Glimpse of Memory

The village of Rangpa drowsed in the quiet hush of twilight. Inside a small, gloomy house, a young boy named Ezra peered out the window. Unlike the usual boisterous play of children, Ezra craved the serenity. The vast canvas of the night sky held his attention, dotted with clouds that drifted like silent whispers. Questions swirled in his mind: why were the clouds so white, the sun such a vibrant yellow?

The peaceful moment shattered with a yell that sliced through the air. "Ezra!" boomed a voice from outside. It was Aldric, a familiar face bursting with boundless energy. "Come out, let's play!"

Ezra remained unmoved, his voice calm despite his young age. "Why should I? I don't understand the point of these… games. All that yelling and running… it seems pointless."

Aldric, ever the optimist, shrugged. "Come on, Ez. We're just kids! What else is there to do?"

A flicker on the horizon caught Ezra's eye. High in the mountains, a point of light glittered, reflecting the moonlight with an otherworldly glow. A spark ignited in his eyes, pushing aside his earlier contemplation. "Aldric," he spoke, a hint of excitement creeping into his voice, "what if we explored something amazing instead? An adventure?"

Aldric, the little boy with white hair, an innocent face framed by it, and eyes as black as night, tilted his head with a small smile. "Amazing? Amazing what?" he asked, curiosity sparking in his dark eyes.

Ezra, ever impulsive, surprised Aldric by leaping straight out of his second-floor window. The rough wood scraped against his skin, leaving behind a few scratches as he landed beside his friend. Despite the slight discomfort, Ezra brushed it off, his face devoid of any emotion as he spoke. "Well, I don't know exactly, but it has to be amazing... I hope." With that, he began walking towards the distant mountains, a determined glint in his eyes.

Aldric, though initially startled by Ezra's leap, quickly recovered his usual optimism. "If you think it's amazing, then I trust you," he declared, a grin spreading across his face. He glanced at Ezra's retreating figure. "Wait!" he called out, a hint of concern in his voice. But seeing Ezra continue on without stopping, Aldric shrugged and broke into a run, catching up to his friend. He fell into step beside Ezra, a silent promise of companionship etched on his face as they journeyed towards the mysterious mountain light.

As they trekked deeper into the twilight, Aldric, unable to contain his mounting curiosity, peppered Ezra with questions. "Ezra, Ezra, Ezra," he chanted, his voice laced with a touch of exasperation, "where are we going?"

Ezra, however, remained shrouded in his usual stoicism, ignoring Aldric's persistent inquiries. This only fueled Aldric's determination to get an answer. He continued his relentless questioning, "Ezra, where are we going? Ezra, where are we going?"

Finally, Ezra broke his silence, his voice flat and emotionless. "Mountain. Now shut your mouth up."

Their trek continued for another hour, the silence punctuated only by the crunch of leaves under their feet. Then, in the distance, they spotted an old man hunched over, working on something hidden in the shadows.

Ezra surged forward, his mouth opening to speak. But before a word could escape his lips, Aldric reacted with surprising agility. He clamped a hand over Ezra's mouth, his eyes wide with caution. In a hushed whisper, he leaned close to Ezra's ear. "Shh," he hissed. "Let's watch him from here silently. He might catch us if we get too close."

Ezra's usual stoicism faltered for a moment as he met Aldric's concerned gaze. "But why?" he questioned in a barely audible voice.

Aldric's voice trembled as he stammered, "My dad... he says an old man lives in the mountains. Steals children... eats them." A shiver ran down his spine despite the warm night air.

Ezra, however, seemed unfazed. His gaze remained fixed on the old man, a glint of determination sparkling within. "Really? Let's find out," he declared, a hint of morbid curiosity coloring his voice.

"But how?" Aldric's question hung in the air, his face etched with worry.

Ignoring Aldric's concern, Ezra took a bold step forward, wincing slightly as his scratched leg protested. He marched towards the old man. "Hey, old man!" Ezra shouted, his voice surprisingly loud in the quiet night. "What are you doing out here?"

The figure turned slowly, revealing a tall, imposing frame. A bald head gleamed in the moonlight, while a long, white beard flowed down his chest. In his hand, a menacing glint shone – a heavy hammer, its worn handle contrasting with the cold metal head.

