Three days passed before I returned to the Crimthos dojo, three days of training with Dante in the mornings and working out at The Crossing in the afternoons and lying awake at night thinking about the four hundred techniques that Silas had mentioned and whether learning a completely new system made any sense when I hadn't even fully recovered the skills I used to possess. My father noticed my distraction, commenting over breakfast on the fourth day that I looked like someone trying to solve an impossible equation, and he wasn't wrong because every path forward seemed to lead toward complications I wasn't sure I could handle given my current mental state and general exhaustion with fighting and everything related to fighting.
Raven called on the second day to ask if I wanted to grab coffee, and we met at the trendy place on Main Street where she listened patiently while I explained the situation with Crimthos and my uncertainty about whether joining another dojo would help or just create more obligations that would eventually overwhelm me when my inevitable pattern of self-sabotage kicked in. She asked good questions about what specifically attracted me to Crimthos versus what made me hesitant, forcing me to articulate concerns that had been floating around my head in vague emotional clouds rather than concrete logical statements, and by the end of our conversation I realized that my hesitation had less to do with Crimthos itself and more to do with my fear of committing to anything that might expose my continued inadequacy as a fighter and as a person.
Phoenix noticed my distraction during training at The Crossing, calling me out mid-sparring session for being physically present but mentally somewhere else entirely, and when I explained about Crimthos she nodded with understanding rather than judgment or jealousy that I might be considering training elsewhere. She said that good fighters trained everywhere and learned from everyone, that loyalty to a single gym or style was overrated unless that gym or style could genuinely provide everything you needed, and that my career had ended partly because I'd been too loyal to approaches that weren't working instead of being pragmatic about seeking out knowledge wherever it existed regardless of politics or tradition.
Dante asked directly on the third morning why I seemed so preoccupied, and I told him about Crimthos in more detail than I'd shared with anyone else, describing the techniques I'd seen and the philosophy Silas had outlined and the three young masters who were apparently only thirteen years old but already surpassed most adult practitioners in technical proficiency and tactical understanding. His eyes got wide with excitement rather than skepticism, and he immediately wanted to know if he could train there too, if maybe this was the answer to his problem of not being able to afford Master Chen's dojo or any other legitimate school, but I had to explain that Crimthos was invitation-only and probably wouldn't accept students as young as him without some kind of special circumstance or recommendation.
So on the fourth day, I walked back to that industrial building at the edge of town and knocked on the steel door, this time with the intention of actually committing rather than just observing and asking questions that delayed the inevitable decision. Silas answered again, looking completely unsurprised to see me standing there, and she stepped aside without comment to let me enter the reception area where paperwork waited on a desk like she'd known I'd be coming back today specifically.
"I want to try the one-month trial you mentioned, no long-term commitment but genuine effort while I'm here, and I'm willing to do the promotional work you want in exchange for reduced rates because I need to conserve what little money I have left after eight years of poor financial decisions," I announced before she could say anything, wanting to establish the terms clearly so there'd be no confusion later about expectations or obligations.
"Excellent decision, I'll get you registered and introduce you properly to the other masters and students, and we'll assess your current skill level so we know where to start your instruction without wasting time on things you already know or boring you with material that's too basic given your background," Silas responded, handing me a simple one-page contract that outlined the financial arrangement and basic dojo rules without the excessive legal language that commercial gyms typically employed.
I signed the contract, paid the reduced first month's fee with money I probably should have saved for other expenses, and changed into the plain black uniform that Silas provided from a storage closet that held various sizes for new students. The uniform fit reasonably well, loose enough to allow full range of motion but not so baggy that it interfered with movement or gave training partners unnecessary grips during grappling exchanges, and I noticed it had none of the patches or embroidery that marked rank or achievement in traditional martial arts systems.
The main training hall held about twenty people when we entered, slightly more than the seventeen students I'd seen during my observation visit, and Silas explained that attendance varied based on work schedules and personal obligations since Crimthos didn't mandate specific training times or frequencies. The six masters wore their subtle red patches, barely visible against the black uniforms unless you knew to look for them, and Silas called them over to introduce me formally as a new student who'd be training on the trial basis we'd discussed.
Marcus Stone I'd already met, and he greeted me warmly with genuine enthusiasm about working together over the coming month and beyond if I decided to continue after the trial period ended. The other five masters introduced themselves with varying degrees of friendliness and skepticism—Aria Chen who specialized in grappling and ground fighting, Ethan Cross who focused on striking and combinations, Kaine Mercer who taught weapons defense and environmental adaptation, Maya Blackwood who handled throws and takedowns, and finally Reese Sullivan who managed multiple opponent scenarios and tactical strategy.
