The iron door groaned as it swung open, a screech of metal that made Alera's teeth grind. Two guards shoved her inside the cell, their rough hands leaving bruises on her arms. She staggered forward but caught herself before falling.
Behind her, the door slammed shut, the metallic clang echoing in the suffocating silence.
Her body ached—every muscle screaming in protest, every wound stinging as sweat trickled down her skin. But the pain was background noise, just another part of survival.
Alera let out a shuddering breath and leaned against the cold stone wall. The cell was dimly lit, the only light coming from a flickering torch somewhere in the corridor. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, smearing blood and dirt into streaks across her pale skin.
"Rough night?"
The voice was calm, detached, and infuriatingly familiar.
Alera turned her head and found him. Kael.
He was in the corner of the cell, shirtless, his silver-blonde hair damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead. His dark violet eyes flicked toward her briefly before focusing again on the push-ups he was doing. His lean, wiry frame moved with a kind of precision that suggested hours of practice.
"What does it look like?" she snapped, sliding down to sit against the wall.
"I'd say you look like death warmed over," Kael replied without missing a beat. He lowered himself to the floor, his arms trembling slightly, then pushed himself back up with a sharp exhale.
Alera huffed, annoyed but too tired to retort. Instead, she watched him for a moment, her sharp green eyes narrowing. Despite the bruises mottling his skin and the faint sheen of exhaustion in his movements, Kael hadn't stopped training. Not once since he'd been dragged into their shared nightmare.
"How long are you going to keep at that?" she asked, crossing her arms.
"As long as it takes."
"Until what?"
Kael didn't answer immediately. He pushed himself off the ground, switching to shadowboxing in the limited space the cell provided. His fists cut through the air in quick, calculated strikes. His movements weren't perfect—his form still raw, still learning—but there was determination behind every punch.
"Until I don't have to crawl out of the arena half-dead," he finally said, his tone flat but edged with steel.
Alera snorted. "Good luck with that. The arena doesn't care how strong you are. It chews you up and spits you out all the same."
Kael paused, his fists lowering slightly. His violet eyes met hers, and for a moment, the air between them grew heavy.
"You've been here longer than me," he said, his voice quieter now. "How long has it been?"
Alera sighed, leaning her head back against the wall. "A year. Almost to the day."
Kael frowned. "A year?"
"Feels like ten," she muttered, closing her eyes. "You lose track of time in here. Days blur together. The only thing that keeps you grounded is the arena. Every fight feels like it might be your last."
Kael didn't respond, but she could see the wheels turning in his head. He wasn't the type to waste words.
"It's impressive, you know," Alera said after a moment, her tone grudging. "How you've lasted this long."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Impressive?"
"Don't make me repeat myself."
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, and Alera rolled her eyes.
"I've watched you," she continued, her voice softening. "When they first threw you in here, you were… pathetic. Weak, slow, clueless. I didn't think you'd survive your first fight."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Kael muttered, resuming his training.
"I'm serious," Alera said, her tone hardening. "But then, somehow, you did. And the next fight. And the one after that. You're not strong—not yet—but you're smart. You read your opponents, exploit their weaknesses. You fight dirty when you have to."
Kael stopped mid-punch and turned to look at her fully.
"I fight to survive," he said simply.
Alera nodded, her expression unreadable. "That's the only way to fight in the arena. But surviving isn't enough."
Kael tilted his head, curious. "What do you mean?"
"You have to do more than survive," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You have to win. Over and over, until they stop underestimating you. Until they fear you."
Kael didn't respond, but something flickered in his eyes. Determination. Resolve.
Alera smirked. "And you will. Eventually."
"You sound awfully optimistic," Kael said, his tone dry.
"Don't get used to it."
They sat in silence for a while, the tension between them easing slightly. The distant sounds of the arena echoed through the stone walls—cheers, screams, the clash of steel.
"What's your story?" Kael asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.
Alera blinked, surprised. "My story?"
"Why are you here?"
Her expression darkened, and she looked away. "I could ask you the same thing."
Kael shrugged. "Fair enough."
For a moment, it seemed like she wouldn't answer. Then, she sighed.
"I made a mistake," she said simply. "Trusted the wrong people. Ended up here."
Kael didn't press her for details. He knew better than to pry.
"What about you?" Alera asked, her voice softening.
Kael hesitated. How could he explain what even he didn't fully understand? The reincarnation, the strange flashes of memory, the shadowy figure who had thrown him into this nightmare.
"Let's just say… I didn't plan on being here," he said vaguely.
Alera studied him for a moment, her sharp green eyes searching his face. Then she shrugged. "Fair enough."
The silence returned, but it wasn't uncomfortable this time.
Kael resumed his training, and Alera closed her eyes, letting the rhythm of his movements lull her into a strange, uneasy calm.
As she drifted off, one thought lingered in her mind:
He's different. Maybe he's what we need to survive this hell.