Another month passed.
The air stayed thick with rot and rusted iron. The torchlight burned lower these days, as if even the fire had grown tired of watching people break.
Levi spoke more now.
Not often. Not with ease.
But sometimes—late at night, when the guards had gone quiet, when the pit didn't call for blood—he'd say a word. A name. A place. A memory.
Thane never pushed.
He just listened.
One evening, when the silence had stretched so long it became its own presence, Levi spoke without warning.
"She used to braid her hair before she scolded me."
Thane glanced over.
Levi sat with his back against the wall, legs pulled up, wrists resting on his knees. The iron cuffs still bit into his skin, but he didn't flinch anymore. Didn't feel it.
"She said it helped her feel less angry," he added, voice hoarse. "I always thought it just made her look stronger."
Thane didn't interrupt.
"She was small. My mom. But when she was mad, she looked ten feet tall."
Levi let his head fall back against the stone.
"I never apologized. Not really. Not before we fought that night. She said I wasn't a child anymore. That I didn't need her like I used to."
A pause.
"I hated her for that."
Thane shifted a little, knees pulled close. "Sounds like she knew you were hurting."
"She was too tired to see it," Levi whispered. "Or maybe I was too tired to show it the way she needed."
Silence again. A softer one.
"She was carrying it when she left," Levi added after a long while. "The baby. She looked different. Softer. Like maybe this time… she'd get to raise one without hiding."
Thane's expression barely changed. But his hand—cuffed loosely by his side—tightened for just a breath.
"I used to hope she'd find a village. Somewhere far from here. Somewhere they wouldn't recognize the look of a runaway on her. That Kaan would keep them safe."
He turned his face slightly toward Thane. "That she'd name the baby after fire, maybe."
Thane tilted his head. "Why fire?"
Levi's gaze dropped.
"Because even when it dies," he said quietly, "it still leaves light behind."
Thane didn't reply.
He couldn't.
Not for a moment.
Because in that second, watching Levi's eyes—still rimmed with shadow, still full of war—he realized something.
The boy hadn't survived.
He was surviving.
Day by day. Memory by memory. Word by painful word.
The next day, Thane told a story about a broken clocktower that only chimed at night—and the girl who used to sneak up and pretend it sang just for her.
And that night, when Levi finally spoke again, he asked Thane a question.
Not sharp. Not bitter.
Just curious.
"Do you think people can forget what they are if they survive long enough?"
Thane didn't answer right away.
Then, softly:
"No. But I think they can decide who they'll be next."
Levi didn't say anything else.
But he didn't curl away, either.
And when the guards came later, dragging another man to the pit, Levi didn't flinch.
He just kept looking at the torchlight.
As if waiting for it to flicker. Or maybe… to grow.
…..
The cell hadn't changed—still stone, still rust, still dark—but something else had.
Levi.
His silence no longer felt like defeat. It felt like choice.
He spoke more now—small, quiet things, never forced. Never loud. But enough.
Enough to let Thane see the pieces that hadn't been crushed completely.
They'd been sitting in silence again—one of those long stretches where the only sound was the occasional cough from another cell, or the low, distant groan of someone being dragged back from the pit. Thane was sharpening a sliver of bone against the edge of the wall, careful, casual. Levi was tracing the iron links on his cuffs with one finger.
Then—out of nowhere—Levi smirked.
Thane looked up.
Levi didn't glance over, just kept watching the chains. "Didn't you say you were getting out of here?"
Thane arched a brow.
Levi's smile didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was real. Small. Wry. "Been two months. Your great escape plan running late?"
Thane exhaled a quiet laugh, slow and soft. "Still working on it."
Levi hummed. "You're gonna get old in here."
"I already was."
Levi shook his head, the smirk fading just slightly. But the edge in his voice was gone. It wasn't mockery. It was… teasing. Close to it.
Thane nodded once, like he accepted the shift without needing to comment.
Then footsteps echoed down the corridor—heavy, armored, and familiar.
Levi's body tensed, but only slightly.
One of the guards approached, stopped in front of the cell. A tall man with a short blade at his hip and a permanent scowl etched into his face. He said nothing, just studied the two of them for a long moment.
"New schedule starts soon," the guard muttered. "Fights'll run double. Pitmaster wants the runt broken in again."
