Hello everyone! I must apologize for not updating since…well, you know. Anyways, I'd just thought I put an update on the site. SO! Without further ado, I present this chapter. I hope you enjoy :D

The Flame

After watching the last fight of the day, Raziel found himself rather bored. Since his match was first, he had to wait for all the males and females to finish their rounds before he could leave the stadium. While Turel and Tallis' match had been somewhat entertaining, with both of them coming out victorious, most of the competitors sadly resigned. The crowd died down as the last match came to an end, and the medics rushed down to the stadium floors to retrieve the injured. Raziel sighed and stood from his position in the bleachers, departing to the Great Hall.

Walking down the corridors, several medics ran passed Raziel with stretchers. The boy turned to look behind him, and watched as several competitors were lifted on the stretchers. Screams of pain echoed down the halls as Raziel made his way past the infirmary, cringing at the thought of salt on open, bleeding wounds. He never did like the outcome.

Upon reaching the hall, Raziel was greeted with numerous stares; some were friendly and others were not. He ignored them and shot a glance at the royal table, seeing that most of the knights were conversing with each other, and that none had seen him enter the hall.

"Raziel, over here!" Raziel bit the inside of his cheek and turned towards the voice. Turel. So much for making a subtle entrance, thought Raziel. He sighed and walked over to Turel in embarrassment, feeling the stares of everyone in the hall on him.

"Hi Turel," Raziel muttered, taking a seat in between two other teens he didn't know. "Where's Tallis?" He asked looking around. Turel put his cup down and leaned forward with his elbows on the table.

"She said she'd be with friends. I'm assuming Tallis made some friends other than you and I. You know, 'girl' friends." Raziel nodded. "Anyway, I must say you did well, Raziel. You beat that arrogant Coorhagen bastard to a pulp." The red-head beside Turel nodded.

"Aye…Raziel, was it?" Raziel nodded and took a drink from his cup. "Yes, something about your valor, your pride, made me believe that you had victory already under your belt. Despite your size, you showed that jack-ass what it means to be a Sarafan warrior." Raziel smiled and rubbed back of his head.

"Thanks…er-

"Oh, do forgive me. Where are my bloody manners?" The red-head wiped his hands on his pants, and extended his arm to Raziel on the other side of the table. His shark-like grin blended in well with his narrow face and high cheekbones. "The name's Zephon. It's a pleasure." Raziel swallowed the lump in his throat and gave a nod to Zephon.

"It's nice to meet you, Zephon. I didn't really get to see your match, but from what some of the knights were saying, I heard you did well." The red-head shrugged and reached for his cup.

"I'm not exactly in the best shape physically, but," Zephon tapped his temple with his index finger, "I do have a few strategies of my own. I think I'm quite fast, too, despite my strength." He shrugged once more and put the cup to his lips. "My victory was inevitable." Zephon downed the contents of the cup and slammed it on the table. Raziel forced a smile; this Zephon character made him somewhat nervous. And to think…he was Raziel's brother.

"Well…uh, it's great that you have such confidence, Zephon. I think your next match should be quite simple," said Raziel.

"I agree," Turel said with a smile and slapped Zephon in the back. "You'll do fine as long as you use your strategy." Zephon folded his arms and smirked.

"I suppose. I'm quite good at devising plans in my head under pressure," he sighed. "So…after all these preliminaries, what will be next?" Zephon looked to Raziel, but the boy just shrugged his shoulders. "What about you Turel?"

"I'm not sure, really. I suppose we'll have to work our way up in the ranks. Who knows…maybe we can become generals sooner than we think." Those words excited Raziel; to be in such a high position made him think about Von. He would be very jealous.

"I see." Zephon nodded. "Well, it was nice meeting you, Raziel. I'm afraid I'll have to skip lunch. You see, I must re-group with my teammates so that we may devise our own strategies." Zephon extended his hand to Raziel, Turel, and then rose out of his seat. "Until next time…" Raziel watched as Zephon walked away, noticing two obvious things. One: his stride was very long. Zephon practically glided across the surface. Although it was understandable, due to Zephon's tall and lean frame. The teen had to be at least five-foot seven; two inches smaller than Turel. And two: Zephon's red hair. The way it curved, reminded Raziel of a flame. Not to mention it sort of bounced with each step the tall teen took. It was as if it was flickering…

Raziel shook his head. He should stop imagining such things; people would start to think badly of him.

"Quite a character, that one," said Turel. Raziel shrugged.

"He seems…nice." And odd, he wanted to add.

"Aye, and very intelligent, too. The lad seems to have the mind of a genius. Thinking clearly under pressure isn't easy." Raziel finished off his drink and placed the cup back on the table.

