"Ugh… I feel sick."
Felix's voice came out tight, not in his usual sing-song laziness, but in a way that made Soren's stomach twist because it matched exactly what he had been swallowing down for the past ten minutes.
He didn't answer immediately, because speaking meant admitting it.
The ring wasn't a mini-game here, not a cute little diversion with bright colours and tidy outcomes; it was a pit, a cramped arena boxed in by stained wood and greasy lanternlight, where creatures made of mana were forced to tear each other apart while people leaned forward to watch them do it.
The fourth match was underway, and Soren had already watched three of them end the same way, not with a clean defeat, not with some harmless pop of light and a reset, but with something that looked and sounded too close to death to pretend otherwise.
One familiar had been dragged by the throat until it stopped struggling, another had had its torso opened by claws and kept twitching while its summoner shouted at it to "get up" as if anger could stitch it back together, and the worst part was the moment right before the end, when the creature realised it was losing and still fought anyway, desperate and animal, because whatever bond it had with the person outside the ring didn't matter here.
It was entertainment, and the audience wanted blood.
Soren's eyes kept snagging on the details he wished he could unsee, the way the sand turned dark and sticky, the way mana clung to the air after a brutal hit, the way the familiars' bodies didn't dissolve neatly, not straight away, instead stuttering between "form" and "light" as if the world itself hesitated to call it a reverse summon.
'At least familiars are immortal.'
He had told himself that at the start, because the setting had always framed it that way, familiars were bonded, they returned, they came back again, the ring was "safe" in the same way a game was safe.
It took less than an hour for that thought to rot.
Immortal didn't mean painless, it didn't mean dignified, it didn't mean kind.
If anything, it meant the suffering could be repeated endlessly, because the audience didn't have to live with consequences, and the familiar didn't get the mercy of an ending.
Soren shut his eyes, but the sounds still came through, wet impacts, claws scraping wood when a creature tried to crawl away, the rising laughter when it couldn't.
The crowd reacted in waves, leaning in when something screamed, groaning when a fight dragged, and cheering when a summoner ordered a familiar to finish it.
His palms were damp.
He wiped them on his cloak without thinking.
Familiars were meant to be creatures made of mana that people bonded with, who stuck by your side for life, closer than pets, closer than tools, something you raised and trusted and fed with your own power, and yet now he was watching those same beings used as disposable knives.
"At least we're winning…"
The words left his mouth colder than he meant them to, and he felt Felix's gaze slide over, sharp for once, like he was checking whether Soren had become someone else while they sat here.
Soren didn't look back.
He kept his eyes on the arena because looking at Felix felt harder, because Soren had chosen this and hated it in the same breath.
Felix's expression shifted between disgust and calculation, his jaw tense, his fingers tapping lightly against his knee like he was counting time.
"True," Felix said, and there was a pause, his voice catching on the next part like he had to force it through, "but let's leave soon."
"Sure."
Soren didn't argue.
He had thought he would stay until the end, he had thought he would squeeze the place for everything it could give him, but every round made the air feel thicker, every cheer made him want to scrub his skin raw, and the longer he sat here the more he could feel the shape of the place in his bones, predatory, patient, waiting for someone to stumble.
'In future I'll use the other ones.'
The only reason he had come to this ring was convenience.
It was close, it was the quickest path to money, and he had told himself he could endure a little ugliness if it meant he could breathe again.
He had underestimated how it would sit in his throat.
Still, when the fourth match ended, when the familiar in the sand finally stopped moving and collapsed into light that flickered like a dying lantern, Soren pushed himself up and forced his legs to work.
They had won enough.
Enough that the weight in his chest loosened a fraction, enough that he wouldn't have to stare at his coin pouch every time he bought things other than food and do the maths with a sick feeling.
Felix's winnings weren't as much, but it was still more than most people would get by walking into a back-alley pit and betting on their first try, which meant it was also enough to paint a target on them the moment they stood up.
Soren and Felix approached the counter together, and the man behind it didn't look like a clerk so much as a creature that had learned to wear a human face.
Slick hair, narrow smile, eyes that flicked to their hands before their faces.
He took their tickets, glanced down, and Soren watched his mouth twitch, not surprise, not joy, something closer to opportunity.
He slid the coins out with exaggerated slowness, letting them clink against the wood one after another, loud in the small space, loud enough for people nearby to notice, loud enough for heads to turn.
Then he raised his voice.
"Wow, what a haul. Ma'am, that's a lot of gold for a first time, and the handsome man next to you did well, too. Beginner's luck, maybe?" he said, grinning,
Soren's body went very still.
The word hit him wrong, not because it was an insult, but because it was a genuine mistake, and yet another reminder of his face that wasn't his own.
For half a second, he almost corrected it out of reflex, then the second part of the sentence landed properly, the part that mattered.
The clerk didn't need to name the amount; he had made sure everyone understood anyway.
Around them, the basement shifted.
It was subtle at first, a pause in the nearest conversations, a chair leg scraping, someone's laugh trailing off mid-breath.
Then Soren felt it properly, the attention, the way it slid over his shoulders like dirty water.
People who hadn't looked at them before were looking now, eyes dropping to the coins, to the way Felix tucked his share away, to the way Soren's fingers tightened around his.
Greed had a temperature.
The room cooled.
