The line of fighters held strong, veterans steadying their stance for the final skirmish with the giant beast. Spears, tridents, swords—every weapon gripped with white knuckles. One fighter, desperate for an edge, had scavenged a pack of javelins from the corpse of a fallen rider.

  Across the arena, the beast turned slowly, paws slick with blood from the fighter it had just trampled. The mangled body lay in the sand, unmoving. Jason tightened his grip on his sword, swallowing hard.

  The beast gathered momentum, each step heavier, faster. Its rider raised a javelin.

  One of the fighters broke formation, sprinting forward. He hurled a javelin in a wild arc toward the rider. The throw fell short. The crowd groaned in unison—an “Ooww!” that rippled through the stands, half disappointment, half excitement at the money still riding on the fight.

  Another javelin flew. Closer this time. The rider ducked, nearly unseated. The shaft buried itself in the leather of the cantle behind him but barely stuck.

  “Damn, even the leather is hardened!” one fighter cursed.

  “It’s probably from the same hide as the beasts,” Jason muttered, memory flashing of his sword stuck uselessly in the last fight.

  Grumbles circled through the squad. “We can’t cut the straps if that’s the case…”

  “If I can climb it, I can reach the rider,” Tahuuk said flatly.

  The fighters glanced at him. He had done it before—they believed he could again. They nodded.

  The last javelin sailed high, the rider yanking the reins. The beast reared, jaws snapping the projectile midair, splintering it to shards. Dropping back to all fours, the rider hurled his own javelin.

  The target fighter froze too long.

  A flash of blue.

  Tahuuk’s massive hand snatched the javelin inches from the man’s leg. He twisted it around, ready to send it back.

  The beast lunged. Jaws wide.

  Tahuuk couldn’t climb now. He barely had time to dodge. Fighters scattered left and right. Jason dove behind the corpse of a slain beast for cover.

  The monster barreled past, kicking up dust, before circling for another charge. Jason peeked from behind the carcass, eyes darting. Then he saw it—the saddle reins on the dead beast, tough leather still intact.

  Maybe I can use this.

  The living beast snapped at spears, driving the fighters back. The rider flung another javelin, catching one man in the gut. The formation shattered.

  Jason crouched low, fidgeting with the reins. His fingers worked quickly, twisting, tying, creating a makeshift lasso. Across the field, Tahuuk spotted him. His eyes widened. Strong enough to hold a beast…

  He signaled. Jason gave a sharp nod.

  Tahuuk raised his spear and bellowed, “HEY! DODGE THIS!” He hurled it toward the rider.

  The beast intercepted, snapping the spear to splinters. But its head swung, rider focused on Tahuuk.

  The squad slipped behind it, sprinting toward Jason’s position. Tahuuk was the last to move, sprinting hard, the beast thundering after him. Its speed doubled, dust spraying. Jason saw it closing—closer, closer—until it reached the corpse.

  Jason sprang from hiding, whipcord muscles snapping the lasso forward. The reinforced leather looped around the monster’s jaws with a brutal crack, jerking its head back. The sudden force yanked even the dead beast a few meters across the sand, its stiff body dragged limply like a puppet.

  The rider tumbled from the saddle, his last javelin flung wide. He crashed into the dirt near the squad’s defensive wall, dazed, clawing for his weapon. His hand stretched toward it—

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  A trident skewered his palm to the ground.

  Fighters surrounded him like wolves. Blades and spears struck down again and again until blood sprayed across sand and skin. His screams cut off in gurgles.

  Silence. Then the crowd erupted in thunderous cheers.

  Jason glanced back at the dead beast. Its neck was bent at a grotesque angle from the force of the lasso, its jaws locked stiff, foam and blood dripping onto the sand. For a moment, Jason wondered if he should feel triumph—or only horror.

  Tahuuk strode to him, grinning through exhaustion. He extended a massive hand. “Nice going, kid.”

  Jason exhaled shakily. “Thanks for noticing…” The adrenaline bled away, replaced by the deafening roar of the audience.

