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My curiosity piqued, I exchanged puzzled looks with Faela and Lilia.
“What’s going on?” I asked, struggling to peer over the heads of the gathered crowd.
Lilia, taller and with a better view, craned her neck and reported back. “Looks like there’s going to be a rematch in the fighting pits. Those are always big events.”
“A rematch?” Faela echoed, her eyebrows knitting together. “Those are rare, right?”
“Yes,” Lilia replied. “The stakes are always higher. It’s about more than just winning; it’s about honor and pride.”
I felt a tug of anxiety. “Who’s fighting?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Deep down, I feared I already knew the answer.
A female with golden-brown hair, whom I recognized as Sylah, turned to answer me, her excitement evident. “The Champion from last night! Word is he was beaten in his own cell, and his Prize stolen! He’s called for a rematch to reclaim his honor.”
“But who is he fighting?” I pressed, my heart rate increasing.
Sylah shrugged, her green eyes alight with excitement. “Don’t know the name of the challenger. But everyone’s talking about it.”
But I did know.
Lilia confirmed it when she read the name as it fluttered into position on the leaderboard. “Ashale. His name is Ashale.”
A silence descended upon our small group, their eyes wide with realization.
Faela placed a comforting hand on my arm. “Are you okay?” she whispered.
I tried to find my voice, but it was caught in my throat, the weight of the situation pressing down on me.
The memory of our night together, the way he’d looked at me, his touch, everything came flooding back.
The realization that he’d be fighting, potentially putting himself in danger, was a lot to process.
Below us, the fighting pit came alive.
The distant sounds of the crowd grew louder, their anticipation palpable.
The scent of sweat tang wafted up from the pits, mixed with the fragrant aroma of some alien flowers that adorned the arena.
As the fighters prepared to take their positions, I could see them clearly — Sneik, imposing and bristling with anger, and Ashale, calm but determined.
Though the crowd’s howls and roars reverberated through the room, I felt as if I was in a bubble of silence.
The only sound that mattered was the steady thud of my heart.
I watched, my breath caught in my throat, as the two fighters locked eyes, each sizing up the other.
Then, with a roar from the crowd that felt as if it could shake the very ground, the rematch began.
* * *
The fighting pit’s dusty floor had seen countless duels, each leaving behind remnants of earlier confrontations.
The sandy texture below the combatants’ feet, mixed with grit and age-old sweat, formed a mosaic of memories.
Ashale and Sneik stood opposite each other, the intensity between them creating an electric atmosphere that I could almost taste — a mixture of metallic tang and raw anticipation.
From my vantage point, I could make out every detail: the way the afternoon sun streamed into the arena, illuminating the glint of determination in Ashale’s eyes and casting long, dramatic shadows across the pit.