Levi didn't look at him.
But the smirk vanished.
The guard's eyes lingered too long—on Levi, then on Thane.
And then he added, lower now: "You'll know when the time's right."
Then he turned and walked away.
Thane's head tilted slightly.
Levi frowned. "What was that?"
"Probably nothing," Thane said lightly—but something behind his eyes had sharpened.
That guard wasn't like the others. His voice was steady. Too steady. His eyes too clear. Not dulled by cruelty, not lit by greed.
And Levi had seen him before.
Not often. But enough.
The man never watched the pit matches. Never laughed. Never jeered.
He just observed.
And now… he'd said something strange.
Levi rested his head against the stone again.
The silence came back, but it wasn't empty this time. Not even a little.
Thane resumed sharpening the bone shard. Levi closed his eyes.
The silence that followed felt different now. Not the emptiness that usually pressed against the walls of the cell like a weight—but a quiet that held breath. Held intention.
The guard's words hung between them like a thread strung too tight: You'll know when the time's right.
Thane didn't comment again. He just scraped the edge of the bone slowly across the stone floor, the rhythm purposeful. Focused. Levi could tell now—it wasn't just for the sake of sharpening. It was meditation. Muscle memory. Something to keep his hands busy while his thoughts ran miles ahead.
Levi opened his eyes.
He watched him work for a while. Just the curve of Thane's shoulders, the way his knuckles flexed and relaxed between passes. How steady he stayed even when the torchlight flickered and shadows crawled up the walls.
"How long've you known?" Levi asked at last, voice low.
Thane didn't look up. "Known what?"
"That guard."
Thane paused only for a heartbeat. "Long enough."
Levi scoffed quietly. "You're a shit liar."
Thane smiled at that—thin and faint. "Then it's good you don't believe me."
Silence again.
Levi's thumb traced the same ring of rust on his cuff, over and over.
Eventually, he spoke again. "The way he said it. That wasn't just some 'keep your head down' advice. It sounded like a signal."
"Maybe it was," Thane said carefully.
"You waiting on something?"
Thane turned the bone between his fingers. "I always am."
Levi watched him. "What is it?"
He didn't answer.
Didn't have to.
Because Levi was already thinking. Already threading pieces together. Not fully. Not clearly. But enough to sense it—the tension in the air, the way Thane had changed ever so slightly since that first week. The way he watched people. How calm he stayed. How precise.
"You're not a slave," Levi said, more certain now.
Thane met his eyes.
"I'm in the same chains you are," he said softly.
"That's not what I meant."
They stared at each other for a long time.
Levi wasn't sure what he expected—denial, maybe. Deflection. But Thane didn't give him either.
He just held his gaze.
And finally, Thane said, "I didn't come here to fight."
Levi leaned back, shoulders pressing into the wall. "But you've fought."
"I've survived."
They both went quiet again.
The torch outside sputtered. A shout echoed from somewhere down the corridor, followed by the dull crack of a whip. Someone whimpered. Metal dragged. Then—silence again.
Levi closed his eyes.
The next few days passed in a hush that felt like a held breath. Levi spoke more, though not often. Stories came in slow fragments, always at night, and Thane listened like he was building a map from them—piecing together a world Levi had tried hard to forget.
And Levi noticed things too.
How Thane always positioned himself between Levi and the door when footsteps passed.
How he never asked about magic, but always glanced at Levi's wrapped forearm when the torchlight hit it just right.
How the same guard—the one who watched, not hunted—walked slower near their cell now. Sometimes paused. Always quiet.
Something was building.
Levi could feel it.
But he didn't ask.
Because for once, it felt like the world might be holding its breath for him, not against him.
And the next time he looked up at Thane through the cell bars, he didn't just see a stranger anymore.
He saw a waiting blade.
One that hadn't been drawn yet.
But would be—soon.
....
They came for him in the quiet.
No jeering. No taunts. Just boots on stone and the hollow clink of chains unhooked from the wall.
Thane looked up as the guards reached for Levi.
Levi didn't resist. He stood, letting them cuff him without a word. The manacles bit down harder than usual, but he didn't flinch. His body was used to it now. What it wasn't used to… was the feeling crawling up the back of his spine.
Something was wrong.
Or maybe it was right. He couldn't tell anymore.
The pit was colder than usual.
