Sweat kisses the earth without passion, men dance with wooden swords as they try to best one another in combat. Whip tears through the air to discipline the notorious and their screams are accepted as flesh pays penance.
Kane, a diminutive round shield clutched in his fist, dances with deceptive agility. His movements, usually a blend of calculated aggression and freestyle defence, today possess a fluid grace.
On the balcony of the mansion, Lord Barabas and Memnuh sit and observes the training of their slaves. Hands busy with cup and mind dipped in wine, Barabas shows great interest with intense eyes.
Every two minutes he pulls at his beards with sweaty palms, "Your pet gladiator shows good form. I say a few months and he will be ready for the arena," Memnuh says, "Come, pour me more" he orders Emilia, who stands behind them, as if it were his birthright.
"No, if anything I expect more from him. The only reason I am merciful is because of his injuries," Barabas says, "But he is healed, in fact, he looks better than before. Almost like he was training while injured," Memnuh says.
"Yes. Have you ever know a man to heal from such wounds in a single week. And I mean heal completely with improvement," "No." "It is almost inhuman, like he is touched by the gods," "Sure," Memnuh, sips from his cup.
Memnuh leans toward his brother, "On the subject of slaves, I have been apprised of your recent… altercation with Dorian", a sneer curled his lip. "The arrogant buffoon believes his station grants him the effrontery to dictate terms", Barabas says, his gaze unwavering on Kane.
"The man is known for such things, he covets your latest slaves" "He shall never have them," Barabas says.
"Your slaves are precious, particularly the girl" Memnuh observes, "And I suspect you'll soon find yourself embroiled in a struggle to safeguard her from covetous grasp of others" he says.
Barabas turns his gaze to his brother, "Speak plainly brother," "I want her. Three nights. You can watch", "No", Barabas says, his voice firm.
"Come on Barabas," Memnuh urges, "Your wife will surely have my head if I condone your indiscretions" "Only if she discovers them" Memnuh replies, a smug grin playing on his lips.
Barabas gulps down his drink, "You have some sort of plan, don't you?", he asks and watches Memnuh laugh, "Only if you accept," he says.
"There's a discreet inn in town, frequented by common rogues. No one of consequence will notice" he says.
"One night," Barabas says and Memnuh shrugs in acceptance, "And I watch," "Sure," the brothers come to an agreement.
Sweat drips down Kane's face as he tries to catch his breath, "That is enough for now. Eat, rest and train some more. The arena will be opened in less than two weeks, we only need the strong to defeat our champion or fall to feed his glory. You are dismissed," the doctore says and leaves the men to their own company.
Kane sees Emmet approaching with a cup of water, he hands it to him; "You move well for someone that only woke up only yesterday" Emmet says. Kane feels the heat of the sand underneath his feet, he pours the rest of the water on his face as he breathes hard, "What is it with her? Is she always like that? Reserved" Emmet says as he looks up at the balcony. Kane traces his gaze and finds Emilia's eyes, green gems of beauty watching him.
"Only when she is a slave," Kane says and looks away, "You must feel responsible for her," "In a way," "The only way to get her out of here is to buy her freedom and a gladiator can only purchase one freedom at a time," Emmet says, "Some day, we won't be the one in chains," Kane says as his eyes move to Barabas, whom to his surprise catches his gaze.
His dark eyes meets Kane's blue ones and the slave turns away, "Fuck," he grunts, "Seems like she isn't the only one with eyes on you. Well, at least you get to be with her at Lord Barabas' command" Emmet says which stops Kane in his steps.
"Maybe you like being a slave, I don't." "Nobody likes being a slave Kane, but you must accept the present if you want to move into the future" he says and Kane just watches him, void of words to spit.
"Dog," a voice booms, startling them both. Kane whirls around to find Braga looming before him, the largest gladiator amongst them, Pyrrhus's champion the Arena.
A towering figure at seven feet, he possesses a physique of sculpted steel. His heavy brows perpetually furrow, as if a lifetime of grim determination has etched a permanent frown upon his face. The deep ebony of his skin accentuates his imposing presence, further emphasised by a jagged scar that bisects his cheek.
"Bra…ga," Kane says slowly, "You and I will break words at a much darker hour, but know this, I saw what happened when the volcans came. I know your secret, dog" he says plainly and walks away.
Emmet raises a brow and folds his arms while his ears flicker at Braga's words, "Secret, huh?", "I don't know what he is talking about,".
MEANWHILE
IGNIS
In the kingdom of Merdona, a kingdom plagued with blessings so much so that they miss the darkness that seeps into their community like poison. Its beautiful flags stand tall around the royal castle, songs of birds and the silent chatter of wind carries the many rumours that spreads through the crowds that fill the streets.
A hologram figure of a man well adorned in an attire of official station appears, giant in its appearance so all in Merdona may see. His potbelly ever so big as he stands with his chest out and his hands by his sides like a sharp soldier.
Duke Clarion stands before the masses; "People of Merdona, you are right to be alarmed. What has happened is not something that should even be possible in our kingdom. The goddess and the crown has been insulted by these sacrilegious acts. We have started investigations on the attack at the temple of the moon and we have found traces to make us believe that this was the act of a criminal syndicate known as The Ravagers," he says.
"Your royal highness has instructed me to take command of this matter personally and I will. There will be curfew in our kingdom from sundown, no one is to walk these streets at night. I promise you, in the name of our brothers and sisters, in the name of the goddess Shiroi, we will bring these criminals to justice," the duke says.
"We are done transmitting," a woman beside him says and he steps off from a podium in the middle of a magic circle drawn on the floor, on one of the higher floors of the castle. "You did good my lord, this should keep the people calm for now" the woman says.
"I know Dorathy but I cannot get complacent, I must find the culprits. These monsters must pay," the duke says, "Don't be too hard on yourself," he hears the woman say as he walks away.
Duke Clarion walks with folded brows and a stiff jaw. He dismisses the obsequious greetings of his underlings with a grunt, retreating to the sanctuary of his office.
There, on his desk, lies his cane, a familiar talisman. He grips it, a rhythmic tapping against the polished floor accompanying the incantation, "Merryland, merry land, merry land, take me to merry land,".
The air crackles with unseen energy, a luminous circle blooming beneath his feet. The lights shine brightly until they don't and the duke finds himself in the depths of a subterranean chamber.
A chamber filled with whimpers and darkness, dirt filled floors and chains that stretches to unknown lengths. Clarion walks to the darkest parts where a woman whimpers as tears crawl down her eyes, stench chokes her nose and anguish sinks down her throat, "Please," "Now, where were we priestess? Tell me all your secrets,".