A man stood next to me, significantly taller than I was. He had a dark brown beard and a green coat, matching his eyes. I didn't know who he was, and any questions I asked were met only with a stunning silence. Something about him felt powerful, though. From his stance to the build of his body and the way he looked at me, everything seemed regal. I felt like I should bow, but suddenly a voice from nowhere interrupted.
"Vite! Get up!"
The voice of my adoptive father shattered whatever dream-like state I had been in, and I forced myself to my feet. My only sleeping position was on the floor, so I didn't need to make a bed or anything. The Crystalborn had no right to such things. We fell from the sky, were taken in and raised brutally for around fourteen years, then we were sent to fend for ourselves or sold to the Arena. Pushing away the remnants of my weird dream and the sleep, my mind started running again and I remembered. Today was the day. I took myself to the main room of the small house, facing my 'parents' with a dull expression. I'd known this was coming, and they'd made sure of it. They didn't treat me like their child so much as their slave, which I was thankful for. Getting attached just wouldn't do.
"It's time to leave. Get out." the man who was in the place of my father ordered me to leave. It was blunt and brief, but that was what I'd been expecting for the past fourteen years. I thanked him and his wife for the time they'd allowed me and slipped out the door with nothing but the clothes on my back.
On my own in the wilderness, I wasn't much better off. No food or extra clothing, and no place to sleep. All I had was my Gift, the unique power owned by each of the Crystalborn. At least I got a good one; manipulation of the earth and nature was a rather useful ability. Gifts usually began developing at around fourteen years of age, but mine had been present for a little longer than a year already. I could use it on a basic level and was confident I'd survive easily. I was wrong.
I lasted a few days, to be fair. Nobody came after me, and I survived deep within the forested grounds of my homeland, known as the Pine. The trees there had some fruit, and that was what I lived from. It wasn't terrible. Then there were the Hunters.
Hunters were men or women who specifically made a living off finding and selling children to the Arena. They always had armor made of Crystalglass, a substance that completely nullified Gifts, so they weren't at any risk. In other words, it was a cheap and cruel way to make money. I'd never seen them until I ended up alone deep in the trees, looking for food. A glimpse of shiny green caught my eye, reflectively standing out among the foliage. Not worried about it, I went towards the weird substance and pushed aside the leaves. Then there was a man, dressed in Crystalglass armor and reaching for me. I couldn't do anything. Trying to use my Gift was futile, as it simply didn't work. Dodging and running only stalled him for another few minutes before I was out of breath and the man was able to grab me by the shoulder and hurl me to the dirty ground. Winded, I tried to breathe, but the last thing I saw before being knocked out was a heavy boot coming down on my face. It seemed I was going to be brought to the Arena.
As I stepped into the glaring sunlight, feeling the boards coated by a thin layer of gritty sand beneath my feet, I could feel the eyes of hundreds on me. They didn't cheer, of course. New fighters were never cheered or expected to survive. Behind me, the gates of the Arena slammed against the ground with a resounding thud. Opposite me, across the stadium, was a similar occurrence. Only, for this other fighter, there were cheers. And not just a few. The entirety of the crowd rose as one with yells and applause for him, a well-known gladiator here. Of course, I would have to fight him. It was intended to be a fight for simple and fast entertainment; releasing a veteran on an inexperienced fighter-me-to slaughter them. Striding towards the middle of the arena, the man seemed highly confident. He was obviously Crystalborn, otherwise he wouldn't be here, but I didn't know what his Gift would be. Most likely something extremely lethal, or he wouldn't be alive right now. All about a performance, he waved and posed for the crowd. With a sigh, I stepped out to meet him in the center of the Arena, prepared to be killed. His eyes combed over me, anticipating the easy kill he thought he was about to make. A trumpet sounded to announce the beginning of the match, and both of us rapidly moved backwards to avoid any quicker attacks. The man waved his hands at me then, spraying out a sizzling purple goo. Dodging around it, I watched as it disintegrated the floor where it landed. Definitely not something I wanted to get hit by. Not expecting me to