Still gasping on the floor where Fitz had left him, Alam dragged himself upright. His ribs ached, his stomach burned, and the taste of iron lingered on his tongue. Outside his window, the sun was sinking, painting the sky in bruised shades of orange and violet.
Over the PA system, a voice crackled:
Attention, students, please proceed to the dining hall. Dinner will be served shortly.
Alam shuffled into the cafeteria. The building was old, mid‑century stone and wood, its walls lined with cracks. Instead of modern lighting, candlelit chandeliers and tall stands flickered, throwing shadows that danced across the room. The air smelled faintly of wax and stale bread.
To his right, a line of students stretched almost out the door, each clutching trays already piled with food. The line shuffled forward, faces blank, movements mechanical. Alam frowned.
"What's this line for?" he asked.
"You must be new," one student replied.
"You'll see," another groaned.
Confused, Alam bypassed the line and headed to the meal station. Behind the counter, students his age worked quickly, loading trays with steaming food. The scent of roasted meat and buttered vegetables made his stomach growl.
"Aren't you guys students?" Alam asked.
"Yeah, but we have to pay our own tuition, so we work," one of them said.
"Oh, alright," Alam muttered.
He eyed the food eagerly. "So, what's on the menu today?"
"It doesn't matter, you won't get to eat it," a girl behind the counter said, rolling her eyes.
"Huh, what do you mean?" Alam asked.
"No need to ruin his day yet; he'll figure it out," one of the boys said.
The girl dumped food onto his tray. Alam's eyes widened, mouth watering at the sight of steaming potatoes, glazed chicken, and fresh bread.
"Another tribute for the pit," she snarked.
"Huh? What do you—"
"Hey, Alam," a voice interrupted. It was Ewan.
Alam's eyes narrowed. "Go away, Ewan," he said, annoyed.
"But I need to talk to you, it's important," Ewan pleaded.
Alam ignored him, shuffling away. Ewan reached out, then dropped his hand, head lowered.
Alam passed rows of students slumped at empty tables. Their trays were bare, their stomachs growling audibly. Some lay their faces against the wood, eyes hollow. The mood was heavy, despair clinging to the air like smoke.
"Where's all the food?" Alam muttered.
A student nearby looked at him nervously. "What are you doing?"
"Having dinner. Why isn't everyone else eating?"
"First day?" the student asked.
"Yeah," Alam replied.
"Look, bro, you can't just sit here and eat," the student warned.
"Why not?" Alam asked.
"You'll get us in trouble."
"In trouble with who?" Alam pressed.
"Hey!" a familiar voice barked.
"I'm outta here," the student said, bolting.
"I'm talking to you, noob!" The voice belonged to Ledga.
"Come with me, and bring your food," Ledga ordered.
"What? Why?!" Alam questioned.
"Do it now unless you want me to get Fitz!" Ledga snapped.
Alam lowered his head, picked up his tray, and followed. As they passed the line of waiting students, whispers hissed:
"Dead man walking," one student said
"How come he gets to cut the line?!" another asked.
The backroom smelled of grease and sweat. At its center, Fitz sat in a tall chair like a king on a throne, a tray laid before him. Echo loomed behind him, arms crossed like a royal guard.
A student knelt, forehead pressed to the floor. "I offer tribute to the pit," he said.
Echo collected the tray and handed it to Fitz. Fitz's jaw unhinged like a snake. He shoveled the food into his mouth, swallowing it all in one grotesque gulp.
"Rakshasa (Demon)…" Alam whispered as he watched on in horror.
"Tribute has been paid," Ledga announced, scribbling in his journal.
"Why'd you bring Clubbie here, Ledga?" Fitz asked.
"Caught this noob trying to skip tribute," Ledga replied.
"Is that true, Clubbie? Were you gonna be a greedy little piggy, and not give me my tribute?" Fitz stormed toward him.
Ledga snatched the tray from Alam's hands just before Fitz shoved him, sending him sprawling.
"I always get my tribute, Clubbie!" Fitz roared.
His stomach growled, a deep, monstrous sound that echoed through the room. Alam stared in disbelief. "But you just ate," he muttered.
"I'm ALWAYS hungry, Clubbie," Fitz growled. "You need to be punished for trying to skip tribute. Should I eat you next?"
"Don't do it, boss," Echo said. "That nasty foot of his will leave a bad taste in your mouth."
"You're right," Fitz sneered. He seized Alam's tray from Ledga and swallowed everything — tray included.
"You need to be taught a lesson, Clubbie. For the next week, you'll pay twice the tribute!"
"Yeah, twice the tribute," Echo echoed.
"Twice the tribute, got it, boss," Ledga said, jotting it down.
"W‑What? How am I supposed to get twice the food?" Alam stammered.
"Figure it out, Clubbie!" Fitz snarled, before hurling him out of the room.
Alam stumbled back to the dining hall, head lowered, stomach growling.
He shuffled back to the food station. "C‑can I get some more food?" he asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.
"Sorry, bud," one of the boys said.
"One tray per student," another added.
"I tried to warn you," the girl muttered.
"How can he just get away with that?" Alam asked.
The staff ignored him.
"So no one is gonna do anything?"
"There's nothing that can be done…" one boy said grimly.
Alam shuffled toward the exit, stomach twisting in pain.
"Hey, Alam!" Ewan called.
"Why won't you leave me alone?!" Alam snapped.
"Yo, chill bruv. I got some extra grub if you're hungry," Ewan said, holding it out.
"I don't need anything from you," Alam muttered. His stomach growled again. He eyed the food in Ewan's hands, then snatched it, chomping down like a dog that hadn't eaten in days.
"This doesn't mean I forgive you," Alam said, wiping his mouth before walking out.
"I'm making progress, bruv," Ewan whispered with a faint smile.