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As I gripped the textured hilt of my blade, I took a moment to glance up at the viewing window, seeking that familiar face.
There she was.
Grace.
My reason for fighting, for living.
Her eyes shone with a mix of hope and trepidation.
Her every emotion was like an open book to me.
Each wince she made as a weapon swung too close, each gasp she took when it looked like I might falter, and each cheer she uttered when I prevailed resonated deeply within me.
My senses sharpened as I took in the scene, my ears catching the murmurs of the spectators and the distant hum of the prison’s systems.
Even as I stood there, prepared for my next duel, it was Grace’s anxious presence that reminded me of what was at stake.
My next opponent was a Yarvothian, a species known for their acute hearing and memory recall.
Standing almost two heads taller than me, their elongated form was draped in shimmering scales, each catching the light and refracting it in a kaleidoscope of colors.
Their faces were flat, save for a pair of large, expressive eyes and a mouth that seemed to stretch from one side of their face to the other.
An impressive sight but one I was well-prepared for.
As the Yarvothian advanced, its skin glistening in anticipation, I could hear the faint sounds it made — a series of musical clicks and chirps, the Yarvothian language.
They were complex creatures known to communicate emotions and thoughts with a depth few species could comprehend.
It was also known that certain phrases when whispered to them, could invoke intense emotional reactions.
And I knew just the phrase.
We clashed, metal ringing against metal, creating a symphony of war.
My opponent was fast, but predictably so.
Each swing, each thrust, was a dance I had practiced many times before.
As we continued to exchange blows, I searched for an opening, waiting for the precise moment to employ my secret weapon.
The opportunity came sooner than expected.
In a daring move, I pretended to stumble, luring the Yarvothian closer.
As it came in for what it presumed would be the killing blow, I leaned in and whispered the words:
“Kerath, silno jivah.”
In their language, it was a phrase of deep respect and honor, a challenge of one’s integrity.
The Yarvothian froze, its wide eyes blinking rapidly as if trying to process what had just been said.
It pulled back, its weapon hanging limply by its side.
For a moment, a thick silence enveloped the pit, the crowd seemingly holding their collective breath.
Then, in a gesture that stunned everyone watching, the Yarvothian bowed deeply before me.
