Chapter 1 - The Silver Canine

My everlasting summer turned into a cold and unforgiving storm. The storm died out but so did the summer and neither would ever return.

I open my eyes and adjust to the darkness. My hands are chained by iron cuffs. Spikes from the cuffs penetrate my skin. I look up and discover that I am not alone, not in the least. Around me are twenty or maybe thirty people chained just as I am, dressed in nothing but simple loincloths. A cell door with iron bars is blocking our exit. We’re sitting in two rows, facing each other. Just in front of me is a tired old man. He is tall but his body looks worn-out; it’s all skin and bones. He notices my gaze and meets my eyes.

“How’re you doing there, son?” he asks with a warm smile.

“Not too shabby,” I reply.

There’s roof over my head and the sand at my feet is quite fine. I run it through my toes; it tickles and feels comforting. I can’t complain, really. It’s better than what I usually have.

“My name’s-” I’m interrupted as I’m about to introduce myself.

The ceiling shakes and a massive cheer comes from above. Blood drips on my feet through the wooden ceiling along with some sand. Now that I think about it, there was a lot of blood mixed into the sand already.

“I’m Paen, but you can call me Father if you’d like. I am a priest after all,” said the old man.

“Why would a priest be here, locked away in a dungeon?” I ask him.

“Why would a little boy like yourself be here? You can’t be more than twelve.”

I’m thirteen, why would my age matter anyway? He should be more concerned about his own. He doesn’t look a day older than 105. Just as I finish my thought, he laughs; as if he is reading my mind. His laugh reveals a large silver canine tooth. What a waste of silver, it doesn’t even fit in with the rest.

“You trying to look like a pirate?” I ask while pointing at it.

Paen stops laughing, looks down towards his mouth and gives me a stern and serious look. I’m starting to think I’ve touched a nerve. We sit there for a couple of minutes in silence and suddenly he bursts into laughter. Then again, maybe he’s just insane.

The cell door bursts open and two guards walk in. One is short and fat and the other is tall and scrawny. Like a baby elephant and a flagpole. They scout the room and the small one points at a middle-aged man.

“You’re next, along with…” he looks around again and notices my curious look. It seems everyone else are looking away. His voice is wicked and slightly high-pitched.

“...you!” he continues as he’s pointing his fat, smelly sausage finger at me.

The silence of the inmates is broken by the snore of a single man at the end of the row. The fatty looks towards him with anger.

“Learn some manners, insolent whelp!” he screams at him.

The small fatty reaches into his pocket and pulls out a dagger. He throws it at the sleeping man with incredible speed, only for it to be caught. The mysterious man opens his eyes and looks at the small guard. It’s as if his eyes are burning; one eye is yellow and the other is red. His gaze is filled with hate and disgust.

“You dare interrupt my sleep, petty half-goblin?” he says and crushes the dagger with his hand.

The man is double the length and size of an average man. His body is heavily injured. Bloodied bandages cover his entire body. The half-goblin can’t hide his frightened expression; he looks as if he stepped on a cat’s tail only to discover it’s a lion.

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“H-herb!” he shouts at the flagpole-man.

“Take the freak and the boy instead,” he continues as he hastily walks off.

“Certainly, Pip,” he answers.

This flagpole-man, Herb, is standing with his arms around his back. His expression is that of a man in deep thought. Round glasses cover his partially closed eyes and dark, slicked hair covers his head. He’s walking with long, almost unnatural steps towards me. When in front of me, he shoves his hand in front of my face like he’s about to grab it; but he doesn’t. His hand turns black and fades away, like a shadow. The shadow grows and might soon cover my entire field of vision. I try to pull away from his hand and look away but I can only see Herb’s eyes, wherever I try to look. They stare at me, wide-open and bloodshot. I can’t move anymore, I’m fixated by his eyes. The shadow creeps up in front of me again and everything turns black. I can’t feel the sand or sense the sweaty smell of the fat goblin-man. I can’t hear the crowd cheering or see Herb’s eyes. It’s just darkness, everywhere.

I feel the sand again, but this time I’m covered by it. I open my eyes and I’m blinded by the sharp sting of the sun. I rise to my feet and try to take a look around as my eyes adjust. It looks like an arena. It’s covered by sand, blood and body parts. Severed heads of men and women alike. The crowd is massive. It looks like there are millions of people sitting on bleachers, row after row after row. They’re towering over me, almost reaching the clouds.

The large, mysterious man is in the arena with me. He’s sitting cross-legged on the sand with his hands on his knees, eyes closed. We're 50 meters apart. A man of royalty stands up in the podium. The crowd goes wild, chanting “Grabbon! Grabbon! Grabbon!”. He clears his throat and the crowd is silenced.