"No…it isn't. He has taught himself well," said Raziel, moving to the side so the servants could refill his cup. For some reason, the cider the boy was drinking started to taste bitter in his mouth. Eventually, Raziel decided that lunch was out of the question. Although he was very hungry, his physical energy was drained and he felt that sleep was more important. He would just have to eat like a king during dinner.

"I'm not feeling so well, Turel," Raziel said, feeling a bit queasy. "I think I'll see you later." Raziel left the hall clutching his stomach, while the servants placed large amounts of chicken, ham, roasted potatoes, and bread on the tables. Webs of smoke filled the air, and Turel didn't hesitate to inhale the delicious smells. After saying a prayer of thanks before the meal, everyone dug into their food with desire. Conversations of all sorts erupted from table to table, and Turel found himself welcomed by the different discussions. A group of boys a few seats down were talking about the next few rounds of the tournament, and how they would have to set their minds on victory if they wanted to win. Another group to his left, which seemed to be a Coorhagen bunch, was talking about Raziel's match. Turel smiled; it was no surprise to him. Raziel had been the underdog, yet despite all those against him, he still came out victorious.

"Who does that little shit think he is?" growled one of the teens. Turel raised an eyebrow as he drank from his cup, listening intently. "He beat Zack down and made him look like a bitch! Oh, if it had been me in there, I would've broken every bone in his body and dug out his eyes!"

"Calm down, Dumah. You can't be too hasty. What if Raziel gets eliminated tomorrow?" Dumah clenched his jaw and balled his fists.

"The person who eliminates him will only be making my job easier. But even so, Raziel will not escape my wrath. That is certain," he replied in anger, roughly shoving a slice of ham in his mouth. Turel couldn't help but stare at Dumah with concern; the boy was a monster. The way he talked about getting back at Raziel was barbaric. The tournament was only a test to see who was Sarafan material. But Dumah acted like this was a contest between who could kill who first. Turel put his cup down absent mindedly, wondering if he should confront that bastard and show him who is boss. Glancing back over at the group, Turel second his thought when the Coorhagen teens stood and made their way out of the hall. Out of the five, Dumah was the biggest, and possibly the strongest. His tight abdominal muscles grasped the purple Coorhagen shirt he wore, and his neatly defined chest was easily seen behind the fabric. Dumah even went as far as tearing his sleeves off to show his muscular arms. Turel couldn't even compare to his height; the other teen had to be at least six feet, where as Turel stood at five-foot nine.

"A total narcissist," Turel murmured. The teen grabbed a chicken drumstick, two pieces of bread, two slices of ham, and a roasted potato, and put them on his plate. He bit into his bread and chewed the piece slowly.

Raziel, thought Turel. He had to tell Raziel what this Dumah guy was going to do to him. Somehow, Turel had to devise a counter-attack against the Coorhagen bastards.

"But we'll be outnumbered," he whispered. "Unless…" Zephon. Maybe the red-head wouldn't mind helping out if need be. He seemed to like Raziel enough. And yet…nothing was certain. Hell, he could try to befriend the young eleven year old boy, and when the moment was right, knock him out himself. Turel shook his head. Zephon wouldn't try anything like that…he was no fool.

OoOoOo

Raziel laid on his cot face down, with his head buried in his pillow, and his body wrapped in his blanket; he didn't feel like doing anything physical for the rest of the evening. For some reason, he suddenly felt drained the moment he sat down in the Great Hall; his appetite had left him suddenly, and a wave of nausea, which attacked his stomach, forced him to flee. And just now, after an hour or so of agonizing stomach pain, did Raziel feel the need to feed; his hunger had reappeared with great vigor, and urged him to eat persistently.

The boy rolled over on his back and tightly squeezed the blankets beneath his fingers as his body broke out in a cold sweat. Raziel sighed grimly as if on his deathbed, staring blankly at the ceiling, wondering why his body was defying him. Several voices were heard outside the barrack, and Raziel's eyes darted towards the door in curiosity. Shadows danced in the dim light, and muffled voices filled the air. To the boy's dismay, he could not hear the conversations, and so he could not recognize the figures on the other side.

"I'll just be a minute, lads," said a boy, unknown to Raziel, as he walked in, leaving the door ajar, and began rummaging through his chest. Stahlberg meat…Raziel raised a brow and sighed, closing his eyes, and turning his head towards the wall. He tried to remain undiscovered as long as the boy was in the room with him; he didn't feel like putting up with anyone.

"Are you done yet, Xavier?" called a hoarse voice, one that Raziel immediately recognized. He clenched his eyes tighter, and hoped that his new 'friend' would let him be.

"I know I brought it, Zephon. You're always so impatient." The red-head smirked.

"Well I wouldn't be if people like you were not so slow." Raziel heard Xavier sigh and mumble something inaudible. Did they really have to bicker here?

"Ah! I found it, look," Xavier exclaimed happily. "Just look at it, Zephon, isn't it beautiful?" The red-head frowned and put a hand on his hip.

