A Warm Welcome (IV)

Right, then left, Caelvir and Aelric found themselves walking through the corridor that ran beyond the main hall. Their steps echoed lightly against the polished stone, and the smell of oil-burning torches clung faintly to the air. The corridor here was brighter than the others, a cleaner floor carryinh an oddly tranquil air. Gladiators passed them in silence or short bursts of laughter, some alone, some in pairs, all of them carrying a presence more peaceful than what one might expect from killers by profession.

"Alright, what's next on the tour?" Caelvir asked, casting a sidelong glance at Aelric.

The older man folded his arms behind his back, his gait as relaxed as a monk on his evening stroll. "Well, there's only one place left to visit," he said with a faint smile. "Let's follow the corridor."

They walked side by side for a while.

During their walk, Caelvir spoke up. "By the way… thanks."

Aelric raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

"The advice," Caelvir said. "Back then… in the Dust. About the right moment to strike. Or something like that."

"Oh…" Aelric exhaled.

"I never said it, but it helped," Caelvir added.

Aelric gave him a sidelong glance, his expression warm. Caelvir continued with a smirk, "What advice do you have for me here, then? Wise monk?"

That earned a short chuckle. "Hmm…" Aelric toyed with his beard as if brushing thought itself from it. "Well," he said, stopping just as the corridor opened up into a grand hall, "I've got two."

Caelvir stopped too.

"First," Aelric said, turning toward him with a half-serious look, "you better start learning to count."

Caelvir squinted. "Count? What do you mean by that?"

"Oh, so you don't know?" Aelric smirked, as if he'd caught a child pretending to understand grown-up talk. "Interesting. Not surprising though, judging by how you're a Dust-born warrior."

"Hey!" Caelvir laughed with a nudge. "Aren't you one too?"

"Hahaha… you're kinda right. But I used to fight before."

Caelvir rolled his eyes. "And the second piece of your mysterious wisdom?"

"Watch your back," Aelric said plainly. "A wound there would be a disgrace for a warrior."

"I already know that."

"Then take it as a reminder," Aelric replied, unbothered. "Sometimes we forget what we already know."

"Well," Caelvir said, brushing his hair back, "it seems you're vague as always. Thanks for this non-advice."

"You're welcome," Aelric chuckled.

Then they entered the new hall.

It was vast and tall, sunlight cutting through slitted windows high above. A stream—an artificial moat or perhaps a river redirected—flowed quietly beneath the walls, humming a melody that barely rose above the steps of gladiators pacing or lounging nearby. Dozens of cells lined both sides, but "cells" was almost a mockery of the term. These weren't cold cages like the ones in Dust Arena. They were private rooms, each enclosed by thick bars and a proper door, but within, there were beds with clean sheets, racks of armor, and in some, even wooden bookcases filled with weathered tomes and scrolls. The soft rustling of pages echoed from one cell, where a man read in silence. Another had two polished helmets stacked like trophies beside his sleeping mat. A few rooms had glints of silver, trinkets, maybe even stolen spoils hung on the walls like charms.

Caelvir raised a brow, visibly surprised. His eyes scanned one cell that housed more than just steel and scrolls.

Two gladiators were entwined together on the bedding, having sex passionately with a passion unhidden by shame of being seen. The sound of breath and soft laughter met Caelvir's ears. He looked away immediately, the gesture instinctual.

In the Dust, such things—if they happened—were never this clean and innocent.

"That's nice," Caelvir muttered, almost to himself. "Better than the Dust."

"I know, right?" Aelric said, smiling, as if pleased by the thought that this place had retained at least a semblance of dignity.

"Well then," Caelvir said, scanning the open cell doors, "where's our cell?"

Aelric glanced about. "Hmm… that I don't know. No one guided me when I came here. But it seems… you can just occupy whichever one is empty."

Caelvir folded his arms, tilting his head. "Or… perhaps take one already full?"

Aelric looked at him, half-serious. "That… is also a possibility."

As Aelric and Caelvir walked beside the row of cells, trading quiet remarks about the strange mix of comfort and captivity in the Iron Arena, a voice cut through the air behind them.

"Hey, Aelric."

Before Caelvir could turn, a heavy force struck his shoulder. He stumbled sideways and fell, landing on the stone floor with a dull thud. His vision spun for a second. The man who had collided with him remained standing tall and broad, unmoved by the impact.

Caelvir's head throbbed. He looked up with an irritated face. The man's frame seemed carved out of solid stone. "Hey! Watch where you move! Are you blind?!"

