Edge of Change

Finn was dragged back to his cell, arms sore and pride bruised. As the barred door slammed shut, one of the older cellmates chuckled from the shadows.

“Well look at that. You came back in one piece.”

Another added, “Better than my second try. Lost a tooth and a good chunk of confidence.”

Finn slumped against the cool wall, eyes half-lidded.
This place was more than just cruel sport—it was punishing and unpredictable.

He had underestimated it.

That night, under the flickering torchlight and low murmurs of other prisoners, Finn quietly let fatigue overtake him.
First a street fight, then jail, now gladiator combat… All for a vacation.

---

A Sharper Plan

The next morning, Finn sat quietly, cross-legged, focused. No morning stretches, no bravado—just quiet meditation.

He replayed the fight in his head.
The lights, the crowd, the spear duel.
Everything’s designed to favor spectacle. One-on-one. Melee range. Big moves. Big swings.
Finn wasn’t built for that.

He needed a plan. And, more importantly, the right tools.

Approaching the guards, Finn asked, “Are there any… shorter weapons in the arsenal? I didn’t see any.”

The taller of the two snorted. “What, them spears too tall for you?”

Finn’s deadpan stare said enough.

The other, slightly less amused, replied, “There’s an older cabinet behind the shields rack. Dusty. Some junk from older stock. Maybe you’ll find something suited for… smaller hands.”

Finn didn’t waste time.

That evening, when the guards began pulling volunteers, Finn stood first. His cellmates burst into cheers.

“Bless your guts, Brother!”

“You’re the reason I get to eat tonight and not get a broken rib!”

Finn gave a tired wave and headed out.

---

Old Steel, New Tricks

The arsenal was mostly the same—polished racks of swords, spears, greatswords meant to impress the crowd, not necessarily win.

Finn ducked low and weaved past a stack of tower shields. There it was—an old wooden cabinet with hinges rusted stiff. He pried it open with some effort.

Inside were half-forgotten equipment: cracked bucklers, dented gauntlets… and two short swords, worn but still sturdy.

He tested the weight.

Not symmetrical, he thought, but balanced enough.
They fit perfectly in his hands. Not much reach. But faster. Tighter movement. More control.

Just what he needed.

The guard who’d led him in glanced over. “That your pick?”

Finn nodded.

“You sure you don’t want a shield instead?” the guard asked, gesturing toward the safer option. “You’re not gonna block much with those.”

Finn gave a dry grin, flipping one of the swords into a reverse grip.

“I’m not here to block.”