Ivy's feet knew the path without thinking. Left at the broken fountain. Right where cobblestones gave way to dirt. Straight through the alley where merchants never looked.
The market district's underbelly was exactly as she'd left it three months ago. Same desperate faces. Same children with quick hands, running errands for copper.
She'd been one of them once. Before the tournament, before Alexander caught her wrist in that alley.
Watchicng a girl no older than twelve execute the same moves she once had, Ivy felt something that tasted like ash.
Guilt.
She'd left. Had taken her skills and walked away from the streets that taught her, from the kids who looked up to her. And in her absence, nothing had changed.
IVY: I thought leaving would feel like freedom.
It didn't. The past three months, Ivy had wandered. Seeking teachers who could refine her abilities.
Grandmother Wei, an eastern healer, taught her that poison wasn't just destruction - it was communication, warning, balance.
Kuro, a southern swordsman, taught her the difference between alley fighting and disciplined combat. Six weeks of patient repetition until her body remembered.
Others followed. A monk who showed her poison lived in her body, controllable through will. A dancer who proved efficiency could be elegant.
Each teacher gave her pieces. But each time, she'd left, searching for something she couldn't find.
She'd been seeking absolution. But you couldn't train your way out of guilt.
The building was exactly as the legends described it.
Remi's Dojo. Defense Through Understanding.
Master Remi had been dead for centuries. The stories placed him anywhere from fifty to two hundred years ago. He'd been legendary - a fighter who'd refused to kill, who'd taught that true strength lay in protection. The dojo had been abandoned for generations, waiting for someone worthy to claim it.
Ivy had found it months ago in a forgotten quarter of the city. Had broken in expecting ruins. Instead: training floor impossibly clean, ancient weapons still sound, scrolls preserved despite time that should have destroyed them.
She'd left quickly, uncomfortable with trespassing on something sacred. But she'd thought about it since. All that empty space. All that potential wasted while children learned to fight in alleys.
She'd thought about it often since. About all that empty space. All that potential being wasted while the city's children learned to fight in alleys because no one would teach them anywhere else.
The ancient lock opened easily. Inside, dust and old wood. But beneath the age, she could see what it had been.
The thief claiming a legend's legacy.
She'd spent her whole life taking things. And now she was contemplating the most audacious theft yet: stealing Remi's legacy, claiming his space. But maybe the dojo had been waiting for exactly someone like her.
IVY: No background character.
She said it to the ancient walls. Invisibility was just another kind of poverty. Another cage.
Time to change that.
She cleaned. Repaired. By evening, the ancient training floor shone. The impossibly preserved weapons remained sound. The scrolls stayed carefully arranged.
She carved new characters beneath the ancient ones:
Remi's Legacy - Poison Flower Dojo
Defense Through Understanding, Survival Through Skill
Three days later, students arrived. Word had spread that someone had opened the legendary dojo, taking students regardless of background.
They came in pairs and alone - seventeen students on the first day. Street kids, merchants' children, adults who'd never had the chance. They looked at her with hope and skepticism, waiting to see if she was legitimate.
IVY: My name is Ivy. I'm a thief, a fighter, and someone who learned everything the hard way. I won't teach you to be heroes or promise that discipline solves all problems.
She walked across the training floor, meeting their eyes.
IVY: I'll teach you how to survive. How to fight when you must. How to refine whatever advantages you have into something that gives you a chance. I'll teach you what Master Remi taught centuries ago - that defense starts with understanding what you're defending. And I'll teach you what the streets taught me - that sometimes you need to be ready anyway.
A boy, maybe thirteen, raised his hand.
BOY: Why should we trust you?
IVY: You shouldn't. Watch what I teach, learn what works, decide for yourself. Trust is earned.
She gestured to the practice weapons.
IVY: We start with basics. Stance. Movement. You'll be bored. You'll want to skip ahead.
Her voice hardened.
IVY: But if you stay, if you commit to learning, I'll teach you everything I know. I'll turn you into people who can protect yourselves. Who can walk through this valley knowing you're not helpless.
She paused.
IVY: I'll teach you to be more than background characters. To matter because you decided to matter.
They stayed. All seventeen. Stood in ready positions as Ivy began teaching the first stance.
And as the afternoon sun filtered through repaired shutters, painting the training floor in light and shadow, Ivy felt something she hadn't felt in months.
Purpose. Not the desperate purpose of survival, but the deliberate purpose of building something that would outlast her. Of passing on knowledge to people who needed it. Of taking the guilt that had been poison in her chest and transforming it into something that served balance.
The thief had claimed a legend's legacy. The background character was writing her own story. And in a dojo that had waited centuries for the right person to walk through its doors, seventeen students were learning that poison wasn't just destruction - it was transformation. One careful stance at a time.