Tevil.

Marc.

Brendan.

Three victors.

But none named Crayak.

He slammed a fist on the table.

How had he lost?!

He was stronger than Brendan, he always had been.

They had joked about the three of them, united again.

Tevil.

Marc.

Crayak.

A dangerous combination.

But one that felt right.

But when that moment had come, Marc was defeating Tevil and Brendan was defeating Marc and Tevil was defeating Brendan and they had all been evenly matched, and Crayak was, very suddenly, just an observer.

Just nothing at all.

"Ami," he said aloud. "Win this one.

"Win it for your father."