After that, the cyclops passed a chain through Dylan's hands, connected to a ring around his neck. The end of the chain was firmly held by the cyclops, who dragged him along the corridor.
Despite his best efforts to walk normally and avoid being yanked, the cyclops's colossal strength made it impossible. With each of her steps, Dylan had to take ten just to keep up, often forced to quicken his pace to avoid stumbling.
They moved through the corridor, whose rough walls seemed to close in around them. But Dylan couldn't shake the words of the naiads that still echoed in his mind.
"Try to survive."
"Do whatever it takes to survive."
"You owe us your life, after all!"
They had whispered these words cautiously, making sure the cyclops couldn't hear. However, Dylan wasn't convinced their jailer had missed the exchange. This one-eyed creature seemed far more perceptive than she let on. Yet she hadn't said a word, as if their conversation held no importance to her.
To Dylan, however, those words were anything but insignificant. These mystical beings, of an otherworldly beauty, had utterly bewildered him. Sure, he already wanted to survive, but their warnings only amplified his fear.
The naiads themselves had seemed hesitant when mentioning the Matriarch, as though this imposing figure embodied pure terror. A sinister presence that inspired fear more than respect.
As he was dragged through the oppressive corridor, Dylan wondered what awaited him at the end of this dark path.
The narrow hallway gradually widened as they moved. Sounds, indistinct at first, grew clearer: a cacophony of cries, like rolling thunder, echoed from afar.
At last, they reached the end of the corridor, emerging onto a balcony overlooking a massive arena. Below, hundreds of creatures crowded the stands, their roars filling the air like a savage hymn.
The cyclops stopped for a moment, pinching Dylan's back to grab his attention. She pointed to a secluded section of the stands—an ostentatiously decorated balcony reserved for someone of high rank.
"See over there? That's where the Matriarch sits. And that's where we need to go. So hurry up before the show starts."
She smirked cruelly before adding:
"There's nothing more important to the Matriarch than these shows."
---
They descended from above, passing through the stands. The crowd naturally parted to let them through, as if the cyclops's mere presence commanded respect. This confirmed to Dylan that this one-eyed creature held a particularly high position.
As they moved, Dylan cast furtive glances around him. For a moment, he only saw one type of creature among the crowd. This surprised him. He had expected greater diversity, especially after meeting the naiads and the cyclops herself, who seemed to be a figure of authority. Logically, he thought he would see others of her kind or something similar.
But no. The stands were filled with humanoid creatures, all eerily similar. Their skin ranged in dark, supernatural hues: deep red, dark green, and shadowy purple. Each bore sharp fangs, powerful enough to tear through steel.
These beings also had reptilian traits, like thick, sturdy scales covering their arms, adding to their intimidating presence.
When they noticed Dylan watching, their attention shifted to him. They began throwing curious, almost amused glances his way, as if his very existence fascinated them. To their eyes, he seemed like a tiny, insignificant thing—an object of entertainment or disdain.
They quickly crossed the dense crowd and reached a passage where steps had been carved directly into the stone. These stairs led down to a surprisingly sophisticated gallery, starkly different from the rest of the cavern.
Dylan was struck by the contrast. Where the cavern and arena exuded rawness and brutality, this space radiated an unexpected air of opulence. The floor was covered with a bear-skin rug, carefully placed as though every detail was designed to impress. It was the first thing to catch his eye.
In the room, several servant creatures busied themselves in silence. Each seemed devoted to a specific task: some cleaned weapons, others arranged trays laden with exotic fruits, while others tended to the rich fabrics adorning the walls.
But what drew Dylan's attention the most was the massive couch positioned before the balcony. It was enormous, large enough to accommodate someone colossal. Yet, to his surprise, it was empty. There was no sign of the one who seemed to rule this place—at least, not yet.
The cyclops, clearly accustomed to the space, turned to one of the servants. In a brusque tone, she barked:
"Hey… You know where the Mistress went?"
The servant, a graceful creature with eyes that shone like pearls, lifted her head hesitantly. She quickly wiped her hands on her apron before answering with a hint of nervousness:
"The Mistress went down to oversee the preparations for the next fight," she replied, carefully avoiding the cyclops's single eye. "She should return at any moment."
The cyclops sighed, visibly annoyed. She loosened the chain slightly, allowing Dylan to regain some semblance of balance.
"Fine," she grumbled. "We'll wait here."
She dragged Dylan to a corner of the gallery, forcing him to kneel. She fixed her single eye on him, as if ensuring he wouldn't attempt anything foolish.
"Don't try anything stupid," she murmured with a predatory smile. "You know what will happen if you do."
Dylan didn't respond. His mind was already consumed by a single thought: who was this "Mistress"?