The man with the spear stopped smiling.
The laughter from the crowd still rolled through the arena, but down in the sand the air had changed. What had started as spectacle was turning into something else.
The fighter adjusted his grip on the spear.
No more testing jabs.
Now he meant to end it.
"You talk too much," he said.
Kael didn't answer.
His shoulder burned where the spear shaft had struck him, and the cut on his arm had started bleeding again from the fall. Sand clung to the wound, gritty and hot.
But his feet were steady.
That mattered.
The man lunged.
Fast.
The spear came straight for Kael's chest.
Kael dropped low.
The blade passed inches above his shoulder as he rolled through the sand and came up again on one knee.
The crowd roared.
The spear whipped around again, faster this time.
Kael barely twisted out of the way. The metal tip sliced across his back, cutting through cloth and skin in one sharp motion.
Pain burst across his shoulders.
The arena loved it.
Shouts and cheers rolled down from the stands like thunder.
The spear fighter stepped forward again, breathing harder now.
"You're bleeding."
Kael glanced over his shoulder.
"…yeah."
The man thrust again.
Kael moved before the strike finished.
He darted inside the reach of the spear again, just like before.
The fighter expected it this time.
The spear butt slammed down toward Kael's head.
Kael ducked, but the wood clipped his temple hard enough to make the world flash white.
He staggered.
The spear shaft swung sideways again.
It caught Kael in the ribs.
The impact lifted him off his feet.
He crashed into the sand and slid several feet before stopping.
The roar of the crowd shook the arena walls.
For a moment Kael couldn't breathe.
The sky spun above him.
Sand filled his mouth.
His ribs felt like they had cracked open.
Across the pit, the spear fighter approached slowly.
"You done yet?"
Kael coughed and rolled onto his side.
His knife was still in his hand.
He forced himself onto one knee.
The crowd noticed.
Another wave of noise surged down.
"Get up!"
"Kid's still moving!"
The fighter stopped a few paces away and stared at him.
"…you're stubborn."
Kael pushed himself to his feet again.
His legs trembled.
His chest burned.
But he stood.
Because somewhere under the arena—
His father was listening.
And Kael refused to fall quietly.
The spear fighter sighed.
"Alright."
He raised the weapon again.
The next strike came fast.
Too fast.
The spear swept low, smashing into Kael's legs.
This time he couldn't stay upright.
He fell hard again.
Before he could move, the spear point pressed down against his chest.
Cold metal touched his skin.
The referee stepped forward immediately.
"Enough!"
The crowd groaned.
Some booed.
Others clapped wildly.
The spear fighter lowered the weapon and stepped back.
Kael stayed where he was for a moment, staring up at the sky again.
His lungs burned.
His back stung where the spear had cut him.
But he was alive.
The guards ran out and grabbed him again, hauling him upright.
As they dragged him toward the gate, the spear fighter watched him go.
"You're a pain," the man said.
Kael looked back.
"…you're still slow."
The crowd laughed again.
Then the gate slammed shut.
The arena noise faded as the guards pulled him back into the tunnels.
Blood dripped from the cut on his back as they walked.
But Kael's mind was already working again.
The spear.
The distance.
The way the fighter reset his feet after every thrust.
He had lasted longer again.
And that mattered.
Because every second he stayed standing meant his father stayed out of the sand a little longer.
---------
Days turned into weeks beneath the arena.
Down there, time had a strange shape.
No sun rose.
No moon passed overhead.
The only way anyone knew the days were moving forward was the rhythm of the fights.
Wake.
Eat.
Listen.
Fight.
Heal.
Repeat.
After a while, Kael stopped counting.
But the scars kept track for him.
⸻
The first new scar ran along his ribs.
A sword had slipped past his guard in his fourth fight.
Not deep.
But deep enough to sting every time he twisted.
The second came across his knuckles from a man with a mace who had smashed the sand beside him. The stone head scraped across Kael's hand as he scrambled away.
The third was on his shoulder, just above the brand.
