Undorn: The Beginning

Part Twenty-Eight

Beo, Region of Lufe

Location: The Hospital

As it had turned out, Orgon was good at one-on-one combat. Like unbelievably so. For a lanky man with sarcasm his go-to defense, it was quite surprising how badly Orgon was whipping Beo's ass.

When Bones saw Beo later that night at the dinner table, his knife clattered to the floor. "What the bloody hell happened?"

Bones was being dramatic. It was a broken nose. It wasn't anything Beo couldn't handle. And Orgon had been very apologetic about the whole thing.

Earlier that morning, Beo and Orgon had met in a room of the Hospital that Beo didn't even know existed. It was on an entire floor of the Hospital that Beo didn't know existed: the basement's basement.

It was nothing like upstairs: it wasn't furnished, painted, or floored. It was wide open space with dirt for floors and walls. But it was perfect for training.

"So," Orgon was wrapping his wrists in tape. "How much one-on-one training did you get at camp?"

Beo shrugged. "Three times a week, sometimes four. I was really getting a hang of it. Well, you know, until I left."

The vein running along the side of Orgon's neck twitched. He swallowed something in his throat, choosing to remain silent.

Hastily Beo added, "What about you? You said you had training?"

He nodded, tossing the wrist tape to Beo. "My father was insistent on it. My brothers and I sparred with each other once a day from age five to age seventeen, so it's safe to say I've had some practice."

Beo let out a low whistle. "Jesus. Is your dad crazy? Or is there a need for one-on-one skills in your posh Kastali suburb?"

Orgon tilted his head at Beo. His eyes darted all over Beo's face. His eyebrows drew in tightly together. He read as completely confused.

After a while, his features fell back to their normal places. He clapped his hands together. "Yeah. Dad's crazy. We'll go with that."

And that was the end of the conversation. The rest of the morning was spent with Orgon trying to help Beo relearn his boot camp skills. It was going terribly. Beo was out of shape and had only barely blocked three of Orgon's blows. He was a crumbling mess of jello for arms.

"Last round," Orgon was dripping in sweat, but he wasn't heaved over on his hands and knees on the dirt floor like Beo was. "Get up. Come on."

Slowly, Beo did as he said. He was so tired and dehydrated that black spots in his eyes prevented him from seeing much more than the excessive brownness of the walls and a few blurry shapes that were most likely Orgon (but not 100% confirmed).

Orgon delivered a few unanswered blows that Beo could only barely step back from. "Come on, Beo. You're better than that. Last round, I promise." Beo hadn't even attempted to block one hit.

The thought of a hot shower and the chef's soup for lunch was the only thing that helped Beo blink back some of the black spots in his eyes. When Orgon's chiseled cheeks and sweat-drenched waves of black hair finally swam into his vision again, Beo nodded. "Alright. I'm ready."

But it was then that his vision decided to fully go, and the punch that Beo should have easily blocked landed directly on his nose.

Bones, Region of Orrosta

Location: The Hospital

Bones couldn't stop looking at the tape across Beo's nose. He wanted to fuss over him and make sure he had done everything properly and disinfected the gash on his cheek, but they were at dinner, surrounded by Taide, Orwell, and Maxin, so Bones' lips remained tightly shut.