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I found myself inexplicably drawn towards the fighting pits.
The raw energy that emitted from them was palpable.
The distant growls, the clash of weapons, and the mixed scents of blood, sweat, and excitement were intoxicating.
The entire atmosphere was a blend of danger and excitement.
The fighting pits were unlike anything I’d ever seen.
Two contenders, whether beasts or skilled fighters, faced off in a fierce battle while spectators cheered and jeered from the stands.
The air was thick with tension, the pungent smell of anticipation, and the tang of blood.
Occasionally, the ground would shudder beneath my feet as a beast lunged at its opponent, sending shockwaves through the arena.
As I wandered closer, trying to find a vantage point, I bumped into the old prisoner I had spoken with the day before.
He seemed out of place amidst the chaos, like a relic from a forgotten time.
His wise eyes looked up at me, reflecting the bright lights from the pit.
“Ah, the inquisitive one. Back for more stories, or perhaps a flutter on the fights?” His voice was raspy, yet there was a melodic quality to it, like an old song.
He was taking bets, scribbling odds on pieces of paper and exchanging them for credits or trinkets.
There was a certain rhythm to his actions — take a bet, scribble, hand over a ticket, repeat.
Watching him was almost hypnotic.
“As you were kind enough to lend me your ear yesterday, how about a free bet?” he said, holding out a tattered piece of paper. “On the house. Or should I say, on me?”
I hesitated. “I don’t know anything about these fights or who’s who.”
He chuckled, a sound that reminded me of rustling leaves. “Doesn’t matter. Go with your gut. Choose at random.”
Taking a deep breath, I pointed to a name on his list — The Jjilar — a name that felt right in that moment.
“An excellent choice,” the old prisoner said, scribbling something down, then handing me a ticket with a knowing smile.
“Keep it close,” he whispered. “It might just come in handy.”
His words sent a chill down my spine, causing the fine hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.
There was something about the way he said it, an underlying hint that there was more to this bet than met the eye.
My senses were heightened.
The stench of the pits, the clamor of the crowd.
As I tucked the ticket into my pocket, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that someone — or something — was watching me.
But this sensation wasn’t threatening.
In fact, it felt quite the opposite.
I was being watched over, protected.
It made me smile, filling me with positivity.
