The journey ended not with a joyful cry of "Land!", but with a brutal kick and the clanking of chains.
When the hold's hatch was finally thrown open, it wasn't a fresh sea breeze that hit their noses, but scorching, dry air smelling of dust, spices, and sweat. Axis, whose eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom of the hold, squinted against the unbearably bright, white light. The sun of Solaris didn't warm - it tried to incinerate.
"Move it, fresh meat!" the overseer barked, herding them toward the gangplank.
Axis stumbled; his legs, unaccustomed to solid ground, gave way, but Raksha's strong hand caught him by the scruff of his rags.
"Steady," she grunted. "Fall, and you'll get trampled."
They stepped onto the pier. Solaris greeted them with the roar of a port city. Humans, dwarves, and lizardmen scurried all around-a motley crowd busy with trade and survival. The buildings here were constructed of yellow sandstone, with flat roofs to offer respite from the heat. But Axis and Raksha, like the rest of the surviving captives, were not led to the market. A covered cage-wagon awaited them, harnessed to two massive draft lizards.
As they were being transferred, a man in rich but strangely cut clothing approached the wagon-the arena master. He inspected the "merchandise" with a look of disgust, poking at the slaves with his cane.
"Orc... Nice one. Big, mean. The crowd loves it when the women fight like beasts," he nodded toward Raksha, who answered him with a heavy, unblinking glare. "And what is this mistake of nature?"
The cane pressed against Axis's chest. The arena master grimaced.
"A half-elf? He's skinny as a skeleton. He'll die in the first qualifier. Captain, what have you brought me?"
"Don't be so sure," spat the captain of the Pandora, recounting his gold coins. "Tenacious little bastard. Survived a month in the hold right next to the magic suppressors and didn't even cough. He's got a... bad look in his eyes."
The arena master squinted and leaned in closer to Axis's face. His attention was drawn to the strange symbol on the boy's forehead-a complex geometric figure resembling intersecting arrows or coordinate axes, which had appeared after his reincarnation.
"And what is this?" He tapped Axis's forehead with the tip of his cane. "Some cultist mark? Or a brand of shame?"
"No idea," the captain shrugged. "He had it when we caught him. We haven't seen any magic from him. Maybe he's mute, or maybe just a dud. Elves sometimes throw their kids out if they're born without the Gift."
Axis remained silent. He could feel the pressure on his mind lifting with every meter they put between themselves and the ship with its crates of elven artifacts. The vectors were returning. He could sense the movement of the wind, the flight trajectory of a fly, the weight of the cane pressing against his chest. If he wanted to, he could change the vector of the blood flow in this fat man's neck right now, killing him instantly. But there were guards with crossbows all around. Not yet.
"Fine, I'll take him as a throw-in with the orc," the master waved his hand. "The Coliseum always needs meat to warm up the beasts. And that pattern on his forehead... we'll invent a backstory. Say he's a cursed prince or something. The crowd loves a fairy tale before they see the guts."
They were shoved into the wagon. The barred door slammed shut, cutting off any retreat.
The journey to the Coliseum took about an hour. The city of Solaris was immense, but the closer they got to the center, the more monumental the architecture became. And then, finally, it came into view.
The Coliseum. A gigantic structure of red stone and steel, resembling the gaping maw of a monster. Its walls were studded with spikes, and from within came the roar of the crowd-like the sound of the surf, only far more cruel.
"Welcome home, Axis," Raksha grinned grimly, looking up at the high walls. "Your mind is going to be more useful to you here than your muscles."
The wagon rolled into a dark tunnel beneath the arena. The smell changed here-no longer sea and spices, but old blood, animal dung, and fear.
They were unloaded into a vast underground chamber-the "Pit," where new arrivals awaited assignment. The guards removed their shackles, but only to replace them with heavy, rune-etched collars.
"Magic?" Axis whispered, fingering the cold metal around his neck.
"Explosives," a passing old gladiator with a missing ear answered curtly. "Try to run or attack a guard, and it'll blow your head off."
No one here knew that Axis was capable of manipulating vectors. To them, he was just a strange boy with a tattoo. And that was his ace in the hole.