Spectrum

I should have known this would happen.

Now, since day one, we all had some inkling — an indication — that Sari and Pheonix, though equally as deadly, were worlds apart as men.

Deep within Phoenix, there burned an intense, driven force. He approached every task with meticulous planning as if crossing the street required a step-by-step process from A to Z. His unwavering commitment to his duties was evident in every aspect of his being—the way he walked, how he commanded the troops, the meticulous care he gave to polishing his helmet and sharpening his blade.

Phoenix's actions exuded a sense of order and perpetual self-governance. It was as if he adhered to a set of criteria that he sought to perfect, gradually turning his daily life into a series of regimented rituals.

The life of an Unsullied seemed to consume him entirely, and even after gaining his freedom, he made no effort to explore beyond that realm. Or, more than likely, perhaps I'm just talking out of thin air.

Sari, on the other hand, refused to succumb to the façade of submission imposed by his gladiatorial masters. His origin story was rooted in hardship, born to a slave prostitute mother with an unknown father, his life entirely consumed by the brutal world of the Fighting Pits.

His earliest memory was etched in his mind—a heart-wrenching separation from his mother's embrace as he was forcefully sold into a life of violence.

"Remember, my son," her final words to him echoed, "Your name is Sari Sicai. Don't let anyone take that away from you!"

This defining moment shaped him, fueling an unyielding determination to one day secure his freedom and break free from the chains of Slaver's Bay.

As he adapted to the brutal existence of a fighter, he embraced his exceptional talent and reveled in the fame that accompanied his undefeated record.

However, now that he had achieved what he longed for, having left Slaver's Bay to serve a kind-hearted Prince no less, Sari found himself adrift, yearning for new purpose.

It was evident that Sari's soul was restless. Only the taste of bloodshed, the drum of violence, the whiff of life or death situations could inject any semblance of warmth in his heart of cold indifference.

It comes as no surprise, in hindsight at least, how Sari, amidst our camp of inexperienced recruits, would set his sights on the sole challenge presented to him — Pheonix.

The incident occurred during a practice session for an advanced march, where we formed a tight four-person-wide formation resembling the approach to castle gates during a siege.

As we tightly joined our shields, preparing for simulated 'archer fire,' Pheonix strutted around, reprimanding our mistakes and emphasizing the need for a formation so impenetrable that a chariot could ride atop it without falter.

Sari, perched on an unopened barrel of salted beef, idly flipped his dirk like a knife-flipping circus performer and voiced his weariness with these formations.

"I'm tired of this," Sari declared, catching everyone's attention. "How about we provide some entertainment for the scrubs? Let's go, you and me."

We had taken to calling the recruits 'scrubs' due to certain punishments involving armor and pot scrubbing.

Pheonix didn't even turn to face Sari as he replied, "I no fight for entertain."

Chit, always the instigator but clever enough to avoid punishment for speaking out of turn, nudged me in the ribs, silently urging me to speak.

From his mischievous expression, I knew exactly what Chit had in mind, and I wholeheartedly agreed.

"It wouldn't be much entertainment anyway," I interjected with feigned nonchalance. "We all know who would win..."

Both Pheonix and Sari snapped their heads in my direction and asked in unison, "Me?"

Truthfully, I had no clue who would emerge victorious in a fight between the two. While I had my own thoughts, they were inconsequential.

I scratched my head, stalling for time, "I think it's pretty obvious..."

Sari nodded confidently. "Because I would win."

"No," retorted Pheonix, "I would."

Chit could barely contain his excitement, but it was at that moment that he chimed in, "There's only one way to settle this!"

And it was big, hunky, gorgeous George who sealed the deal, "F-F-... Fight!"

The excitement rippled through the crowd. The duel was sealed, and there was no way either man would decline.

As rumors spread, the anticipation of the impending clash between Sari and Pheonix grew. The imaginations of the recruits ran wild, each crafting their own vision of the fight.

Some envisioned Sari as a whirlwind of deadly grace, effortlessly switching between weapons and fighting styles, leaving his opponent in awe and despair.

On the other hand, Pheonix was seen as an immovable fortress, an embodiment of discipline and unwavering focus. His years of Unsullied training had honed his skills with the sword, spear, and shield to near perfection. An impenetrable wall, able to anticipate and block even the most relentless attacks.

However, the fervor of it all got to me. Like a dragon who liked a good spectacle, my foolish tongue betrayed me, my mouth opened, and ill-conceived words spilt forth.

"Why not make it a battle?"

"A battle?" Chit questioned.

"Yeah," I pressed on, "A mock battle. Sari and Pheonix as captains. They each choose squads, one at a time, playground style."

Though the concept of a "playground" held no significance in the Westerosi context, everyone seemed to grasp the notion of children choosing teams and connected it to my use of the term.

Sari's enthusiasm waned at the mention of a team battle against Pheonix instead of a straightforward one-on-one duel. "That doesn't prove anything."

"It prove you lose," Pheonix retorted. "Alone or with an army, you lose with shame."

Chit altered his voice and concealed himself, "Shame! Shame, shame, shame!"

"Fine," Sari acquiesced, frustration evident in his tone. "If that's what you think, then I get the first pick. I choose squad Rhaenar."

My heart sank.

I didn't want to join the losing team.