The stranger tilted his head slightly, as if just noticing Caelvir's presence. His eyes were pale and unfocused. Not a hint of light reached them.

The man was literally blind.

"Ah, I'm sorry," the man said. His voice was strangely comforting and smooth. "I can usually feel people. That was my mistake."

He reached out a hand toward Caelvir.

Caelvir hesitated for only a moment before gripping it. The man pulled him up with ease. There was a brief pause between them, their hands still joined, as if something about the contact had caught the stranger's attention.

"I'm sorry for that," the man said again, releasing his hand. "You must be new, right?" He turned his head toward Aelric. "It seems you're Aelric's friend. I had the pleasure of meeting him earlier."

Aelric stepped forward with a light laugh, brushing the moment aside. "Ah, yes! I met this gentleman not long after I arrived here. Glad you two got the chance to run into each other, although, perhaps not so literally."

He looked to Caelvir, then added with a warm nod, "This is Cael. An old friend of mine from the Dust Arena."

"Ah!" The man's face lit with a smile. "It's a pleasure to know you, brother Cael. I'm Armu."

"Uh... nice to meet you, brother," Caelvir replied, still slightly dazed from the hit.

They shook hands. Armu's grip was firmer than necessary. Caelvir held back a reaction. Maybe the man didn't realize his own strength, or maybe he just didn't care.

Armu turned back toward Aelric. "So… does that mean our brother Cael here has been victorious for a hundred matches?"

"Indeed," Aelric said, his voice lifting with pride. "Cael is a strong warrior."

Caelvir stood quietly beside them. Hearing praise spoken in front of him felt awkward. He didn't know where to look.

Armu's blank non-existent gaze lingered. His smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. He seemed to be measuring something, but Caelvir had no way in the world to know what.

"Alright," Armu said at last, "I and my kin are heading to the training grounds. Aren't you coming with us?"

Aelric responded with a pause. "Ah... you see… I was going to show this place to Cael, and…"

His voice trailed off. He spoke with care, trying not to make it sound like a rejection.

"A shame indeed," Armu said. "I wished we could go sparring with you, brother."

Then he turned away, his focus fully on Aelric. He hadn't looked at Caelvir again.

It didn't sit right. For warriors, sparring was the clearest sign of welcome. Why was Caelvir ignored?

As Armu walked off, a group of others joined him. They all shared the same blind eyes and powerful build. They moved confidently through the corridor side by side with perfect rhythm.

Caelvir took a small step back, letting them pass without incident.

"Well," Caelvir muttered, brushing some dust from his shoulder, "that was awkward."

Aelric chuckled beside him, the sound light and careless. "Don't be bothered, my friend." He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing toward the corridor where Armu and his kin had vanished. "Some people aren't meant to walk beside others."

"I guess so," Caelvir replied. He wasn't angry, just left with a strange taste in his mouth. The man had hit him like a hammer and then treated him like air.

Aelric turned back to him. "There's something I have to attend to. So, if you'll excuse me…"

"I see. Well, thanks for the tour guide," Caelvir said with a half-smile.

"You're welcome, my friend. We'll see each other again later."

With a soft nod, Aelric stepped off and disappeared into the corridor leading back to the main hall. The sound of his footsteps faded quickly. Caelvir stood in silence.

He was alone now surrounded by the rhythm of distant voices, occasional laughter, and steel brushing steel from far-off training grounds. The section was wide, with rows of cells spread out like a village of iron homes. Inside them, warriors rested, read, polished weapons, or lay with others, embracing this strange freedom wrapped in chains.

Caelvir walked a few steps forward, glancing left and right. He noticed an empty cell here, another there. A few looked half-used, as if abandoned or waiting for someone's return. For a moment, he considered stepping in, but he came to reconsider that decision quickly.

He didn't know the rules here. As in the Dust Arena, one had to be aware of the dominance hierarchy and the dangers of fighting one against many. This place had its own hierarchy. There were signs of gangs and unwritten rules. Claiming the wrong bed could mean ten enemies the next morning. A smile at the wrong man might ignite a feud. He had to read this place accordingly before acting in it.

Caelvir exhaled through his nose and stepped back from the nearest empty cell. He leaned against a cold wall instead, the familiar weight of the Sword of Seren beside him.

Fatigue pressed into his limbs, softening his thoughts and weighing down his eyelids. Sleep took hold of him, quiet and slow, like a shadow stretching across the floor.