The walk there felt longer, but not in time—only weight. Like the air thickened with every step. The guards didn't speak. Even their usual mutters were absent. When they reached the gate, one of them nodded sharply, and the barred door groaned open.
The smell hit first.
Sweat. Blood. Sand and iron.
Then the noise. The crowd wasn't full, but they were louder. Hungrier. Their shouts were sharper. Some called his name. Others called for his blood.
Levi stepped into the ring and kept his eyes low.
The announcer's voice rang out like thunder:
"Desert-born and half-dead—but not done yet—Levi!"
Mocking laughter. Scattered coins flung to the floor.
He kept walking until he reached the center. His bare feet left prints in the sand—faint, fragile.
The opposite gate clanked open.
His opponent emerged.
Not a slave. Not this time.
A fighter.
Thick arms. Armored forearms. A deep, broken nose and a heavy spiked cudgel resting in one hand like it weighed nothing. The man rolled his shoulders once, then locked eyes with Levi.
He smiled.
Levi didn't return it.
He'd stopped smiling weeks ago.
The bell rang.
No one moved at first.
Then the man came forward, measured and heavy, like someone used to killing with rhythm, not speed.
Levi shifted his weight. Waited.
The first blow came low—too fast.
He blocked, but it jarred his whole arm.
The second hit his ribs.
Not a crack. But close.
Levi gasped but didn't drop.
He countered. A quick jab, meant to distract. It worked—barely. The man stepped back, and Levi lunged for the thigh. His blade glanced off the leather.
Useless.
Then came the third strike.
Straight to the shoulder.
Levi's knees buckled. The pain was instant and screaming.
He stumbled, sucking air.
Not enough.
His opponent didn't give him time.
A boot struck Levi in the gut.
He doubled over, coughing blood into the sand.
The crowd loved it.
"Up!" someone barked from above.
But Levi wasn't sure he could.
He moved on instinct, dodged just enough to avoid the cudgel swinging down again, then rolled across the dirt. His side screamed in protest. The old wound at his ribs had reopened.
He could feel the blood.
And then—
The pressure.
It started low. In his spine. Like a hum beneath the skin. A spark buried deep behind his ribs.
The man charged again.
Levi raised his arm to block—
And the cudgel hit something that wasn't him.
It stopped midair.
A shimmer. Faint. Almost invisible.
But there.
It bent the space between them. A ripple like heat above a flame.
The crowd went silent.
Even the fighter hesitated.
Levi blinked.
His chest ached. Not from the strike—but from something burning inside.
The mark on his forearm pulsed.
Not a glow.
A heat.
The shimmer vanished.
And Levi surged up.
He struck—not hard, but sharp. A slice across the leg. The man snarled.
Then another blow came. Heavy.
Levi blocked—barely.
He was too slow now.
Too tired.
The pain behind his eyes blurred the world.
Another hit.
This time to his temple.
He fell.
Hard.
His mouth filled with blood and sand.
He tried to get up—
The cudgel hit his back.
The crowd screamed for more.
His fingers twitched in the dust.
Another hit came—lower, across the side.
His breath caught.
The next blow didn't come.
Not because the fighter relented—but because the air itself cracked.
A sound split through the pit like a bolt of pressure snapping loose. Not thunder. Not steel. Something wrong. Something sharp, ancient, magical.
The cudgel froze inches from Levi's back.
Then the ground shook.
A wave of force blasted across the arena—not visible, but real. Sand scattered. Chains rattled. Several nobles in the crowd shouted in alarm.
Levi blinked against the dust.
The world blurred again. Sound spiraled—distant, close, layered. He felt cold and hot at once. Felt weightless.
Then—
Screaming.
Not the crowd this time.
The guards above.
The noise changed—boots running, weapons drawn, someone shouting orders in clipped, cold authority.
The cudgel dropped beside him.
He didn't lift his head. Couldn't. His body buzzed with a strange energy—like every nerve had been lit, then snuffed, leaving only smoke behind.
Voices clashed around the pit now. Not the crude drawl of mercenaries or slavers—but sharp, clear voices. Controlled. Trained.
"Arrest anyone with crest sigils—move!"
"Shield the slaves!"
"Secure the lower tunnels!"
