Xoph’s eyes snapped open and he jolted up from his bed with a shout.
It was all just a dream. Of course.
Through the haze of his consciousness, he could still see and hear the fading images of his nightmare; The white and gold walls of Valmun and the distant roar of a bloodthirsty audience. The dream had felt so realistic that he was still sweating, aching, and could feel memory of the pins in his body from the surgery. He could still remember the horrible king’s face and twisted smile so vividly, making him reflexively grimace. Worst, he could remember feeling the despair of having a servant’s leash strapped to his neck. Reflexively, Xoph reached up and touched his neck.
... And felt the smooth metal of his collar.
His blood froze.
"No..." He breathed, looking around at his room. His "bed" was a cluster of straw, which Xoph could only tell by the way it felt as the room was too dark to make out any details. His hand brushed against the jagged stone that made up one of the walls of a room that had such an oppressive chill his body shivered. It was all real. In the span of a day, faster than he could fathom, Xophorys had gone from an apprentice spellcaster of Caelumpeak to a prisoner of Valmun and slave to King Khoma. It was real.
They really sealed away his magic.
He was never going to return home.
A shocked outrage twisted his insides. He held out his hands and focused. He felt... Nothing. No tingle of energy, no buildup of prana. His breathing came heavier, he tried to focus again. Nothing. Gritting his teeth, sweating from anxiety, he tried to will the slightest ball of light. He felt pain shoot through his stomach, across his spine, his eye flickered with inner light...
The room illuminated, but not because of Xoph.
"Maybe this will help." A blade flashed infront of him, driving towards Xoph’s eyes. Xoph reflexively threw his hands up and turned his head, normally he would’ve teleported but this time a burst of light flashed off his skin, setting his insides on fire and recoiling his body back into the wall. The former mage slumped into the hay, his head spinning and body aching. Ilyak stood there, looking entirely unimpressed. He had a lantern in one hand and sword in the other. The light of the lantern showed that the cell they were in was barely large enough to fit three people. Xoph would barely take four steps in either direction without touching a wall. The ceiling was low enough to touch if one raised their hand over their head, and there were no windows. The Disenchanter calmly put the sword and lantern down – between the two of them, Xoph noticed -and folded his arms. He was looking at Xoph the way an artist might examine a finished piece for imperfections. "Hm.. So you can still emit mana without an implement. Interesting, albeit, expected."
Xophorys, who had always been taught to treat people with respect, especially those in authority, hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to attack Ilyak, but because he had so many obscenely rude expletives caught in his throat that he was at a loss for words.
"Eat piss." He settled with. Not the best, but not the worst. "What is even happening here? And what, were you just... sitting in the dark – like mold – this whole time, waiting for me to wake up?" The burning pain from his attempt at spellcasting was still pulsing through Xoph’s body, making his head, stomach, and spine ache.
Ilyak chuckled, a condescending sound that scraped at Xoph’s ire. The disenchanter had no collar around his neck, though he too was branded with a stamp. "You still haven’t realized your situation yet? No-... You have. But you just can’t accept it can you?" Ilyak took a step backwards to lean against the wall, placing him further from the staff, Xoph noted. Ilyak continued, "Did it all happen too fast? Do you think you’ll be free from here in a few days? A week?" That chuckle again, "A year? Or, perhaps, you’re expecting someone from the Academy to come retrieve you?"
The ache in Xoph’s body grew more intense with his frustration, but Ilyak’s last sentence made him pause. Xoph smiled with renewed hope "... What? You know where I am from? Then you know tha-"
"Be silent, wretch." Ilyak commanded. "In my presence, you only speak to answer questions."
"..." Xoph paused, incredulous. Then he said,
"... You practiced that sentence, didn’t you? Probably while sitting here in the dark like a cr-" With a snap of his fingers, the royal advisor activated Xoph’s collar and sent spikes of pain clawing beneath his skin. It felt as if someone was dragging a comb beneath his skin, Xoph gasped and gritted his teeth, straining all his will just not to scream. His body was no longer trembling from cold alone.
"Understood?" Ilyak asked, "Good. Now then, listen well as I will NOT repeat myself. The moment you agreed to accept your stamp, you became a temporary citizen of Valmun. Under the king’s of Valmun’s law – which is recognized in your homeland, Pharais – Lord Khoma may retain any of his own citizens for whatever purposes he deems fit. You have been chosen to become a gladiator and fight out the rest of your probably very short life in the arena. Congratulations, fool, and goo-"
Xoph tried to lunge for Ilyak, who casually snapped his fingers again and sent Xoph writhing to the ground in pain. Ilyak stepped around Xoph like he was spilled soup and continued speaking, ignoring the grunts of agony.
