her blow, multiplied by her graceful movement, pushed her body to its limits. A perfect execution from rigorous training, yet deceptively simple, made it unstoppable at this distance. The man was already defenseless; her fist was at his throat, and the impact resonated throughout his skull. Not enough, though. He stumbled but didn't fall. Everything spun around him; the audience became a single, dancing, indistinct blur. He rose slowly, but not quickly enough. The finishing blow was imminent. He raised his arm in defense, but Aïma, far too agile, had already reacted, and under her blows, the man collapsed.
The audience was angry, vexed, and cried foul, but the man straightened up a few seconds later, laughing heartily. "Well, well, I certainly didn't expect that!" he said. The ranger smiled politely; it was the first time she had been congratulated after such a massacre. Ego, always a step behind, seemed concerned for the man. He gently urged the crowd to step back, but he didn't take any direct action.
"By the way," the man continued, "my name is Narth. I'll be fighting in the Coliseum tomorrow. How about teaming up with you and your friend? I don't see how we could lose." Aïma pocketed the winnings from the bets and turned to the man, replying, "I need money, but I won't take any unnecessary risks, and he won't fight," nodding toward her paralyzed companion who stood there, unsure of how to act. Narth agreed with a reassuring smile, "There are other games like this one, and killing is forbidden. But the real prize lies in the bets. In a few days, we'll be rich, my dear Nelse." He tried to argue, attempting to capture their attention. To Aïma, being called a Nelse, a swift and elusive poison, was more of a compliment and an affectionate nickname, even if it annoyed her a little. Narth pressed on, aware that he couldn't reach her heart: "Imagine the looks on their faces when we outperform them all in the sand and sweat, us, a Hagalazian and an unknown Tenekian to the public." The bold ranger pondered this, pretending to fear the risk. A Hagalazian, everyone would assume he'd be helpless without his armor and runes. As for herself, just to provoke them, they'd likely bet everything against her. But what about Ego? The Coliseum games weren't meant for him.