The stench of blood and sweat hung thick in the air as Ash turned to leave the pit. The lifeless bodies of the fallen littered the ground, but his eyes caught on one in particular—the half-severed corpse of the knight. Something glinted faintly from the dead man's throat, catching the dim light.
Ash stepped closer, his boots squelching in the pooled blood beneath him. As he knelt beside the fallen warrior, he realized what had caught his eye—a necklace, its thin silver chain tangled around the man's broken collar. The pendant, smeared with grime and blood, bore the faint etching of two faces: a woman around her 30s and a child, no older than eight. Their features were too worn to be distinct, but there was something painfully human about it.
Ash's fingers hesitated over the locket, his usual indifference momentarily wavering. He wasn't responsible for the deaths here—he knew that. He wasn't the one who made the rules. He wasn't the one who had forced these men and women into the slaughterhouse. And yet, staring at the crude engraving, a strange weight settled in his chest.
He pulled the necklace free from the corpse's stiffening grip, holding it in his palm for a long moment. He couldn't explain it, but he felt something—remorse? Doubt? A flicker of emotion he thought he'd buried long ago.
A bitter thought crossed his mind. Why did you come here? What were you fighting for?
There would be no answer.
With one last glance at the fallen knight, Ash closed his fingers around the necklace and rose to his feet. Whatever questions he had, they would remain unanswered. The dead did not speak.
Pocketing the pendant, he turned away and strode toward the hall where the other victors had gathered. The roaring crowd, the announcer's grating voice, the smell of blood—it all faded behind him as he stepped into the waiting hall.
Several pairs of eyes turned to him. Some watched with caution, others with cold amusement. Meave, sitting near the corner, lifted her gaze as he entered, her brows furrowing slightly at the way his expression had shifted.
A slow, deliberate clap broke the silence.
Meave.
Her expression unreadable, she leaned back in her seat, arms folded, an amused gleam in her eyes. "Clever," she murmured, just loud enough for those around her to hear. "Very clever."
In the audience, Kael's smirk deepened. He had been watching closely, his trained gaze seeing far more than most.
"He barely moved," Kael mused, his tone edged with amusement. "And yet, she was the one who lost control of the fight."
Uren, seated nearby, finally exhaled the breath he'd been holding. He didn't know whether to be impressed or unnerved.
.
The hall buzzed, a frantic energy thrumming through the stone corridors. Kelly's small hands, usually busy with some intricate puzzle, clutched the strap of her worn satchel, her wide, brown eyes darting from face to face. People were moving with a purpose, their hushed whispers and hurried packing creating a sense of urgency that Kelly couldn't quite decipher. Something was happening, something significant, and the lack of information gnawed at her.
Kelly, a creature of insatiable curiosity, disliked being left in the dark. Her brown curls bounced as she skipped forward, her small boots tapping a quick rhythm against the cold stone floor. Her sharp ears, a gift honed in the echoing depths of the Underpaths, caught a familiar voice: Ritso. Ritso, was whispering to groups of people, her expression uncharacteristically serious. Each time she spoke, the listeners' faces hardened, and they began stuffing belongings into hastily packed bags.
[Suspicious. Very suspicious.]
A giggle escaped Kelly's lips. "Rito is being sneaky again!"
Ritso turned just as Kelly popped up in front of her, her small frame radiating an almost comical determination. She raised a single eyebrow, her usual smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth.
"Kelly wants to know what's happening!" Kelly declared, crossing her arms with an air of mock authority.
Ritso chuckled, crouching down until they were eye level. "We're leaving tomorrow."
Kelly blinked, her eyes widening. Once. Twice.
Then, her eyes grew impossibly large. "LEAVING?!"
A few heads turned at her sudden squeak, but Kelly paid them no mind. She grabbed Ritso's sleeve, shaking it dramatically. "Rito is joking, right? Silly, silly Rito!"
But Ritso wasn't joking. The smirk had vanished, replaced by a calm, serious expression, the kind grown-ups wore when delivering important news.
"You should pack what you want," Ritso said, tapping the tip of Kelly's nose. "Tomorrow, we go above."
Kelly's mouth formed a tiny 'O'. Above! The Underpaths, their home, were a world of perpetual twilight, but Kelly had always dreamed of the surface. The sky, the open fields, the bright yellow sun – all the things people whispered about.
"But why now?" Kelly asked, tilting her head. "Kelly thinks the Underpaths is not super nice but okay."
Ritso ruffled Kelly's curls, making her giggle. "Because it's time, big girl."
That wasn't a real answer, just a grown-up evasion. Kelly's lower lip jutted out in a pout, but then her eyes widened in sudden realization. "Kelly needs to pack!"
She spun on her sneakers and sprinted off, her tiny feet barely making a sound against the stone.
Ritso watched her go, shaking her head with an amused sigh. "That one's going to be trouble."
Just then, a soft knock echoed through the hall. Ritso's eyes flickered towards the sound, a flicker of understanding passing across her face. She turned to the crowd, her voice low and urgent. "Everyone, stay calm. It's time."
The hall fell silent, the frantic energy replaced by a tense anticipation. The door creaked open, revealing sir Lionheart, her presence radiating a quiet strength. Her eyes, usually warm and comforting, held a steely resolve.
"It's time," she repeated, her voice firm but gentle. "We're leaving. In few hours. Get ready."
Ritso understood. Sir Lionheart was here to guide them, to ensure their safe passage out of the Underpaths. This was the moment they had been waiting for, the moment they had been preparing for.
However, many others, including Kelly and Myre, remained unaware of Anzhelina's true identity and influence. They knew her as a powerful figure, but not the extent of her reach, the intricate planning she had undertaken to ensure their escape, remained a mystery. They saw her as a beacon of hope, a symbol of their impending freedom, but they didn't yet grasp the full weight of her dedication, or her position as a count.
Anzhelina's presence instilled a sense of order, a reassurance that their escape was not a desperate gamble, but a carefully orchestrated plan. She was their lifeline, their guide through the treacherous paths that lay ahead, and her arrival signaled the beginning of their journey to a world beyond the darkness.