Roven gritted his teeth as he once again plucked the tiny splinter from his leg. As a bead of blood fell to the floor, his fingers then turned their attention to the stubborn iron collar around his neck. The metal seemed unaffected by his efforts. Sawing did little to scratch the surface, even after hours of grinding. On the opposite side, his fellow prisoners, who had exhausted every imaginable method of escape themselves, paid no mind to his futile attempts. They sat in silence, back-to-back, as if resigned to their shared fate.
Occasionally, a guard would enter the dimly lit cell, delivering meagre rations in the morning and night. They all greedily devoured the scant meals each time.
Curiously, the guards also left a meal in the cage adjacent to his. Within the cage, that held a heaping bundle of furs and crude tools. Initially, Roven had assumed the guards were either careless or lazy, hardly sparing a glance to check if the cage held any occupants. However, over time, as he slept, he noticed that more plates were appearing empty than full.
The lack of movement or signs of life within the neighbouring cage puzzled him. He shrugged off the curiosity, focusing on locating the keyhole on his collar. It took him around ten minutes to find the tiny opening, and then he fashioned the small green splinter into a makeshift needle to work on the lock.
Hours passed as frustration grew within Roven. His progress unfortunately remained agonizingly slow. Then after a time, an unsettling feeling crept over him, as if someone were watching him. With a quick glance, he confirmed that the two prisoners in the other cells hadn’t stirred; they seemed barely aware of his existence. Ignoring the sensation, he continued his tireless efforts, determined to break free.
Suddenly, a growl reverberated through the halls, originating from a great distance away. The sound made Roven flinch, causing him to drop the needle.
"Damn," he muttered in the darkness, fumbling to find the tool once more. The growl seemed more akin to a pained scream than that of a roaring beast. Roven couldn’t help but feel a rising sympathy for the poor creature being tortured. It sounded almost human.
As he continued his search for the fallen needle, his hand brushed against the metal, causing it to roll beneath his skin and scrape against the stone floor. A smile tugged at his lips as he resumed his work on the lock, even though progress remained frustratingly hopeless.
After a few more hours, a bell rang out from above, breaking the silence.
Roven stirred, eyes flying to the other prisoners. It was the first time he saw both the woman and the man move in quite some time. Simultaneously, their heads turned towards the closed window above their cell. In unison, they stood up warily, their actions wordless but synchronised.
The old man pulled a lever, allowing sunlight to flood the room as the window slid open. Once again, they had a front-row view of the coliseum, a sight that caused Roven's heart to sink. He recognised the two green-clad warriors standing in the centre, his fellow villagers who had been imprisoned on the opposite side unable to exchange even a single word since their capture.
This marked their third appearance in the arena, each time facing a stronger opponent, starting with a few bandits and then moving on to engage a ferocious insectoid creature. Roven sensed the ominous significance of what was about to come. The atmosphere in the cells grew increasingly gloomy; they instinctively knew something was amiss.
The crowd beyond erupted in excitement as a booming voice resonated through the tumultuous noise.
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"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the King's trials!" The crowd roared with approval, while Roven couldn't help but tense at the mention of the King.
"Today, we have a special gift for you. Here stand two Heathens from the backwater tribes!" announced the voice.
Roven's jaw worked, and he spat in disdain at the false derogatory term.
"And their opponent! The one they call the White Dragon!"
Roven froze, a sense of dread filling his heart. As the gates in the distance swung open, granting them a clear view. There he saw a beast with horribly scarred black and grey skin stumble onto the bloodstained killing floor.
The same white boiling liquid that the Felren used to mark their exiles splattered across its skin, creating an illusion of whiteness from a distance, but the truth was visible from Roven's vantage point. The beast had two wings that appeared misshapen, as if broken or forced into its spine as a cruel joke. It resembled a grotesque fusion of a giant ape and a lizard, with massive black claws.
Roven shuddered as he watched the creature, a mix of fear and confidence wrestling within him. He believed his friends could easily hold their own against such an obviously impaired opponent. The beast roared, and Roven's attention shifted to his cellmates, who flinched at the sound.
The deafening roar of the beast reverberated through the coliseum, and a sudden realisation struck Roven like a bolt of lightning. This was the same creature whose tortured cries he had heard earlier. A profound sorrow welled up within him, hoping that the poor beast would meet a swift and painless end.
His two friends, now fully encased in armour, charged toward the creature with their long spears. The crowd, a cacophony of roars and jeers, erupted in excitement. Swiftly, the warriors thrust their spears, jamming the sharp spikes into the beast's flesh. It roared in agony, stumbling on its back legs, its giant pale grey eyes gazing up at the sky. A fountain of black blood gushed from the fresh wounds.
However, to Roven's astonishment, the creature's agony did not subside. Green-tinged living metal sliced through the air, cutting deep into the underside of its neck. The beast howled in pain but did not succumb to death's embrace. Roven's brow furrowed in confusion as he witnessed the beast endure blow after blow. It seemed as if the creature was still gathering itself, as if it was learning from each strike.
Suddenly, Roven's eyes widened, mirroring the reactions of the fighters in the adjacent cell. The blood that had been pouring from the beast's wounds began to roll back into its body, vanishing as the wounds sealed themselves. A shiver ran down Roven's spine. What kind of monster had created such a formidable creature? The sight both horrified and fascinated him.
His attention was drawn to a weight shifting beside him. Roven turned his head to see the bundle of furs tremble, revealing a large bear-like head emerging from within. The creature's light brown eyes stared into the distance, examining the twisted form of the dragon before them. A low grumble emanated from its powerful chest, a sound that conveyed both warning and understanding.
Roven, torn between the desperate struggle of his friends and the arrival of this hulking bear-like creature, stared at the dragon. As the creature's wounds seemingly healed before their eyes, its muscles and ligaments appeared to strengthen, as if defying the very concept of mortality. Roven couldn't shake off the intense fear that coursed through him, an unexplainable sense of dread that surpassed his faith in his friends.
The revitalised beast, fuelled by pain and anger, strode towards the villagers, who took cover behind their leaf green shields, preparing for the inevitable attack. A massive claw reached for the sky, exposing its grey underbelly. Roven's companions evaded the descending claw, but to their horror, the claw extended like that of a Felren’s paw and struck them down with a sickening crunch.
Roven gripped the bars of his cell, forgetting about the needle as a guttural scream escaped from his throat.
They were gone.
Sobbing uncontrollably, he collapsed onto the floor, his tears mingling with the shadows. It was the first time in a hundred years that he had allowed himself such vulnerability. The window closed, shielding him from the sight of bloodstained sand.
As the two watched him with expressions of sorrow and defeat.
Time became a blur as he wailed in grief, the hours slipping away. After a long while, a faint scratching sound reached his ears from beside him. The hulking bear-like creature held a tiny green needle in its massive paw, extending it towards him.
Roven looked up, meeting the creature's gentle brown eyes. In his haze of grief, he understood. He took the needle, a shared understanding passing between them, a moment not lost on the other two prisoners.