Just as he had said, the captain quickly absconded from the room as soon as the tests were done.

The slaves then were led out of the room and further down the narrow passageways, passing many rooms that resemble cells more so than living quarters.

Yet to Kalen they seemed strangely sophisticated.

‘I haven’t seen a rat, there’s no mold, and the walls and ceilings here aren’t even damp. Do they just maintain the place excellently, or is there something I’m missing? Surely even a dutiful organization would slack off when it comes to treating the lowest members of their caste. Why is this place so neat?’

Kalen wondered as they continued through clean, albeit worn stone corridors. More and more slaves were slowly peeled off by the guards as they found open cells to put them in.

Most found themselves alone in their cells, Kalen had also realized.

And to have so many people living separately, the underground area was probably quite vast.

Or that they went through their gladiators very quickly.

“Alright, stop here.”

One of the guards said as they stopped next to a vacant room. Like all the other rooms it was barren down to stone fixtures.

It featured a hole carved into the wall for excretions, a stone extrusion that worked as a surface for sleeping, and a bowl left loosely on the ground that was partially worn away from years of holding water.

Another guard came up to Kalen and removed the chains from his ankles and cuffs off his wrists before tossing him through the cell’s gate.

The guard in front of the group addressed Kalen before he could even turn around. In his position, he had long come to know all the questions that were asked.

“Matches start tomorrow at seven in the morning. No, you don’t get to choose your weapon. Also, since you’re new, they’ll initiate you into the process beforehand, but expect the guards to come just after sunrise. If you’re not awake by then, they’ll make you wish you had forgone sleep.”

From across the bars Kalen saw the guard’s mouth turn into a grin.

“What about meals?”

“Winning gladiators eat after their matches. You’ll go hungry for your first match though. Tough shit.”

With that, it seemed that the guard didn’t need to answer any more questions, and began to move on past Kalen’s cell.

He watched as the rest of the slaves moved out of sight. Maurice had already been placed in a cell a ways back into the tunnels, but Kalen didn’t see the point in staying in contact anyway, so he wasn’t very upset.

This was the end of the line, after all.

What good was continuing their comradery if the next day could be their last?

Or perhaps there was even more of a reason to, but Kalen didn’t see it that way. Besides, he was too far away now, and Kalen just wanted a moment alone.

Since Layla had been taken, every moment had felt torturous.

Kalen sighed while taking a look around his new living quarters.

In only an instant he was able to take it all in, but funnily enough it was actually slightly bigger than his room had been back home.

Of course his room back then had originally been their cottage’s store room, only given to him out of necessity.

Children of villagers didn’t usually have separate rooms from their parents, but his inability to touch others had necessitated it.

Kalen took a breath before sitting down against the stone floor, leaning back against the wall of his cell, he shut his eyes.

…

“If that’s the way you’re going to act, then you better get used to going hungry lad.”

Kalen’s eyes sprung open.

“Who’s said that?”

The aged voice of a man had suddenly been produced from behind Kalen, shaking him from his thoughts.

But Kalen’s confusion was returned only by a laugh that sounded like it was filled with gravel.

“Haha! No need for alarm, lad. Not everyone down here is out to get you. I’m in the same situation as you after all, a fellow gladiator of the lowest rung.”

Kalen looked around the cell, realizing the voice of the man must’ve been coming from the cell right next to his. Though without a mirror, Kalen couldn’t get a look at the old man speaking.

“And what do you want? What did you mean by the way I’m acting?”

“Lad, do you intend to question me at every turn? Have some faith, sit down, and I’ll tell you what I’m talking about.”

Kalen’s brows scrunched together in frustration. He had stood up after being alarmed by the man’s voice, but how had he known that?

‘Why am I getting so worked up over this? Why does it even matter what this old man thinks?’

Kalen shook his head and sat down. Resigning himself to follow the old man’s instructions.

He had nothing better to do anyway, and wasn’t so spiteful to disregard the man’s speech just for the sake of it.

Stolen novel; please report.

Kalen took a breath.

“All settled down now?”

“...Yes.”

“Good, what’s your name lad?”

Kalen frowned.

Should he…?

Whatever.

Like he had thought. This was the end of the line anyway, and Kalen was getting tired of always being on guard.

Without his sister by his side to protect, there was no longer any point to being on edge.

“It’s Kalen.”

“Ah, good to meet you Kalen, I’m…”

“I don’t care, just tell me why you spoke to me.”

“...Is it really that strange to initiate conversation? How long have you been here? I assumed you were one of the new arrivals.”

“I am.”

Kalen thought.

“It’s been only eight days now that I think of it.My sister and I were found by the mercenaries only eight days ago…”

The old man coughed.

“Holy Vermeil…not even a week? I’m sorry, son.”

Kalen’s face softened. Who knew if it was just an act, but…he felt like the sorrowful tone of the old man was genuine.

“And your sister, did you arrive with her?”