"As you’ve noticed, your ability to shape ether is mostly gone. As the king still wants to see some cantrips from you, you are allowed a tool to project spells, but in accordance to arena rules, it has to be a viable combat weapon. That leaves you with the lucrative option of... a wooden staff." He snickered a bit. "But we’ll throw in a dagger, for good luck."
Xoph used the wall to help pull himself off the ground "Such staggering altruism.." He deadpanned, glaring at Ilyak. "Where is my equipment that I came with?"
Ilyak quirked an eyebrow, "You mean my new equipment?" He smirked at the building outrage that the normally-calm Xoph was trying to suppress. "Again, you have yet to fully understand your position here. That is why you will spend time in isolation, to give you the fullest opportunity to forget your former life." He said with a sardonic smile, "But while you can still remember, I do have a question about the orbs in particular."
"Eat piss."
"It is rare for a spellcaster to utilize two at once, and even though they seem made from the same material, they have exhibit vastly different proclivities."
"Eat piss."
"How is it that they-"
"Eat-"
"That’s disgusting. Scream." Ilyak snapped, the collar activated again. Xoph felt the pain seize across his body, and pushed off the wall. He fell to the ground right by the sword, and grabbed it, scrambling back to his feet and swinging the weapon at Ilyak’s head. The disenchanter looked honestly surprised, but stepped backwards, out the way of the awkward strike. Xoph crashed into him, toppling them both into the nearby wall. Razorblades of pain sliced beneath’s Xoph’s skin even as his forehead managed to crash into Ilyaks face. "You stole everything from me!" He screamed, trying to batter Ilyak with fists and elbows. The pain rapidly raised in volume, to the point where Xoph couldn’t move, Ilyak kicked him away, wiping a stray line of blood from his nose. Xoph lay on the ground, trembling. Even as the pain faded, the residual agony still burned. Still, Xoph yelled out, "And I KNOW those clothes! You are baldemian like me! How could you do this? Everything about this land violates all concept of dignity and respect. How could you choose to labor in a place like this!?"
Ilyak scoffed. "Cry to your insignificant, uncaring gods, not to me. You wouldn’t be saying any of that if you stood where I stand."
"I would never WANT to be where you stand!" Xoph yelled.
Ilyak shook his head, genuinely disgusted. "Tch.. And that lack of ambition is exactly why you were a slave long before you stepped foot in Valmun." And then he activated the collar again, simply out of spite. Ilyak waited till Xoph had recovered before he continued, he needed Xoph to hear this next part clearly. "You will begin your arena career as a Wretch – monster fodder to entertain the audience before the gladiator fights. Survive your first few matches, and you will be admitted into the quarters with the other fighters, but odds are, in your condition you’re not going to survive your... orientation. I would provide you with a means of healing, but quite frankly, I just don’t like you."
"Thanks," Xoph croaked.
Ilyak gave him another look of contempt and placed a book on the ground beside the lantern before leaving the room. Once he was gone, the mage slowly pulled himself from the ground and went to pick up the book. He was confused to see nothing but strips of charcoal in the book, but all the pages were blank. He looked at the journal, the lantern, and the staff and sat in his bed in silence for a long while.
And then he screamed. Alot.
What else could he do?
Ae’dron’s cell doors opened up, rousing him from his sleep. He had been dreaming of forests, mountains, and an open sky, a very different sight from his usual night visions. He didn’t have to see or hear the person to know who or how many had entered his cell – he could tell Androva had come alone simply from her scent. The armored knight had an extra longsword in her hand, similar to the one she kept strapped on her hip, and was looking Ae’dron up and down pensively. After a long, satifying yawn Ae’dron looked at her with utter disinterest.
"What do you want?" He grumbled, though he didn’t really have to ask. Everything about her posture, including her breathing, spoke of a aggressive intent. She wanted a rematch. Their last altercation hadn’t sat right with the woman and ever since then she had been pining at another shot at the former champion. As far as she was concerned, as captain of the guard she should be able to take Ae’dron down should it ever come to it, and she needed to prove that to herself.
"Do you even really have to ask?" She responded, walking to remove his shackles with complete confidence that Ae’dron the Titan wouldn’t ever try to escape. Besides, even if he did, there was no way off of the island. His words stopped her before she was able to release him. "I’m not fightin’ you again. Go find some soldier to scrap with." Androva hid her frustration behind an amused smirk. "What? The mighty lion backing down from a challenge? Your last fight really must’ve gotten to you, huh?"
Ae’dron would’ve spat at her if not for the muzzle on his face. "I’m not yer sparring buddy and I definitely ain’t yer friend. If we fight we’re fighting for blood and I know for damn sure the only reason you feel confident enough to walk into this cage is because you know you’re safe from bein’ killed." He snarled, claws reflexively growing from his fingertips. Androva paused, hating how she could feel the weight of that growl in her belly. Even if what he said whas true, her pride wouldn’t allow her to accept that. So she laughed.
