The dawn was unforgiving as ever, the dim light barely penetrating the fog of exhaustion that clung to the slaves as they trudged toward their labor. The overseers cracked their whips with indifference, barking orders to move faster. Leon moved with the rest, his muscles aching from the previous night's work, but his mind stayed sharp, assessing everything around him.
As they reached the worksite, the familiar sounds of chains and clanging tools filled the air. The slaves dispersed into their usual groups, some heading for the quarry, others to the fields, each assigned their particular brand of hell for the day. Leon kept his head low, as he always did, eyes scanning the perimeter, noting the positions of guards, the shifts in their routines. Everything was important.
It was then that Leon noticed Gorak. A hulking figure with broad shoulders, Gorak had always stood out among the slaves—his size, his strength, and the way he carried himself, as though he hadn't quite given up yet. He and Vek had come to the camp around the same time, and while they had never been close, there was an unspoken camaraderie between them.
But today, Gorak's face was tense, his eyes searching the groups of slaves as if looking for someone. Leon knew who.
He intercepted Gorak as they both reached for their tools, stepping in front of him before the man could wander off asking questions. Gorak glanced down at Leon, a mixture of surprise and irritation crossing his face.
"Where's Vek?" Gorak asked, his voice a low growl, though there was a hint of concern beneath it. "I haven't seen him for days."
Leon's face remained impassive as he tightened his grip on the handle of his shovel. "Vek's been chosen for the tournament."
Gorak's brows furrowed, confusion flashing across his hardened features. "The tournament? You mean that bloodbath? Why wasn't I told?"
Leon sighed softly, shaking his head. "They don't tell us anything, Gorak. Vek's been gone since they took him for the games. No one's seen him since."
Gorak's eyes darkened, his mouth twisting into a grimace. "He should've come back by now."
Leon didn't flinch. He had seen this reaction too many times in his old life—soldiers waiting for comrades who were never coming back, holding onto hope that had already been shattered.
"He's gone, Gorak," Leon said quietly. "If the tournament didn't kill him, then the overseers made sure he didn't return. You know what happens to the ones who get picked. He's dead."
Gorak's fists clenched, his knuckles whitening as he stared at Leon, the weight of the words sinking in. His breathing grew heavier, anger and frustration radiating from him like heat off a flame.
"That can't be," Gorak muttered, his voice strained. "He was a fighter. A soldier. He wouldn't go down that easy."
Leon's eyes narrowed, though his voice remained calm, almost detached. "Doesn't matter how strong you are. In that arena, you're a dog on a leash. They'll bleed you dry for sport, and if the crowd's not satisfied, they'll finish you off."
Gorak looked away, staring at the ground, the truth of Leon's words hitting him like a punch to the gut. The tournament was a death sentence, a spectacle of brutality that only ever had one outcome. He had known it, deep down. They all did.
Still, there was a flicker of defiance in Gorak's eyes as he looked back at Leon, his voice thick with anger. "Vek wasn't like the others. He had something to live for—a family. A wife. He would've fought tooth and nail to get back to them."
Leon held Gorak's gaze, his expression unreadable. He knew about Vek's past, his desperation to survive for the slim chance of reuniting with his wife. But even the strongest men fell when faced with the cruelty of this world.
"He fought," Leon said, his voice low but firm. "But it wasn't enough."
Gorak's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "So, that's it, then? We just keep moving? Pretend like he never existed?"
Leon's expression hardened. "We don't have the luxury of mourning, Gorak. You know that. If we stop, we're dead too."
Gorak's nostrils flared, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. But he didn't lash out. He couldn't, not here, not with the overseers watching. Instead, he grunted and turned away, his massive shoulders sagging as he picked up his shovel. His silence was heavy, but Leon knew the weight of the truth would stay with him, gnawing at him, just as it did with the rest of them.
As Gorak stomped off toward his assigned post, Leon exhaled softly, turning back to his own work. The camp was full of the dead—some just hadn't stopped breathing yet. Vek's fate was no different from the others who had been dragged into the arena, fed to the whims of their captors like cattle to a slaughterhouse.
Leon had seen enough death in his past life to know when it was final. And Vek's chances had been slim from the moment they put his name in the drawing. Now, he was just another body, another loss, another reminder that this world took everything from those who dared hope.
But Leon wasn't here to mourn the dead. He was here to survive. And soon enough, he would turn the tide. He just had to be patient. There was always a weakness, always a crack in the system, and when he found it, he'd exploit it. Just like he had done before.
He spared one last glance in Gorak's direction, watching the man's broad back as he dug into the earth with a ferocity that came from more than just physical strength. Gorak would come to terms with Vek's death eventually. Or he'd break.
Leon turned back to his own labor, his mind already working through the next steps of his plan. Vek was gone, but Leon wasn't about to let that same fate claim him or the others he'd begun to treat.