That one had bled the most.
A spear tip.
Too slow.
He had learned.
After that, he never stepped into a spear thrust the same way again.
⸻
A month passed like that.
And Kael changed.
Not all at once.
Little by little.
He moved differently now.
His steps across the sand were quieter. Lighter. He no longer stumbled when the arena floor shifted under his feet.
He watched fighters the moment they stepped through the gate.
Shoulders.
Hands.
Breathing.
Some men grunted before they struck.
Some blinked too often.
Some shifted their weight to the back foot when they were about to kick.
Kael noticed everything.
The gray-bearded fighter noticed too.
"You're learning fast."
Kael shrugged.
"…I don't want to die."
"Good motivation."
⸻
He still hadn't won.
Not once.
Every fight ended the same way.
The referee stopping it.
A weapon pressed against him.
A throw that left him unable to stand.
But the time he lasted grew longer.
First a minute.
Then two.
Then sometimes nearly five.
The crowd noticed.
They began shouting when he entered the arena.
"The little wolf!"
"Make him dance!"
Some cheered when he dodged.
Others groaned when the fight ended without blood.
Kael stopped hearing them after a while.
The arena became quiet to him.
Just sand.
Weapons.
Movement.
Survive.
⸻
He also stopped talking as much.
At first he used to ask the gray-bearded fighter questions.
Ask Garrick about techniques.
Ask about swords and spears and shields.
But the more he fought, the quieter he grew.
He listened instead.
Watched.
Thought.
The boy who used to argue about chickens in Willowmere still existed somewhere inside him.
But the pits were carving something else over that boy.
Something sharper.
Colder.
⸻
The tall man noticed.
Of course he did.
He noticed everything that made him money.
One evening he stood outside the cage again, watching Kael sit against the wall while Garrick cleaned a shallow cut along his arm.
"Still no victories."
Kael looked up.
"…I'm still alive."
The man smiled faintly.
"Yes."
He studied the scars across the boy's arms.
"You're improving."
Kael didn't respond.
The man's expression shifted slightly.
"But improvement is not the same as profit."
Garrick stiffened beside him.
Kael didn't move.
The tall man turned to the guard beside him.
"Bring the father tomorrow."
Kael's eyes flickered.
The guard nodded.
"Yes, sir."
The man looked back at Kael.
"Perhaps you need motivation."
Kael's voice came quiet.
"…I thought I was motivation."
The man chuckled softly.
"You are."
He gestured toward Garrick.
"But so is he."
Kael's stomach tightened.
The man leaned slightly closer to the bars.
"You fight harder when someone else pays the price."
Kael's jaw clenched.
The man straightened again.
"So tomorrow…"
He tapped the bars lightly.
"Your father returns to the sand."
Then he walked away.
⸻
The chamber was quiet after he left.
Garrick rubbed a hand over his face.
"You don't listen to him."
Kael stared at the floor.
His voice came quieter than usual.
"…I was trying."
"I know."
The boy's fingers traced a small line in the dust.
He remembered the deal.
The better you fight… the less your father needs to.
But a month had passed.
And he still hadn't won.
Across the cage, the gray-bearded fighter spoke softly.
"You're learning faster than anyone I've seen."
Kael didn't look up.
"…not fast enough."
Above them, the arena roared again as another fighter fell in the sand.
And in the dim cage beneath it, a seven-year-old boy sat very still, staring at the floor while something colder settled behind his eyes.
Tomorrow—
His father would bleed again.
And Kael was starting to understand that surviving wasn't enough anymore.
Soon…
He would have to win.
-----
The arena roared long before Garrick's name was called.
Kael heard it from the cage.
The sound carried through the stone tunnels like thunder trapped underground, shaking dust loose from the ceiling. The crowd was lively tonight. Loud. Hungry.
Kael sat on the floor with his back against the bars, knees pulled close, staring at the corridor where the guards would come.
He hadn't said anything.
Not to his father.
Not about the conversation with the tall man.
Garrick still thought this was just how the pits worked.
