The Spear That Penetrated The Heavens

The sky had barely begun to shift from deep indigo to the burnt gold of morning when we arrived at the Arena of Ancestral Blood.

The old battleground was carved into the heart of the canyon, its stone foundations worn smooth from centuries of combat. Massive totem pillars surrounded the ring, each depicting a legendary warrior of the tribe, their snarling faces captured in ferocious mid-roar. Thick banners of war, woven from the dyed furs of fallen chieftains, hung over the seating areas where the villagers gathered.

Despite its grand appearance, I could still smell the bloodstains. This was no ceremonial space.

At the center, the fighting pit itself was a wide-open space, thirty meters across, with white sand covering the stone beneath. The grains were sacred, mixed with the ashes of countless warriors who perished in battle.

Across from me, Lak Hok stood tall, spear in hand.