I wonder where I will run when I have a family to run to. Will I run to them or from them, if not to protect them?
Chains slid from his thin wrists, so Brost tied a rope instead. The boy said no words; he only mumbled to himself silently.
"Amy, Paul, Garrison, Leena, Mikey, Lee, Julia, Leo, Richie, Aaron, Cassie-"
A tug of the rope showed a tight restraint on the boy's movements. He stood stationed between Brost and Hully, led by the knight's tugging.
A long silence filled the hall before the three walked out. Steps filled the air, breaking the awkward curse. Each person seemed lost in thought, as no one said goodbye.
The boy broke the silence after walking for a while.
"What's going to happen to me?"
"..."
"You will probably die," Brost replied.
"...How do I not?"
"..."
"Pray," Hully said.
The boy looked up to find himself standing outside a large colosseum. The doors were as large as orcs and sturdy, too. Rats wouldn't be welcome.
Brost gave one final pull to throw the boy in front of him. He stumbled and stood, walking slowly to the entrance before a small peephole slid open to his right.
"Reason for entry?"
He looked around to Brost and Hully for answers. Finally, one of them spoke.
"He's a fugitive," Hully said, "Charged with petty thievery, lying to the church, and thievery of royal goods. We're just here to turn him in on behalf of our orders. I'm sure you can get the rest sorted out."
"Yeah, he's been sentenced to fight on the front lines," Brost continued.
"What 'e steal?"
"A, uh, a captain's coat."
"..."
Oh, that's what Deaconess Stewart meant.
Through the peephole, the man's eyes shot down as sounds of shuffling paper confirmed the two knights' story.
A long silence was interrupted by the abrupt closing of the peephole. Locks churned and clicked behind the doors before a deep growl rumbled. The metal that outlined the wooden doors scraped the rocky ground as it opened.
The sound seemed to alert those within. As they looked in, those inside met them with agitated stares. Yet, something seemed off about what they were looking at.
They aren't looking at us.
The boy tracked their gazes.
The door?
"Sorry, kid, but this is where our kindness ends. Take Hully's advice and, uh, try your best."
Maybe he's not so bad…
Brost pushed him forward a little bit as the boy stumbled in past the entrance. As he looked back, Brost and Hully had already begun their journey back to the capital.
"Prostitutes?" Brost asked.
"Prostitutes," Hully replied.
Never mind, they are trash.
The boy turned back to the door. Instinctively, he tried his best to hold his head high. Most of the fighters' eyes were on him. He knew this was how it would be. Those without training don't last here, much less a kid. All he could do was pray he had time to train before being sent out to fight.
A knight in chainmail watched from afar; he seemed agitated as he turned his head away. Someone passed the boy from behind.
He was the one on the door. He's short.
Some of the men had weird-looking markings on their bodies, but mostly scars.
The largest man in the arena ignored the boy and kept bashing his opponents, much like most of the others who were training.
Another man called out.
"New kid, come here!"
His voice rang from across the training field as he walked into a small room tucked in the corner. As he began to walk toward the man who had called to him, he noticed that most of the open arena was flat ground, training dummies, rock circles, broken wooden swords, and, really, any weapons to fight with.
The strange, circular rock formations caught his attention.
Maybe it's a game?
As he approached the room, he entered its shade, shielding himself from any moonlight that had been touching him before, but the glow of torches lining the wall kept him visible. The boy cranked his neck back as he looked up at the man's face.
Tall.
"Eh, well, alright then. You're unique, but I guess that's what we get when we enter war, huh?" The man smiled at his joke, but dropped it quickly after seeing the expressionless boy's face.
"Not one for jokes," he whispered as he gathered his things.
A pen and quill accompanied a long piece of paper as the man sat down on an old wooden stool. It rocked due to the uneven ground, and the man couldn't quite find his balance. This rocking back and forth went on for a while.
Now on his knees, the man began writing:
Name:
Age:
Height:
Weapon:
Family:
Notes:
"Okay, lad, let's make this simple so I can show you to your place," the man said.