That sometimes the boy fought.
Sometimes the man.
Rotation.
Chance.
Not leverage.
Kael's fingers traced slow lines through the dust on the floor as he replayed the words again in his mind.
You fight harder when someone else pays the price.
He didn't like the way those words felt.
But they were working.
Bootsteps echoed down the hall.
The gray-bearded fighter glanced up.
"Someone's going out."
The keys rattled.
The guard stopped in front of their cage.
"You."
Garrick stood.
The iron door creaked open.
Kael looked up at him.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Garrick crouched slightly so their eyes were level.
"Same thing I told you," he said quietly.
Kael frowned.
"What?"
"Watch the shoulders."
Despite everything, Kael almost smiled.
"…okay."
Garrick ruffled his hair once, like he used to do in Willowmere.
"Back soon."
Kael nodded.
But his chest felt tight as the guards led his father away down the corridor.
The cage door slammed shut again.
The gray-bearded fighter sat beside him after a moment.
"You alright?"
Kael didn't answer.
The arena announcer's voice boomed faintly above them.
Then—
The crowd erupted.
The fight had begun.
Kael closed his eyes.
He could almost see it.
The sand.
The weapons.
His father stepping forward.
Minutes passed.
Each cheer from the arena twisted in his chest.
Then finally—
Bootsteps returned.
Kael stood immediately.
The guards shoved Garrick back into the cage.
He was breathing hard.
Blood ran down one side of his arm where a blade had cut him, but he was still standing.
Kael grabbed him before he could fall.
"You okay?"
Garrick gave a tired grin.
"Still breathing."
The gray-bearded fighter looked him over.
"Win?"
Garrick shook his head.
"Close."
He sat down slowly against the wall.
Kael wrapped a strip of cloth around the cut while his father rested.
"You did good?" Kael asked quietly.
Garrick shrugged.
"Crowd liked it."
That meant he had lasted a while.
But not long enough.
Kael tied the cloth tighter around the wound.
He kept his eyes down so Garrick wouldn't see what was behind them.
Because now Kael understood something else.
The tall man wasn't bluffing.
If Kael didn't start winning—
His father would keep going into the sand.
And eventually…
Someone wouldn't come back.
That night Kael didn't sleep much.
He sat awake long after the torches dimmed, staring at the stone floor while he replayed every fight he had ever had in the pit.
The dagger fights.
The spear fights.
The distance.
The timing.
Where the other fighters made mistakes.
Where he did.
Across the cage, the gray-bearded man watched him quietly.
"You're thinking too loud."
Kael looked up.
"What?"
The man nodded toward the dust where Kael's fingers had drawn dozens of lines and shapes.
"Your feet are planning."
Kael looked down.
He hadn't realized he was doing it.
"…I need to win."
The old fighter studied him carefully.
"That's a dangerous thought."
Kael's voice dropped.
"…my dad keeps fighting."
The man leaned back against the bars.
"That's the pits."
Kael shook his head.
"…not for long."
The gray-bearded fighter didn't answer.
But for the first time since Kael arrived in the cages, the old man saw something in the boy's eyes that hadn't been there before.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
Something colder.
Something focused.
Somewhere deep inside the seven-year-old boy who once chased chickens through a peaceful village…
A fighter was beginning to wake up.
And the next time the gate opened—
Kael intended to win.
The next morning felt heavier than the others.
Nothing looked different.
The same dim torches flickered along the stone walls. The same guards walked the corridor with their iron rods, striking the bars as they passed.
CLANG.
CLANG.
"Up."
But Kael didn't need the noise to wake him.
He had barely slept.
He sat beside the cage bars before the food even came, his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the corridor.
Garrick noticed.
"You're quiet."
Kael shrugged.
"I'm thinking."
"About fighting?"
Kael nodded
He didn't say anything,
He didn't tell him about the tall man.
About the deal.
About the fact that Garrick would keep getting dragged into the sand until Kael started winning.
The buckets came.
Thin stew again.