Aldric, hidden deep within the bushes, felt a surge of terror as he saw the weapon. The image of the hammer and the old man's slow approach sent chills down his spine. He peeked through the leaves, his heart pounding in his chest, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of fear and morbid fascination.

The old man stopped a few paces away from Ezra, his cloudy blue eyes scrutinizing the young boy. A booming laugh, surprisingly jovial considering the circumstances, erupted from his lips. "Oh ho ho, kid! What are you doing out here all alone? It's dngerous"

Ezra met the old man's gaze, his voice calm despite the unsettling situation. A hint of a smile played on his lips as he spoke. "I saw something shiny up here, so I came to see what it was."

The old man boomed with laughter, a sound that seemed at odds with the imposing figure and the menacing hammer. "Oh ho ho, I see! Must be because of this then, wouldn't you say?" He gestured back towards the project he'd been working on.

"Yes, what is that?" Curiosity flickered in Ezra's eyes.

"Oh ho ho, what do you think it is, young man?" The old man leaned down, his hand reaching out to touch Ezra's shoulder. His gaze held a curious glint.

Ezra, ever blunt, replied with brutal honesty. "I don't know. Looks like a pile of scrap wood and glass to me."

The old man's smile didn't falter. "Oh ho ho, such a bold tongue you have, kid! What's your name?"

Ezra tilted his head, a shrewd look in his eye. "Before you ask mine, old man, shouldn't you tell me yours first?" He started to step towards the jumbled mess of wood and glass, his interest piqued despite his earlier dismissal.

The old man chuckled again, a warm sound that seemed to fill the clearing. "Oh ho ho, these youngsters these days! Very well, my name is Giden Falco. And that pile of junk, as you so eloquently put it, is my dream taking shape. A machine that will fly through the sky, just like the birds. See, I dream of flying."

"Ezra," the old man boomed, bending slightly to meet the boy's eyes. "That's a fine name, Ezra. Five years old, I presume?" A hint of amusement danced in his cloudy blue eyes.

Ezra, ever blunt, pointed a finger towards the bushes. "And over there, hiding like a scared rabbit, is my friend Aldric Burn. Five years old too."

Aldric, his face pale with fear, burst out of the bushes, anger momentarily overriding his fear. "Stupid! Why'd you tell him where I am?" he yelled at Ezra.

Ezra, however, seemed unfazed by Aldric's outburst. He completely ignored his friend, his gaze fixed on Giden's hammer. "Giden," he said with a voice laced with a surprising amount of disrespect, "how in the world do you think a pile of junk like that will ever fly? Did old age finally rot your brain?"

With a boldness that belied his age, Ezra marched over to the jumbled mess of wood and glass. He tugged on a loose piece, easily pulling it free. It clattered to the ground with a dull thud. "Look," he declared, pointing at the fallen wood, "See? These won't fly. Do you have some magic trick up your sleeve, old man? Is that how you think this thing will fly?"

Giden roared with laughter, a booming "Oh ho ho, li-" erupting from his chest. But Ezra, ever blunt, cut him off mid-chuckle. "Stop that, Giden," he said in a calm but firm voice, "It's annoying."

Giden blinked, surprised by the boy's directness. "Stop what?" he asked, a chuckle still bubbling in his throat.

Ezra pointed a finger at him. "That. The 'oh ho ho.' It's irritating." His honesty was brutal, lacking any sugarcoating.

Giden, taken aback for a moment, recovered quickly. "Oh ho- sorry, it's just a habit, young man," he chuckled sheepishly. He then straightened up, a glint of passion returning to his eyes. "Now, where were we? Ah yes, the flying machine! Let me explain how this 'junk,' as you so eloquently put it, will take to the skies."

Ezra, however, remained unconvinced. He interrupted Giden mid-explanation. "Stop it, Giden. I don't believe a pile of scraps can fly."

"Why not?" Giden challenged, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Because," Ezra declared, his voice laced with a maturity beyond his years, "the chances of success based on your explanation seem very low. Maybe 1.5 percent at best. You're old, Giden, and clinging to life. It's a pointless dream."

Giden, however, didn't seem fazed by Ezra's blunt words. He turned his gaze towards the sky, a smile gracing his lips. "Without a dream," he said, his voice surprisingly strong, "I'm already dead. And even with a 1.5 percent chance, I'll keep working because that's what living means – striving for possibilities, no matter how small. Besides," he added, his eyes twinkling, "who says I can't turn that 1.5 percent into 100?"

The sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. Ezra and Aldric, captivated by the old man's tenacity, found themselves staying by his side until twilight settled over the mountains.

Ezra and Aldric continued chatting as they walked back home. "Do you think he can actually fly that thing, Ezra?" Aldric asked, curiosity lacing his voice.

Ezra glanced at Aldric, his tone cool. "No, not a chance." A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. "But it'll be entertaining to watch him try to fail."

"What do you mean?" Aldric pressed, confused by Ezra's nonchalance.

Ezra continued his relentless push-ups, a stoic mask on his face despite the burn in his muscles. Each movement was precise, a calculated effort towards improvement. Just as he finished a set and transitioned to sit-ups, the house door slammed open with a jarring bang.

A booming voice echoed, "Ezra! Ezra, where are you?" The voice, though loud, held no warmth, mirroring Ezra's own flat affect.

Unfazed by the interruption, Ezra dropped into his sit-ups, the rhythm of his exercise unbroken. He finished the set and rolled onto his back, analyzing his progress with a detached gaze. Only then did he rise and walk towards the commotion, a study in controlled efficiency.

He reached the doorway and took in the scene with a practiced neutrality. A woman, with a similar build and dark hair as his own, stood in the entryway. A wide smile, a stark contrast to Ezra's impassive expression, stretched across her face. This, he recognized.

Beside her stood a small anomaly. A girl, no more than four, clung shyly to the woman's leg. Her pale, almost luminous skin stood out against the woman's brown complexion. Her blue hair, a color both unnatural and captivating, framed a face dominated by large, curious red eyes.

Ezra absorbed the scene without a flicker of surprise. He lacked the emotional context to understand the situation, processing it purely as a collection of visual data. He waited, his silence a silent demand for an explanation.

Ezra, his usual stoicism momentarily broken, took a cautious few steps towards the girl. "Who is she, Mother?" he asked, his voice devoid of its usual bluntness.

The woman knelt down, a gentle smile on her face as she brushed a hand over the girl's blue hair. "She's who I've been searching for," she began, then paused, taking a deep breath. "No, from now on, she's your little sister."

Ezra moved closer, his gaze meeting the girl's wide, red eyes. He tried to appear unfazed, but a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. The girl, sensing his lack of warmth, shrunk back slightly, clutching the woman's leg for comfort.

Despite his initial reservations, Ezra forced a smile, albeit a rather awkward one that ended up looking like a funny face. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice softer than usual.

The girl peeked around the woman's leg, her voice barely a whisper. "Elra," she mumbled.

Ezra tried again, this time attempting a real smile. It wasn't perfect, but it held a hint of kindness. "I'm Ezra," he said, extending his hand towards her. "And from today on, you're Elara Woods, just like me."

Despite her initial fear, Elra hesitantly reached out and grasped Ezra's hand. "Nice to meet you," she whispered, a spark of hope flickering in her red eyes.

The woman's smile faltered as her eyes caught the fresh scratch marring Ezra's hand. A playful swat landed on his head. "Did you get into another scrape, young man?" she teased, her tone laced with mock sternness.

Her concern melted into a knowing smile. With a murmur and a gentle touch to the scratch, a wave of warmth washed over Ezra's hand. The wound vanished instantly, leaving the skin flawless, as if it had never been damaged at all. No redness, no pink mark, just smooth, unbroken skin like Ezra had never gotten a scratch.

A flicker of longing crossed Ezra's face as he gazed at the grave. He wrenched himself back to the present, the weight of his revelation – that this was his sister's resting place – heavy in the air. Ana, her features etched with shock, clutched her right thumb with her left hand, her gaze fixed on her feet.

"What of your other family, Master Ezra?" she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Lost," he replied, his tone measured. Reaching out, he gently lifted her chin, his eyes meeting hers with a depth of sorrow. "There's no need for concern, pity, or guilt in your question," he said, his voice a steady murmur.

Dilus fixed his gaze on Silas, his eyes questioning. "Sir," he asked Ezra, "why is he apologizing to her?" Ezra, with hands folded, tilted his head slightly to the right. "Even I don't know," he replied, his voice calm. "It's not like it's his mistake."