"It's a dagger…" he bowed his head and squinted his eyes, "…an old rusted one, by the looks of it."

"It's an antique, if you must know. My father gave it to me for my thirteenth birthday. He used to be a captain during the earlier years of the crusade…" the boy's voice softened, "…until he was ambushed by vampires, and was forced to resign." Zephon knelt by his friend and put an arm on his shoulder.

"Then it is your time to avenge him, Xavier," he said softly. "Do not rest until every blood-sucking beast is destroyed. I'm sure he'll be proud…" Raziel rolled his eyes at Zephon's attempt to comfort his friend. He had to have read that in a book somewhere.

"Ahchoo!" Both Zephon and Xavier gave a startled look towards Raziel as he sat up. "Sorry," he mumbled, wiping his nose with his hand. The Stahlberg boys stood, keeping their eyes on Raziel. Zephon tilted his head towards Xavier.

"Why don't you wait outside, Xavier," he whispered. "I'll be out in a minute." The other raised his eyebrows.

"What? Why do I-

Zephon's gaze hardened. "Do it," he commanded. Xavier was appalled, but did not question Zephon further. Instead, he gave one last look at Raziel, and walked out of the barrack. The red-head turned his head just enough to see the door behind him.

"He's gone now," he murmured, and turned his attention to Raziel. "My apologies; I had no idea anyone was in here." Zephon nodded his head in approval as he took in his surroundings. "It's much better than ours…"

"What do you want?" Raziel asked. Zephon locked eyes and tilted his head.

"What do I want?" He asked, baffled. "I want nothing, boy. Well…maybe a few words, but if you are not kind enough to share them with me-

"I'm not feeling well," Raziel interjected. "Please, can this not wait?" Zephon chuckled and shoved his hands in his pockets, creeping closer to Raziel.

"Ah…It could wait…" He shrugged. "But honestly, when would be a better time? You are 'sick,' as you say, and round two of the tournament is tomorrow. Now suppose one of us gets eliminated…when do you think would be a better time to wait?" Zephon said unsympathetically.

"Fine," Raziel growled. "We can talk…but only for a bit. As I said I'm not-

"Yes, yes, you are not well. I know," Zephon retorted, putting a hand through his hair. "Trust me, friend, I won't abuse your company." Raziel pulled the blankets up to his chin as Zephon approached. The red-head smiled.

"Will you not give the respect of meeting me eye to eye? I won't bite, you know…"

"If it will hurry this conversation," Raziel mumbled as he shoved his blankets off his body, and sat up to face Zephon. "What is it you wish to discuss?" Zephon planted himself on Turel's bed.

"Well, for starters, I'd like to know how you managed to beat that boy out there. You knew as well as I that all odds were against you."

"My family…we've always been into fighting in arms. My father was in the order back in the day-

"Oh, what division?" Zephon asked eagerly. Raziel fumbled his words.

"I-err, uh, the 4th; he was a captain in the special tactical forces." Zephon nodded in approval.

"That's a fine group there. I bet he traveled all over, huh?"

"That he did. He always brought back all sorts of treasures from the different parts of Nosgoth. Sometimes, he'd be absent for more than a year. It was an upset to my mother…"

Zephon raised an eyebrow. "So where did you fit in? How was it that a little speck such as you grows enough to wield a sword?" Raziel frowned at the insult.

"I love combat," he stated plainly. "My parents sent me to a special school to hone my skills. They didn't have enough money to send me to a regular school to get an education, so my mother gives me lessons for four hours a day, five times a week."

"Wait a minute," Zephon said, cutting Raziel short. "Your parents don't have enough money to send you to a school for normal kids like myself, but they can send you to a special school for sword fighting? I don't follow…how does that work?"

"It's quite simple: My father receives money from the Sarafan to send me to school. As long as I continue my training and succeed my father in the order, they will pay for my classes with an instructor. The moment I stop training or I retire, the money goes away…"

"Just like all our tax money," Zephon added absentmindedly. "So you've been thrown into this deal without knowing the true purpose: getting ripe for the Sarafan harvest. Your father apparently did not give you a choice; you were going to be a Sarafan whether you liked it or not. How cruel…"

"I suppose. It was either becoming a Sarafan like my brother, or I work until I become an adult, which then gives my parents the authority to kick me out."

"A crap-shoot," Zephon replied. "You've been born to live a life of bloodshed, not fun and games. You're destined to be a man or arms. A funny thing, destiny; it can be our friend if our fate suits us, but our enemy if it does not. It seems it is your enemy, Raziel." Raziel leaned back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling. Perhaps it was true…destiny was not in his favor. But there didn't appear to be alternatives.