Kael ate slowly this time.
Not because he was calm.
Because he was listening.
Bootsteps.
Chains.
The pattern of the guards moving fighters out.
Across the cage, the gray-bearded fighter watched him.
"You're different today."
Kael wiped his mouth.
"…I'm done losing."
The man raised an eyebrow.
"That's ambitious."
Kael didn't smile.
"I don't have a choice."
The old fighter studied him for a moment longer.
Then he nodded once.
"Alright."
Kael looked at him.
"Then listen carefully."
Kael leaned forward.
"You've been fighting men bigger than you."
"I noticed."
"They expect you to run."
Kael nodded.
"…I do."
"Exactly."
The gray-bearded man tapped the floor lightly with his knuckle.
"That's why they get comfortable."
Kael's eyes sharpened.
"You mean…?"
"Surprise them."
Kael thought about that.
The spear fighter.
The sword fighter.
The way they stepped forward expecting him to retreat.
He had always moved away.
Because it was safer.
But safer didn't win.
Bootsteps stopped in front of the cage.
Keys rattled.
Garrick tensed beside him.
The door opened.
The guard pointed.
"The boy."
Kael stood.
Garrick grabbed his arm.
"Wait."
Kael looked down at him.
His father's voice dropped.
"Same rules."
Kael nodded.
"Feet."
"And?"
"Balance."
Garrick squeezed his shoulder once.
"Come back."
Kael turned toward the door.
The guards led him down the corridor again.
The roar of the arena rolled down the tunnel ahead.
Louder.
Hungrier.
As they walked, Kael flexed his wrist once.
It hurt.
But it worked.
The guards stopped at the weapon rack.
A short blade was shoved into his hand again.
He took it.
The iron gate creaked open.
Light flooded the tunnel.
The crowd saw him immediately.
A wave of sound rolled down from the stands.
"The little wolf!"
Kael stepped into the sand.
But this time—
He didn't wait in the center.
He walked a little closer to the other gate.
Closer than he usually did.
Across the arena, the opposite gate lifted.
Another fighter stepped out.
Older.
Bigger.
A curved blade in his hand.
The man looked at Kael and laughed.
"Oh come on."
The referee raised his arm.
Kael lowered his stance.
The gray-bearded fighter's words echoed in his head.
They expect you to run.
The referee's arm dropped.
"Begin!"
The bigger fighter stepped forward confidently.
And this time—
Kael ran toward him.
The crowd gasped.
Not because Kael had run.
But because he ran toward the blade.
The older fighter clearly hadn't expected it. His stance shifted instinctively, weight sliding back as he prepared to chase a fleeing opponent.
Instead the small figure rushed straight at him.
For a heartbeat the man hesitated.
That was all Kael needed.
He ducked low, the way Garrick had shown him months ago in the dirt behind the forge. Sand sprayed beneath his feet as he slipped inside the arc of the curved sword before the man could swing.
The blade cut down.
Too late.
Kael twisted sideways and drove the knife forward.
The strike wasn't perfect.
But it caught the fighter across the stomach just enough to tear cloth and skin.
The crowd erupted.
The older man staggered back with a curse, slashing downward wildly. The sword grazed Kael's shoulder as he rolled away, pain flashing across his back.
Kael scrambled up again.
His chest heaved.
The fighter's expression had changed now.
No more amusement.
"You little—"
He lunged forward.
Kael moved.
But something felt… strange.
For the past month every movement in the arena had felt heavy. Slow. His muscles tired, his lungs burning, the sand always threatening to trip him.
Now—
The world seemed a little sharper.
The man's shoulders shifted before the strike.
Kael saw it earlier than usual.
The sword cut through the air.
Kael slipped aside.
Cleaner.
Faster.
The fighter blinked.
So did Kael.
For a brief moment the air around him felt… alive.
Not visible.
Not glowing.
But there was a faint pressure against his skin, like standing near a thunderstorm before the rain came.
Deep inside his chest something stirred.
Warm.
Restless.