"We're going to start you with foundational material from each category so you understand how Crimthos organizes techniques conceptually rather than just teaching you individual moves in random order," Marcus explained, gesturing for me to follow him to an open area of the mat where other students were pairing up for their own training sequences.
For the next two hours, I worked through what they called the "First Forty," eight techniques from each of the five primary categories that formed the foundation of everything else in the Crimthos system, with the understanding that mastering these forty techniques would take months or years depending on how deeply I wanted to explore their applications and variations. Marcus taught me striking fundamentals that looked deceptively simple but contained layers of complexity that only revealed themselves through repetition and pressure testing—the Interrogation Strike I'd learned during my observation visit, plus a rear hand cross that could function as power punch or setup depending on commitment level, a lead hook that worked at three different ranges, a rear uppercut that created openings for grappling entries, and four different kicks that emphasized different strategic purposes rather than just being variations on the same basic movement.
Aria took over for grappling instruction, showing me collar ties and underhooks and overhooks and how each grip created different tactical landscapes that favored different techniques, and I realized quickly that my previous grappling knowledge from MMA training had massive gaps that Crimthos approached more systematically and comprehensively. She taught me a basic takedown that worked from multiple setups, a guard pass that could be modified based on opponent response, a mount escape that didn't rely purely on strength or explosiveness, and two submission attempts that were available from positions I'd previously considered neutral or defensive rather than offensive.
Ethan handled throws with the same systematic approach, breaking down the mechanics of hip throws and shoulder throws and leg trips in ways that made them accessible even to someone without extensive judo or wrestling background, and he emphasized entries and setups more than the actual throwing mechanics because he said most people failed at throws not because their technique was wrong but because they never created the circumstances where throws became available. Maya worked with me on ground fighting transitions, showing how to move between positions fluidly rather than getting stuck in single positions trying to force techniques that weren't there, and her instruction connected dots between striking and grappling that I'd always treated as separate phases of combat rather than integrated aspects of continuous fighting.
By the time we broke for water and rest, my body was exhausted and my brain was overloaded with information that would take weeks to organize into usable knowledge, and I sat against the wall watching other students work while trying to process everything I'd just learned. A teenage girl approached me hesitantly, one of the younger students I'd noticed during my observation visit, and she introduced herself as Sage Winters before asking if I was the famous fighter Cray Creed who'd competed in the professional circuit.
"I'm Cray Creed but I'm not sure about the famous part, mostly I'm known for losing important fights and then disappearing from the sport entirely," I replied, not wanting to encourage whatever romanticized version of my career she might have constructed from highlight videos that showed my wins without context about my losses.
"I watched all your fights on YouTube when Master Silas told us you might be joining the dojo, and I thought your style was really interesting because you mixed traditional martial arts with modern techniques in ways that most fighters don't attempt," Sage said with the earnest intensity that teenagers bring to their enthusiasms before life teaches them to be more guarded and cynical.
"Thanks, that's actually a thoughtful observation rather than just generic praise, and it makes me feel slightly less terrible about having my worst moments documented on the internet for anyone to analyze," I responded, genuinely appreciating that she'd taken time to study my fights with some analytical depth rather than just forming surface-level opinions.
We talked for another ten minutes about martial arts philosophy and training methodology, and I was struck by how articulate and knowledgeable she was despite being maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, her understanding of fighting concepts exceeding many adult practitioners I'd met who'd trained for decades without ever thinking critically about what they were doing or why. She explained that Crimthos had changed her life by giving her structure and purpose during a difficult period, and she hoped to eventually become a master instructor herself once she'd accumulated enough experience and demonstrated sufficient skill across all eight categories.
Class resumed with free sparring rotations where students worked with different partners for five-minute rounds, and Silas paired me with various people who represented different skill levels and body types so I could begin understanding how Crimthos techniques adapted to different opponents and circumstances. I sparred with Sage first, going light because I didn't want to hurt a teenage girl, but she immediately called me out for holding back and insisted I treat her like a legitimate training partner rather than a fragile child who needed protection.
So I increased my intensity to maybe sixty percent of full effort, and Sage matched it easily, her technique clean and her timing excellent even when I started incorporating feints and rhythm changes that usually confused less experienced fighters. She caught me with a spinning backfist that I should have seen coming, and when I tried to clinch she executed a beautiful hip throw that put me on my back before I could establish any kind of defensive position, and suddenly I wasn't holding back anymore because she'd proven she could handle whatever I brought to the exchange.