Suddenly, Silas's voice boomed, echoing through the air. "Then whose mistake is this?" His tear-streaked face turned toward Ezra. Another voice joined the chorus—Siphel, her own tears flowing freely. "He's right," she said, her voice trembling. "But it's not just him; it's us. We both share the blame."

Ezra's response was measured, emotionally detached. "Suit yourself," he said. He reached for Ana's hand. "Let's go, Ana. They need some time alone, I guess."

As Ezra and the others hurried on, a voice boomed through the air, echoing off the surroundings. It was Siphel, her words heavy with despair. "Why don't you blame us for what we've done?" she cried.

A choked sob escaped her lips as she crumpled to the ground, landing hard on her knees. Tears streamed down her face as she slammed her fist repeatedly against the earth. "Why don't you hate us?" she rasped, her voice barely a whisper.

Ezra paused, his back turned towards her. He looked over his shoulder for a fleeting moment, then continued walking without stopping. "Because I don't understand," he called back, his voice distant.

Siphel remained alone with Silas. With a low, broken moan, she continued to pound the ground, her words barely audible. "Just hate us," she pleaded into the dirt.

Zar and Dilus, without a word, scooped up Ezra and Ana's belongings and followed close behind, leaving Siphel and Silas to their desolate solitude.

They reached the riverside, the wind whipping through their hair and carrying the scent of fresh water. The view of the rushing river was both beautiful and daunting. Ezra turned to Ana, a determined glint in his eyes. "Ana," he addressed her, his voice firm, "can you swim?"

Ana, a hint of apprehension in her gaze, looked at the churning water. "No," she stammered, a shiver running down her spine.

A playful smile, that didn't quite reach his eyes, tugged at the corner of Ezra's lips. "Well then," he said, a mischievous glint sparkling in his eyes, "time for a crash course." Before she could fully register his words, Ezra scooped her up and with a quick motion, tossed her into the shallows of the river.

Zar and Dilus froze, their eyes like saucers and mouths agape. Words seemed to vanish from their minds as they witnessed the scene unfold. Ana, a flurry of flailing limbs, churned the water in a desperate attempt to stay afloat. Panic contorted her face, her frantic movements pushing her nowhere fast.

Ezra, however, remained a pillar of calm. His voice, though firm, was gentle as he called out, "Ana, relax. Focus. Calm your mind." But his words seemed lost in the roar of the rushing water and Ana's panicked gasps. Undeterred, Ezra narrowed his eyes, closely observing her flailing strokes, assessing the situation.

For a few seconds, Ana flailed, a flicker of hope blooming in her chest as her arms found a semblance of rhythm. Then, a rogue wave slammed into her, shoving her head underwater. Panic seized her. Her limbs went rigid, fighting against the water instead of working with it. The air that had been precious moments ago vanished completely. The world turned into a swirling vortex of green and blue.

A distant voice, muffled and distorted, reached her ears. "Technique inefficiency. Increase buoyancy." It was Ezra, but his tone was flat, devoid of urgency.

But it was too late. The water filled her lungs, a cold weight pressing down on her chest. Her vision began to blur, the edges of the world fading into an inky darkness.

Suddenly, a strong grip clamped around her arm, jerking her upwards. Light blasted back into her vision, painfully bright against the darkness that had threatened to consume her. Ezra's face swam before her, an impassive mask. With a powerful heave, he hauled her onto the shallow bank, collapsing beside her.

He didn't waste a moment. Straddling her body, he pressed his palms firmly against her chest, a rhythmic urgency to his movements. A gasp escaped Ana's lips as water erupted from her lungs in a torrent. Each cough brought with it a wave of dizziness, but with it, a sliver of consciousness returned.

As the worst of the coughing subsided, Ezra eased his pressure, his hands running down her arms and legs, a mechanical efficiency to his movements. Slowly, Ana's eyes fluttered open. Her vision blurred, slowly focusing on Ezra's face, devoid of any emotion.

With a weak croak, she rasped, "Master... when do we...?" Her voice hitched, the memory of the terrifying experience sending a fresh wave of shivers down her spine.

Ezra, his face betraying nothing, spoke. "Resuscitation complete. Further aquatic training in two minutes."

