Arrival at the Capital

The caravan crested the final hill as the sun began its slow ascent, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson. Kain squinted against the light, the chains around his wrists biting into his skin as he stumbled forward. 

Then he saw it.

The capital rose before them, an imposing fortress of stone and iron. Towering walls stretched to the heavens, their surfaces marred with cracks and battle scars that spoke of a history steeped in violence. Banners bearing the sigil of House Lirian fluttered in the breeze, their vivid colors stark against the drab gray of the city.

Kain's heart sank. The sheer scale of the place dwarfed anything he had ever known. The forest, for all its dangers, had at least been open. This city felt suffocating even from a distance.

Around him, the other prisoners faltered, their chains clinking softly as they stared at the capital with a mix of awe and dread. The girl beside him clutched his arm, her trembling fingers digging into his skin.

"Is this... where they're taking us?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Kain nodded, his jaw tightening. He didn't trust himself to speak. The weight of what awaited them pressed down on him like the chains that bound his wrists.

Ahead of him, Torik staggered, his steps uneven. Blood seeped from the crude bandage wrapped around his side, the dark stain spreading with each jolt of movement. He leaned heavily against one of Garik's men, who shoved him forward with an annoyed grunt.

"Keep moving, or I'll leave you here," the mercenary snapped.

Torik lifted his head, his lips curling into a faint smirk despite the obvious pain etched across his face. "That... would be a mistake."

The mercenary sneered but didn't respond. Kain's eyes lingered on Torik's hunched form, a knot tightening in his stomach. He wanted to help, to offer some kind of support, but the chains kept him tethered and helpless.

"You're bleeding out," Kain said quietly, his voice barely carrying over the sound of their trudging.

Torik glanced back at him, his smirk widening slightly. "Not the first time."

Kain frowned. "You won't make it to the city at this rate."

"Still breathing, aren't I?" Torik replied, though his steps faltered again, and his grip on the mercenary's arm slackened.

At the head of the caravan, Garik rode tall on his horse. The city's gates loomed closer now, the faint murmur of activity from within reaching their ears. Garik's men straightened their postures, their weapons clinking against their armor as they prepared for their arrival.

Garik raised a hand, signaling the caravan to slow. The prisoners were brought to a halt, their chains rattling as they shifted uneasily. Kain used the pause to glance around, taking in the city's sprawling outer districts. Narrow streets crisscrossed in chaotic patterns, lined with stalls and buildings that leaned precariously against one another. The air was thick with the smell of roasted meat, sewage, and smoke.

Garik turned in his saddle, his smirk widening as he addressed the group. "Welcome to the capital," he said, his voice carrying an air of smug satisfaction. "Home of wealth, power... and coin."

His mercenaries chuckled, though their laughter was tinged with weariness. The prisoners remained silent, their faces pale and drawn.

Garik's gaze swept over them, lingering briefly on Torik before shifting to Kain. "Keep up, boy," he called. "You'll want to make a good impression on your buyers."

Kain glared at him, but the chains around his wrists stopped him from acting on the anger that burned in his chest.

The gates of the city were a massive structure of iron and oak, reinforced with thick bands of metal that gleamed faintly in the morning light. Two guards stood watch, their armor polished and their expressions stern. They stepped aside as Garik approached, one of them raising a hand in greeting.

"Garik," the guard said. "Another haul?"

Garik dismounted, his boots hitting the cobblestones with a dull thud. "Another haul," he confirmed, gesturing to the line of prisoners. "And a fine one, too. The arena will be pleased."

The guard's eyes flicked to Kain, then to Torik, and finally to the girl. He frowned but said nothing, stepping aside to let the caravan pass.

As the gates creaked open, the prisoners shuffled forward, their chains dragging across the cobblestones as they entered the capital.

Inside, the city was alive with activity. Merchants called out their wares, everything from spices to weaponry. Children darted through the crowds, their laughter a rare sound in the otherwise oppressive atmosphere. Nobles in fine silks strolled through the streets, their noses wrinkling as they passed the caravan.

Kain's eyes darted between the bustling stalls and the towering buildings. He'd never seen anything like it. But instead of wonder, all he felt was dread. This city was a machine, grinding down anyone caught in its gears.

The girl clung tighter to his arm. "This place... it's worse than I imagined."

Kain nodded grimly. "It's a cage."

Torik's ragged breathing pulled his attention. The bandit leader was faltering more with every step, his weight almost too much for the mercenary holding him. Blood dripped steadily from his side, staining the cobblestones red.

The prisoners stood in a ragged line under sun. Garik moved among them, his smirk widening as he gestured toward his buyers, a collection of brothel representatives, and labor contractors. The air was heavy with anticipation and dread, the clinking of chains adding a grim rhythm to the scene.

Garik's voice carried over the courtyard, slick with confidence. "Here they are! Fighters, workers, and... entertainments. Take your pick, and I'll make sure you're not disappointed.".

The girl clung to Kain's arm, her eyes wide with terror. A tall, thin woman dressed in dark silks approached her, circling like a predator. The woman's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach her eyes.

"This one's perfect," she purred, her voice cold. "She'll bring a fortune."

Kain stepped in front of the girl instinctively, his chains rattling as he blocked the woman's path. "You're not taking her."

The woman raised an eyebrow, her smile sharpening. "How noble. But you don't have a say."

Before Kain could retort, Garik's hand clamped down on his shoulder, dragging him back. "Move along, boy. She's sold."

Kain's fury burned, but his chains held him in place. The girl was pulled from his. Kain's fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms until they drew blood.

As the recruiters moved on, Garik stopped in front of Torik, who was barely conscious. The portly recruiter frowned, his gaze lingering on the blood-soaked bandages.

"This one's not worth much in his condition," the recruiter said. "Might not survive the trip to the arena."

Garik's smirk returned. "That's where you're wrong. He'll be a spectacle. The crowd loves a fighter who's already half-dead."

Torik's head lolled forward, but his lips curled into a faint smirk. "You're making... a mistake," he rasped.

Garik crouched beside him, his voice low and mocking. "Am I? You're not in a position to make threats."

Torik chuckled weakly, his bloodied teeth glinting in the light. "We'll see."

Kain was pulled roughly toward a line of prisoners destined for the arena. His mind raced, his fury mounting with every step. The girl's sobs echoed in his ears, mingling with the image of Torik's bloodied form being dragged away.

"This isn't over," Kain muttered under his breath, his voice shaking with rage. "Not for me. Not for them."

One of the guards shoved him forward. "Keep moving, boy."

The arena gates yawned open, revealing a shadowed tunnel that led into the heart of it. The roar of a distant crowd echoed faintly, a cruel reminder of what awaited Kain and the others.

This wasn't the end.

It was the beginning.