“Good people of Trima! I present to you yet another sacrifice,” he says with a smug face.

“But this time, they will settle the sacrifice by hand to hand combat!” drums start to play and the crowd screams of delight.

“Begin!” he shouts and a gong is hit.

The man on the sand stands up and opens his eyes. He looks at me fiercely, yet he seems to have something on his mind. He gets into position, as do I. Before I know it, he’s in front of me, with his fist in my stomach. I can feel a shockwave from the punch breaking my ribs. Blood flies from my mouth as I hit the ground. The man walks up to me as I lie there on the ground.

“Pathetic,” he says.

“I’ve had worse,” I tell him as I spit out blood.

I rise to my feet and struggle to keep balance. The man doesn’t look surprised, but rather suspicious.

“Impressive. You might not be a completely lost cause,” he says and smirks.

I throw a punch at his face, but he dodges it with ease. This man is too quick for my eyes follow. He grabs my face and smashes it to the ground. I can’t move, much less think. The man in the podium, Grabbon, stands up once again.

“What a marvelous performance! Such savagery. Now sacrifice him! Let the Nine hear of your valor,” he says.

“Why don’t you tell them?” he answers.

Grabbon looks confused. The man holds his hands together. A red light emerges from his hands and spreads throughout his body, then retracts and focuses on his hands again, creating an ominous light. He throws his hands forward and out spews a giant red beam, taking the form of a dragon. It flies forward, destroying the podium and tearing a huge hole in the colosseum. Guards swarm the arena. They’re torn apart by this man, until he eventually is overrun. They drag him out of the arena. I can’t tell if he’s dead or not, yet when I look at him, I do not see a defeated man. He radiates victory.

I’m thrown back into the cell. Paen greets me with a nod.

“How’d it go?” he asked.

“Good, I guess,” I answer.

Herb and the half-goblin, Pip, enter once again. They pick out two other people to fight. They don’t seem to be bothered by what happened at all.

Blood drips and sand falls from the ceiling, the sound of cheering comes from above. Just like before. I decide to take a nap, my broken ribs aren’t gonna heal themselves. Sort of. When I wake up, the cell is empty except for me and Paen.

“Where’d the rest go?”

“They’ve perished, it seems,” he answers with a content face.

In walks Herb and Pip. Herb uses his technique and once again, I appear on the arena. In front of me is Paen, 50 meters away just like the last time I was here. I look up at the podium. It’s completely rebuilt, and sitting on the throne in the middle is none other than Grabbon. Completely unharmed. He stands up and once again the crowd goes wild.

“I present to the people, the last sacrifice. Whoever wins this shall be granted the title of Grandeur and shall continue as a gladiator.”

The crowd chants “Paen! Paen! Paen!”. It seems this old man will not be so easily defeated, if he has impressed the crowd.

“They will both be granted a weapon of the crowd’s choosing, starting with Paen, a man of great prowess, as we have seen.”

The crowd screams of “Sword!” “Sledge!” “Shield!”

“Paen will be granted the sword!” Grabbon says finally. A guard enters the arena and gives him a sword.

“Now, what shall the boy, who has yet to win a real fight, be granted with?”

The whole crowd shouts “Nothing!”

“It seems the crowd has settled with ‘nothing’ for the boy, how fitting.”

“Begin!” he shouts, and the gong is hit.

Paen just stands there, looking at me. Completely unguarded. He throws the sword at my feet.

“Give it your best shot!” he says with that same warm smile.

It doesn’t seem like he’s trying to mock me. He’s genuine. Genuine and absolutely insane. I pick it up and start sprinting towards him. He’s still standing like he has no cares in the world. This is a matter of life and death after all, I won’t hold back. I swing the sword as hard as I can towards his neck, and just when I expect to hear the sword cut through his flesh, everything goes silent. I can’t move anything. The crowd has stopped cheering. It’s as if time has stopped. I can’t even move my eyes. I can only see Paen’s face and his warm smile, but his smile fades. He has a stern and serious look.

“Grow stronger, Tash. Then seek me out. There is much in store for you,” he says.

I never told him my name, Tash. He claps his hands, the sound echoes throughout the colosseum. Paen ignites and disappears. My hand is set into motion again, my sword cuts through the air. I can hear the crowd again. The momentum from my swing makes me stumble and fall to the ground. The crowd continues their chants, but worried faces soon spread across the colosseum. Even Grabbon is standing up in his chair out of sheer disbelief. He motions to the guards to capture me. Once again, they swarm the arena. I don’t put up much of a fight, I’m just as confused as the rest.