We went back and forth for the full five-minute round, neither of us dominating but both of us finding moments of success that demonstrated technical proficiency and tactical understanding, and when time expired I was breathing hard and genuinely impressed by her skill level. Silas rotated partners and I spent the next round with Marcus, who dismantled me systematically while offering constant coaching about openings I was leaving and opportunities I was missing, his instruction valuable even as he demonstrated the enormous gap between my current abilities and what masters in this system could accomplish.
The final hour of class focused on drilling specific techniques from the First Forty, with masters circulating to offer corrections and answer questions while students worked through repetitions that built muscle memory and refined mechanics. I partnered with another new student who'd been training for about two months, and we helped each other identify problems in our technique while trying not to reinforce bad habits through repetitive practice of incorrect movements, and the collaborative learning environment felt different from the more hierarchical structure of traditional dojos where knowledge flowed only from instructor to student rather than between students of similar experience levels.
Class ended with the same brief meditation period I'd observed during my first visit, five minutes of silence that gave everyone time to process the training session and mentally organize the information they'd absorbed, and I found the practice surprisingly valuable for calming my racing thoughts and bringing some intentional closure to an intense physical and cognitive experience. Students bowed to masters and to each other before beginning to leave, and Silas approached me with what looked like a training manual, a thick binder containing written descriptions and photo sequences for all four hundred techniques in the Crimthos curriculum.
"This is yours to keep and study outside class, we encourage students to review material at home so they come to training sessions with questions and insights rather than blank slates that need everything explained from scratch every time," she said, handing me the binder which was heavier than it looked and probably represented thousands of hours of work to compile and organize.
"This is incredibly comprehensive, most martial arts schools guard their curriculum like military secrets rather than giving students complete access to everything the system contains," I observed, flipping through pages that showed techniques I'd learned today along with hundreds of others that would take years to even attempt let alone master.
"We're not interested in artificial scarcity or mystification, we want students to learn as quickly and thoroughly as possible because better-trained practitioners benefit everyone in the dojo by providing higher-quality training partners and eventually becoming instructors who can teach the next generation," Silas explained, her pragmatism refreshing compared to traditional masters who seemed to believe that withholding information created respect or preserved the purity of their art.
I left the Crimthos dojo with the training manual under my arm and my body pleasantly exhausted from two hours of intensive instruction and sparring, and I walked through Henderson Falls feeling like maybe I'd made the right decision for once instead of just repeating the same self-destructive patterns that had characterized my adult life up to this point. The sun was setting as I reached my father's house, painting the sky in colors that reminded me of bruises, purple and yellow and red blending together in ways that were beautiful despite their association with damage and pain.
My father was on the porch when I arrived, drinking beer and watching the neighborhood with the defeated expression of someone who'd given up on life improving but hadn't quite given up on life itself, and he looked at me with something that might have been curiosity or concern or just the vague interest people show when confronted with something unexpected.
"You look like you got your ass kicked," he observed, which was accurate given that several of my sparring partners had landed clean shots that would probably leave bruises by tomorrow morning.
"I started training at a new dojo, learning a martial art I've never encountered before with techniques I don't understand yet, so yeah, I'm getting my ass kicked pretty regularly," I confirmed, sitting down on the steps because my legs were too tired to remain standing for extended conversation.
"Why would you do that when you already know how to fight, when you've already proven you can compete at high levels even if you ultimately failed," he asked, his confusion genuine rather than rhetorical or accusatory.
"Because maybe the reason I failed was that I stopped learning, stopped being curious about different approaches and different techniques, and convinced myself I already knew everything important about fighting when really I'd just reached the limits of what one system could teach me," I attempted to explain, though I wasn't entirely sure I believed my own explanation or understood my motivations completely.
"Or maybe you're just avoiding the real work of fixing what's broken inside you by staying constantly busy with physical activity that distracts you from having to examine your choices and their consequences," my father suggested, his insight surprising given how much time he spent avoiding his own issues through alcohol and television.
"Maybe both things are true simultaneously, maybe I'm genuinely trying to improve while also using training as an excuse to avoid deeper psychological work that scares me more than any physical opponent ever could," I admitted, recognizing the truth in his criticism even as I resented having it articulated so clearly.
We sat in silence for a while, father and son who'd never been particularly close even when I was young and still believed he might become the dad I needed instead of just the dad I had, and the sunset faded into darkness while streetlights flickered on and families retreated into their homes for dinner and evening routines that probably looked nothing like the dysfunction that characterized our household.
"Your mother would have been proud that you came back, that you didn't just disappear completely when things went wrong," he said eventually, his voice carrying an emotion I couldn't quite identify but that sounded like regret mixed with something softer and more vulnerable.