Kalen closed his eyes.

“No. She was taken from our caravan by the empire’s knights. Some new law allowed her to escape.”

“Hmm. I take it you're conflicted?”

The old man asked. Kalen paused.

Was he? Is that what he felt?

The whole day he had dwelt on it, cursing his inadequacy to stand up for his sister. Cursing his fate that another member of his family had vanished before his eyes.

But was it conflict that he felt?

It was likely that thanks to the knights, Layla could go on to live a better life. That was true. Kalen could understand that now.

But a small, selfish part of him was wishing that they had never showed up.

Perhaps she still would have been taken away like Ayana, but they would have been closer than they were now. She’d still be a part of his life, living in the same city if only separated by walls.

Kalen crushed his hands into fists.

“Yes, yes I am conflicted. I want the best for my sister, but without the ability to see her or know how she’s doing…”

“I understand. It’s a bit parental, isn’t it? Your care for your sister. You must have been given the responsibility at a young age, right? How old are you, son?”

“Fourteen.”

“Gods. Nearly at the cusp of manhood, and to be given such heavy burdens. I do not envy you son, but you can relax. I’m sure your sister is in a better place than you. There is not much you can rely on in the Empire, but the knights are a good organization. They will treat her well.”

“I can hope.”

There was a period of silence.

After a few moments, Kalen broke the quiet with a question. No longer fearing the intentions of the old man who seemed neither persistent or malicious, he told him his worries.

The old man had said that Kalen was one of the newbies, not himself, so he figured that he would have experience.

“They said my matches are tomorrow.”

“I heard, yes.”

“Is it that bad down here?”

“Hmm…”

The old man cleared his throat.

“I’ll tell you the truth, that there is no place in this arena on our end of the sword that is particularly privileged. Yet here, it is the worst.”

“Why?”

“Well it has to do with the way the arena organizes its combatants.”

Kalen listened as the old man explained.

“For the sake of efficiency, the Whitefinger Arena operates all hours of the daylight. It’s famous throughout Redlanding for its high ticket fights. These are the champion fights, the big names. People like that, you’ll never have to fight while your here, but still, they get tired, so the arena needs to show other fights in order to keep people here.”

“That’s where the tiers come in. At the top, just below the champion fighters, is the first tier of combatants. These are the exotic beasts, and Mages at the Initiate level. Then…”

“Wait, what are mages?”

Kalen had to interrupt. It felt like the man had just said something important, and he didn’t want to miss the meanings of any important terms.

“You don’t know what a mage is?”

That actually seemed to trip up the old man though.

“No, I’ve never heard that word before. What are they?”

“Ah, well. How do I put it? Certain people have the ability, or I should say compatibility, with these things called Inscriptions. They’re like tattoos that cover your whole body, but well, I don’t really know how they work, actually.”

Kalen shook his head, but of course the man couldn’t see him. He asked him to continue.

“Those I have heard of. Please, continue.”

“Those you have? Okay, well with inscriptions, mages can wield the forces of nature. Fire, Water, and Earth are the main ones, but I’ve heard that even within those there are other specializations a mage can choose. It’s all based around whatever inscriptions one has, of course, which are themselves based on the patron gods of those elements.”

“Patron gods? How do they fit into it?”

“I’m sorry lad, but that’s all I know. Look, if that’s all intimidating, don’t worry, people like that are in the highest tier of the arena, only below its venerated champions. You’ll never have to worry about meeting them yourself.”

“Ah, alright...”

Kalen was a little disappointed, but there was nothing he could do. He didn’t want to meet those people of course, not after having seen the Eagles’ leader, but the topic was still interesting. He had never heard anything about this in Willowhearth.

Was it possible the whole village was just ignorant to it?

“After the first tier is the second, made up of basic slaves who have been determined to hold talent. Those who have the compatibility for inscriptions are also in this tier, which is found out in the introduction process to the arena.”

“You’re talking about the Screaming Stone?”

“Yes, exactly! Did you have someone in your group react to it?”

Kalen thought back to Wellynd.

“Yes, one person did. What will happen to him in the second tier?”

The old man took a moment to speak.

“Well, the arena can only afford so much expense on a single slave, but at the same time they want to make the fights interesting. What I’ve heard is that they bestow the people who react to the stone with Pauper’s Inscriptions. They’ll be able to display just a fraction of what an Initial Mage has at their disposal, but it also doesn’t cost near the amount of actually inscribing someone.”

“I see. Good for him, then.”

Kalen thought of Wellynd’s expression when they had first seen the Eagles’ leader.

If anyone deserved to have that kind of power, he supposed it was Wellynd. The boy had seemed to ache for the prospect since the night they had first met.

Though he didn’t know if I was a curse or boon to be in a higher tier of the arena.

“It really is. I envy whoever from your group that was. Being in the second tier, you receive treatment miles above what we, in the third and lowest tier, receive.”