Aeron's eyes fluttered open, and the first thing he saw was a face—grinning, teeth yellowed, and eyes glinting with unspoken mischief. He instinctively jerked back, his muscles screaming in protest from the sudden movement.
"Ah, finally awake, are we?" the man said, his grin widening. He leaned closer, his breath rancid and warm against Aeron's face. "I'll admit, I didn't think you'd pull through. Guess the odds were in your favor, eh?"
Aeron's mind was sluggish, his body heavy. He struggled to sit up, his surroundings gradually coming into focus. The room was dimly lit, walls stained with age and grime. A metallic stench lingered in the air, mingling with sweat and decay.
"Who…" Aeron began, his voice hoarse. He coughed, each spasm sending jolts of pain through his ribs.
"Oh, don't trouble yourself trying to remember me," the man said, waving a hand dismissively. "Let's just say you owe me."
---
Aeron's brows furrowed. "Owe you what?"
The man's grin stretched impossibly wider. "Oh, nothing too grand. Just 87% of your winnings."
The words hit Aeron like a blow. Winnings? Debt? His memory was hazy, fragments of the arena and the fight flashing in his mind.
"I don't even know who you are," Aeron said, forcing himself to sit upright despite the screaming protests of his body.
The man chuckled, a low, grating sound. "Names aren't important, boy. What matters is you've been in my debt for a long time. I've been kind enough to let it slide until now, but seeing as you just earned yourself a nice little fortune, I think it's time we settled things, don't you?"
---
Aeron glanced around, his sharp mind already noting the metal rods and weapons casually held by the men surrounding him. His body was too weak to fight, and even if he could, the odds weren't in his favor.
"How much is left after you take your cut?" he asked, his voice steady despite the simmering anger beneath.
"Oh, you'll have enough to eat, sleep, and maybe buy a bandage or two," the man said with a shrug. "I'm nothing if not fair."
Aeron clenched his jaw, his fingers digging into the rough fabric of his pants. "Fine."
"Smart boy," the man said, clapping his hands together. "Eight! Escort him home and hand over what's left of his share. Oh, and of course, the escort fee will be 3% of his remaining amount. A bargain, wouldn't you agree?"
---
Aeron's eyes narrowed. "No need. I'll go alone."
The room fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable. Then the man and his lackeys burst into laughter, the sound echoing off the grimy walls.
"You? Walk alone? From the coliseum to your place?" the man guffawed, wiping a tear from his eye. "Either you're braver than I thought or just plain stupid."
Aeron stood, his legs trembling beneath him. Pain lanced through his body, but he forced himself upright, his gaze cold and unwavering. "I said I'll go alone."
---
The man tilted his head, his grin faltering. "Suit yourself," he said, his tone darker now. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
As Aeron limped out of the room, every step a battle against the aches and bruises, he heard the man's parting words: "Good luck surviving the night, boy. You'll need it."
The streets outside were harsh and unfamiliar, a labyrinth of shadowy alleys and flickering lights. Every corner seemed to promise danger, but Aeron pressed on, his mind racing with questions.
Where was he? Who were those men? And why did his memories feel like shattered glass, impossible to piece together?
The book's voice broke through his thoughts, calm and clinical.
"You should have accepted the escort."
Aeron scowled, muttering under his breath, "I'll survive just fine without your input."
"Perhaps. But pride has its cost. Don't let it be your downfall."
Aeron ignored it, focusing on each agonizing step forward. He didn't trust the book, but it was all he had.
And as the night stretched on, Aeron vowed to find answers. About the fight, the debt, and the twisted world he found himself in.