After the Battle
The clash had ended, yet the sound still echoed.
Not in the air.
Not in the steel.
But inside the survivors' chests.
The ringing of Daren's final strike reverberated like a wound that refused to close. Fin's broken blade lay scattered across the arena floor in pieces, glinting faintly in the dim light. The fragments looked almost fragile, like splintered glass—yet each shard carried the weight of his desperation.
Fin's knees hit the dirt with a hollow thud. His chest rose and fell violently, every breath rasping like knives dragged against stone. Blood trickled from the corner of his lips, mixing with sweat and tears, staining his chin crimson. His arms shook, but his hands still clawed at the earth as if refusing to let go.
Above him stood Daren—kneeling slowly, sword clattering from his hands. The chipped edge struck the dirt beside him, a dull thud that felt more final than any killing blow. His broad shoulders trembled, his breaths uneven, his entire frame sagging under the crushing weight of what he had just done.
For a long moment, silence ruled.
Not even the untouched dared to mock.
The arena, once filled with jeers, was suffocated in stillness.
Daren's voice finally cracked through, trembling, low, as if torn from his very soul.
Daren (whispering):
"Fin… I didn't… I never wanted this…"
The words carried no strength. They were apologies wrapped in sorrow, confessions drowned in shame.
A weak chuckle left Fin's lips, raw and broken, jagged like shattered glass. His head tilted, eyes barely focusing as he forced himself to look up at the man above him.
Fin (weak, breathless):
"…You didn't kill me."
His lips curved, faint and fragile, into something that might have been called a smile if not for the blood on his teeth.
Fin (whispering, half-laugh, half-sob):
"Idiot… you'd rather break yourself… than break me."
The words dug into Daren's heart deeper than any blade ever could. His throat tightened, a sob clawing to escape. His jaw clenched until his teeth ground together, his fists curling, nails biting deep into his palms until blood welled.
Daren (inner monologue, trembling):
I was supposed to protect you. I swore… no matter what, I'd keep you safe. And now—look at you. Broken, bleeding, because of me.
Tears spilled freely down his scarred cheeks, splattering onto Fin's skin, mixing with the crimson already there.
A shadow loomed beside them.
Kaen.
He knelt down harshly, his fists trembling, his eyes wide with fury and grief. The sight of Fin—battered, weaponless, trembling—made something inside him twist violently.
Kaen (shouting, voice breaking):
"Are you insane, Daren?! You nearly killed him! What the hell was that?!"
Daren didn't flinch. His head remained bowed, voice breaking apart.
Daren (hoarse, hollow):
"You think I don't know? You think I wanted this?!"
Kaen slammed his fist into the dirt so hard it cracked, the sound sharp against the silence. His nails dug deeper into his palms until warm blood seeped through his clenched fists.
Kaen (snarling, whispering):
"Damn you… damn this test…"
Behind them, Lyra had covered her mouth, but her hands trembled too violently to hide the tears spilling down her cheeks. She had never wanted to cry in front of them, not here, not in this arena, but the sight was too much.
Her voice slipped out, soft and trembling, yet cutting through the suffocating silence like a blade of its own.
Lyra (whispering):
"…They weren't fighting enemies. They were fighting themselves."
Her words left the survivors shaken.
Some hung their heads. Others clenched their fists. But none could deny the truth—Fin and Daren's fight hadn't been about survival. It had been about something far crueler.
Above them, like a shadow across the sun, Verya's presence loomed.
The instructor's cold gaze swept over the broken sight below him. His cloak shifted in the breeze as he crossed his arms, expression sharp, merciless.
And then his voice thundered down.
Verya (booming, merciless):
"Strength without resolve is weakness. Mercy is cowardice. Those who hesitate will be buried by the world."
The words fell heavy, crushing the fragile air. They weren't encouragement. They weren't teaching. They were judgment.
Fin's trembling fingers clawed at the ground, nails digging into dirt. Daren's body sagged lower, shame suffocating his lungs. Kaen's entire body vibrated with restrained fury, his teeth grit until his jaw ached.
The survivors could hardly breathe. Some glanced at Fin with pity. Others with despair. A few—even with envy, that he had found someone willing to break rules for him.
But none spoke.
Because in this arena, silence ruled.
And in silence, Fin's ragged sobs were the loudest sound of all.
---
Shadows of Despair
The silence of Fin and Daren's duel lingered long after it had ended.
It was the kind of silence that dug its claws into the chest and refused to let go.
Even as the next names were called, the survivors did not cheer, nor did they shift eagerly for the spectacle. Instead, the weight of the last clash suffocated them. Every strike from here on would be measured against the wound that Daren and Fin had carved into their hearts.
Verya's voice boomed again, cold and absolute.
Verya (commanding):
"Next combatants—step forward."
The names echoed, but to the exhausted, bloodied survivors, they were nothing more than distant murmurs.
---
The First Duel After the Brothers
Two trainees stepped forward—both strangers to Kaen's group, both already carrying scars from earlier rounds. Their bodies trembled, their eyes bloodshot, their steps heavy.
The match began, but it wasn't a clash of warriors. It was the shattering of survivors barely holding on.
