My closed eyelids twitched as a dim light irritated them, while my ears rang from the deafening roar of a crowd.
Slowly, I forced my eyes open.
My mind was hazy, barely able to recall what had happened… until suddenly—
The memory of the carriage driver struck my consciousness.
I tensed instantly.
Pain shot through my body as I pushed myself up, my breathing uneven. My eyes darted around, trying to make sense of my surroundings.
And what I saw—
Shocked me.
I was inside an arena—dug deep into the ground.
Above, people crowded around the opening, pressed against iron grills as they looked down. There had to be over a hundred of them, cheering and shouting.
"Akera! Akera! Akera!"
They chanted the same name again and again.
Shock and fear gripped me as I slowly turned my gaze to the right.
There, I saw a boy—about my age. His head was shaved, his body slim, but covered in wounds. Some were fresh, still bleeding.
And yet…
He was walking toward me.
In his hand, he held a wooden sword.
I turned my head to the right—where I had fallen—and looked down.
A wooden stick lay beside me.
I grabbed it, my fingers trembling.
"Stop… stop! If you don't, I will—"
My voice broke.
He didn't stop.
He was already standing over me.
"I said stop!"
The wooden stick came crashing down onto my head.
Pain exploded.
My vision blurred as darkness crept in again.
I was about to lose consciousness—
No.
Instinct took over.
I raised my arms, shielding my head just as another strike fell. The impact slammed into my right arm.
A sharp, numbing pain spread through it.
It felt like my left arm wasn't even mine anymore, completely numb. Still, I forced myself to move, to protect my head as best as I could.
Another strike.
And another.
"It hurts… it hurts…"
How dare he?
How dare he hit me?
Does he not know who I am?
Who I am…?
Another blow struck me.
"Who… am I?"
The thought echoed in my mind.
For a moment, everything slowed.
The noise of the crowd faded.
The pain… dulled.
"Who am I?"
After leaving my house… what am I supposed to be?
Blow after blow landed on me, yet my gaze slowly shifted toward the crowd.
Our eyes met.
And in that moment—
I saw something familiar.
Even after leaving my home… abandoning everything…
There was still something I carried with me.
Something I couldn't escape.
My weakness.
For a while I was lost in my thought .
Akera struck again.
And again.
The new boy didn't fight back.
For a moment, Akera was taken aback. He had expected resistance… something. But this—
This was nothing.
Weak.
Too weak.
A flicker of pity rose within him as he looked at the boy's battered form.
But it didn't last.
It couldn't.
Because more than pity, something else filled his mind—
Fear.
He had already lost one match.
If he lost again… if he failed to impress the audience…
He wouldn't be fed.
Akera tightened his grip on the wooden stick.
His expression hardened.
And he struck again.
And so, he kept striking.
Again.
And again.
Until the boy no longer moved.
Until there was nothing left to fight.
Silence fell over Akera's thoughts as he stood there, his chest rising and falling.
The match was over.
A voice rang out from above, announcing the winner.
The crowd erupted into cheers.
Akera didn't react.
He lowered his weapon and turned away, his steps heavy as he began walking toward the exit.
The gates creaked open.
He took a few steps forward—
Then paused.
The boy was barely standing, still gasping for breath. Akera tightened his grip on his weapon and moved toward the young fighter, who had been beaten and battered nearly to death—yet still refused to fall.
With a sudden burst of strength, the boy charged.
Before Akera could react, the boy was already in front of him and slammed his weapon against Akera's head. The impact rang out across the coliseum.
But as the boy raised his weapon to strike again, Akera countered.
A brutal blow drove straight into the boy's stomach.
The boy collapsed once more, his body finally giving in. He hit the ground hard and did not rise again.
Without a word, Akera turned and walked out of the coliseum through the great doors, leaving the boy lying motionless behind him.