The sun stared Irren straight in the eyes through the window.

  Irren had spent another night lost in reading and was far from well-rested. He sat up in bed and gave a long, deep stretch, much like a brown bear stirring after a six-month slumber. Like a bear, Irren climbed out of bed as if emerging from a den. He turned back, tidied the blanket and pillow, straightened the bed, and put on his only red knitted jacket. He pulled on his tattered, frayed, and faded green trousers, fitted his feet into his father’s old boots, and stepped out of the bedroom.

  No one met him in the kitchen, only a couple of slices of bread and a small portion of fish remained. Irren wondered for a moment where his mother might have gone, then suddenly remembered she had planned to go help Aunt Elania. “She’s likely at Aunt’s, helping her. It’s a blessing; kind deeds have never lost their value in our family, and they never should. These were words Irren had heard from his father and taken a liking to; now, he repeated them to himself whenever the chance arose.

  Irren ate his breakfast, tidied himself up, and was preparing to head to his father’s when he remembered that he had a tournament match the next day. It would be better to be prepared. Irren stepped out of the house and locked the door tightly. Of course, this rain-rotted door wouldn't stop anyone, locked or unlocked, yet he locked it anyway.

  He headed toward the gathering spot where he knew someone would always be waiting, as two members of his team lived right there. Passing through the city center, Irren saw the tables being prepared for the tournament. Everything was "perfect"—at least, as perfect as a man in these parts could hope for. Two half-decayed tables with missing legs, and in place of chairs, stuffed sacks. All of this, of course, laid out quite "cozily," right under the beating heart of the sun. Such was life.

  Irren walked through the center, passing the various spice stalls that together created a stench so foul he could barely keep himself from fainting. As he walked, he thought: Can this truly be called a Capital? Or its ruler, a King? A king should rule and care for his people, not cast them into filth and mud, Irren mused to himself.

  Meanwhile, he approached the fish market, a place familiar to him. Trading was underway, a habit the people of Valmare had turned into an art form. They would "dry the blood" of a merchant until they got the price they wanted. But the merchants weren't lacking in cunning either.

  Irren caught sight of Uncle Onra. Uncle Onra was an old man, silver-haired and nearing seventy. At first glance, he gave the impression of a kind and loving grandfather, but one should never let the cover deceive them. Onra the Tradesman had spent his entire life among merchants in various cities and understood the craft better than anyone. He would often set the price of fish high so he wouldn't lose out during the bargaining; he knew which tricks worked on whom and what temperament each person had. Because of this, the other traders had dubbed him the "Old Fox."

  Irren passed the stalls and reached the shoreline, which was entirely covered by people. The shore was where workers, traders, carpenters, blacksmiths, and other craftsmen gathered after a hard day's labor. This was their place of release, a place where responsibilities temporarily vanished and they were happy, if only for a moment. Irren had observed this for a long time, but to this day, he couldn't understand what these people had to be so happy about.

  Finally, he reached his group's quarters, where only Maria was waiting. “Greetings, Maria,” Irren began. “As you know, I’m competing in the tournament tomorrow. “If it’s no trouble, could we play for a short while?” he asked the girl.

  Maria turned and gazed at him for a moment. Her face was hidden behind long, red hair, from which only two blue pearls—her eyes—peered out at the boy. Irren stood there frozen, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't, wanting to move but standing still like a statue. Finally, Maria broke the silence. “Of course. If you win this tournament, it will be a great help to your family.”

  Irren didn't seem pleased with this answer and said: “If I win, I plan to split the prize money among us. You are my closest people, and everyone has a share in my game. I’ll help my family from my own portion.” Maria smiled; she hadn't expected this answer, but she had wanted to hear it. “Irren, we are with you and always will be. But look at us, you’re the only one in this club who has a family. When I imagine what I would do just to be with a family, your decision makes me even more certain of our closeness. But know this, Irren: put no one before family. First, if you win, spend the money on them. Only then come to us.”

  She said this and sat at a small wooden table where the children had carved the game board directly into the wood. Irren sat down to play. They played one round, two, three. It was clear Maria was getting bored; she buried her head in her hands, barely keeping herself from falling asleep. Irren noticed. “We can stop if you want. You aren't obligated to do this for me,” the boy said with an unusual tenderness and a caring voice that wasn't characteristic of him at all. “Shut up and play,” the girl replied.

  And so, playing and playing, evening fell. The girl was now so tired she could barely open her eyes, leaning her chin on her hands to keep from nodding off. Irren finally said: “I think I’m ready for tomorrow. If not, then I suppose it was meant to be.” The girl looked at him with tired eyes and nodded in agreement.

  Irren stood up, gave a deep stretch, and looked outside. “It’s gotten dark,” he muttered to himself, not having felt the time fly by. “Maria—” Irren started. “Thank you for the help. I’m very nervous about tomorrow and I needed the practice.”

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  Maria was stunned. She had never heard Irren admit to being nervous or afraid of anything. He always presented himself with such confidence, as if nothing worried him and no obstacle could stand in his way. “It’s normal, Irren,” Maria told him, her voice still a bit confused. “You don't do something like this every day. Only those with serious money play in these tournaments.”

  Irren listened to the girl intently, staying silent. When she finished speaking, he replied: “Then I must use this chance,” he said and headed home. Maria said nothing more; she watched as Irren left their gathering place and disappeared into the darkness. She was still thinking about how Irren had expressed his emotions and revealed his true face. “By my sun, I thought I’d die before I saw that boy show fear,” she thought to herself.

