The sun balanced on the horizon, a bleeding orange orb that painted the arena in the color of old blood. The crowd was a living thing, a single, multi-throated beast of anticipation, its roars and whispers washing over us in a hot, sticky wave. They had come for blood, for honor a story to tell around their fires. They would get none of those things.
"Ready to get this over with?" I asked, my voice flat, the sound swallowed by the din.
"After you," Yukiko replied, her voice a cool, steady current in the ocean of noise. She stood across the sand, a study in relaxed tension. Her feet were bare, gripping the ground, her posture perfect but not rigid. In her, I saw a reflection of my own profound disinterest in the world. She was the only person here who seemed were both just passing through, and this whole affair was a tedious detour.
