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Each step towards the entrance felt like I was handing over the most precious part of me to an uncertain fate.
When Violet and I reached the threshold, I cupped her face gently and leaned in to kiss her.
Her lips, soft and yielding, were the sweetest reminder of what I was fighting for.
“Stay safe,” she murmured against my mouth, her blue eyes filled with a mix of worry and admiration.
“I will,” I promised, feeling the weight of those words.
She didn’t know I intended on entering the pits today, and if she had, they would have resonated even more.
Releasing her with a lingering touch, I watched as she disappeared into the Prize Pool, her silhouette gradually merging with the dim lights.
A tidal wave of protectiveness rushed over me.
I couldn’t stand the idea of her waiting, alone, at the mercy of whoever Claimed the Prizes today.
With renewed determination, I turned on my heel and made my way to the pits.
The corridors echoed with the muted sounds of the prison’s daily life, but to me, everything was drowned out by the steady drumbeat of my own heart.
The pits were abuzz with activity.
Fighters, draped in their distinctive tribal colors and insignia, were warming up, practicing moves, or deep in meditation, prepping mentally for the fights ahead.
Bookmakers shouted odds while hopeful gamblers placed their bets.
The electric atmosphere was palpable, charged with anticipation.
I approached the sign-up desk, today manned by Brevik, a wiry, middle-aged Plujeer with a sharp eye for fighters’ strengths and weaknesses.
His scrutiny was legendary, and many believed that his judgment often influenced the betting odds.
“Kuana,” he said, eyeing me with a mixture of surprise and intrigue. “Been a while since you stepped into the ring. What brings you back?”
I took a deep breath. “Personal reasons.”
Brevik smirked. “Ah, love,” he chuckled, scratching down my name on the roster. “Makes us do the craziest things.”
I didn’t respond, just nodded, my focus already shifting to the challenges ahead.
“Considering you’ve been out of the game for a while, I’d expect you’d want a warm-up bout?” Brevik suggested, motioning towards a roster of inexperienced fighters.
My gaze was steely. “Put me in for the main event.”
Brevik raised twin eyebrows — he had a pair of them above each eye — but didn’t question my resolve further.
With a flourish, he added my name to the list of seasoned fighters for the day’s highlight battle.
As I glanced at the roster, realization hit like a sledgehammer.
I was at the very bottom, with the lowest odds of winning.
Every other name above mine was that of a renowned warrior, some of whom had gone undefeated for cycles.
Walking away from the desk, the gravity of my decision began to weigh on me.
Had I bitten off more than I could chew?