His heartbeat thumped once.
Hard.
And suddenly his legs moved again.
Quicker than he meant to.
The fighter slashed sideways.
Kael stepped back so fast the blade barely touched his shirt.
The crowd noticed immediately.
A ripple passed through the stands.
"He's quicker today!"
"Look at the kid move!"
Down in the tunnels beneath the arena, fighters listening through the stone walls shifted slightly.
And in the cage—
The gray-bearded man frowned.
"…huh."
Beside him, Garrick gripped the bars.
"What?"
The old fighter tilted his head, listening to the rhythm of the fight above.
"Your boy…"
He squinted slightly.
"…something's different."
Back in the sand, Kael darted forward again.
Not reckless.
Precise.
The curved sword swung again, but the movement looked slower to him now. Like he could see the start of it before it fully happened.
His body reacted.
A quick step.
A turn.
The knife flashed.
Another shallow cut across the fighter's arm.
Blood appeared.
The arena roared louder than before.
The fighter backed away, breathing harder now.
"What the hell—"
Kael stood there in the sand, chest rising and falling.
He didn't understand what had changed.
But deep inside his chest—
That warm, restless feeling pulsed again.
Mana.
For most people it arrived quietly sometime during their seventh year.
Not lightning.
No explosions.
Just a spark waking up somewhere deep in the body.
And in Kael—
That spark made him just a little faster.
Just a little sharper.
Just enough to change the fight.
The older fighter circled now.
The laughter from the crowd had faded into something sharper. Interest. The kind gamblers leaned forward for.
Because the little wolf was still standing.
And now he was moving differently.
The man with the curved blade rolled his shoulder once, eyes locked on Kael.
"…you weren't this quick the other day."
Kael didn't answer.
He was trying to understand what his own body was doing.
His heartbeat thudded hard in his chest.
That strange warmth was still there. Not blazing, not bursting, just a quiet pressure under his ribs. Like something had woken up and was stretching after a long sleep.
The fighter lunged again.
The blade cut down toward Kael's neck.
Kael slipped sideways.
The movement felt… easy.
Too easy.
The sword cut air.
Gasps rolled through the arena.
The fighter's eyes narrowed.
"Alright."
He adjusted his stance, lowering the blade slightly.
"Let's try that again."
He rushed forward.
Two fast swings.
Kael ducked the first.
The second skimmed his sleeve.
Sand shifted under his feet, but his legs corrected before he fell.
That warmth pulsed again.
His body reacted.
Step.
Turn.
The knife flashed out again.
This time it cut the fighter's side.
Not deep.
But enough.
The man hissed and jumped back.
The crowd exploded.
"Look at that!"
"He's carving him up!"
But Kael's chest was burning now.
That strange energy inside him wasn't free.
Every quick step made his lungs ache harder.
His legs felt lighter—
but also weaker.
Across from him the older fighter wiped the new line of blood from his side.
His expression had gone cold.
"You're starting to annoy me."
The curved blade lifted again.
No hesitation this time.
He rushed forward with real intent.
The sword cut low.
Kael jumped.
The blade passed under his foot.
The fighter twisted and brought the hilt down toward Kael's head.
Kael tried to slip aside.
Too slow.
The wood slammed into his shoulder.
Pain exploded through his arm.
He stumbled.
The warmth inside him flickered.
His body felt heavy again.
The fighter saw it instantly.
"There you are."
The sword slashed down.
Kael raised his knife to block.
Steel rang.
The impact knocked the smaller blade from his hand.
It spun into the sand.
The crowd screamed.
The fighter kicked Kael hard in the chest.
The blow threw him backward.
Kael hit the sand and rolled, coughing.
The curved sword lowered toward his throat.
The referee stepped forward.
"Enough!"
The arena groaned.
So close.
The fighter stepped back, lowering his weapon.
"You're a weird little rat," he muttered.
Kael lay there for a moment, staring up at the gray sky above the arena walls.
His chest burned.
His shoulder throbbed.
