The Arena

The capital looked different by day.

Arven walked through sunlit streets thrumming with life. Merchants shouted from stalls, hawking fruits, fabrics, and strange trinkets. Children darted between carts, chased by tired parents. Over it all, the towering silhouette of the Dawnlight Arena loomed.

From a distance, it looked like a piece of the past. Ancient stone walls, tall and weathered, ringed the structure. Banners of deep red and gold fluttered high above the outer rim. The cheers of distant crowds echoed faintly even from here, though no formal fights would start for days.

Arven paused at the edge of the crowd gathering near the arena. Peddlers lined the streets here too, selling wooden swords and cheap arena tokens. Men and women gossiped openly, eyes bright with anticipation.

He studied the arena again. The main entrance, grand and gilded, was guarded by soldiers in polished armor. Nobles passed through there with fanfare.

He had no interest in that gate.

Instead, he circled around the arena's bulk, weaving through alleys until he found one of the lesser gates. A small stone archway marked for "fighter access" stood half-hidden from the crowd.

Two guards flanked it. Both looked bored, leaning on long spears.

Arven approached calmly.

"I want to join," he said.

The guards glanced at him.

One arched a brow. "You?"

Arven met his gaze without flinching. "Yes."

The guard gave him a long look, eyes flicking over his lean frame, simple clothes, and travel-worn boots.

"Don't look like a fighter to me," the man said. "Sure you won't piss yourself the first time you see blood?"

"I'll manage."

The other guard laughed. "Your funeral, kid."

With a shrug, the first one stepped aside. "Go on, then. Registration's through the left corridor."

Arven nodded once and stepped past them.

The interior smelled of stone, sweat, and faint traces of old blood.

Arven followed the winding corridor, footsteps echoing softly. The path opened into a wide chamber where a gruff-looking man in plain leathers waited behind a low desk.

The man barely looked up.

"Fights start in three days. Till then, you can sleep in the common area. Showers are down that hall," he said, jerking a thumb toward the right. "If someone kills you before your first fight, that's your problem."

Without another word, the man scrawled something in a ledger and waved him through.

Arven didn't reply. He took the hallway leading toward the common area.

The room was massive.

A vaulted ceiling rose high overhead, cracked and darkened by years of smoke and dust. The stone floor was worn smooth by countless footsteps. Hammocks, bedrolls, and makeshift cots were scattered across the space in no particular order.

The fighters themselves were another story.

Arven paused near the entrance, taking it all in.

A dwarf with a braided beard stood near a stack of barrels, lifting stone weights that looked far too large for his size. Nearby, a thin elf with sharp eyes flung throwing knives at a wooden post, each blade hitting with impossible speed and precision.

Across the room, a beastman with curled horns and heavy muscles sharpened an axe that gleamed in the low light. The sound of stone scraping metal echoed through the space.

At one table, three masked fighters played cards, their hands moving in precise, mechanical motions. Each card flicked down with a soft snap. A dagger was planted deep in the center of the table.

A scrawny teenager balanced upside down on his hands near one corner, reading a book. His legs wobbled occasionally, but he did not fall.

Near the far wall, two armored twin sisters arm-wrestled a line of challengers for coin, laughter and curses filling the air around them.

Arven watched in silence, a slow grin tugging at his lips.

A damn zoo, he thought.

But beneath the chaos, there was strength. Danger. Potential allies, potential threats.

He moved further into the room, weaving between hammocks and scattered gear.

Then it hit him.

A chill ran down his spine, sharp and sudden.

His body tensed, instincts screaming.

Without thinking, he shifted to the side, just as a blur shot past him.

A massive force struck the floor where he had been standing, the stone cracking with a deafening crunch.

Dust and debris exploded outward.

Arven staggered back, heart racing.

Through the settling dust, a tall figure emerged.

Bright red hair spilled over broad shoulders. Golden eyes gleamed with feral light. The woman's frame was powerful, muscle sculpted beneath sun-kissed skin. Her training clothes clung tight to her body, leaving little to the imagination.

She stood barefoot in the crater, one leg still raised from the kick.

Her grin was pure hunger.

"Oh? Someone dodged that? Not bad."

Arven straightened slowly, breath steadying. His body still buzzed from the near miss, every nerve alight.

Nearby fighters had paused to watch. Some grinned, others backed away, clearly knowing what she was capable of.

The woman dropped her leg, flexing her fingers.

"I thought you were new," she said. "But maybe you'll be fun after all."

Arven met her gaze, sharp and unreadable.

Who the hell is this?

Her grin widened.

"Name's Veyra," she said. "You?"

"Arven."

She tilted her head. "Mm. Arven. Red hair, too. We'll match nicely when I'm sitting on your face."

A few of the nearby fighters chuckled.

Arven's brow twitched. He kept his tone calm. "I'm not here to play."

"Oh, we'll see about that," Veyra said, taking a step closer. "I play with everyone I like."

Her gaze swept over him, predatory and unashamed.

Arven's mind raced.

She was fast. Strong. The fact that he had dodged at all spoke volumes about his new reflexes, likely boosted by him being a vampire now. But yet she was still dangerous.

And interested.

A strange tension crackled between them.

Veyra licked her lips. "I'll be watching you, Arven. Don't disappoint me."

With that, she turned and stalked off, her hips swaying with casual dominance.

Arven exhaled slowly, the tight coil of readiness easing from his muscles.

The Arena's going to be fun after all, he thought.

He found an empty spot near one of the walls and dropped his pack.

Time to rest. Three days to prepare.

And already, the game had begun.