Steel clanged against steel. A rush of footsteps thundered across the gallery. Levi rolled halfway onto his side, coughing into the sand. His ribs shrieked. The blood in his mouth tasted like rust and bile.
His eyes cracked open.
White cloaks.
Gold insignias.
Blades shaped for war, not show.
Magic crackled through the air—not the wild, raw heat like his, but honed, cut clean and precise. Controlled mana. Bound in glyphs and symbols, carried by people who didn't flinch when it surged.
Mage Knights.
Real ones.
Levi didn't believe it.
He couldn't believe it.
He staggered to his knees with a low groan, spitting blood, eyes flicking across the chaos. One of the fighters had dropped their weapon and bolted—only to be struck in the chest by a bolt of blue flame and crumple without a sound.
Another Knight landed in the pit with a gust of wind—lightfooted, armored, face hidden behind a half-mask of iron and cloth. They saw Levi and moved toward him.
He flinched.
Rolled back.
His hand reached for the weapon he'd lost—no longer even there.
The figure slowed. Lifted both hands.
"I'm not here to hurt you."
Levi's lip curled. "Everyone says that before they do."
The Knight hesitated—just a second. Then they nodded, almost to themselves.
"Name?"
Levi didn't answer.
He crawled backward instead, breath ragged, shoulders bowed like a dog ready to snap.
Another figure dropped into the pit on the opposite side—this one younger, wrapped in deep blue robes streaked with silver trim. A mage, clearly. Not masked.
They crouched and whispered to the Knight, who tilted their head in response. A moment passed. Then the younger mage looked at Levi.
And Levi saw something he hadn't seen in weeks.
Pity.
He hated it.
A growl rumbled low in his throat. His arms trembled.
Then—
"Get away from him."
The voice cut through the pit like a knife.
Familiar.
Levi turned his head, blinking through the haze of pain and dust.
Thane stood on the edge of the ring, hands still chained, escorted by a guard who wasn't restraining him—just walking beside him like a shadow.
The Knight turned.
Thane stepped down into the sand slowly. Deliberately.
"He's not a threat," Thane said. "Not to you."
Levi stared at him.
Thane looked the same—calm, tired, distant—but something behind his eyes burned. Not with pity. With fury.
Levi pushed himself to his feet, wobbling, blood still seeping from his shoulder.
"What is this?" Levi croaked. "What are they?"
Thane didn't lie.
"Mage Knights," he said.
Levi's jaw clenched. "Why now?"
Thane stepped closer. "Because the nobles who ran this place finally got careless. Because people like me have been trying to burn it from the inside. And because people like you… survived long enough to be noticed."
Levi laughed once—dry, bitter, sharp.
"Great. So I'm a case file now?"
"No," Thane said. "You're a witness."
Levi swayed.
A Knight stepped forward. "We can take you out of here. Heal you. Feed you."
Levi looked at her—really looked.
And then past her.
To the cells above. To the blood still fresh in the sand. To the body of a boy he'd once fought beside at one point in time while he was there, now lifeless near the wall.
He took a step back.
"Don't touch me," he said.
No one moved.
He looked at Thane. "I don't trust them."
Thane nodded once. "Then trust me."
It wasn't a plea.
It was a promise.
And Levi—after everything—nodded back.
Once.
Then collapsed.
And this time, when they caught him, it didn't feel like falling into a cage.
It felt like falling toward something else.
Still dark.
Still uncertain.
But maybe—just maybe—
Not alone.
——-
He woke to light.
Not the torchlight of the pits—this was different. Pale. Cold. Real.
It bled through slats in a canvas roof, thin and shifting with the wind. The air smelled like pine and iron, sharp with medicinal herbs. The world around him was quiet—too quiet.
Levi's eyes snapped open fully.
He was on a cot. A real one. Not stone, not chains. Thin blankets covered him, and something tight bandaged his chest. His wrists were raw but clean, wrapped in gauze instead of rust. There was no collar on his throat.
But there was a shadow.
Sitting in the corner.
Watching.
He tensed.
The figure leaned forward slowly—Thane.
Levi exhaled. Not relaxed—just steadied.
"Still breathing," Thane said quietly.
Levi didn't answer.
He tried to sit up—and immediately groaned. Pain tore across his ribs and shoulder. His body remembered the fight far too well. It felt like his bones were wrapped in bruises.