But inside him—
That strange warmth was still there.
Faint now.
Sleeping again.
The guards grabbed him and dragged him toward the gate.
The crowd still buzzed above them.
Back in the tunnels, the gray-bearded fighter heard the sound and grunted softly.
"…that boy's moving faster."
Garrick's hands tightened on the bars.
"What do you mean?"
The old man glanced at him.
"Did you not listen to his fight."
Back in the sand, the older fighter watched Kael disappear through the gate.
Then he looked down at the blood on his arm.
And shook his head.
"Kid's going to be a problem."
-------
The iron door slammed shut behind him.
Kael stumbled when the guards shoved him back into the cage, catching himself against the cold stone floor before he fell completely. Sand still clung to his clothes and hair, and the bruise on his shoulder had already begun to darken beneath the torn fabric.
Garrick was beside him instantly.
"Easy."
Strong hands steadied him as he sat down against the wall.
"You alright?"
Kael nodded once, though his chest still hurt where the kick had landed.
"…I almost had him."
Garrick glanced at the cuts on the other fighters in the cage who had been watching.
"You lasted longer again."
Across the cage, the gray-bearded man rubbed his beard thoughtfully.
"You moved different."
Kael frowned slightly.
"…I know."
He flexed his fingers slowly.
Something inside him still felt… strange.
That warm pulse from the arena had faded, but he could almost remember the feeling of it.
Like the world had slowed down.
Like his body had moved before he told it to.
Before he could think about it further—
Bootsteps echoed down the corridor.
Heavier than the usual guards.
Several men turned their heads.
The tall man had returned.
And this time he wasn't alone.
Beside him walked another figure.
Thin.
Wrapped in long gray robes.
Silver threads ran along the edges of the cloth like tiny lightning veins. The man carried a staff capped with a dull crystal that glowed faintly in the dim light of the tunnel.
A mage.
The chamber grew quieter as they approached.
The tall man stopped outside Kael's cage.
His eyes went straight to the boy.
"You were faster today."
Kael didn't answer.
The mage stepped forward slightly, peering through the bars.
His eyes were pale and sharp.
"Open it."
The guard hesitated.
"He's injured—"
"Open it."
The key turned.
The cage door creaked open.
Kael tensed slightly as the mage stepped inside.
Garrick shifted forward immediately.
"Careful."
The mage ignored him.
Instead he crouched down in front of Kael.
"Look at me."
Kael didn't move at first.
Then slowly he raised his eyes.
The mage studied him closely.
"…how old?"
"Seven," Kael said.
"Almost eight," Garrick added.
The mage nodded slowly.
"Thought so."
He raised one hand.
"Don't move."
Before Kael could react, the mage placed two fingers lightly against the center of his chest.
At first nothing happened.
Then—
The mage's crystal flickered.
A faint pulse moved through the air.
Not visible.
But felt.
Like static before a storm.
Kael blinked.
The warmth in his chest stirred again.
Very faint.
The mage inhaled slowly.
"…there it is."
The tall man leaned against the bars.
"Well?"
The mage removed his hand.
"He's unlocking."
Garrick frowned.
"What?"
The mage stood.
"Mana."
The word hung in the cage.
Kael blinked.
"…what?"
The mage looked down at him again.
"For most people it wakes between seven and eight."
He tapped the crystal on his staff lightly.
"Yours just stirred."
The tall man smiled slightly.
"I knew it."
Garrick's jaw tightened.
"You're putting a child in the arena."
The man didn't even look at him.
"I'm cultivating an investment."
The mage continued studying Kael.
"Interesting manifestation."
Kael frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"You're not producing raw output."
The mage tilted his head slightly.
"It's enhancing your body instead."
He looked at the tall man.
"Speed. Reflexes."
"Subtle."
The tall man nodded slowly.
"Useful."
Kael didn't like the way they were talking about him.
The mage stepped back toward the door.
"Nothing explosive yet."
"But it's definitely there."
The tall man looked at Kael one last time.
"Good."