"Ha! Really? Well if that’s what you think, then how about this. I give you my word that even if I am killed in our fight there will be no punishment on you. Ilyak already knows my will when it comes to this, so he will speak in your defense." The knight offered.
"Who the hells is Ilyak?" Ae’dron asked.
"He- ... Ugh, nevermind. Just know that you can fight at your fullest with no consequences. I’ve already made sure of it." Androva promised, but Ae’dron was unconvinced.
"Heh, you really must think I’m stupid," The lion said, "Yer life ain’t even in your hands. Just because yer not one of us anymore does’t make you any more free." Ae’dron so casually said something that nobody else -except for King Khoma- would ever dare that it made Androva’s expression twist with agitation. She wanted to smack him while he was chained up. She wanted to make him regret his words and yet... She knew that giving into those urges would make her no better than the man she hated more than anyone else: her supposed "king."
Even still, she really wanted to hit him.
And he could tell.
Instead, she said, "Ooho! Who knew the pusbreed was a also a philosopher!?" She said, using the derogatory term for feline wildkin. "Well then riddle me this, warrior-poet. What happens to the champion once he falls from the king’s favor? All of that special treatment you once had is gone. You’re going to live down in the undercity with the rest of the fodder for the rest of your days, a forgotten toy left to rot." Her voice was fading under the growl rumbling from Ae’dron that steadily grew in volume.
"I didn’t lose my fight," He said, annoyed. "I’m still a warrior. A champion. Khoma has no reason to keep me from the arena." Androva simply smirked. "You are boring and your time has passed. Simple as that."
The floor, walls, and ceiling shook with Ae’dron’s outrage as he wrenched at his chains. Fangs long enough to puncture through a human arm were bared in anger. He was beginning to hate King Khoma in a way he had never felt before. He calmed quicker than Androva would’ve liked, though, as if he only barely cared about being a champion.
Satisfied, Androva blew her frustrations out with a long sigh. She didn’t have much time, and didn’t want to waste it goading this limp lionkin to fight her. "Fine. We’ll have our rematch another time. With proper weapons, inside the pit, till one of us falls to the roar of the crowd." She said, staring into the gladiator’s eyes with a hint of nostalgia in her words. "Would you like that better, Ae’dron the Titan? A chance to regain the crowd and king’s favor?" The sweetness in her voice was edged with thorns, and Ae’dron looked a little more interested as the prospect of a proper fight.
... But not by much. "Whatever," He responded with enough disinterest to make Androva’s lip twitch. "You done here?" He wanted to return to those incredibly liberating dreams he was having. And as Androva stomped out angrily, Ae’dron did take time to reflect on how disinterested he was at the thought of another arena fight. They used to be the highlight of his life and yet now they seemed so trivial...
... This whole place seemed so trivial.
Androva found herself lost in thought as she walked into the meeting room for the king’s curiae. The chamber -like many of the rooms in the palace- was circular in design, but this one had a bar with various food platters for the attendants’ liking. No one else was there, or so she thought, so she walked in and slammed the door shut, kicking a chair over on her way to the bar. Then she heard a simple question that made her feel amazingly awkward.
"Rough day?" Ilyak asked, sitting with a tray of grapes and two large crystal spheres set on a table in front of him. He seemed to be trying, unsuccessfully, to activate them. Androva busied herself with preparing food so that she didn’t have to look at him. She didn’t do well with mockery, and she didn’t want him to see the frustration on her face from dealing with Ae’dron. When she finally finished building her plate and looked at him, she noticed with some surprise that Ilyak looked as frustrated as she felt. That made her feel a little better. "I could ask you the same thing," she said. "You look even more sour than normal, and that’s saying something."
Ilyak looked up at her, and even thought he had a mask on, she could tell he was glaring by the frown on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, closed it, and then opened it again, "You know what? Yes. Yes I am." He confirmed. "I am very... Sour." Androva snickered, but Ilyak continued, "I never imagined a single slave could cause me so much grief." From Androva’s perspective, the disenchanter was sitting there holding his hands out infront of the orbs for no apparent reason. Nothing was happening. She shrugged, "He is a gladiator now, we tend to do that."
Ilyak looked back to his work, half-muttering, "You were a gladiator, and he’s not a gladiator yet." He looked up at her expected scowl, not backing down. "And you would do well to remember that. Count your blessings that you’re not still apart of the cattle still living down there in that "gladiator city" affecation."
She smacked both the orbs off the table, slamming her hands down on it and getting right in the antimage’s face, "I didn't ask to be part of your club! You think I want to be up here!? I had earned my damn freedom and still have yet to see the world beyond this place. I’m just as much as a 'slave' as any of the gladiators living here, and so are you!"