Thane stood and came closer, holding something in his hand. A tin cup.
"Water," he offered. "No tricks."
Levi stared at it.
Then took it with shaking fingers. Drank slowly.
Silence stretched.
"Where am I?"
"Camp. Outside the lower cliffs. Mage Knight territory now."
Levi's jaw tightened. "Not much of a prison."
"It's not."
He didn't believe it. Not fully.
His eyes scanned the tent—plain canvas, a single flap for a door, crates stacked near the far wall. Medical supplies. Folded cloaks.
No chains.
He still didn't believe it.
Thane sat again, quieter this time. "They're not gonna hurt you."
Levi looked away. "Not yet."
"No, not ever."
Levi's voice rasped when he spoke. "They still wear armor."
"They wear it to protect people."
"Or scare them."
A pause.
Then Thane nodded. "Both. Sometimes."
Levi shifted on the cot, wincing again. "Why'd they wait so long?"
"They didn't know where the guild was."
"But you did."
"I had to be sure," Thane said. "Couldn't risk false alarms. Couldn't risk anyone getting killed before it mattered."
Levi's lip curled. "A lot of people still died."
"I know."
His voice was quiet. Real.
Levi looked at him—really looked. "You said I was a witness."
"You are."
"To what?"
"To the worst of it. And maybe," Thane added, "to what comes after."
Levi fell silent. His fingers flexed against the blanket.
After.
He didn't know what that meant.
He didn't know who he was outside the cage.
Finally, his voice cracked through the quiet. "They're going to ask me things, aren't they?"
"Yes."
"About what I did. About the fights."
"Yes."
Levi swallowed. "What if I don't want to talk?"
Thane didn't blink. "Then you don't."
Levi stared at him. Waiting for the lie.
It didn't come.
Outside, the wind stirred the trees. A branch creaked. Someone murmured orders near a campfire. Normal sounds. Alive sounds.
He wasn't used to them.
His body still flinched at nothing.
Finally, Levi said, "I don't trust anyone but you."
"You don't have to."
"But you're one of them."
"I'm me first."
Levi stared at the roof of the tent.
He didn't cry.
Didn't tremble.
But for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel like he had to keep watch.
And that was almost worse.
Because letting your guard down—
That was how people disappeared.
Still, he didn't pull away when Thane stood and placed a folded cloth beside him. A clean tunic. Light grey.
Not a uniform.
Not a brand.
Just… fabric.
"You'll be okay," Thane said.
Levi didn't answer.
He didn't believe it yet.
But maybe—maybe—he wanted to.
Levi dressed slowly.
Not because of the pain, though that was real enough, but because the fabric felt… wrong. Not coarse, not threadbare. Just clean. He kept expecting to find something hidden in it—a stain, a collar, a weight. But it was only a shirt. Just a shirt.
He didn't know how to feel about that.
Thane waited outside the tent.
When Levi finally stepped through the flap, the light hit him like a whisper—not a slap, not a sting. No burning sand, no wind scouring the skin from his face. Just sunlight—gentle, golden, filtered through trees that didn't belong to a desert.
He froze.
For a moment, Levi couldn't move.
The world in front of him was green.
Trees stretched wide and full, their branches curling up toward a sky he hadn't seen without smoke for months. Leaves whispered to one another in the breeze. The ground was soft beneath his feet—soft, not cracked or cruel, not broken by wagon tracks or scorched with salt. Grass rolled in every direction like waves of emerald. A few wildflowers dotted the edges of the camp—red, violet, yellow—color that didn't come from bruises or fire.
Levi took a breath.
And for the first time in so long he couldn't remember, it didn't hurt.
The air tasted clean. Cool. He blinked against it like it might vanish.
He stepped forward.
Slowly. One foot, then another. The grass shifted under him, bent without cutting. It was soft between his toes. Soft. He didn't understand how something could bend and not bruise.
He dropped to his knees in it without thinking.
Not in pain—just overwhelmed.
His hands pressed into the earth. Into soil that gave instead of resisting. Into blades of grass that didn't tear his skin. They curled around his fingers.
Thane stood nearby, silent.
Levi didn't look at him.
He looked at the trees.
They swayed.
Not like desert palms cracking in dry wind—but with a rhythm. A hum. He could almost hear it—like the land itself was breathing.