He turned to leave.
"Keep him alive."
The mage followed him out of the cage.
The iron door locked again.
Silence returned to the chamber.
Kael stared at the floor.
"…what's mana?"
Across the cage, the gray-bearded fighter let out a quiet breath.
"Well kid…"
He leaned his head back against the bars.
"…now things get interesting."
The iron door clicked shut again.
The mage's footsteps faded down the corridor beside the tall man, the faint glow of the crystal staff disappearing around the corner.
For a while no one spoke.
The chamber slowly filled with sound again. Fighters shifting against the walls. Someone coughing. Chains rattling faintly in a nearby cage.
Kael sat where the mage had left him, staring at the floor.
His fingers rested lightly against his chest.
Right where the mage had touched him.
"…mana," he muttered quietly.
Across the cage, the gray-bearded fighter gave a low hum.
"Yep."
Kael looked up.
"What is it?"
The old man leaned forward slightly.
"You ever feel the air before a storm?"
Kael thought about the desert winds back near Willowmere.
"…yeah."
"That pressure right before lightning hits."
Kael nodded slowly.
The man tapped his own chest.
"Mana's like that. Only inside you."
Kael frowned.
"…everyone has it?"
"Most people."
The old fighter shrugged.
"But it sleeps until the body's ready."
He nodded toward Kael.
"Usually around your age."
Kael flexed his fingers again.
The warmth he had felt earlier was faint now.
Barely there.
"…mine made me faster."
"That's your affinity waking up."
Kael blinked.
"My what?"
"Not all mana does the same thing."
The man gestured loosely with his hand.
"Some people throw fire."
"Some heal wounds."
"Some bend shadows."
He looked back at Kael.
"And some… get sharper."
Garrick had been quiet the entire time.
Now he spoke.
"Speed?"
The gray-bearded fighter nodded.
"Looks like it."
Kael glanced between them.
"So… I'm a mage?"
The old man chuckled.
"Kid, if you were a mage they wouldn't be throwing you in the sand."
He pointed lightly toward Kael's legs.
"You're a fighter with mana."
Kael wasn't sure how he felt about that.
Across the cage, Garrick watched his son carefully.
"You felt it before the fight?"
Kael nodded slowly.
"…like something woke up."
"And then?"
"It made everything faster."
The gray-bearded fighter grinned.
"First taste of power."
Kael frowned.
"It didn't last."
"That's normal."
The man leaned back against the bars.
"Your body's just learning how to use it."
Garrick's hand had gone still.
It still rested lightly against the back of Kael's head, but the moment the gray-bearded fighter said "first taste of power," something in Garrick's expression changed.
Not surprise.
Something heavier.
Older.
The gray-bearded man noticed.
"…you knew," he said quietly.
Garrick didn't answer at first.
His eyes were fixed on the stone floor.
Kael glanced up at him.
"Dad?"
The silence stretched long enough that even the other fighters nearby began to listen.
Finally Garrick exhaled slowly.
"…yeah."
Kael blinked.
"Yeah what?"
Garrick rubbed his hand over his face, rough fingers dragging across the stubble of his jaw.
"I knew it might happen."
Kael frowned.
"You knew I'd get mana?"
"Not exactly."
Garrick leaned his head back against the bars and looked up at the ceiling for a moment.
Then he looked down at Kael.
"It runs in our blood."
Kael tilted his head.
"…what does?"
"Lightning."
The gray-bearded fighter's eyebrow lifted slightly.
Garrick continued quietly.
"My father had it."
He tapped his own chest lightly.
"I had it."
Kael's eyes widened.
"You had mana?"
Garrick nodded once.
The old fighter across the cage leaned forward with interest.
"Well that explains a few things."
Kael sat up straighter.
"Then why don't you use it?"
Garrick's mouth tightened slightly.
"Because I can't."
Kael frowned.
"Why?"
For a moment Garrick didn't answer.
His eyes drifted toward the corridor where the tall man and the mage had disappeared.
Then he looked back at Kael.
