The Challenge of Atrom

Kenos woke with a start, his breath heavy and uneven, sweat clinging to his skin despite the cool morning breeze. The cracked tiles of the rooftop were damp beneath him, but the weight pressing on his chest had nothing to do with his surroundings.

That dream again. The same one he had been having every night since his seventeenth birthday. A swirling void, cold and endless, calling to him in whispers he couldn't quite understand. His hand drifted to the necklace hanging around his neck, a simple piece made of woven threads and a polished stone. His mother's work.

He tightened his grip on the necklace, feeling its texture against his palm. It was more than a gift—it was the last connection he had to her. The memory of his uncle handing it to him came unbidden, accompanied by words that still echoed in his mind: "This was hers. She wanted you to have it. Stay strong, Kenos, no matter what you face."

Kenos shook his head sharply, banishing the thoughts. There was no time for this. There was a journey to continue, even if he didn't know where it would lead.

The city's streets were alive with the noise of merchants hawking their wares, children darting between stalls, and guards patrolling with lazy indifference. Kenos navigated the chaos, his eyes scanning for a way out of the sprawling urban maze.

"Oi! There he is!"

The shout made him stop. Turning, he saw a familiar group—the same thugs he had dealt with yesterday. Their bruises hadn't faded, but their confidence seemed oddly restored.

They weren't alone this time.

A young man walked ahead of them, his steps deliberate, his grin wide and self-assured. He was about Kenos' age, tall and lean, with sharp features that carried an air of authority.

"So," the newcomer said, his voice carrying easily over the noise of the street, "you're the kid who roughed up my men."

Kenos stayed silent, his gaze steady.

The young man chuckled, spreading his arms theatrically. "They told me you were strong. Guess I had to see for myself."

One of the thugs leaned in, whispering something to him. The young man raised an eyebrow, then laughed again. "Really? All by yourself?" He turned back to Kenos. "Impressive. Name's Atrom. Strongest in this city, in case you haven't heard."

Kenos remained unmoved, though his hand drifted subtly toward his necklace.

Atrom's grin widened. "Look, I'm a fair guy. I'm not gonna hold a grudge over a little scuffle. But you've caught my attention. So here's the deal: fight me. If you win, I leave you alone. If I win..." His eyes flicked to the necklace. "You hand over that pretty little keepsake."

Kenos' grip on the necklace tightened, a faint chill brushing his skin as if in warning. He ignored it.

"Don't take too long to decide," Atrom said. "Though, if you say no..." He gestured lazily to the group of thugs, who cracked their knuckles in unison. "We'll have a fight anyway. Your call."

Kenos sighed. He didn't have time for this, but it was clear there was no avoiding it. "Fine," he said, his voice calm but firm.

They ended up in a desolate part of the city, an empty square surrounded by crumbling buildings. A crowd began to gather—thugs, curious onlookers, and a few locals who seemed eager to see their self-proclaimed strongest in action.

Atrom rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as he stepped into the center of the makeshift arena. "Let's make this quick," he said.

Kenos didn't respond, his eyes narrowing as he took a fighting stance.

The crowd fell silent.

A bead of sweat rolled down Kenos' face, falling to the ground. The instant it hit the dirt, Atrom charged.

Atrom moved with speed and precision, his fist aiming straight for Kenos' stomach. Kenos barely managed to twist away, but Atrom was relentless, following up with a spinning kick that sent Kenos crashing into a pile of wooden crates.

The crowd erupted into cheers, Atrom's thugs shouting his name.

Kenos lay in the wreckage, his vision swimming. Pain radiated through his body, but Atrom's voice cut through the haze.

"Is that all you've got?" Atrom taunted, stepping closer. "You beat my men with this?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess I'll take that necklace now. Wonder how much it's worth."

At the mention of the necklace, something inside Kenos stirred. No, it wasn't just anger—it was deeper, darker. A shadow flickered at the edge of his mind, a voice whispering unintelligible words.

He forced himself to his feet, his legs trembling but steadying with each step. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth as he wiped it away, his eyes locking onto Atrom with a new intensity.

Atrom paused, a glimmer of respect in his smirk. "Now that's more like it."

They squared off again. Atrom lunged, his fist flying toward Kenos' face. This time, Kenos didn't move.

He remembered his uncle's training—hours of repetitive drills, the sharp commands, the patient guidance. "Focus your energy. Relax your body. Wait for the moment, and then..."

The punch came, and time seemed to slow. Kenos exhaled, his muscles relaxing as he shifted his weight. At the last second, he deflected Atrom's strike with a fluid motion, stepping inside his guard.

Atrom's eyes widened, but he had no time to react. Kenos' fist connected with his jaw in a devastating uppercut, the force sending Atrom sprawling to the ground.

The crowd fell silent.

Kenos stood over Atrom, his chest heaving. For a moment, it seemed the fight was over. But then, Atrom stirred, pushing himself to his feet with unsteady legs.

"That..." Atrom muttered, spitting blood onto the ground. "That was unexpected." He grinned, though it was tinged with pain. "Guess I'll have to get serious now."

The crowd buzzed with anticipation as both fighters prepared for another round. But before they could clash again, a voice rang out from the crowd.

"Stop!"

All eyes turned toward the source, a figure stepping forward with an air of authority. The tension in the square thickened, and even Atrom seemed momentarily stunned.