"Name?"
"..."
"Alright then," the man fiddled with the pen, "...my name's Jackson."
He looked up with a warm smile.
"..."
"Look, kid, we need-"
"I don't really have a name," the boy replied.
"No name, huh?"
The boy said nothing.
"Want me to make one for you?"
"That's fine."
"No, that- that's not how it works."
"I need to know who you're related to. This paper is an official government document."
"What if I'm not related to anyone?"
"So you're an orphan?"
The boy nodded his head.
The man sighed and mumbled to himself, "I guess we have our ways of finding out your name."
The man scribbled something down and continued.
"Age?"
After completing the entire document, Jackson filed it with the higher-ups and escorted the boy to his room. A three-digit number was carved into a wooden plank that hung by his door.
"Alright, 316, this is your new home."
Jackson had led him into a small room with no windows. A straw pallet rested in the back corner, and a small wooden bucket in the other.
"We don't really have any restrictions on what you can keep in here, but you're only allowed to bring back things from missions, monster hunts, and yeah."
"Oh! And no leaving the partifold unless you're told so."
The place we're at?
The man turned to leave after saying good luck.
"S- Sir Jackson!"
The man turned his head, surprised to hear the boy call to him first.
"How-"
"..."
"How do I live?"
Jackson wanted to laugh at such a comment, but the seriousness of the boy's face made his fall cold. There didn't seem to be a correct answer to the question, but Jackson's mind seemed to give the best one he could.
"Staying alive isn't always winning fights; it's only fighting when you always win. Pick your battles, kid."
With that, Jackson made his way back down.
...only fighting when you always win.
The boy kicked a rock and scoffed.
Easy to say when you're bigger and taller than everyone.
The boy rested his back on the straw. Not knowing what tomorrow would bring scared him. He thought about his brothers and sisters. Visions of the war filled his mind. For the first time, he felt alone; he felt secluded, and he felt like he could cry.
So he did.
His eyes opened slowly to see sunlight coming through the bars on the door window. A small square that opened perfectly to the morning sun. He stretched before getting up and turned to the small patch of straw.
Not too bad.
Swords and shields clashed below. He pushed open his door to view the fighting. Each room on the second to fourth floor could look down from its overhang to the training grounds below.
As his door scraped open, the screech sent all the training below to a halt. All the eyes from down below began to look at him.
Why- uh, what did I do? Am I in trouble? Some look like they're laughing, maybe it's okay-
"316!" shouted a guard from below.
The sudden shout made him jump. A wave of snickers washed through the crowd. A turn of the guard's head silenced them all.
"You're late," he shouted, "we begin before sunrise."
"Do you see that?"
He turned and pointed at the sun.
"..."
The guard sighed and looked down, dropping his hand in the process. His yell turned to a loud conversation.
"You're supposed to reply, boy."
"Oh! Ah- uh, yes, sir, I see... the sun?"
Another wave of laughs, this time quieter.
"..."
The man looked around before looking back at the boy.
"Fifty laps around the arena, understand?"
"Yes, sir!"
Now looking at the scale of the partifold, the task was starting to seem impossible.
Did… he say fifty?
Just before the grips on every weapon tightened, before training resumed, and just before turning away, the guard flinched at the boy's voice.
"Uh... inside or-"
The guard clicked his tongue and shouted as he turned away.
"Inside!"
The boy fell to his knees. The sun was about to set, yet he hadn't completed more than fifteen laps.
What if they kill me?
His thoughts dragged him back to his feet. He began his jog, but as he lifted his head, he bumped into something that sent him back to the ground.
He looked up to see a man standing in his path. The words "sorry" formed on his lips, but he was too tired to make a sound.
"Don't waste your breath, kid."
He continued, "I'm only here to get you. It's almost time for Rings."
His thumb pointed towards the circle of rocks on the ground.
Oh… the game.
The man turned back with a half-crooked smile.
"Sorry, kid, you might actually die tonight."