Ana, still catching her breath, managed a weak nod. The fear of the water was fresh, but the memory of Ezra's swift reaction and efficient rescue flickered through her mind. With a newfound resolve, she closed her eyes, the rushing river a constant reminder of the lesson learned. The crash course in swimming would continue, but this time, with a much deeper understanding of what was at stake.

A few minutes later, a cold silence settled between them. Ezra rose to his feet, his expression unreadable. Ana mirrored his movement, a knot of apprehension tightening in her stomach. He didn't speak, simply extended a hand towards her.

Instinctively, Ana clutched the fabric of her clothes, bracing for another toss. However, a flicker of something, perhaps reluctant understanding, crossed her features. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Slowly, she allowed her body to go slack, a hint of trust battling the fear churning within her.

This wasn't what she expected. Ezra's hand, instead of grasping her arm, reached for her neck. A jolt of surprise shot through her, but she held her ground. With a firm grip, but devoid of any emotion, Ezra dipped her head forward, pushing her face towards the rushing water.

A gasp erupted from Ana as the cold water engulfed her senses. It was a baptism by force, a harsh reminder of her near-death experience. Zar and Dilus, watching from a distance, sat rooted to the spot. Zar, uncharacteristically nervous, gnawed on his thumb, his eyes glued to the scene unfolding before them. This training method, while undeniably effective, scraped against his sense of compassion.

Ana sputtered and choked, the water a shock to her system. Yet, a sliver of defiance ignited within her. She wouldn't let this break her. This unexpected maneuver, a test more mental than physical, forced her to confront her fear head-on. With a surge of determination, she fought back the panic, focusing on the rhythm of her breathing.

After a minute, a tremor ran through Ana. The initial shock of the cold water had given way to a gnawing panic. Her lungs burned, a desperate plea for air screaming in her ears. The water, once a refreshing challenge, morphed into a suffocating prison.

Instinct took over. Her limbs flailed wildly, hands scrabbling at Ezra's unyielding grip on her neck. A primal urge to break free, to gasp for a single life-giving breath, consumed her. Yet, Ezra remained a statue, his eyes fixed on her with an unnerving intensity. It was as if he were dissecting her panic, analyzing her breaking point.

Dust swirled around a group of figures emerging from a nearby village. These weren't your typical farmers; they were soldiers. Each one gripped a spear in their hand, a sword strapped to their side, and gleamed with metallic armor. As they drew closer, one of the soldiers boomed, "Yo, brother!" raising a hand in greeting.

Dilus, unsure of who these soldiers were, cautiously observed them. He saw the greeting and, hesitant, lifted his own hand in response. The soldiers were talking amongst themselves, but the distance muffled their words. Unable to understand what they were saying, Dilus tapped his ear, hoping to convey his deafness.

A soldier, his gaze sharp, recognized the drill unfolding on the riverbank. He strode purposefully towards Dilus. As the group of soldiers approached, the scene before them turned alarming. A man was holding a young girl's head underwater. Without a second thought, the entire unit surged forward, spears raised. One soldier, voice booming with authority, yelled, "Stop! Or I will run you through!"

Ezra, unfazed, turned to face the approaching soldiers. A hint of amusement flickered in his eyes. "It's just a training exercise," he called out calmly.

The soldiers faltered, their eyes darting between the struggling girl and Ezra's composed demeanor. Confusion etched their faces. Ezra followed their gaze, landing on Ana who was gasping for air, her body wracked with coughs.

"Indeed, training," he confirmed, his voice unwavering.

A soldier, his brow furrowed, challenged him, "What kind of training justifies drowning someone till they're on the verge of death?"

Ezra, with a gentle movement, pulled Ana back from the water's edge. Her ragged breaths filled the air. "Mental fortitude," he stated simply, leading Ana towards Zar and Dilus who watched with wide eyes.

A plume of dust billowed behind a lone rider galloping into view. He reined in his horse sharply, eyes narrowing at the scene before him. Soldiers, weapons gleaming, surrounded a small, terrified girl and three others.

Concerned, the man urged his horse forward. "What's happening here?" he boomed, his voice cutting through the tension.

The soldiers, recognizing their leader, snapped to attention with a sharp click of their heels. It was the commander himself. One soldier stepped forward, voice tight. "Commander," he reported, "this man here attempted to drown that girl."

