Last Stand? (1)

Kain stared down at the arena, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white.

Torik sat against the stone wall below, his body torn but unbowed.

Garik had made his choice.

In two days, Torik would be thrown into another fight.

And this time?

Maybe he wouldn't stand back up.

Kain's chest burned. Not just with anger, but with something deeper.

A feeling he had never truly known before.

He had seen people beaten.Had watched men die. Had been forced to endure cruelty without a second thought.

But this?

This felt different.

He wanted Torik to live.

"Tough thing, isn't it?"

Kain barely reacted as Alric's voice drifted beside him.

"That feeling crawling under your skin."

Kain's jaw tightened.

"You want to act," Alric continued. "But you know if you do, it'll get you killed."

Kain said nothing.

But Alric didn't need a response.

He had already seen this before.

Alric leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.

"So tell me, what's your move?"

Kain exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"I don't know." His voice was tight.

"Exactly," Alric murmured.

A pause.

"That's why you wait."

"You're strong. You're fast. But you have nothing."

Kain turned toward him, eyes dark.

"So what? I just let him die?"

Alric sighed, tilting his head.

"You do what you have to, when the time is right. And if there is no right time?"

He smirked.

"Then you make one."

Kain's fingers twitched at his side.

His mind was racing.

Garik would send Torik into the arena again.

Torik would fight. Bleed. Maybe die.

And Kain?

He couldn't stop it.

Not yet.

But he could wait. He could learn.

And when the time came, he would not be powerless.

The arena was empty now.

Torik had been dragged away, left to bleed in the dark.

The crowd had left. The screams had faded. The blood in the sand had begun to dry.

But the real game was just beginning.

Kain sat near the edge of the camp, his back against the rough wooden bars of the holding pen. He wasn't sleeping.

He was watching.

The strongest men sat near the fire, eating fresh meat, drinking from full mugs. Garik's favorites. They laughed loudly, boasting about fights, about women, about how much coin they'd make once the next bout was set.

The weaker ones sat further back. Quiet, avoiding eye contact, eating scraps. The ones who took orders but weren't truly valued.

Kain watched as a plate was tossed into the dirt. A younger fighter hesitated before grabbing it, afraid, but hungry.

Weakness. Strength. The lines were clear.

Kain had always been sharp, but this was different.

Before, he had fought to survive. Now, he was trying to understand.

The guards changed shifts every few hours. Some were disciplined. Some were lazy.The night patrols were smaller, Garik trusted his reputation to keep order more than his men.The supply wagons came early in the morning, heavy with food, weapons, and coin.

Kain frowned slightly.

Why had he never noticed these things before?

Garik was strong, but not all his men respected him.

Kain saw it in the way some of them hesitated before following orders.

He saw it in one man's clenched jaw, the way his fingers twitched when Garik spoke.

And when Garik turned his back?

That same man spat into the dirt, a silent act of defiance.

Kain's eyes narrowed.

Not everyone here was loyal.

"You're thinking."

Kain barely flinched. He hadn't heard Alric approach.

The older man leaned against the wooden bars beside him, arms crossed, watching the camp with the same sharp gaze.

"Good."

He didn't say more.

He didn't need to.

Kain understood.

This was a test.

A lesson.

Alric was watching to see if Kain would figure it out on his own.

Kain exhaled slowly, his fists unclenching.

He was starting to see it now. The pieces. The patterns. The game.

But knowing was one thing.

Doing something about it?

That was another matter entirely.

And for now?

He wasn't ready.

But soon…

He would be.

Kain sat in the dirt, hands on his knees, staring into the darkness of the camp.

He had spent his whole life reacting. Fighting when he had to, running when he could, enduring because there was no other choice.

But now?

Now he saw things. Patterns. Weaknesses. The way power moved between men.

For the first time, he had something more than instinct.

He had knowledge.

And yet…

He felt just as trapped as before.

"You're not ready."

The thought came unbidden, curling through his chest like a slow burn.

"You saw a few cracks, a few men who looked tired, so what? You don't know what you're doing."

One wrong move, and Garik would have him thrown in the pit too.

One mistake, and Torik would die, and Kain would follow.

He wasn't a leader. He wasn't a schemer.

He was just a boy trying not to die.

And yet…

Torik was dying anyway.

Kain inhaled, slow and steady.

His hands stopped shaking.

Torik hadn't hesitated when he fought. He just moved.

He hadn't waited for the perfect moment. He created it.

Kain looked back at the camp.

If he wasn't ready, then he would make himself ready.

There was no other choice.

Kain sat in the dirt, heart hammering against his ribs.

He had made up his mind.

Watching wasn't enough anymore. He had seen how Garik's camp worked, seen the tension among the men, the way some hated him but stayed silent.

If he waited too long, Torik would die.

That couldn't happen.

He had to act.

And now?

He had found his target.

The man sat near the outskirts of the camp, picking at a piece of stale bread.

Not one of Garik's favorites. Not well-fed, not loud, not powerful.

He was young, maybe mid-twenties, with hollow cheeks and tired eyes. A man who had spent too long under Garik's boot.

Kain had seen him hesitate before following orders.

He had seen the flicker of resentment in his face when Garik spoke.

That was enough.

Kain approached slowly, deliberately, making sure no one else was watching.

The man barely reacted.

"What do you want, boy?"

"The same thing you do."

Kain lowered his voice.