"Don't linger on it," Zephon said finally. Raziel faced the red-head and their eyes met, both green and blue. "Just remember who you are, no matter what destiny curses or blesses you with."

"I…I suppose I can try…"

Zephon chuckled. "Try? No, no, you will, Raziel. You must." Raziel nodded in understanding, willing to take the advice of another, since he couldn't figure out things on his own. For some reason, Raziel felt that Zephon was a brother figure…a big brother figure; he seemed more of an inspiration than Von ever did. And the younger felt somewhat grateful for that.

"Alright, Zephon, I will…" Raziel said as he rose from his bed and stretched. "You know, I'm hungry. I think I'll see about getting some nourishment before training a bit. Would you like to join me?" Zephon shook his head.

"Nay. I have some…things I need to take care of first. Perhaps I will see you later before night falls." The pair left the barracks and parted ways. Raziel rushed his way over to the Great Hall to see if he could eat whatever scraps were left over. The wind rushed against his face, causing his eyes to water and he had to stop to clear his blurry vision. He grabbed his shirt and wiped both of his eyes. Before Raziel had a chance to take off, his body was slammed into a wall and pinned by two massive arms.

"I found you, little Raziel," the voice taunted maliciously. Raziel's mind had no chance to register the pain surging through his body, before the attacker held his victim by the throat.

"Dumah, you're going to kill him! Put him down!"

"Don't get soft on me, Darius," Dumah snarled. "How dare you try and foil my plans?"

"Plans? The boy did nothing to you. If anyone sought revenge, it would be Zack, not you, or any of us."

Dumah growled and turned his attention back to Raziel. "I don't care. Zack apparently didn't do his job, it's only right that I finish it." Raziel opened his groggy eyes and tried desperately to breathe. Dumah smirked and slowly tightened his grip on the younger's throat.

"Can't get out of this one, can you, boy? I'm not weak like Zack, so you're going to have a hard time getting free," Dumah laughed and pressed Raziel's head against the stone wall. Raziel yelled in pain, and squeezed Dumah's forearm with his hands. "That doesn't hurt," he mocked and slapped Raziel with his free hand. The Coorhagen boys behind him gave off the impression that they were nervous, looking around and shifting their feet where they stood. Dumah slapped Raziel again and laughed hysterically at the other's pain. But before the giant could get another punch in, he was knocked to the ground by another's fist to his face. Raziel fell with a thud and gasped for air, clenching his throat to ease the burning of his raw flesh. Several eyes shot back and forth between Dumah clutching his cheek on the floor, and the attackers behind Raziel. The injured eleven year- old looked up with watery eyes. It was Turel along with Zephon and a few other kids he didn't recognize. The Coorhagen boys backed up and crowded around Dumah, either out of fear or out of protection to their comrade.

"Are you alright, Raziel?" asked Turel, his eyes still locked on Dumah's rising form. Raziel nodded and used the wall for aid to stand. Zephon, standing near him, pulled him up and wrapped an arm around him for support. "You stay away from him, all ye from Coorhagen, or you'll have to answer to those of Uschtenheim."

"And Stahlberg," Zephon added, his words filled with venom. "We outnumber you, so be a good sport and leave while you can." Dumah wiped his lip of blood and smirked.

"You all would put yourselves in danger just to save this…weak, pitiful excuse of a fighter?" Turel smiled.

"The only weak one here is you. To attack one without giving him the respect to fight one-on-one, to give him a chance to defend himself, is cowardly in itself. There is no honor in that, especially if you fight on another's behalf."

"And we are in no danger, my friend," Zephon said while grinning. "As I've said, we outnumber you. The only ones in danger are you and your large companions there." He gestured towards the boys standing behind Dumah. Raziel narrowed his eyes from behind his bangs, and watched as Dumah struggled to contain his fury.

"Fine, we will leave," he uttered bitterly. Everyone, including Raziel, could feel how badly defeat hurt this boy's pride. "But if I get the privilege to battle with him," he pointed to Raziel, "in the upcoming events, you can bet I will show no mercy. That I can promise you."

"We will be waiting," Turel replied. Dumah scowled and motioned for his comrades to follow him down the opposite hall. Both Turel and Zephon smiled at their small victory.

"You sure are popular with the big and ugly, Raziel," Zephon joked as they all walked back to the barracks safely. Raziel thanked everyone for saving him, even though he felt pathetic saying that "if it wasn't for any of you, I would surely be dead." If Raziel got the chance to face-off with Dumah, he would show no fear. In the end, it would be he that would suffer.

Alright, I'm finished. This chapter took me forever, as I've gone back to it numerous times to write and make corrections. This chapter just gives off the negativity that Dumah apparently possesses, and shows that Raziel is not alone. We sort of get a look into Zephon's character, but not too much. The next chapter should be interesting :D I hope…Anyway, please review and comment; I love the criticism.-Lil V.