The commander's face drained of color. Disbelief flickered across his features, morphing into a mask of fury. He dismounted with a swift movement, his boots crunching on the dry earth.

"What?" he roared, eyes blazing. He stole a glance at the trembling girl, then whipped his head back to the soldier. "Trying to kill a little girl?" His voice was a low growl, laced with disbelief and anger.

Ezra's calm voice. "That's just training," he explained, the accusation hanging heavy in the air.

One soldier, still fueled by the scene, bristled. "Training by drowning her? All we saw was you trying to hold her under!" He lunged forward, spear aimed at Ezra.

Ezra stood his ground, unwavering. The soldier's attack came with a swift thrust, but Ezra didn't even flinch. The spear tip met Ezra's chest, only to deflect with a dull clang, leaving not a mark.

"Master is correct!" A voice, loud and laced with anger, cut through the tense moment. It was Ana, her eyes blazing. "He was training me!"

The commander, disoriented by the turn of events, dismounted and approached Ezra with a newfound respect. "I apologize for the misunderstanding," he said, a deep bow accompanying his words. "On behalf of my soldier's hasty actions."

"My name is Muz," he continued, finally meeting Ezra's gaze directly. "And it seems you have a very capable instructor."

Ezra, ever composed, offered a small smile. "Thank you, Commander Muz. This is Ana," he gestured towards her, "and the little ones their is Zar and the other one is Dilus." He introduced everyone, the tension slowly dissipating as introductions were exchanged.

"Ezra," Commander Muz lowered his voice, a hint of urgency lacing his words, "you should seek shelter within the village walls."

Ezra, ever stoic, raised an eyebrow. "Why?" he inquired, his voice calm despite the sudden shift in atmosphere.

Muz cast a wary glance towards the sky, a furrow etching his brow. "Villagers reported a dragon sighting," he explained, his tone grave.

Dilus, who had been perched silently on Ezra's shoulders, couldn't contain a mischievous grin. He hopped down and approached Muz, his movements surprisingly agile for someone so small. With a slight tilt of his head, Dilus reached out and tapped Muz's helmet with a single finger.

"That 'dragon' you saw," Dilus chirped, his voice barely a whisper, "was mine."

Muz's jaw slackened in disbelief. The soldiers around him mirrored his stunned expression.

"I didn't mean to scare anyone," Dilus mumbled, his smile fading slightly. "Just practicing my summoning."

Muz stroked his chin thoughtfully, a flicker of understanding replacing the initial shock. "Summoning, you say?" he inquired, his voice regaining its composure. "So, the dragon simply vanished because you called it back?"

A sheepish grin spread across Dilus's face. "Yeah, something like that."

Muz chuckled, a warm sound that eased the tension. "Well, that certainly explains the sudden disappearance," he said, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Muz's gaze flickered to Ana, then back to Ezra. "Speaking of training," he inquired, "what exactly was that exercise you had them performing?"

Ezra, with his usual composure, replied simply, "Mental training."

Muz pondered this for a moment, then stepped closer to Ezra, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Ezra," he began, his voice dropping slightly, "I have a favor to ask."

Ezra, ever vigilant, met Muz's gaze and raised an eyebrow. "What kind of favor?"

A smile tugged at the corner of Muz's lips. "I witnessed your strength firsthand," he said, glancing at the spot on Ezra's chest where the soldier's spear had deflected harmlessly. "Not even a scratch. I was hoping you might consider training my soldiers, even if just for a day."

Muz's smile widened, revealing a glint of genuine respect in his eyes. "They could certainly benefit from your unique methods."

Ezra tilted his head, a silent question lingering in the air. His expression remained unreadable, a poker face honed through years of experience.

Muz, sensing Ezra's hesitation, stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Two gold coins," he offered with a hopeful smile.

Ezra remained impassive. He knew his worth. Calmly, he countered, "Twenty gold coins. There's no room for negotiation."

A murmur rippled through the ranks of the soldiers. Twenty gold coins were a hefty sum, especially for a single day's training. One soldier piped up, voicing the collective concern. "Commander, that's outrageous! We can't afford that!"

Muz sighed, running a hand through his beard. He glanced at the ground, then back at Ezra, his smile now replaced with a hint of resignation. "That's a bit steep for our budget, I'm afraid."