"Mom would have been disappointed that I failed in the first place, she always had higher standards than either of us could meet," I replied, thinking about the woman who'd died when I was twelve and left both of us floundering without her stabilizing presence.
"She would have been disappointed about the failure but proud about the attempt to rebuild, she understood that character reveals itself not in success but in how you handle defeat," he corrected, and I realized he'd probably thought about this exact conversation many times over the years, rehearsing what he'd say if I ever came back and gave him the opportunity.
The next morning, I showed up at Henderson Park at five AM to find Dante already there along with two other kids I didn't recognize, a girl and a boy both around his age who looked at me with the mixture of hope and skepticism that characterized teenagers who'd been let down by adults too many times to trust easily. Dante introduced them as his friends from school, Luna and Alex, and explained that they'd asked if they could join our training sessions because they'd seen improvements in Dante's confidence and physical capabilities and wanted similar benefits for themselves.
"I don't have the time or energy to run a proper training program for three teenagers, I barely have the capacity to show up for Dante consistently let alone expand this into an actual class," I protested, though without much conviction because the truth was I enjoyed teaching more than I wanted to admit and these kids clearly needed guidance from someone who understood what martial arts could offer beyond just fighting skills.
"You don't have to run a proper program, just show us what you show Dante and let us practice together while you correct mistakes and answer questions," Luna suggested with the kind of practical problem-solving that indicated she'd thought this through before approaching me.
"And we'll pay you if that's the issue, we've all got part-time jobs or allowances and we can pool money to make it worth your time," Alex added, his offer touching even though the amount three teenagers could scrape together would be negligible compared to actual instructor rates.
"I don't want your money, if I'm going to do this it's because I think you'll actually put in the work and not waste my time by showing up inconsistently or treating this like a casual hobby you do when you feel like it," I stated firmly, establishing expectations before agreeing to anything that might become another obligation I'd eventually resent.
All three of them nodded seriously, understanding that I was testing their commitment before investing my own time and energy into their development, and we spent the next ninety minutes working through basic techniques that I'd learned from Master Chen years ago combined with some foundational Crimthos material I'd absorbed yesterday. Luna was a natural athlete with excellent body awareness, picking up movements quickly and adapting them to her smaller frame without needing extensive corrections, while Alex struggled more with coordination but compensated through pure determination and willingness to repeat techniques until they started looking correct.
Dante had improved noticeably even in the few days we'd been training, his movements sharper and more controlled than when we'd started, and I felt a small surge of pride at seeing tangible evidence that my instruction was actually helping rather than just giving me something to do while avoiding real responsibilities. The three of them worked well together, pushing each other without excessive competition, offering encouragement without false praise, demonstrating the kind of collaborative learning environment that brought out the best in students rather than fostering the toxic rivalry that sometimes emerged in martial arts schools.
After training, Luna asked if I knew anything about the Crimthos dojo because she'd heard rumors about a secretive martial arts school that only accepted special students and taught techniques that were supposedly more effective than anything available at traditional dojos or modern MMA gyms. I explained what I knew, which wasn't much given that I'd only attended one class, but I described the comprehensive curriculum and the philosophical approach that emphasized adaptability over style loyalty, and all three teenagers listened with fascination like I was describing some legendary hidden temple rather than just a converted warehouse at the edge of town.
"Do you think they'd accept students our age if we were good enough," Alex asked, his question revealing dreams of becoming something more than just kids from Henderson Falls with limited options and uncertain futures.
"I honestly don't know their criteria for accepting students beyond the invitation-only policy Silas mentioned, but I got the impression they value character and commitment more than age or previous experience," I answered, thinking about the young students I'd seen at Crimthos who demonstrated maturity and focus that exceeded many adult practitioners.
"Could you ask them about us, like maybe introduce us or at least find out if they'd consider taking younger students who are serious about learning," Dante pressed, his request carrying weight because he rarely asked for anything directly and usually preferred to handle problems independently rather than depending on adults who might disappoint him.
"I'll ask Silas next time I'm there, but I'm not making any promises because I barely know these people and I'm still on trial status myself, so I don't have the credibility or influence to make special requests on behalf of three teenagers they've never met," I agreed reluctantly, already imagining how the conversation might go and whether I'd be overstepping boundaries by advocating for students when I hadn't even proven my own value to the Crimthos community.
We parted ways as the sun climbed higher and the neighborhood woke up for another day of work and school and ordinary concerns that these kids would face before returning to their part-time jobs or family obligations or whatever else filled their lives outside the hour and a half they spent learning how to fight in a park at dawn. I walked home thinking about responsibility and mentorship and whether I was helping these teenagers or just using them to feel useful when my own life remained fundamentally directionless and broken.