Ilyak was trying to keep a composed face as he walked back to his chambers, but his clenched fists and jaw hinted at the storm of outrage whirling inside of him. Ilyak was a slow walker and deep thinker, so even the quick shuffling of his feet showed that he was deeply disturbed. Calculations shifted through his mind as he tried to come up with a feasable plan for containing the arena’s first mage. Ilyak was so deep in thought that he hadn’t heard someone calling his name.
“Hey!” A loud voice in his ear and heavy hand on his shoulder caused the disenchanter to jump. He spun around and glared through his mask at his interrupter, then blew a deep and obvious sigh when he realized who it was, “What do you want, Androva?”
She had her hands behind her back and was smiling sweetly, but the look didn’t reach her sharp cat-like eyes. Androva Gallaine stood nearly six feet tall, and her heavy plate armor made her look the part of a king’s royal knight. The white platemail was highlighted with gold and had dashes of red in all the right places to add an extra tease of ferocity. Her thick, wavy blond hair fell past her shoulders as a stark contrast to her militant outfit. It was completely impractical to have long hair in combat, but Androva rarely had to worry about that these days.
She her impish smile showed unusually well-kempt teeth as she said, “So… You seem displeased.” The way she grinned a little wider told Ilyak that his face must’ve given away his reaction at her comment.
“I am fine.” He claimed.
“No you’re not,” She prompted “you’re annoyed. Actually, more than that. You’re..” She leaned in a little closer, Ilyak did not shy away. “Scared, maybe? About the magic guy?” Androva knew she was pushing the disenchanter’s buttons. She knew that he didn’t want to talk about it.
She also knew that he was DYING to talk about it.
Looking at Ilyak now, with his ostentatious checkered outfit and crystal-strewn staff, Androva was reminded that the man very rarely went out of his way to speak to people. Despite having plenty to say on any given subject, Ilyak always kept to himself and treated people like they were making him uncomfortable just being in his presence. Even his mask – more of an ornate metallic visor with parallel slit-like openings that covered his eyes and nose – made it hard to tell if Ilyak was ever making eye contact with anyone. He could feign annoyance all he wanted, but who else was going to listen to him?
“Scared?” Ilyak scoffed. “Scared of what? Wasting my time? We have so many more important things to be concerned with right now, ESPECIALLY considering Valmun’s finances, yet I am made to divert my attention to what will amount to be the world’s most drawn out execution.”
“Execution?” Androva blinked. “Every gladiator expects to die eventually, Ilyak.”
“Yes, perhaps, but that is no gladiator!” He argued. “That is a spellcaster, a young Baldemian wizard. His outfit carries the crest of Caelumpeak, the greatest school of champions in the realm, and the way he fought manipulating two orbs at once shows that he has a rare talent for the Art.” Ilyak shook his head, but Androva shifted her weight to her hips as she thought about what the disenchanter was saying compared to what she saw. “Might that he is, but while you might’ve seen the same thing I did in the arena, I don’t think you didn’t SEE it the way I did. That guy clearly has some martial experience. The way he moved-“
“Potions and spells of strength and speed.” Ilyak interjected.
“Still!” Androva protested. “There was technique and form there. You can’t get that out of a bottle… And I swear to the gods I will punch you in the nose if you try to argue that, because I can clearly see that you want to!” She said, though still smiling.
Ilyak seemed taken aback by that, but conceded with a chuckle. “All I’m saying is that it is a waste. Better that he died in the arena than be cut off from the Verse. There is no greater tragedy than a great mind forced into mediocrity.”
“Magic’s not all that great.” Androva jabbed, rolling her eyes as she started to walk away. “Anyway, I know you have to prepare for your project. And I have the pleasure of putting a new leash in our big cat.” she said, holding up a new slave collar in one hand and her oversized sword in the other. “So good luck, good eve, and goodbye Ilyak. I’ll see you in the court.”
As she sauntered off, Ilyak called after, “Don’t get your face bitten off,” and proceeded on his way.
“What? Oh! By the gods, why would you say that?!” Androva called out behind him.
Ilyak felt his chest seize. He’d made things awkward. “I.. Uh. It was…!” He walked away faster, shaking his head and not looking back. This was why he didn’t talk to people!
Androva, who of course was never bothered in the first place and just wanted to mess with the socially-awkward man, snickered softly.
She needed all the mirth she could get, considering what she was about to do.
The circular cellar-like chamber they held Ae’dron in was pitch black and soundless.