"When I was younger… before Willowmere… before the forge…"
He rubbed his thumb slowly against the scar on his palm.
"I was a knight."
Kael already knew that part.
But his father had never talked about the rest.
"I fought in the border wars," Garrick continued quietly.
"Real battles."
"Not pits."
"Not tournaments."
"War."
The word sat heavy in the cage.
Kael listened closely.
"At first the lightning helped," Garrick said.
"It made me faster."
"Sharper."
"Just like you."
Kael's chest tightened slightly.
Then Garrick's voice dropped.
"But lightning isn't gentle."
He tapped the center of his chest.
"Mana moves through channels in the body."
"If you push too much power through them…"
He paused.
"…they break."
The gray-bearded fighter nodded slowly.
"Seen that happen."
Garrick gave a small humorless smile.
"I pushed too far."
Kael frowned.
"In a battle?"
Garrick nodded.
"There was a siege."
His gaze drifted again, not really seeing the cage anymore.
"Walls falling."
"Fire everywhere."
"We were trying to get civilians out before the enemy broke through."
His jaw tightened.
"I pushed everything I had into the lightning."
"Faster."
"Harder."
"Trying to move faster than the soldiers chasing them."
Kael swallowed.
"…did it work?"
"For a while."
Garrick flexed his hand slightly.
"Then my channels tore."
He tapped the scar along his forearm.
"Lightning doesn't leave quietly."
Kael stared at him.
"What happened?"
"I survived."
"But the mana didn't."
He looked back at his son.
"My channels are damaged."
"I can still feel it."
"But if I try to use it…"
He shook his head slightly.
"…it tears me apart."
The gray-bearded fighter gave a low whistle.
"Rough way to lose a gift."
Garrick nodded once.
"That's when I left the knights."
Kael blinked.
"Just like that?"
"Not just that."
Garrick's voice softened.
"There were people we couldn't save."
The words were quiet.
But heavy.
"The war kept going."
"More sieges."
"More cities burning."
His eyes dropped again.
"One day I realized I didn't want to keep living like that."
Kael was silent.
Garrick looked at him again.
"So I left."
"I went as far from the war as I could."
"Found a quiet village."
Kael already knew the rest.
"…Willowmere."
Garrick nodded.
"That's where I met your mother."
The memory softened his expression for just a moment.
"She was arguing with the baker about herb prices."
Kael blinked.
"…that sounds like her."
The gray-bearded fighter chuckled.
Garrick smiled faintly.
"She told me my sword stance was terrible."
Kael laughed quietly.
Then the moment faded.
The cage returned.
Stone.
Bars.
The distant roar of the arena.
Kael looked down at his hands again.
"…so the lightning is ours?"
Garrick nodded slowly.
"Old family trait."
Kael frowned.
"Family?"
Garrick hesitated.
Then said quietly,
"We weren't always blacksmiths."
The gray-bearded fighter leaned forward again.
"…don't tell me."
Garrick sighed.
"…fallen nobles."
Kael blinked.
"What?"
"Long time ago."
"Before my grandfather's time."
"Our house lost everything."
"Land."
"Titles."
"Power."
The old fighter chuckled softly.
"Explains the knight training."
Kael looked back at his father.
"So the lightning… comes from them?"
Garrick nodded.
"Passed down."
Kael sat quietly for a moment.
The faint warmth stirred again deep inside his chest.
Small.
Restless.
"…mine worked today."
Garrick looked at him carefully.
"Yes."
Kael's voice dropped.
"Will it break me like it broke you?"
Garrick didn't answer right away.
Then he placed his hand firmly on Kael's shoulder.
"No."
Kael blinked.
"How do you know?"
"Because you're not fighting wars."
Garrick's jaw tightened slightly.
"…just arenas."
But inside his chest—
Garrick knew something else.
Lightning had returned to their blood.
And this time…
It had awakened inside a boy forced to survive the worst place imaginable.
Which meant one thing.
The pits had just become far more dangerous for everyone involved.