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“Did you see that moment of hesitation where I almost did the right thing? Well it was brief… but it was there!”

Honor fights. Seb detested honor fights. They were flamboyant and boring. Warriors fought with exaggerated sword swings and brazen shouts, drawing the fight out till Seb thought he would fall asleep. Every fight seemed like the action point in a bad story.

The crowds never liked Seb much, sure his fighting prowess was almost legendary, but Seb never put on a show. He strode in, killed the opponent(nobody yields these days) and left. The crowds wanted blood, Seb gave them blood, but on his own terms.

Sometimes he wondered why he hadn't been poisoned or skewered in his sleep yet. Cowards.

There came a roar from outside, the crowd, awaiting his arrival. Seb stood in the dark hall, a heavy, scarred door before him. A black sword hung from his right hand, it glinted even in the weak light. Seb pushed open the door and stalked out into the hot sun.

A howl went up from the crowds. They still expected a show from him, even though Seb, and his style, were a familiar sight in the arena. He knelt in the direction of the emperor, placing the black sword lightly on the sand. From underneath thick, dark lashes his eyes searched the stands, quickly focusing on one spectator low in the stands. My dear Belize. Wavy black hair, eyes so dark you couldn't see the pupils, clever and, of all the things in the world, kind.

Seb rose, picking the sword up from the sand. He held the weapon in a light but firm grip. He didn't squeeze the leather grip, but didn't let it hang from his fingers either. Seb gave a slight nod to Belize and as the second door opened, swung to face it.

Seb's opponent was barely older than him, a tall boy armored in fancy leather that shone with metal ornaments. His sword was large, shiny and ornate. Seb wore simple leather that protected vulnerabilities but left him light on his feet, his sword was black, simple, sharp and, above all, Seb knew how to use it.

His opponent knelt, then sprang up and the fight was on. Seb circled around the boy, fast and lithe. The boy was wary and didn't rush to meet him immediately. Seb silently cursed him. Seb won by goading his opponents close to a range where their greatswords were no use.

Seb was tired of this circling. He darted forward and as the boy swung the gleaming sword, Seb ducked to the side and came up behind his opponent. Seb raked the black sword across the exposed backs of the boy's knees. The boy stumbled and Seb kicked him in the lower back, sending his opponent to the ground. Somehow the boy managed to roll over, but the sword was slippery in his grasp and he couldn't bring it up to stab Seb.

Seb pressed the point of his sword to his opponents bare neck, ready to drive it in and kill his opponent. But then Seb hesitated. This was... confusing! Seb found he was waiting, hoping, for this boy to yield. All he needed to do was say yield. Seb had never been indecisive like this. He killed opponents unless they yielded. But while the boy refused to yield, Seb hesitated to kill him. He stared down at the wide eyes, waiting.

The boy did not yield. So Seb drove his sword deep into his opponents throat and twisted, tearing it out with a schlurk and a vermilion spray of blood. The boy gurgled and twitched and then, quite simply, died.

Seb stepped away from the corpse and spat into the sand, wiping the sword on the dusty cloth of his pant leg. He looked up to lock eyes with Belize. Seb frowned when he noticed the astonished look on her face, but then Seb's eyes grew wide with surprise and his mouth dropped open.

That night, when Seb met with Belize, he grasped her by her shoulders and spun her around. "Did you see that?!" He gasped. "Did you see that moment of hesitation where I almost did the right thing and spared that fighter?"