They had him in a prison cell, suspended several meters off the floor. Taking no chances, they had used overlapping layers of reinforced chains to keep his arms and legs firmly bound. A muzzle kept the lion’s jaws tightly bound and an iron bar positioned behind his skull kept his head facing downwards.
Crystals set in the walls hummed to life with an inner light once the chamber doors opened. Though Androva descended softy, her footsteps carried a metallic clank. The sound of each step pierced the silence, echoing out into eternity.
Just for a bit more noise, a bit more reassurance, she let the tip of her sword drag along the ground beside her. She breathed a heavy sigh, almost a yawn, for no other reason than to announce herself. She was hoping to hear some sort of response; a growl, the clank of chains. Anything.
Nothing.
She was supposed to bring subordinates with her, but the guard captain had seen enough of Ae’dron’s fights to know that if the gladiator got violent, then lives would be lost. This task wasn’t worth that risk. “Well, hello.” She said when she approached the cell bars, reaching over to pull a lever that lowered the wildkin closer to the ground. Still no response, he was as quiet as a corpse. Androva looked down at the slave collar in her hand and, for a moment, reflexively touched her neck where her own collar used to sit. She looked at Ae’dron. “You don’t seem to be in a particularly chatty mood, so I’m not expecting an answer but I have to ask.. Why didn’t you even try to escape?” She said, referring to the moments immediately after the arena fight. A battalion of guards had flooded into the arena once Khoma realized Ae’dron had no collar, and Chozun, Androva, and Ilyak stood ready to intercept should the wildkin tried to resist, but in the end it wasn’t necessary. Ae’dron had roared a victory cry that erupted the audience into cheers and then willingly returned to his chambers.
To Androva, who thought that everyone desperately wanted to leave this horrid place, that seemed absurd.
“You didn’t fight, resist, threaten or anything. You just returned to be collared once again like some.. Some pusbred.” She used the derogatory term for wildkin, ‘pusbred’ to try to stir a reaction from the proud lion. Still nothing. Androva huffed a frustrated sigh and entered the cage. keeping her sword close while she started to strap the new collar around Ae’dron’s neck.
And then everything went to hell.
She saw his muscles flex, his arms wrench forward, and heard the walls burst behind him. In an instant Ae’dron had pulled the supports anchoring the chains to the walls off the hinges. He snarled and shifted, his jaw and skull enlarging along with his fangs as he bit through the muzzle that was now too small. Androva fell back with a grunt, but the shock of the moment didn’t stop her from flashing her sword out infront of her even as she scrambled to keep herself from toppling. Ae’dron -now a massive bipedal lion with the torso of a man- would’ve bitten her head off in one snap if her slice hadn’t fended him off. She almost made it to the cage doors when he swiped her legs out from beneath her. Androva twisted onto her back before she hit the ground and thrust her sword forward, but the beast smacked the weapon with his claws and nearly sent it flying out of her hand. Despite the heavy armor Androva was swift, tucking her legs in to avoid his grasp and springing out of his cage, rolling back to her feet. Ae’dron shrunk as quickly as he grew, returning to his more humanoid form to walk through the doorway. He stopped just out of range of her sword, their eyes locked.
The thick chains still wrapped around his wrists and feet should’ve been heavy enough to keep him from moving, yet the powerful warrior swung them around like extensions of his own arms. Androva ducked under the first swipe and dove into a roll to avoid the chains sweeping in at her legs. Ae’dron stepped on a swinging chain and twisted his shoulders into it’s path, shifting its trajectory so that it swung directly down at Androva while the other whipped in horizontally. Somehow she weaved and ducked, the chains scrapping gouges in the floor and walls around her, but couldn’t get in close to the wildkin.
She also knew that all the noise should’ve drawn attention by now. Surely the king knew about what was happening… And Androva cussed as she realized the king was probably keeping reinforcements from coming. He likely found this entire spectacle amusing!
Suddenly, Ae’dron flicked the collar that Androva had tried to put on his neck at her. She moved to avoid it, then immediately slashed as the gladiator surged in behind the distraction. She was too slow, Ae’dron’s massive hand caught both her wrists, and his other hand almost caught her throat. The human weaved his choke, and kicked her heel into his stomach, but then she yelped when her head was yanked so hard that her neck almost broke. Ae’dron had his fingers tangled in her hair and was holding her high off the ground. He held her sword in his other hand.
“Call me that again.” He uttered, not looking at her. His eyes were on the collar on the ground. Androva knew Ae’dron could cut her in half in a heartbeat, this was not how she wanted to die. “W-wha?!” It didn’t make sense. Why was he reacting now?
