Drums beat loudly in the courtyard of the Chukwudifu manor.

  No.

  They didn’t beat loudly.

  It just seemed like they did because the world shook with their rhythm, like the earth had gained a new heartbeat.

  This never-slowing beat carried across the castle's halls, calling all its members and staff outside for a while. All work was suspended to observe the Atilogwu dance.

  While they waited, their bodies were moved by the music unconsciously, even the strictest guard not being able to restrain himself from humming and bobbing his head slightly – the music dared one not to dance.

  The word “atilogwu” itself meant “possessing magic,” as it was believed that the drummers and dancers were possessed by the magic of their ancestors or special draughts, enabling them to produce their music and dance.

  Speaking of dancers, it was at this moment that they filed out.

  Almost militarily, moving in time with the beat, but charged with the same electricity that had captured the air here.

  Brightly apparelled, barefoot, and carried away by the energy of the atmosphere, the dancers came to the great pleasure of their spectators, bodies shaking like leaves in the breeze.

  Elijah watched with some interest and was moved as well (he flexed his jaw to the beat), though he tried his best not to move for fear of being conspicuous – Chaina’s mother was seated close by.

  She was a few dozen metres away, high on the same parapet that Elijah and Chaina were. The heiress had insisted that they were too far from her for it to be an issue, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be comfortable. This was the closest he had ever been to a Highborn matriarch, and it was closer than he had ever planned to be.

  Still, even the worst tight-arse would feel themselves unwind in this atmosphere.

  Red.

  Green.

  White.

  Yellow.

  Their colourful costumes dashed across the field in a flurry of activity so rapid and synchronised that nothing but his superior vision kept him in the loop.

  For all the speed and uniformity, the dance did not lose its elasticity, though. Every third gyration felt entirely planned but simultaneously struck the audience like a flash and stole a cheer from their lips before they were even aware of it.

  The rhythm shifted but never slowed, keeping that heartbeat sensation and ever rising, increasing the urgency of the dancers and their audience.

  The ogene (gong) sounded out with multiple sharp peals, signalling to the drummers the next song to play. The dancers seemed aware of it, stopping mid-step, mid-thought, mid-breath, and dancing exactly in sync at the moment the drummers switched, as though precognisant of the song to be played.

  This cycle repeated over and over. The conductor with the gong was seemingly trying to catch his dancers and drummers out by his ridiculous and abrupt changes, but failed each time.

  Elijah was well impressed by this, but his superior vision meant that, although he could not predict their stances, he could comprehend the fullness of the dance. It was amusing, riveting even, but just that.

  He turned to his side and saw that the young mistress was enraptured with the performance. Her pitch-black eyes spoke of memories and lives lived prior, and he couldn’t help but smile at her contentment. He sighed in his heart, and her elation was his for a moment.

  It was as he watched her that he noticed something changing on the field.

  Suddenly, the formation broke.

  Pairs became trios; trios stacked into columns. A boy dropped low, and another leapt, landing on his shoulders without breaking tempo. The base dancer’s feet continued their rapid pattern even as the weight shifted upward. Another climbed higher still, bare soles pressing briefly against backs and shoulders before finding their perch.

  A human tower rose from dust and music.

  And it danced.

  Yes, it danced.

  It is hard to explain, but this dance wasn’t the cautious sway of an unstable structure — but a living column bending, turning, answering the drums.

  Arms extended.

  Heads snapped.

  Anklets rattled like rain striking tin roofs.

  The rhythm surged again — faster, sharper — and the tower dissolved in a blur of motion.

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  One dancer flipped backwards from the highest point, body folding and unfolding in the air, landing so lightly the dust barely stirred. Another spun through a cartwheel that became a back handspring that became a leap, his feet reconnecting with the earth precisely on the downbeat.

  Still, the drums pressed on. Relentless. Exultant.

  The dancers’ feet never ceased. Even in ascent, even in descent, even in the suspended moment between heaven and earth — their rhythm continued.

  Stopping was impossible.

  It was to trespass against some ancient covenant.

  To break whatever unseen thread bound them all to the pulse.

  Sweat gleamed on foreheads. Breath came hard but steady.

  The ogen? cried again — high and triumphantly this time — and the dance ended.

  Suddenly.

  It was like a cold shock, and it was only in this moment that Elijah realised that he had been holding his breath.

  He joined the crowd cheering and hailing the dancers, manillas arcing into the courtyard so fiercely he feared the dancers would be struck down by their audience’s expressions of favour.

