The halls of the Arena were quiet now. No match sounds, no screaming crowds. Just the steady rhythm of boots on stone and the low blink of torchlight dancing along the walls. Arven moved slowly, hands tucked into the deep pockets of his trousers. A faint throb lingered in his shoulder, a dull echo of the fight, but even that was fading faster than it should have.
He stopped by a cracked section of the wall where condensation had gathered, forming a small puddle beneath a rusted pipe. Something made him crouch. He looked down, eyes catching his own reflection in the warped surface.
His face stared back at him, a little worn, a little sharper than he remembered. Hair tousled, skin still flushed from exertion. A faint bruise darkened the edge of his jaw. But it was his eyes that caught him, focused, but with something distant tucked just behind them. Not tired. Not angry. Just... dulled. Like he'd seen too much, too fast, and hadn't had time to catch up.
He tilted his head slightly. Was he attractive now?
The thought came uninvited. Not something he usually asked himself. But since arriving here, everything had been different. Blood. Bone. Survival. And sex. A lot of it. Daisy. Mariel. Veyra, again and again. Evelyne, just recently.
He hadn't planned for any of it. Hadn't even reached for it, most days… Like the System had flipped a switch somewhere deep inside him. Or maybe it wasn't the System. Maybe it was something that had been there all along, buried beneath failure and routine, finally allowed to breathe.
His thoughts were cut short by a hard slap between his shoulders. The force jolted him forward, nearly knocking him off balance.
"Still alive, pretty boy?" Veyra's voice rang out loud and bright, full of that unfiltered confidence she wore like armor. "Or did I just smack a ghost?"
Arven stood, brushing his shoulder with a dry look. "That how you greet everyone who wins a fight?"
"Nah," she said, her grin flashing sharp and easy. "Just the ones I thought were already dead."
She fell into step beside him, her heavy boots echoing softly against the stone. There was a lightness in her gait, like every step was meant to bounce. Still full of energy, even after everything.
"That mage had you twisted," she said. "Thought he'd hollow your brain out like soup. But you pulled through." She flashed another grin. "Hell of a show."
Arven gave her a half-smile. "Glad I kept it entertaining."
"You still got that twitchy eye, though," she added, leaning in a bit as if to inspect him. "Illusions leave a mark?"
He gave a short shake of the head. Too fast. Reflexive. The memory of that apartment, of her voice, still clung to the inside of his skull like cobwebs.
"It's gone," he said. "Mostly."
Veyra didn't press. She let it go with a casual shrug.
"So," he asked, shifting the topic. "Who're you up against next?"
"Pair of twins," she said with a snort. "Fight together. One of those dumb 'mirror match' themes."
"They're letting two on one?"
"Yeah. Something about themed combat. Some noble's idea of entertainment, probably. Fancy name for bullshit."
"You worried?"
Veyra grinned, teeth showing. "No. Two heads means two skulls to crack."
Arven nodded once. "You'll be fine."
She bumped her elbow into his side, playful. "You say that like it's obvious."
"It is," he said simply.
They rounded a corner, passing a group of lower-ranked fighters clustered near a weapon rack. The noise dulled when they approached. One of them muttered, "That's him," barely audible, then quickly looked away.
Veyra's smirk widened.
"You've got fans," she said.
Arven sighed, rubbing his temple. "Perfect…"Someone else appeared at the far end of the hall. Evelyne.
She walked forward in full gear, light armor clinging to her frame, dented and streaked with dried blood. Her long blond braid swung behind her shoulders with each step, damp with sweat. A sword rested sheathed across her back. Her face revealed nothing.
Veyra stiffened beside him. Her eyes narrowed, jaw setting hard.
"Oh, fantastic," she muttered under her breath. "Just what I needed."
But Evelyne didn't so much as glance at her. She strode straight past and came to a stop in front of Arven, her posture composed and direct.
"Our confrontation's getting close," she said, voice even.
Arven met her gaze without flinching. "Looking forward to it?"
"Of course."
She held his eyes a moment longer, then turned and walked off without waiting for a reply.
Veyra's breath flared through her nose. She took a sharp step forward. "Hey-"
Arven caught her wrist before she could move. His grip wasn't tight, but it was firm enough to stop her.
"Don't," he said, calm.
Veyra snapped her head toward him, eyes burning. For a second, it looked like she might jerk free. But then she paused. Something in his face stopped her.
He let go.
"If you're that eager to hit something," he said, voice steady, "why not spar with me instead?"
She arched an eyebrow. "You serious?"
"No biting," he added, rubbing the side of his jaw. "Just fists."
Veyra gave a crooked smile. "Aren't you tired?"
He smirked. "I'm pretty good where it come to regenerating."
She stared at him for another beat, then laughed. It came sharp and full from her chest.
"Alright then. But don't cry when I break you."
They turned down a side corridor, heading toward the practice rings near the eastern edge of the Arena complex. A few fighters loitering nearby moved quickly out of their way. Even the smug ones kept their mouths shut.
As they walked, Veyra rolled one shoulder back, her tone casual. "So. You and Lady Ice. That a one-time thing, or is this a whole new chapter of your sex life?"
Arven shrugged. "Hard to say."
Veyra scoffed. "You really are a slut."
"I'm consistent." he replied without missing a beat
That got a bark of laughter out of her, raw and unfiltered.
They stepped into the open ring. The practice area was empty, the afternoon sun slanting in low through the open archways. No crowds. Just pale stone, dust, and quiet air.
Veyra stepped ahead and stretched her arms, joints popping as she moved.
"Alright, Ghoul," she said, turning back with a grin that promised nothing gentle. "No fangs will save you this time."
Arven flexed his fingers slowly. His knuckles still ached, faint echoes of the last fight.
"Its just a spar," he said.
"Sure," she replied, bouncing lightly on her heels. "But I'm still gonna try to knock your ass out."
He nodded once, smile spreading again across his face.
"Wouldn't expect anything less."