Like a child caught red-handed, Dylan curled up on himself, nervously awaiting the Matriarch's arrival.
In the presence of these towering figures, he felt utterly dwarfed. For a man of his size, creatures over two meters tall were veritable giants.
No matter how hard he tried to maintain his composure, Dylan couldn't endure the piercing gaze of the cyclops. He could even see his own reflection in the creature's blue pupil—a detail that only amplified his discomfort.
The cyclops's hot, foul breath hit his face directly. Dylan could only describe his situation as "pure discomfort."
"What's your name?" he asked timidly, using the question as an excuse to avert his gaze and take in some fresher air.
The cyclops chuckled, seemingly oblivious to his maneuver.
"That's funny," she said, amused. "It's the first time this has happened: the 'meal' asking for my name!"
Dylan swallowed hard, lowering his head as beads of sweat formed on his brow.
"Fine," she growled mockingly. "I'll reveal the name of my illustrious self."
She proudly pointed to her chest with a thumb.
"My name is Basaros, leader of the Thunder Squad."
Dylan had no idea what the Thunder Squad was, but he knew one thing: he would use this moment while Basaros was talkative to ask a few questions.
"How did I get here?" he asked, uncertain if he'd get an answer.
Basaros burst out laughing.
"What's wrong with you? Did you hit your head, man? Oh yeah, I found you in the Matriarch's personal pantry. You probably took a hit to the head," she explained.
Dylan didn't deny it. He had indeed felt pain in his head upon waking up, so it was likely she was telling the truth.
"You were sold," Basaros said bluntly, her harsh tone leaving Dylan stunned.
He frowned, the word echoing in his mind. Sold? He glanced down at his hands, turning them to inspect the color of his skin, his mind swirling. "Damn, is that why?"
"You were sold," Basaros repeated. "Or rather traded, you and your comrades, for passage rights."
Two things immediately caught Dylan's attention: the word "comrades" and the strange notion of "passage rights." These words unleashed a flood of questions in his mind.
Who were these comrades she mentioned? Were they members of his squad? Was she referring to the mutilated bodies he had glimpsed in that horrid place she called the Matriarch's "personal pantry"? Were those corpses people he knew?
And these "passage rights," what were they? Where did they lead? What reason could justify selling human lives to such strange creatures?
But above all, one burning question remained: Who had done this?
Knowing Basaros wasn't an ally, Dylan had to choose his questions carefully. Every word mattered. The cyclops might choose to clam up or, worse, grow bored and subject him to a fate he preferred not to imagine.
Taking a deep breath, he attempted a lighthearted tone:
"I noticed that your illustrious self seems to be the only… noble cyclops in this cavern. Why is that? Are you, like the naiads, a personal servant to the great Matriarch?"
Basaros raised her single brow, her gaze wary.
"Mmh… No, I wouldn't say I'm like those freshwater women. I was raised by the Matriarch's mother," she replied, with a hint of pride. "She took me in, fed me, and trained me. When her daughter challenged her to a duel, she perished, and the daughter became the Matriarch. That's tradition. I serve her out of gratitude for all her mother did for me."
Dylan squinted, bewildered by what he had just heard. He stared at the cyclops, searching for any hint of doubt or conflict in her story, but Basaros seemed entirely at ease with her words.
"So… you're okay serving the one who killed your benefactor? Who also killed her own mother?" Dylan asked, struggling to conceal his disbelief.
Basaros erupted in laughter, a deep, guttural sound that echoed through the gallery.
"Listen, man, that's the rule here. To become leader, you have to challenge and kill the current ruler in a death match in the Arena of Joy. It's tradition. Anyone can claim the position… if they have the strength to prove it."
She paused, letting her explanation sink into Dylan's mind before continuing:
"And the Arena of Joy, that's also why the Matriarch loves these fights. She's looking for someone interesting enough to entertain her."
A sly grin formed on her massive face as she looked up at the ceiling, as if deep in thought.
"I think that's her first passion," she concluded.
"And… what's the second?" Dylan asked, his heart pounding, even though he had a sinking feeling he wouldn't like the answer.
Basaros slowly turned to him, an unsettling smirk spreading across her thick lips.
"Copulation," she said, a glint of malice in her eye.
The word hung in the air, charged with palpable tension. Dylan felt his stomach churn as Basaros continued to stare at him, savoring his reaction.
"And you, man, you'd better pray she doesn't find you too interesting," she added with a guttural laugh that made the gallery walls vibrate.
Dylan averted his gaze, hoping his nervousness didn't show. The situation was becoming increasingly dire. He needed to find a way out… and fast.
---
"So, you've also considered claiming the title of Patriarch?" Dylan asked, trying to maintain a neutral tone.
Basaros let out a small amused grunt, scratching the back of her bald head as though caught red-handed.
"Well… I want to do something first. Achieve my dream, you know," she replied with disarming sincerity.
Dylan, intrigued, tilted his head slightly.
"If I may ask… what dream is that?"
Basaros glanced cautiously around, his movements betraying a hint of hesitation. Then, with a more relaxed air, he fixed his gaze on the young human, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.
"It's about the Matriarch," he admitted with unexpected candor. "My dream is to—"
"That's fine, that's fine, I get it!" Dylan quickly interrupted, raising a hand to stop the cyclops.
He preferred not to hear the end of that sentence, fully aware of what Basaros was implying.
"And why haven't you pursued this dream… if it's so important to you?" he quickly added to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Basaros's gaze darkened slightly, and his tone turned more clipped.
"Because she sees me as a brother," he said flatly.
Dylan raised an eyebrow, surprised by the response.
"Can you believe that?" Basaros continued, his voice tinged with palpable bitterness. "She's ready to kill me if I challenge her in the arena, but for anything else… she told me she considers me her brother."
He let out a joyless laugh, his single eye glinting with an emotion hard to pinpoint.
"A brother!" he repeated sarcastically, emphasizing the word as if it left a bitter taste. "That's the only thing holding me back."
Dylan felt a wave of unease wash over him. He wondered if this conversation was veering into even more dangerous territory.