“Call me a pus again.” He snarled, his grip tightening. Androva hissed at the pain, but she was far too prideful to apologize. “Ah! Gods damnit!” She kicked him in the face. He didn’t budge.
“The only reason I ain’t kill you is because I respect your legacy. But it’s been a long time since you’ve been in real combat and now yer gutter trash.” The lion snarled. To Androva’s surprise, he let her go. Then he took her sword and raised it high before slamming it blade-first into the ground with one hand. Ae’dron looked at the embedded sword and then at Androva. “I didn’t leave because I didn’t want to,” he started, “and I wasn’t speakin’ because…” he trailed off, not wanting to talk about the flashes of memories that were returning to him now that his collar was off.
Instead, he said “Tell Khoma that I’ll stay and I’ll fight, but I refuse to wear that thing on my neck anymore.” Androva reached to the hilt of her sword and tugged. It wouldn’t budge. She wouldn’t give Ae’dron the satisfaction of seeing her struggle with it. “That isn’t your decision to make, slave.” She said, beyond angry. Ae’dron turned his back to her, returning to his cell. He sat against the wall, cat-like eyes reflecting in the dim glow.
“Too bad. That’s the decision I’m making.”
Xophorys awoke to find himself strapped face-down to an operating table. His arms were tightly bound to his sides and the only movements he could make were with his head. Looking around, he could tell that he was on some kind of stage but couldn’t understand the assortment of glasses and mirrors all around him. From what he could fathom the room was some sort of operating room, and he could see various tools on a table besides him. Many of those tools were clearly meant for cutting and removing things from a person.
Xoph’s heartrate increased.
“So nice of you to finally join us.” He heard an unfamiliar voice quip. He strained his neck to see that whoever the person was talking to wasn’t him. A woman – the announcer from the tournament – walked in, though her hair was disheveled, her armor had dirt stains, and she was clearly in a bad mood. He watched her walk over and take a seat in the audience with hardly a word, her expression stone. The host must’ve noticed her ire as well since he cleared his throat to ward off the uncomfortable tension in the room. It wasn’t until he followed her gaze that he noticed the most important person in the room- the great king Khoma.
“Good king!” Xoph yelled out, his eyes wide. “Please! There has been a misunderstanding!” He said. “I am not a citizen of Valmun nor have I commited any crime. I would ask for what am I being punished?” The host, a man standing beside him in a white coat, squeezed his shoulder hard. “You do not address the king until he addresses you, knave!”
OK, I tried to be polite, Xophorys thought, I’ll give these people one explaination before I take my leave from this place. He felt his stomach lurch when the king responded. “I wouldn’t do that, magic boy. I’m still on the fence on whether to keep you alive or not.” As Khoma smiled at Xoph’s surprised expression, Xoph couldn’t help but notice a strange glow coming from the king’s crown. He didn’t think too much about it at the time, he had bargaining to do. “But truly I have done no wrong. I merely defended myself when I was accidentally dropped into the arena. I’ve visited Valmun plenty of times and there has never been a conflict. Why now?”
“Mm. Why not?” Khoma asked, leaning back in his chair and looking down at Xophorys from the audience. “You are one of my citizens and thus mine to do with as I please, s-“
“But as I said, I’m NOT a citizen. I’m from Baldeming!” Xoph protested.
There was a stunned silence in the room. Khoma balked, Androva sat up in her chair and smiled, Ilyak cringed. Xophorys slowly realized that he had just cut off the soverign king. Khoma breathed, “Did you- Did he just… Did he just interrupt me?” He asked the servant next to him, who nodded sheepishly.
Chozun was over Xoph in a heartbeat, jet black eyes boring into his. His sword rested on Xoph’s throat hard enough to draw a hint of blood. “Shut. Up.” He snarled, bloodlust in his voice, “You never listened to what they told you when you entered Valmun did you? Anyone who accepts a stamp becomes a temporary citizen of Valmun until the stamp is removed. As a citizen, OUR law overrules that of wherever it is you came from while you are on our land. This is your life now, and you’d best forget wherever it is you came from faster than your collar will do for you, slave.” As fast as he was there, he was gone, and Xoph couldn’t even lift a hand to the wound on his neck.
The mage was at a loss for words as the reality of his situation was dawning on him. He hadn’t even felt the collar around his neck until Chozun had mentioned it. That last word was just unfathomable, “Slave?” Xoph rasped. Time seemed to stand still in that awful moment, the silence a requiem for all the dreams he’d never get to fufill.
“… Slave?”