Ezra locked eyes with Muz, his voice devoid of emotion as he spoke. "Honestly, I don't care about the gold." He paused, his gaze flickering to Ana for a fleeting moment, then returned to the Commander. "However," he continued, a hint of intrigue creeping into his tone, "I have a different proposition."

Intrigued, Muz leaned forward. "I'm all ears," he replied, curiosity etched on his face.

Ezra straightened his posture and met Muz's gaze head-on. "I challenge all of your soldiers to a spar. If any one of them manages to land a single hit on me within ten minutes," he declared, his voice ringing with confidence, "I will train all of you for a single gold coin."

A collective gasp rippled through the soldiers. The proposition was audacious, bordering on reckless.

"But," Ezra continued, a steely glint in his eyes, "if none of you can land a hit, the price remains at twenty gold coins. On top of that, I require one additional condition – a promise from you, Commander."

Muz's brow furrowed. He glanced at his soldiers, their faces a mixture of apprehension and determination. Then, he turned back to Ezra, a forced smile playing on his lips. "And what kind of promise would that be?"

Ezra leaned closer, his voice dropping to a mere whisper. The words that followed were inaudible to anyone except Muz, their content shrouded in secrecy.

As Ezra finished speaking, Muz's expression shifted. A flicker of surprise gave way to a resolute nod. "Yes, that's a fair deal."

The soldiers remained in the dark, their confusion palpable. What had Ezra whispered to their Commander that warranted such a swift agreement? The tension hung heavy in the air, a silent challenge issued and accepted.

The air crackled with anticipation. Muz's soldiers, discarding their initial shock, straightened their armor and hefted their weapons. A shared fire of determination burned in their eyes. Here was a chance to prove themselves, to land a blow on this seemingly invincible stranger.

Ezra, the center of attention, turned to Ana. "Ana," he began, his voice calm amidst the rising tension.

Ana, her own eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and focus, interrupted him. "Watch this fight closely," she declared, her voice ringing with newfound confidence.

A faint smile touched Ezra's lips. "Good," he said, "you're learning very quickly."

He then shifted his gaze to Muz, a subtle challenge flickering in his eyes. "Commander Muz," he addressed him, "perhaps you'd like to join your men?"

A low murmur erupted from the soldiers' ranks. Here was an unexpected turn of events. Their initial amusement at Ezra's perceived arrogance was replaced with a surge of competitive spirit.

"That guy thinks he's the strongest," one soldier muttered to his comrade, a smirk twisting his lips. "He has no idea what Captain Muz is capable of."

"Yeah," another chimed in, his voice brimming with confidence, "this is going to be an easy win for us."

The whispers fueled the soldiers' resolve. They may not have been able to land a hit on Ezra individually, but surely a coordinated assault from their entire company would be a different story.

Muz surveyed his soldiers, their faces alight with a mix of amusement and simmering challenge. A slow smile stretched across his own face. "Soldiers!" he boomed, his voice cutting through the tension. "Make no mistake, this will be unlike any fight you've faced before."

He drew his sword with a flourish, the metal glinting in the afternoon sun. "Today," he continued, his gaze sweeping across their ranks, "I demand one hundred percent. This stranger," he gestured towards Ezra, "clearly underestimates us. His confidence stems not from his own strength, but from a perceived weakness in our own. We will prove him wrong!"

Muz's voice rang with conviction, igniting a spark in the soldiers' eyes. A collective roar erupted from their ranks, a surge of newfound determination coursing through them. They wouldn't just fight, they would prove their mettle.

Ezra, however, couldn't help but register a flicker of amusement at Muz's impassioned speech. He raised his voice, interjecting before the soldiers could fully unleash their newfound fervor. "Muz," he called out, his tone calm yet clear, "allow your men to fight without restriction. Magic, weapons, brute force – hold nothing back. In fact," he continued, a hint of a challenge creeping into his voice, "consider this a test. Come at me with the intent to kill, as if your lives depended on it."

A ripple of surprise flowed through the soldiers. This unexpected request from their supposed opponent sent shivers down some spines, while igniting a thrill in others. This wasn't just about proving their strength anymore; this was about pushing their limits, about defying expectations. The air crackled with a new level of anticipation. The fight was on, and the stakes had just been raised.