The Pugilist's Guild was alive with noise. Fists thudded against sandbags in rhythmic beats, trainers barked orders sharp as whipcracks, and the smell of sweat and determination clung to the air like incense. Fighters of all ages and sizes moved with speed and ferocity, their knuckles wrapped, their bodies glistening under the torchlight.
Into this hive of activity strode Galuf Halm Baldesion, rolling his shoulders, his grin wide and mischievous.
"Now this," he muttered to himself, "is my kind of place. No magic, no fancy tricks. Just fists, grit, and the will to hit harder than you get hit."
Several young pugilists paused mid-spar, their eyes drifting toward the newcomer. His gray hair and weathered face stood out among the younger crowd. A few snickered behind their fists, whispering.
"Who let someone's granddad in here?"
"Careful, you'll break his hip if you hit him."
"Maybe he's lost?"
Galuf caught their mutters and barked out a booming laugh, drawing even more attention. "Granddad, eh? Tell you what, lads—why don't one of you young pups step up and test if these old bones still got some bite?"
The guild erupted in laughter. The mockery turned to excitement, eyes darting to the guild's training ring.
The Guildmaster, Hamon Holyfist, an aging but sharp-eyed fighter with a beard streaked in white, stepped forward. "Big words for a stranger, old man. You claim you've still got fists worth swinging?"
Galuf cracked his knuckles, his grin never fading. "Fists, wit, and enough stamina to knock sense into anyone cheeky enough to call me frail. Name's Galuf Halm Baldesion."
Hamon's eyebrows lifted slightly at the name but he didn't comment. Instead, he gestured toward the ring. "Very well. Ruruk, step forward."
A cocky youth—barely twenty—strutted into the circle. He was lean and quick, fists already wrapped, confidence dripping from every step. "Don't worry, gramps," Ruruk sneered. "I'll go easy. Wouldn't want to put you back in bed."
Galuf laughed so hard his shoulders shook. "That's the spirit! Let's see if your bark matches your bite."
---
The crowd formed a loose circle, cheering and jeering. The guild loved nothing more than a show.
The bell rang, and Ruruk darted forward, fists flying in a flurry of jabs. His speed was impressive—his fists whistled through the air, aiming for Galuf's chin, his ribs, his stomach. But Galuf didn't flinch. He swayed just enough, slipping past each strike, his grin infuriatingly steady.
"Not bad, kid!" Galuf boomed, ducking under a hook. "You've got hands faster than a chocobo's beak."
Ruruk snarled, throwing heavier blows. Sweat began to bead on his forehead as Galuf continued to weave, his laughter ringing out louder with every miss. The old man moved with uncanny ease, his years of battle making him unpredictable.
Finally, Galuf stepped in. His fist shot out like a cannonball, landing square in Ruruk's stomach. The youth doubled over, gasping.
Before he could recover, Galuf pivoted, delivering a playful—but solid—tap to the boy's cheek. Ruruk stumbled back, sprawling onto the mat.
The guild exploded in laughter and cheers.
Galuf reached down, pulling the young man to his feet with surprising strength. "Lesson one, lad," he said with a grin. "Never underestimate someone with wrinkles. Each one's a story, and mine? They're written in blood, sweat, and fists."
Ruruk, red-faced but humbled, nodded. "Y-Yes, sir…"
Galuf clapped him on the back, nearly knocking him forward again. "That's more like it!"
---
Hamon stepped forward, stroking his beard, his eyes glinting with approval. "You've still got power, stranger. But more importantly—you've got presence. You turned mockery into respect with just a few punches. That's what a pugilist needs—not just fists, but spirit."
Galuf chuckled, flexing his hand. "Glad to see someone appreciates an old warhorse."
Hamon smirked. "You'll fit in here. And I suspect the young ones will learn more from you than you from them."
Galuf winked. "Don't be so sure. There's always something new to pick up—besides, it's been a while since I trained like this." His voice softened, just for a moment. "Feels good."
---
For the rest of the day, Galuf threw himself into drills. He pounded sandbags until his fists ached, sparred with anyone brave enough, and barked encouragement at recruits who hesitated. His laughter filled the hall, infectious, lifting spirits even as bodies tired.
"Put your hips into it, lad!"
"Keep your guard up, girl, unless you want a broken nose!"
"Bahaha! That's the punch! Now you're fighting like you mean it!"
By evening, the apprentices were exhausted but smiling, some of them already glancing at Galuf with admiration.
---
When the day's training ended, Galuf lingered in the ring, flexing his sore hands. He chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head. "Hah… can't believe I'm still doing this. Fighting, training… like I'm twenty again."
His grin faded slightly as thoughts of Krile surfaced. His granddaughter, bright-eyed and brave, carrying the Baldesion name after he had fallen in another world. Would she have laughed to see him now, sweating and swinging like a fool in a foreign guild?
He chuckled again, softer this time. "I'll keep at it, Krile. You'd scold me if I didn't."
The trinket at his side pulsed faintly, as though carrying his words across worlds to his companions.
---
High above, Sirius observed the threads weaving around Galuf. He saw how the man's laughter softened hearts, how his fists taught lessons sharper than words.
He anchors them, Sirius thought. Even apart, his presence will keep their spirits steady. He's a warrior, yes, but more importantly—he's a pillar.
For a moment, Sirius allowed himself a faint smile.
---
As the torches dimmed and the guild hall grew quiet, Galuf stretched his aching arms and chuckled. "Still alive, still kicking, and still teaching lessons to the young pups. Guess I'm not done yet."
He left the guild that night with sore fists, a lighter heart, and a new fire in his chest.
The Pugilist's Guild had found not just a fighter, but a mentor. And Galuf Halm Baldesion had found another family to laugh and fight alongside.