Felix clicked his tongue, sharp and irritated, and Soren saw it in his face, the moment he understood exactly what the clerk was doing and exactly how many people would take the invitation.
They didn't argue.
They didn't thank him.
They grabbed the money and moved, not running yet, but fast enough that it looked casual if you didn't know what panic felt like.
Soren kept his head down as they climbed the stairs, the air changing from damp basement rot to stale upstairs smoke, and even before they reached the door he could hear footsteps shifting behind them, not following yet, just adjusting, as if a pack had decided which direction to drift.
Outside, the street was narrow, hemmed in by leaning buildings and hanging fabric, lanternlight smearing everything into red and amber.
The main street was only minutes away; he knew that, he had mapped it, he had walked it, and he had counted turns because he was paranoid and because paranoia had already saved him once.
It still didn't feel like enough.
The moment the door shut behind them, Felix's hand caught Soren's sleeve.
"Run."
It wasn't shouted.
It was worse, low and flat, the kind of command that came from someone who had done this before.
Soren ran.
His cloak snapped at his legs, his boots hit uneven stone, and his mind tried to keep up with the sudden shift from "get out" to "survive."
Behind them, the building's noise swallowed itself again, and for a heartbeat he thought they might actually make it, that maybe the clerk had only been posturing, that maybe…
No.
He felt it, the press of presence behind them, the way the alley seemed to narrow, the way footsteps multiplied.
Ting-♪
A faint chime brushed the edge of his hearing, familiar in the ugliest way.
Soren didn't look; he couldn't afford to.
It was clear now what the clerk had been doing, and it made Soren's teeth grind because it was so obvious in hindsight, because he had walked into this place with a plan and still let himself get surprised by a trap that had probably worked a hundred times.
'I feel stupid.'
He didn't have time to indulge it.
He ran harder.
Felix kept pace beside him, light on his feet in a way Soren wasn't, half-elf senses doing work Soren couldn't see.
Felix didn't glance back, didn't stumble, didn't waste motion, and the longer they ran, the more it showed, the frivolous mask dropping completely until what was left felt older than eighteen.
"There are three behind. How long to the main street?" Felix asked, breath controlled, voice steady.
"Ten minutes," Soren said, and forced himself to be honest, "if we keep this pace."
They turned a corner, then another, passing shuttered doorways and thin figures who flattened themselves against walls to avoid being involved.
Nobody helped.
Nobody even looked surprised.
"They're faster than I thought," Felix murmured, and it wasn't fear in his tone; it was assessment.
Soren felt them too now, and that was the problem.
He wasn't supposed to be able to feel them this clearly, not unless they were close enough to matter, and the fact he could meant…
'They're too close.'
"Felix, we'll have to fight," Soren said, and hated how calm he sounded because it came out wrong, too controlled.
Felix didn't argue; he didn't even hesitate.
He stopped so abruptly that Soren nearly collided with him, and then Felix's hands were already moving, fingers shaping a circle with a familiarity that showed his experience clearly.
Felix started chanting before their pursuers even rounded the corner, as if he had been waiting for the moment running stopped being an option.
Soren pivoted with him, back to the alley's walls, eyes flicking once, twice, three times, searching for routes that weren't there.
'If they're this fast, they're probably strong.'
Soren's worry sharpened the moment the alley narrowed into a cage.
Two mages, no warrior, no priest, no safety net, the kind of party composition that looked fine on paper until someone decided to close the distance with a knife.
They were at a clear disadvantage, and it wasn't theoretical; it was immediate, written into the way Felix had to cast to survive and the way Soren couldn't afford to let anyone reach him.
That realisation settled in his chest with an ugly weight, and the conclusion came right after, simple and unavoidable.
He had to protect Felix.
Felix's speciality was defensive magic, earth and plant, lockdown and control, and it was strong, but it wasn't meant to kill quickly.
If someone reached them with a blade, all the clever spells in the world wouldn't matter if Felix's throat opened.
Soren swallowed, forced his weight down into his feet, and kept his eyes on the corner.
Felix finished his first chant.
"「Gaia」."
The stone beneath them softened, not melting, not turning into obvious mud, but losing its firmness, becoming slick and unstable, a trap designed to steal speed and force mistakes.
Felix shaped it with intent, the softened ground spreading in a wide fan across the alley mouth, a clear message to anyone chasing them: step here and you'll pay.
Soren saw movement, then two figures appeared, and for a heartbeat it looked almost normal, two men in worn clothes, faces half-hidden, the kind of thugs that existed everywhere in this district.
Then Soren saw the mage.
Pale-blue light pooled in his palm before he had even finished stepping into view, the circle he drew clean and confident, and Soren's skin prickled because he recognised the colour instantly.
"Ice," Soren snapped, turning his head slightly, "They're casting an ice spell!"
Felix's eyes narrowed, and he started chanting again, faster, his mouth barely opening, the words clipped and precise.
The enemy mage raised his hand.
"「Freeze」."
Cold rushed across the alley like a living thing.
The softened ground didn't just harden; it snapped into slick ice in an instant, the spell reaching past Felix's trap and spreading behind them too, sealing off the way they had come.
A wall began to form at their backs, growing upward with a crackling sound that made Soren's teeth ache, thick enough to block light, thick enough to make the alley feel smaller.
'He's not aiming for us.'
He was aiming to cage them.
————「❤︎」————