He pressed his forehead to the grass.
The warmth of the sun touched the back of his neck.
And he realized—he wasn't burning.
The sun wasn't trying to kill him.
It just… existed. Like it always had. Like it might always be there.
His breath caught.
Not from fear. Not from pain.
From something else.
A weight inside him loosened. Not all the way. Not yet. But something shifted.
He felt… small. But not worthless.
Tiny, like something placed carefully in a living world he didn't know how to belong to.
He stayed like that for a long time. Breathing.
Touching.
Listening.
Letting himself feel it.
A branch creaked overhead. Somewhere nearby, a bird called—sharp and strange and bright. A sound no cell had ever known.
And when Thane finally stepped closer and crouched beside him, Levi didn't flinch.
He didn't speak either.
Didn't need to.
The grass was real.
The sky was blue.
And his heart—slowly, quietly—was still beating.
The wind shifted.
Carried the scent of pine, of smoke from a distant fire, of something sweet—flowers, maybe. Levi didn't know their names. Just knew they weren't blood. They weren't iron.
But the longer he stayed still, the more the quiet started to feel… wrong.
Like a trick.
His shoulders twitched with tension. His jaw clenched.
He lifted his head and scanned the clearing—green and open, dotted with tents and white banners that fluttered gently between the trees. There were no guards in sight. Just a few figures moving in the distance, slow and unarmed, dressed in soft colors and carrying baskets or scrolls.
But that didn't mean he wasn't being watched.
"How long have I been out?" he rasped.
Thane didn't answer right away.
Levi looked at him then, sharp.
"How long?"
Thane exhaled. "Five days."
Levi's breath caught.
He rocked back on his heels. "Too long."
"It was necessary."
"No," Levi muttered, rising shakily to his feet. "Nothing good waits five days."
He turned in place, eyes darting between the trees. "Where is this?"
"Lower forest line. Just past the cliffs. Northern border of Mage Knight territory."
Levi blinked. That meant nothing to him. It was a map he couldn't read. Words that might as well have been sand.
His voice turned thinner. "Why here?"
"Seclusion. Safety. The guild remnants are still being hunted. They needed somewhere to bring survivors before the roads opened."
"Survivors," Levi repeated, like the word tasted foul in his mouth.
Thane didn't argue.
The wind touched Levi's back again, gentle—but even that made him tense.
He didn't trust breezes. Breezes could carry smoke. Breezes could bring fire.
He folded his arms over his chest, gaze snapping back toward the tents. "What happens now?"
"Whatever you want."
"Don't—" Levi's voice cracked. He stopped. Swallowed.
He glanced down at the grass.
Then the sun.
It was still shining.
It hadn't stopped.
He shook his head once. "This isn't real."
"It is."
Levi's hands curled slightly. "It won't last."
"It might."
"You don't know that," Levi snapped. The sudden rise in his voice made a bird nearby scatter into the trees.
Thane didn't flinch. "No. I don't."
Levi turned away, biting the inside of his cheek.
Five days.
Five days where he'd been unconscious, vulnerable. Five days where anything could've happened. His body had been cleaned. Wrapped. Dressed.
Tended.
He didn't know if that was kindness or violation. And he didn't know which one was worse.
"What did they do while I was asleep?" he asked quietly. "Did they touch my arm?"
Thane was quiet a moment too long.
Levi spun. "Did they?"
"They saw the mark," Thane said. "But they didn't understand it. Not yet."
"Yet." The word fell like a weight between them.
"You're not in danger."
Levi stepped back, breath heaving.
Then he stopped himself. Closed his eyes. Tried to breathe—slow. Even.
The forest waited around him.
The birds kept singing.
His heartbeat slowed.
Thane stood a few paces away, watching but not crowding.
"I don't know how to live in this," Levi murmured.
"I know."
Levi looked up.
Not at Thane.
At the sky.
It was blue. Not just color. Depth. Space. Distance.
Like it could go on forever and still not reach the place where he'd been kept.
"Everything feels fake."
"It won't forever."
"You sure?"
Thane's voice didn't waver. "No."
That made Levi smirk. Barely.
But it was something.
A crack in the armor. A breath that didn't hurt.
The grass brushed his ankles again.
Still soft.
Still real.
Maybe.