Gene’s birth name was Polytimos. It had taken him nine years to learn his real name, but even after discovering it, he still preferred Gene. The name was simple, light, and familiar. It also held the years Gene truly missed.
Gene had been born in Epherium, but until he was eight, he had never heard that name even once. His mother had deliberately never told him. Even after returning to Epherium, Gene could not forget the back alleys shadowed by his childhood. But he was forbidden to go out into the streets. Gene did not dare try either. At least, that was how it had been for six years.
One day when he was fourteen, unable to bear being chained any longer, Gene impulsively climbed over the wall and went out into the streets at night. Though these were not the streets where he had grown up, walking through a night market crowded with every sort of person made him feel strangely happy. Wandering aimlessly without knowing the way, he eventually came to the end of the market.
Epherium was a hot land, so the cafés and markets were lively even after sunset, but around midnight everyone hurried to close their doors and return home. After midnight belonged to the creatures of the night. Thieves, robbers, gangs, forbidden cults, opium dealers, merchants trafficking in people, brothels, sorcerers who would cast any spell for money, and assassins who would kill anyone. These were its inhabitants.
Gene, who had lived almost like a prisoner ever since returning to Epherium, did not know this. At the end of the market stood a tavern that resembled the establishment of the tavern keeper who had been fond of Gene long ago. In truth, it did not resemble it all that much, but Gene boldly went inside. A small urge to rebel must have played a part.
Inside, three or four burly men sat drinking together. There were no other customers. At the sight of Gene, who looked like a well-dressed young gentleman, one of the men gave him an incredulous look and spoke.
“Get out.”
Gene ignored him, sat at a table to one side, and ordered coffee. The proprietor brought it with an amused expression. While Gene drank his coffee and looked out the window, another man called to him.
“What’s wrong, baby? Has Mama hidden the honey cakes and won’t give you any?”
Gene answered.
“She doesn’t give me honey cakes, and she doesn’t sleep beside me either.”
The man spoke again.
“That’s sad. My mother waved a broom and shouted that the likes of me must never cross her threshold again.”
Gene answered again.
“My mother tells me it’s all for my sake, then makes a point of doing only the things I hate most in the world.”
The man was tall and lean, his whole body muscular, with countless scars on his bare shoulders and arms. Judging by his agile body alone, he might have been in his thirties, but his face was as wrinkled as that of a man over sixty. He must have been called handsome when he was young, but now his face only softened when he smiled. Just then, he burst into a hearty laugh.
“Ha, mothers live to torment their sons, don’t they?”
He poured a drink and handed it to Gene. Gene drank without refusing. It was the first alcohol he had tasted in his life, and it was strong, but he bore it well. Then another man threw him one of the dried dates they had been eating. When Gene caught it as it flew at an angle and bit into it, the first man shrugged.
“You’ve got good hands, little one.”
The man said his name was Beka. He was a gladiator. It was the favorite entertainment of the people of Epherium’s royal capital, but Gene had never been to the arena. After drinking a little more that night, Beka’s companions took Gene, who said he would not go home, to the gladiators’ lodgings. They must have done it because they too were drunk, but Gene, who had drunk no more than one cup, stared wide-eyed. The rooms, divided only by curtains, all reeked of sweat and alcohol. Scantily dressed women appeared from all sides, then vanished with peals of laughter. Beka took Gene to his own room and let him sleep on the bed.
After tossing and turning for a long while in the unfamiliar bed, Gene fell asleep, then woke toward dawn at a strange sound. Opening his eyes just a little, he saw that Beka had already risen and was sitting in a corner sharpening a sword. His manner was as solemn as that of someone worshipping at an altar. Beka took two swords and went to the adjoining room, which had been empty. Tense, and in truth a little frightened, Gene watched through the curtain.
Beka’s shadow took an attacking stance. Then he swung a sword. Thrust. Cut. Retreated, turned, and struck by surprise. His opponent was empty air.
Gene watched it all without breathing. He was being taught by the finest instructors, yet the speed and disciplined movement, unlike anything he had seen in his life, overwhelmed him completely. There was nothing showy in the way Beka moved. He made only the movements that were needed, with no waste in the transition from one to the next.
By the time Beka finished, only one thought remained in Gene’s mind. When Beka returned to the room, Gene sprang up and knelt on the floor.
Beka grinned.
“Didn’t sleep well? Wishing you hadn’t followed us?”
Gene bowed his head. It was the posture he adopted before a teacher.
“Please teach me.”
As he had expected, Beka was not easily persuaded. Gene followed him all day. He even went to the arena and watched a gladiatorial match for the first time. There were all kinds of fierce gladiators, but Beka was stronger than any of them. And Beka was dissatisfied with that.
Just then, a young gladiator had challenged him, and the whole audience was excitedly awaiting the match. Beka won easily. Kicking his kneeling opponent in the chest and knocking him flat, as though he were not even worth killing, he shouted.
“Is there no one who can defeat the likes of me!”
Everyone thought it no more than an arrogant cry, but Gene thought differently. Perhaps Beka meant it exactly as he said it. Beka thought himself insignificant, yet was frustrated because he could find no one whose skill surpassed his.
Angry, Beka returned to the waiting room. The moment he saw Gene, he slapped him across the face.
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