  They seemed pleased, though and merely smiled and bowed as the attendants moved around giving refreshments and kola nuts for them to break amongst themselves.

  Staring now, Elijah could see a serious difference. Now, they seemed like mere men; breathing at their individual paces, laughing and greeting members of the crowd who walked onto the field. Something had left them.

  “That was...”

  “Just the beginning!” she squealed, cutting him off and grabbing his nose again (she seemed to have made this her new habit).

  Despite his reflexes, he always managed to be caught off guard by this dollish young mistress.

  What a troublesome creature, he grumbled internally, though it couldn’t defeat the smile on his face.

  She was right, though – it wasn’t over.

  He saw the dancers and crowd leave the field, and a new group arranged itself at the edge. Among them, to his great surprise, was an osu.

  He turned inquiringly to his host, who seemed excited to explain.

  In short, it wasn’t rare at all for travelling dance troupes like these to take in outcasts and those at the fringes of society. Analogous to the Human practice of travelling circuses, these troupes specialised in the capturing of the bizarre and unconventional. They also understood that it was mortal nature to accept in entertainment what they would not tolerate in society.

  Take, for example, that exalted Human playwright William. His tragedies with star-crossed lovers and forbidden romance were met with critical acclaim and the eternal sighs of noble ladies, but if they had a friend who had been caught up in such a scandal, they would cut them off before there was even time for an intermission.

  It was all fine and dandy to be moved by incongruous fellows and impossible romances on the stage, but one could hardly build a safe community with such individuals.

  The attitudes of such troupes weren’t just superficial, though.

  Being constant wanderers, they found the rigid practice of their religion rather difficult, not just because of obligations but because of the differing cultures of the places they sojourned. Additionally, believing (whether this was true or not is irrelevant) that they were possessed by their ancestors and other great benevolent spirits during their performances, they believed them to be far more important than the celestial gods.

  True religion, in their estimation, was a man collaborating with his own Chi ( the divine spark of the true God), guided by his ancestral spirits and without conflict with his fellow man. The Bori, prior to the radicalisation of many of their sects, had a very similar worldview.

  This was not approved of by the more orthodox practitioners, but the troupes were broadly tolerated due to the rare and beautiful art they cultivated.

  Elijah had no experiences by way of culture or entertainment, so all of this was interesting as well as informative.

  “Maybe I should join one of these,” he said with a wry smile. “I’m no dancer, though.”

  Chaina’s eyes shone at this, as though that was actually a possibility.

  “I’ve always dreamed of joining one,” she said candidly, before looking in the direction of her mother.

  “She joined one in her youth and had moderate talent but ended up being nothing more than the troupe whore before returning home.”

  …

  Gods above! How am I supposed to reply to something like that?

  His brain stopped for a long time.

  That had come out of nowhere. Also, despite her earlier assurance that her mother was out of hearing range, he could have sworn that he saw her flinch at her daughter’s words.

  Before he could finish parsing out his thoughts, though, she called for him to go ahead.

  “You’re up!”

  “Up for what?”

  “Wrestling, of course.”

  Of course, he said to himself, looking down at the field and noticing that the osu among them had taken to the centre of the field and was smiling up at him.

  “Get going,” she said, apparently serious about it. The crowd was also watching in anticipation.

  He sighed and decided that it would actually not be a bad idea to get some separation from the young mistress and let off some steam.

  He launched himself down from the parapet and landed close to the centre noiselessly.

  This feat earned him a round of applause from the audience.

  Applause.

  It had been a while since he’d gotten some applause.

  He stared down his opponent with the practised air of someone who had done this before.

  Despite his exile from the social world, his identity as a Lycan meant that there was always some curious competitor who wanted to test their abilities against those of his infamous race. Aware of his commerciality, he naturally made a living out of it. It was already the norm for the challenger to offer some remuneration to the challenged; this was doubly true when there was a disparity in their positions.

  It would be seen as unfair if a noble or someone of higher standing challenged someone without offering something by way of compensation. This attitude was, of course, far less held in the case of osu, but these aristocrats had their own names to protect and couldn’t lower themselves over the small trinkets or resources they generally gave away for this purpose.

  It was in this way that Elijah had been able to pay for the resources for his blood iron rite, among other things.

  He waved his scarred hand idly about his head to banish idle reminiscings from his mind and instead focus on the opponent before him.

  He closed his eyes and drew in a few deep breaths.

  Yellow eyes captured the wrestler in front of him.

  He was ready.