One swung wildly, desperate, his sword arm sluggish. The other blocked, teeth clenched, but his knees wobbled under the weight of exhaustion.
Steel rang. Sparks scattered. Blood spilled.
Yet no one cheered.
The untouched group—those who had entered the arena without so much as a scratch—watched with narrowed eyes, expressions unreadable. Some smirked faintly, whispering among themselves.
Untouched Trainee (scoffing, whisper):
"Pathetic. They fight like corpses dragging blades."
But the survivors—Kaen, Lyra, Daren, Fin, and the others who had bled in the Riverlands—did not speak. Their eyes followed each strike, each stumble, each faltering scream.
Because they understood.
These weren't warriors fighting to win.
They were broken souls clawing to exist for just one more breath.
The fight ended quickly—one collapsed, unable to rise, his sword slipping from his hand. The other stood shaking, victory etched not in pride but in despair.
Verya's voice declared the victor with chilling detachment.
Verya (coldly):
"Winner."
No applause followed.
---
Kaen's Perspective
Kaen clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms again. His mind wasn't on the duel before him—it was still replaying Daren and Fin's clash.
He could still hear Fin's screams, raw and desperate. He could still see the moment Daren's sword shattered Fin's blade, the sound louder in his memory than any thunder.
Kaen (inner monologue, trembling):
This test… this isn't about strength. It's about breaking us. Tearing us apart until we can't stand anymore. And they… they expect us to just accept it?
His chest burned with fury. His instincts screamed to fight—not just enemies, not just monsters—but the very system that forced his comrades into this blood-soaked theater.
But he swallowed it down.
Because in this arena, defiance meant death.
---
Lyra's Observation
Beside him, Lyra's hands were clasped tightly in front of her, her knuckles pale. Her usual sharp tongue was silent, her fire dimmed—not out of fear, but because the image of Fin crumbling to his knees was still carved into her mind.
She glanced sideways at Kaen, noticing the way his jaw trembled, the way his fists shook.
Lyra (softly, almost whispering):
"Kaen… don't lose yourself. Not here. Not like this."
Kaen's eyes flicked to her, his breath sharp. But he didn't answer. Words felt like ash in his throat.
---
More Battles Begin
The duels continued.
One by one, survivors were dragged into the circle of silence, forced to cut down comrades they had eaten beside, bled beside, wept beside.
Every clash was slower than the last. Every scream sharper. Every victory more hollow.
Some opponents hesitated—just like Daren. And when they did, they were punished. Blades cut deeper. Bones cracked louder. The hesitation was not mercy—it was weakness, and weakness in this arena was unforgivable.
Others, driven by fear, struck without pause—fast, brutal, merciless. Their victories were swifter, but their eyes… their eyes were dead.
---
Fin's Pain
Through it all, Fin remained crumpled beside Daren, leaning weakly against his brother's massive frame. His wounds were bound clumsily by strips of cloth Lyra had torn from her uniform, but his breathing was ragged, uneven.
Every clash that echoed across the arena made him flinch, his trembling hand reaching instinctively for the broken hilt he no longer held.
Fin (inner monologue, whispering to himself):
I couldn't win. I couldn't even stand. I… I almost made him kill me.
His chest tightened painfully, guilt consuming him as much as blood loss did. His tears stung the wounds on his cheeks, but he didn't care.
He whispered again, his voice barely audible.
Fin (whisper):
"…Why am I still here?"
Daren's massive hand clenched into a fist beside him, his head bowed, but he didn't answer. Because he didn't have one.
---
Verya's Presence
High above, Verya's gaze never softened. His sharp eyes scanned every match, every stagger, every hesitation.
To him, it was all numbers.
Strengths, weaknesses, flaws, hesitations.
Fodder for culling.
When one fighter fell, bleeding but alive, Verya merely motioned for them to be dragged aside, his voice never wavering.
Verya (coldly):
"Next."
And so the cycle continued.
---
Foreshadowing Lyra's Fight
Hours dragged like years. By the time the next match ended, the survivors were slumped in exhaustion, their hearts pounding heavier than any blade.
Kaen's eyes were bloodshot, his fists bruised from clenching too tightly. Daren's massive frame trembled from more than fatigue—his grief weighed heavier than any chain. Fin drifted in and out of consciousness, his head resting limply against his brother's chest.
And then—Verya's voice cut the silence again.
Verya (booming):
"Lyra. Step forward."
The air shifted.
Kaen's head snapped toward her, his eyes wide. Lyra rose slowly, her hand tightening on the hilt at her side. For a brief moment, her gaze lingered on Kaen—sharp, unflinching, burning with fire that no despair could put out.
Lyra (whispering, only for Kaen):
"Don't look at me with pity. Watch me win."
She stepped forward, her boots echoing against the ground, every stride carrying defiance.
Across the arena, her opponent emerged—taller, broader, a survivor from the untouched group. His body was unscarred, his uniform clean, his eyes sharp and merciless.
The two stopped, blades ready.
Verya's hand rose.
Verya (commanding):
"Begin."
The clash had not yet started, but the fire in Lyra's stance told everyone watching—this fight would not be like the others.