still be alive, the guy repeated the move several more times, making me hop and jump around to avoid losing my feet. Every time he shot out the liquid, the crowd cheered more, and I got slightly more worried. Irritated and afraid for my life, I began to use my own Gift. Looking my adversary straight in the eyes, I flicked my hands at the sand coating the ground. It began to move subtly, going mostly unnoticed until there was a pile next to his feet. Unnoticed, that is, until he stepped in it. Frowning even though I was about to win, I raised my hands. As they moved upwards, so did the sand on my enemy's feet, continuing until it encased him entirely and choked out his breath. The now statue-like man twitched a few times, and his hands burned through the sand, but he eventually went still after several minutes. Silence fell onto the Arena like a cloak, and I simply settled down onto the rough floor exhausted from my efforts. Using my Gift was not something that came without a cost. Tracing my eyes across the crowd, I stopped when I saw the Emperor in his protected box, coated by Crystalglass, the only substance in any world that could not be affected by Crystalborn Gifts. I hated the sight of him, and would kill him if I ever got a chance. He was responsible for all this; the Arena was entirely his idea. Forcing kids to kill others for entertainment. To his credit, it was extremely clever of him, as it kept the people distracted from other problems within the Empire. Being one of those who he sacrificed for the fighting wasn't fun for me or any of the rest of us Crystalborn. I understood that we made for more dramatic battles with our Gifts and such, but the cruelty was overwhelmingly obvious. As long as the crowd roared for violence, though, this wouldn't end. I'd get my chance someday though-everyone makes mistakes...Even an Emperor.
Empires are held together by the people. Keep the people fed and entertained, and nothing could go wrong. This one was no different. The Emperor used Crystalborn men and women for one reason: entertainment. All Crystalborn were hunted down or sold to the Empire once they turned 14, and there was no hiding. We would almost always end up in here, hated and used. The name Crystalborn was the politest of the many slurs and insults used to refer to our kind; it simply came from the fact that we fell from the sky in chunks of shiny rock rather than being born. This rock could be mixed with a few other substances to form Crystalglass and counter the abilities of the Crystalborn, along with burning them on contact. Which is why an Arena handler was beating me with a Crystalglass rod. Each blow led to another flinch or gasp from me, but I refused to scream or cry out. I wouldn't give him that satisfaction. If he wasn't covered in Crystalglass, I would try to end his life. He laughed when he saw the angry glare I was shooting at him.
"It's not so bad, you've won your first few fights, against veterans no less. You'll live to do it again next week, as a crowd favorite!"
As if that'd help. The guy had no idea what he was talking about. Saying that my situation wasn't terrible whilst he beat me with the very thing that could do the most damage to me.
"You know nothing," I spoke quietly, "To kill a man is no small ordeal."
"Shut up. You don't have the right to talk to me like that." He sounded angrier now. I heard the rod sweeping down at me once again and spun around to catch it, trying to ignore the feeling that my hand was on fire. The expression on the man's face was worth every second of it. Turning around and walking to my 'room' before he could call for assistance, I heard him muttering behind me. Something stupid about me not knowing my place, which was ridiculous. I knew my place; it simply wasn't here. The rooms were simply sparsely furnished cells, renamed to take an edge off the harsh reality that the public so loved to ignore. There was nothing I could do about it except sit on the scratchy bed and hate myself for the deaths I'd caused, even though I hadn't had a choice.
The next few weeks passed in a very similar manner. I woke up, was fed a meager breakfast, trained, ate lunch, and trained some more. At the end of the week, I would be brought back out into the arena and given something or somebody to kill. A man spewing water from his hands. A woman with 7 heads. A Leathren, which was just ridiculous. Leathrens were massive creatures, with immense, thick, bodies, tough grey hides and four stubby legs, along with massive, feathered wings. Everything they sent at me, I killed. Even the senile old man. Even the innocent animals. All of it, because it was them or me. I couldn't do anything to stop it all, except to give my opponents easy deaths. Life was just a wheel of killing during those weeks, and the blood on my hands could fill an ocean.