From then on, I trained daily with Instructor Kushim. The training was relentless, ranging from sand runs to pull-ups and even dancing, which he claimed would improve my balance and flexibility. At night, I would join the Followers of the Flame of Rebirth in prayer. I had stopped calling them cultists; once I began to truly listen to their prayers and understand the philosophy behind their religion, I found myself aligning with their beliefs in ways I hadn't expected.

Once I turned thirteen, Instructor Kushim began teaching me how to use a sword. For now, I was only allowed to train with a wooden practice sword, as real weapons were reserved for seasoned fighters. Until I won my first fight in the arena, I wouldn't qualify to wield anything more deadly. Kushim drilled me relentlessly, making me practice the same sword swings until my palms bled and thick calluses began to form. Each block he taught was drilled repeatedly until I could perform them seamlessly in conjunction with the sword swings I had learned.

One technique Kushim drilled into me was a downward swing that didn't seem practical at first. It left my core exposed during the upward recovery, but he insisted it was the most essential move for an executioner. Alongside this, he began teaching me the core tenets of being an executioner—a role that, according to him, was far more serious outside of the arena. I would be expected to carry out justice on criminals for the court when deemed necessary.

"I didn't initially see the point of having someone dedicated solely to executing criminals when any guard could do the job. But Kushim explained that killing always took something from you, and that was why only a select few should bear the burden. I wasn't sure I agreed. I had killed a goblin when I was eight and didn't feel much afterward. Maybe killing humans was different.

By the time I turned sixteen, the day I had been preparing for had arrived—my first real fight in the arena. I was leaning against the bars of my cell, speaking to Elder John, the man who had guided me on my spiritual journey with the worship of the Flame of Rebirth.

"Today's your big day, my boy. Are you ready?" he asked, his familiar, warm smile stretching across his face.

"I am. Hopefully, once I win this fight, I'll be able to ask where the others went." My gaze drifted to the empty cell behind him. One by one, the others had been taken away, leaving only Elder John. Each time someone left, a quiet sadness settled over me. I had no delusions that they were heading somewhere good. But I held onto the hope that their souls would be reborn into lives far better than this one.

Elder John placed a hand on his chest, his expression softening. "Don't worry too much, my boy. I'm old and soon to be reborn myself. I've made my peace with the others. I know they'll find peace sooner than I will."

His words were comforting, but there was a heavy finality in them that made my chest tighten. I wanted to say something, to promise that I'd find a way to help him, but no words came. The weight of the moment hung in the air between us, unspoken but deeply understood.

I could hear the clink of bronze-plated boots echoing down the hall, a guard making his way toward our cells. Turning to Elder John, I felt a sudden urge to share a moment of faith before facing what lay ahead.

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"Elder, would you like to lead a small prayer today?" I asked. Normally, he was the one to guide our prayers, but lately, I had been taking over occasionally. Still, I felt he might appreciate leading this one.

His ever-present smile softened as he nodded. "Of course."

With slow, deliberate movements, Elder John lowered himself to his knees. His arms pressed tightly against his sides, hands clasped together with interlaced fingers, a picture of solemn reverence. The flickering torchlight cast shifting shadows across the cell, playing over his weathered face as he led us in the prayers of rebirth once again. His voice, though quiet, carried a power that seemed to fill the space.

As we finished, the clinking of bronze-plated boots grew louder, and a guard appeared in front of my cell. His expression, as always, was one of disdain.

"Let's go," he barked, his tone gruff. Then, with a sneer, he added, "And you should stop wasting your brain rambling with that nutjob cultist over there. You're young, so I get it—you ain't wised up yet. But take this as some words of wisdom."

This guard had been the one assigned to me for years. I knew he harbored a deep dislike for the Flame of Rebirth and anyone associated with it. Figuring it was best not to provoke him, I kept my tone light and accommodating.

"Of course, sire," I said, attempting to sound as if my actions had been nothing more than kindness toward an elder. "I just wanted to help him fulfill his request."

The guard eyed me critically before grunting. "Mmm. Still, pick your compassions better. Now let's go."

He unlocked the cell door and gestured for me to follow. We took the same path we'd walked every day for the past few years, the familiar stone walls passing by in a blur. But this time, a thunderous noise echoed through the halls, vibrating in the air around us. It was different, like the whole atmosphere had changed.

We ascended the staircase and walked down the hallways. Now, I could hear people yelling, their voices rising and falling like a chaotic tide. As we approached the pit, I was directed into a side room. The walls were made of wooden planks, the roof constructed of the same material. Dust drifted down from the ceiling with every thundering vibration from whatever was happening above me.

As I stood waiting, Instructor Kushim entered the room. His face carried its usual stern expression, but there was a faint glimmer of anticipation in his eyes.

"Okay, here's what's going to happen," he began. "Since this is your first fight, they're going to have you go first along with the other beginners. I think this is going to be a team fight scenario. You'll be playing as the Followers of the Flame of Rebirth, going up against our military—though those guys will be beginners, too."

I thought about it for a moment, uncertainty dashed in my mind. "Is that… okay?"

"Yeah, it should be fine," he replied with a dismissive wave. "It's not to the death. When you see someone on the ground, treat them as if they're dead. Got it?"

"Yes, I understand, sire." I nodded, feeling a little reassured. It sounded simple enough.

"Oh, one other thing," Kushim added, his tone becoming more serious. "There are going to be beasts thrown into the mix. You can kill those. It'll just be goblins and, I think, kobolds. Nothing to worry about."

With that, he handed me a set of gear. The gambeson and padded pants fit snugly, and over them, I donned bronze armor that protected my shins, arms, and chest. He gave me a helmet, which I carefully placed on my head. Finally, he handed me an iron two handed sword. It was the first time I'd ever held one, and despite its weight, I finally felt like a real executioner. The two handed sword was long and heavy. It was perfect. A giddy excitement bubbled up inside me at the thought.

"Alright," he said, holding out one last item. "Put this on."

He handed me a tabard—a golden one with a red flame emblazoned at its center.

"Don't hurt anyone wearing this," he instructed. "They're your teammates. Now, good luck and wait to be called."

With that, he left, the door creaking softly behind him. Alone in the room, I adjusted my gear and tried to steady my nerves. All I could do now was wait for my time.