"To get out of here."

The man's eyes flickered, but Kain misread it.

He thought it was interest.

It was fear.

"You don't know what you're talking about," the man muttered, glancing around.

Kain pushed forward.

"You follow Garik because you're scared of him, not because you want to."

That hit something.

The man looked at him now, truly looked at him.

Kain felt the rush of control, of power, he was doing it.

"He's not invincible," Kain pressed. "Men like him fall all the time. All it takes is—"

The guard stood up. Fast.

Kain's words died in his throat.

"You think I'll risk my life for some brat?" The man's voice was cold now.

He glanced around, spotted one of Garik's lieutenants, and his mind was already made up.

This man wasn't angry.

He was scared.

And scared men always chose survival over everything else.

The guard raised a hand, signaling over Garik's men.

Kain had failed.

The guards grabbed Kain roughly, dragging him across the camp.

The few prisoners still awake stared, but no one moved.

The man he had spoken to?

He didn't even look at him.

Kain tried to struggle, but it was pointless.

Before he knew it, he was thrown at Garik's feet.

Garik sat by the fire, rolling a cup between his fingers.

He looked down at Kain like a wolf studying a wounded animal.

"Well, well."

His smirk widened.

"Looks like the little rat tried to bite."

The camp had gone quiet.

The men wanted to see what happened next.

Kain said nothing, his jaw tight.

Garik leaned forward.

"Tell me, boy. Did you really think you were clever?"

Kain's breath was shallow. He didn't answer.

Because now?

He understood.

He had played a game he wasn't ready for.

And he had lost. 

Garik let the silence stretch before sighing dramatically.

"I should kill you for this."

Some of the men laughed.

Kain's heart thudded once.

But Garik wasn't looking at him anymore.

He was looking at the arena.

And then?

He grinned.

"But I think I'd rather watch you die in the pit."

Kain's stomach turned cold.

Garik leaned back, gesturing lazily to the guards.

"Throw him in with the rest of the meat."

The camp erupted into cheers.

Kain barely felt himself being dragged away.

His mind was spinning, burning, replaying every mistake.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

This wasn't how it was supposed to end.

The first thing Kain noticed was the stench.

The pit was damp, suffocating, a mix of sweat, blood, and unwashed bodies.

The second thing he noticed?

Silence.

No taunts. No jeers. No cruel laughter from Garik's men.

Just the heavy breathing of prisoners waiting for their turn to die.

The guards shoved him forward, his knees hitting the cold stone floor.

The gate slammed shut behind him.

Kain exhaled.

He had lost.

His breath was steady, but his mind wasn't.

You spoke too soon. You pushed too hard. You thought you were in control.

Kain gritted his teeth, squeezing his fists.

You were never in control.

That was the lesson, wasn't it?

It wasn't enough to see a weakness.

You had to know how to use it.

And now?

Now you're nothing. Now you're meat for the pit.

A part of him, the part still clinging to the boy he had been, wanted to panic.

To run. To beg. To find some way to escape this.

But there was nowhere to go.

His whole life, he had been able to endure.

No matter how much it hurt, he had always survived.

But this?

This was the end.

Kain pressed his hands against his face, forcing himself to breathe.

Think. Focus. Don't break.

But his fingers were shaking.

A shadow shifted outside the bars.

Kain lowered his hands just in time to see Alric standing there.

Not speaking.

Not mocking.

Just watching.

The same way Kain had watched Garik's men.

And in that moment, Kain understood.

Alric wasn't here to help him.

He wasn't here to stop this.

Kain forced himself to sit up.

Not to impress Alric. Not to prove anything.

But because he refused to let this be the end.

Kain exhaled slowly, pushing the fear down, forcing his body still.

Alric's lips curled slightly.

A smirk.

Then he turned and walked away.

Leaving Kain to whatever came next.

Torik knelt in the dirt, his hands resting on his knees.

His body was failing. Bruises layered over old wounds. A cut on his side burned with every breath.

He had been here before. Waiting. Bleeding. Waiting again.

But this time?

This time, something was different.

He heard the slam of a gate. The shuffle of new footsteps in the dirt.

He looked up.

And froze.

Torik had fought alongside men.Had killed beside them.Had watched them die, screaming, crushed, broken.

And none of it had ever mattered.

But now?

Now, Kain was standing in the pit.

The boy was too small, too young

His shoulders were tense, his hands clenched into fists, but Torik could see the truth.

Kain wasn't ready for this.

Torik exhaled slowly, his eyes lifting to where Garik sat above the arena.

Smirking. Watching. Waiting.

This wasn't a fight.

This was a punishment.

For Kain.

For Torik.

Garik wanted Torik to watch the boy die.

For a moment, he did nothing.

He should do nothing.

Kain had put himself here. He had to learn.

That's what Torik had always believed.

Survive, or don't.

But now?

The thought of standing back, of letting the boy get ripped apart...

Torik exhaled sharply.

His hands tightened into fists.

Not like this.

Not him.

Torik rolled his shoulders, ignoring the pain.

He pushed himself up, standing beside Kain.

The boy glanced at him, just for a second.

Torik didn't speak.

He didn't need to.

His body, his stance, his choice, it was all there, clear as day.

Garik wanted to break him?

Let him try.

Because Torik wasn't fighting for himself anymore.

He was fighting for the kid.

And for the first time in a long, long time that meant something.