Resonance Unbound

Ezra wasn't sure how much time had passed as he wandered around the arena, now slowly clearing out as people began to disperse. Fragments of conversations floated around him, snatches of gossip and complaints filling the air.

"I really wanted to buy him, though. That bastard who did better watch out," someone grumbled.

"That fight was worth it, don't ya think?" another remarked, a hint of awe in their voice.

"Can't believe it only lasted an hour and a half—"

Wait—what? Ezra's eyes widened as realization hit him like a punch to the gut. An hour and a half? That's how long I've been here?

Panic surged through him. Shirley's going to skin me alive.

Without another thought, Ezra turned and bolted through the crowd, weaving past groups of lingering spectators as he scurried to find the spot where Shirley had left him. His heart pounded in his chest, his breath coming in short bursts as he darted through the thinning throng.

But before he could get far, a rough hand grabbed the back of his shirt, yanking him to an abrupt stop.

"Where do you think you're going?" a gravelly voice growled.

Ezra spun around, his eyes locking onto the waiter from earlier—the one he'd bumped into and accidentally insulted. The man's face was twisted with a mixture of anger and malice, his dirty, crooked nails digging into the back of Ezra's neck like claws.

"Thought you could run off after that little stunt, huh?" the waiter sneered, his breath reeking of alcohol and stale smoke.

Ezra gulped, his mind racing. Oh, crap. Not now. Why does trouble follow me everywhere I go?

The man dragged Ezra into a shadowy corner of the room, away from prying eyes. The dim light cast long shadows across the waiter's lanky frame, making him appear more menacing than he was. His wispy, thinning hair clung to his forehead in oily strands, and his crooked nose twitched as he sneered at Ezra.

He grabbed Ezra's chin, forcing him to look up as his sharp eyes roved over his face.

"You're a bit plain, aren't you?" he muttered, his lips curling into a cruel smile. "Still, that face ain't half bad. Bet you'd fetch a decent price in the right places."

Ezra stiffened, his stomach twisting in disgust. "Get your hands off me," he said, his voice low but steady, despite the pounding of his heart.

The man's grip tightened, his nails digging into Ezra's skin. "You got some nerve, kid," he growled. "First you mouth off, now you're giving me orders? Think I'll teach you some manners."

Ezra's mind raced. Think fast, think fast. His hands balled into fists, ready for whatever came next.

Before he could act, a figure stepped between him and the waiter. Cloaked from head to toe, their face obscured by the hood's deep shadows, the stranger stood tall and imposing, exuding an aura of calm authority that immediately shifted the atmosphere.

The waiter faltered for a moment, his grip loosening on Ezra's shirt as his eyes darted nervously toward the cloaked figure. "Who the hell are you?" he spat, though his voice wavered slightly.

The stranger remained silent at first, their posture steady and unyielding. When they finally spoke, their voice was low and composed, yet carried an undertone of quiet menace. "Let the boy go."

The waiter sneered, masking his unease with false bravado. "And if I don't? This little brat owes me for earlier. I don't take kindly to insults."

"I don't care about your grievances," the stranger replied flatly. They shifted slightly, their cloak parting just enough to reveal something—though Ezra couldn't tell what—that made the waiter's face twist in fear.

The man hesitated, his grip tightening briefly on Ezra's shirt before he shoved him backward. Ezra stumbled but quickly regained his footing, glaring at the waiter.

"This ain't over, kid," the waiter hissed before backing away, his eyes flicking warily toward the cloaked figure. "You got lucky this time."

With one last sneer, he turned and disappeared into the dispersing crowd.

Ezra straightened his shirt, his hands trembling slightly from the rush of adrenaline. "Uh… thanks," he muttered, glancing up at the cloaked figure. "Who are you?"

The stranger turned to face him fully, their hood still obscuring their features. They just stood there, cocking their head slightly as though observing him like a cat sizing up its prey.

Ezra frowned, his initial gratitude fading into irritation. "I didn't need your help," he said, crossing his arms. "I was handling it just fine."

The stranger tilted their head, as if amused. "Is that so?" they said, their tone carrying a hint of dry humor.

Ezra's cheeks flushed. He opened his mouth to retort but quickly shut it. He couldn't exactly argue with that.

"Just stay out of trouble," the stranger said, turning to leave. "Next time, you might not be so lucky."

"Wait!" Ezra called after them, taking a step forward. "Why did you help me?"

The cloaked figure paused, their head tilting slightly as if considering the question. After a moment, they simply said, "…I don't know."

And with that, they disappeared into the crowd, leaving Ezra standing there, bewildered and unsure of what to make of the encounter.

I'm pretty sure that voice seems familiar, Ezra thought, his mind racing with questions.