Ilyak’s expression radiated ennui. "Are you finished?" He didn’t even flinch when she almost punched him in the face, but stopped herself right before impact. He continued, "Allow me to enlighten you and remove those starry-eyed blinders you have on: the outside world is no different from here. The moment you settle anywhere you are shackled by rules of law, culture, and society. Conformity will dictate your every movement, and even in the times you think you are "free" you will always subconsciously feel the shackles of judgement and fear of punishment controlling your thoughts and decisions.Freedom isn’t in a place, or a title, Androva. Its a state of mind."
"Is that what you told yourself when you locked that man’s magic away. Looking into the horror in his eyes the entire time?" She didn’t back down either, though it took all her restraint to talk with words and not her fists. "Is that what helps you sleep at night? Saying ‘Hey, oh well, its OK because I am sort-of a slave too!'" She fumed, but his response was simple.
"Yes."
She scoffed and pulled away from his table, walking to go sit somewhere else with her food.
"...So. Back to the reason why I am sour," Ilyak said, and Androva pretended to ignore him, "I just cant wrap my head around the King was thinking bringing someone like that in. Not only is he useless in his current state, Shadarrin in general has a strong distaste for mages. Worse, now he is thinking about importing magical creatures in aswell ever since that ‘Chozun’ fool star-"
"Ever since I what?"
The air grew heavy. In the span of a blink, Ilyak could feel a presence behind him.
Chozun never simply ‘walked’ into a room. He always just seemed to materialize out of shadow and whispers. Ilyak thought he had grown used to his by now, but the chill down his spine said otherwise. Still, like with Androva the antimage refused to back down to anyone – mostly because he was very secure in his ability to negate the abilities of others. He spoke and did well to keep any quiver out of his voice, "Ever since you started filling his head with impractical ‘possibilities’ of what kind of spectacle these creatures could offer. With no regard to the danger this poses to both warriors and audience. Not to mention the cost of maintaining such beasts."
"Yeah. I didn’t ‘regard’ any of that. I didn’t know you needed to me to do YOUR job too." Chozun said, referring to the fact that Valmun’s defenses were Ilyak’s responsibility. Androva watched the exchange with interest, chewing on a chicken leg. Chozun – the King’s Knight – was the newest member of the court, with only two years of service under Khoma. Despite this, he had quickly rose under the king’s favor for his ability to import creatures from all around Exodus to be displayed in the arena. His abilities were mysterious, and even Khoma didn’t dare enter into his mind. He had tried once... And the nightmares that followed were a profound lesson that not everyone’s thoughts are a safe place to go digging. Androva had never seen the King so afraid – yet intrigued – in her life.
Ilyak hated the man. Unabashedly.
"Me ‘doing my job’ is the only reason your insufferable and, quite frankly, irrelevent ass is tolerated! You are a novelty at best, to be discarded when the king bores of you. There is a reason why the position of ‘Knight’ is so frequently vacant."
"Mm. And why is that?" King Khoma asked.
Androva and Ilyak stiffened up, Chozun bowed his head respectfully. None had expected the king to come to his servant’s common room, but that was probably the point. The robust monarch ambled towards the bar, Sayra -the Pawn- following close behind him. She kept her head respectfully bowed, long hair cascading down to her back, and held his platter for him, dutifully picking up anything he asked and adding it to the platter. When he couldn’t decide between two choices, she seemed to be able to always pick the one he’d like best. He loved her ... Like a well-trained dog.
"Why is the Knight’s spot always vacant, Ilyak?"
Ilyak dropped to his knees and bowed, as expected. My king, the spot is often vacant because your tastes are ever-evolving beyond what the stagnant Knights could contend. As your emminence and sophistication continues to grow, no doubt you will continue to seek out new Knights that can maintain your elevated standards."
He glanced at Chozun, "And when that time comes, this one will fade from memory like the rest. Perhaps sooner than later." Khoma glanced at Chozun too, waiting to see his response, he loved watching the bickering between his Knight and Bishop. Chozun didn’t disappoint. "Careful. From what I’m hearing, you’re already having a hard time keeping up with the Kings wishes, are you not? Perhaps he should consider a new Bishop sooner than later."
His next words set Ilyak’s soul on fire in the worst way, "Our newest acquisition has already lasted longer in the arena than you ever could. Perhaps Xophorys will become a more qualified Bishop than you could ever be."
"Mm.." Khoma smiled, listening to the two bicker, stroking his beard in thought.
... And they would keep bickering for as long as he sat there, eating his dinner, watching the show. Even Androva didn’t dare leave, forced to sit beside him and "laugh" at the banter of the two, whether she liked it or not. Khoma smiled again, Sayra wiping food from his mouth for him.
He was only one in the room – in all of Valmun – who truly felt free.