  Irren walked along the shore, also wondering what had made him reveal his feelings to the girl. He walked and tried to find a reason. “It’s fine. I was too exhausted, I wasn't thinking straight. And besides, she was half-asleep; by my sun, I doubt she even understood anything.” The young lad searched for excuses, trying to see the negative consequences that might follow his words, but he couldn't find peace because he couldn't see any negativity in it.

  Meanwhile, he ran into the others on the road, who had been working and were returning to rest after tireless labor. “Look at this! Our Boris Kleier. What happened, did you prepare?” “Are you ready for tomorrow?” Arthur pelted him with questions. “I’m ready, then. I’ll win that tournament and show the useless ones of this city how to play Borkem. I’ll prove that no one can beat me,” Irren replied nonchalantly.

  “Look at this one,” Micah began. “He talks as if he really were Boris Kleier. Brother, how many times have I told you to stop acting so proud? Bragging won't bring you anything good. And we have some news.” “Let's hear it. Doesn't matter what it is, but still,” Irren maintained his confidence. “Tomorrow, the real Boris Kleier is actually playing.”

  Silence fell. Irren's expression didn't change; he didn't show the others the great fear and dread this information brought him. He was confident in his abilities, but Boris Kleier was an undefeated champion—a 27-year-old man who had done nothing in his life but drink and play Borkem. “It seems I'll have a worthy opponent,” Irren somehow managed to say. Micah chuckled. “That pride will ruin you, Irren. It’ll ruin you!” “We’ll see about that,” Irren replied.

  The three boys parted ways, each going their own way, consumed by their own tasks and thoughts. Irren was struck with terror. A man could prepare for anything, learn more, play more, but Boris Kleier was a different game entirely. Boris destroyed his opponents—to the point that he even played matches while drunk. The only thing that calmed Irren was that he himself hadn't been defeated by anyone in the city yet, which gave him a spark of hope.

  In the meantime, the boys had returned to their "base," where Maria had fish waiting for them. “May the Sun Goddess bless you, Maria! I’m so hungry I could die,” said a ravenous Arthur. “Eat. I prepared it as best as I could. True, it’s not even close to Anesya’s, but you don't have anything better, so...” The boys began to eat as if they had been starving for a month. “Have you seen Irren?” Maria asked. “Yeah, we ran into him,” Micah replied. “Proud and arrogant as always,” Arthur added. “Boys, that’s just how he is. We must accept it,” Maria said. “That’s true, Maria, and we do. Despite him being proud and arrogant, he’s still our friend and we love and value him. But what good is our valuation when he sits across the board from Boris Kleier tomorrow?”

  Maria grew alarmed, her eyes widening. She asked with a trembling voice. “Yes, Maria. Boris Kleier. Haven't you heard?” “Of course I have. But is he playing in tomorrow’s tournament?” “That’s what they say in the city—the Sleeping Wolf has awakened and is coming to hunt.” “Are you sure you didn't mishear? Or was it someone else they were talking about?” Maria’s heart began to race. “No, it’s him they’re talking about. It’s a shame for our boy; he could’ve used that prize. But in a way, it’s good—maybe that sense of pride will vanish and he’ll stop rubbing his 'strength' in our faces for a while,” said Arthur with his mouth half-full. “Yes... maybe so,” Maria said quietly and stepped outside.

  Maria sat on the sand. Thinking about Irren’s feelings had been haunting her, and now the boys had poured oil on the fire. Only today had the girl realized that Irren was just as sensitive as the rest of them, just as ordinary as they were, but he pretended to be someone else. She imagined what Irren must have felt when the boys told him this, what distress he would be in and what he would be thinking.

  Meanwhile, Irren was only about a hundred paces from home. He strode through the quiet city; not a soul was to be seen. He was so anxious and lost in thought that he didn't even notice as he stepped into a puddle, soaking one boot and muddying the hem of his trousers. He reached the door. Opening it, he found everyone asleep. Irren came in, took off his soaked boots and set them by the door, placed his socks there too, and headed to his room.

  In Irren’s room, an eternal silence reigned that nothing could break. He took off his clothes, still thinking about how to win against Boris, what it would be like to sit face-to-face with such a man. Irren lay in bed, but sleep would not come. He lay there staring at the ceiling, thoughts refusing to leave him be. If I win, it will be great. If not, Boris Kleier is no small matter. It’s not the money I’m losing; let the one who pays the entry fee worry about having to play him. Irren tried to calm himself, but he couldn't. Then he turned to his left and stared at his room. It had two large windows through which the moonlight shone. He gazed at the room until he noticed something. The moonlight was illuminating the small table and the paper Borkem board lying on it.

  Irren stood up at once, sat at the table, and began testing every move and combination. He sat there, moving the pieces with full focus and determination. He played both sides of the match himself, imagining that Boris was sitting there across from him, making his moves. He played 10 times, 20 times, 50 times. In every match, it ended in a draw, which was good, but it might not be enough. Boris was known for his aggressive style, and Irren was preparing for that.

  He sat like that for a long time until, on the 177th attempt, he found almost all the variations he could use in decisive moments. Irren was still staring at the board, then he pulled his eyes away and stood up. He looked out the window and noticed that instead of moonlight, the first ray of the sun had appeared. The boy dashed to his bed immediately, and as soon as he lay down, he fell asleep. He had done everything he could; from here on, everything was in the hands of fate.