  Together, they regrouped with the survivors. Determined faces, battered but alive. For once, Jason allowed himself to breathe. I survived. I can leave the arena behind now. I can pay for the job.

  But when he glanced up at the stands, his chest tightened. Veyrn was already staring at him, a sinister smile curling across his face. Jason’s brief hope soured to fury.

  After the wash-down, the fighters split. Jason walked with Tahuuk.

  “You did good again, kid. You got that look back,” Tahuuk said, hand firm on his shoulder.

  “I know. I felt it too,” Jason replied, locking eyes with him. “You were right. I want to remember them the right way. And to do that, I need to survive. No—I will survive.”

  Tahuuk smiled. “You’re a warrior now. One I can rely on.”

  Jason nodded, almost relieved. “I survived… I can leave now. I can pay for the job.”

  “Job?”

  “Yes. Two tokens. I can work maintenance, not fight anymore.”

  “Don’t you need three?”

  “Someone haggled it down. My cellmate, Vincent.”

  Tahuuk frowned. “Be careful. Here, the arena isn’t the only place where people fight to survive. I wanted us to watch each other’s backs, but… I understand.” His gaze hardened. “I’ve met many people on my journey. You’re one of the good ones, Jason. I’m glad I met you.”

  Jason smiled faintly. They clasped hands in a firm, wordless bond.

  “Move it!” a guard barked, hosing them down before marching them apart. Tahuuk vanished down one corridor, Jason another.

  Jason followed silently, chest still heavy. But after several turns, unease pricked him. This wasn’t the way back to his cell.

  “Where are we—”

  “You were summoned,” the guard cut in.

  Summoned. His stomach dropped.

  The door ahead was reinforced, locked with a code. It opened to reveal a different world—polished offices, officers debating at whiteboards, the faint glow of candles filling the air with scent. It was like stepping out of the pit and into another reality.

  The guard led him upstairs, to a grand office. Sculptures gleamed. A vast window stretched behind a desk, opening to the void.

  Veyrn entered from a side door, composed as ever. Jason’s fists clenched, rage burning beneath his skin.

  “You remember me,” Veyrn said smoothly. “I’ve been watching you in the arena.” He sat at his desk. “Revenue has risen since you arrived. The boy who survives against all odds—thanks to his ingenuity.”

  Jason stared in disbelief. To him it was survival. To Veyrn, it was profit.

  “You bring a sense of magic to the arena. The crowd can’t get enough. So from now on, you’ll fight twice a week.”

  Jason’s chest tightened. “I won’t fight anymore! I have enough tokens—I can—”

  “Not anymore. From now on, you fight.”

  Hopelessness crashed over him. Even victory meant nothing. But then he forced himself to think. Revenue. Magic.

  “If I fight too much… wouldn’t that ruin the excitement?” he muttered.

  Veyrn raised an eyebrow.

  Jason pressed. “If I fight once a week, it keeps the magic rare. Special. More profitable.”

  Veyrn leaned back, considering. “True… Once a week, then. But make sure each fight is new. Captivating.”

  Jason swallowed. Barely surviving, and now I have to perform?

  “I have one condition,” he said.

  Veyrn’s gaze darkened. “You dare—”

  “I want to fight with Tahuuk.”

  Veyrn blinked, then gave a dismissive wave. “Names are pointless. But yes—I remember him. Large. Sturdy. A crowd-pleaser. Fine. I’ll allow it.” He smirked. “Your ‘magic’ seems to work better in pairs.”

  Jason’s gut twisted. To Veyrn, Tahuuk wasn’t a person—just another piece on the board.

  “You’ll be notified when you fight again,” Veyrn finished, waving him away.

  Jason’s gaze twitched toward the pen on the desk. If I attack now… But the guard’s grip tightened on his shoulder, shoving him out.

  The door shut with a heavy click.

  As Jason followed the guard down the corridor, his gaze caught movement near a window.

  A boy cleaning, shoulders stiff. Vincent.

  He turned too quickly, trying to hide the fact he’d been listening.

  Jason’s jaw clenched. Suspicious.