The Arena

Battle royale

Morning came quicker than expected. In fact, to Alera it seemed she had closed her eyes for merely a second, before the cruel light washed the dungeon floor, coming from the small window. She felt her throat dry and her heart was beating faster than usual. As her eyes fell on her palm, she realised that either her or Asendriel broke the fragile bond their hands had made throughout the night.

Their arms were just inches away from each other, but a feeling of deep loneliness engulfed her, sending shivers down her spine. Even the light seemed cold and her cell, damper than usual. Everything around her exhaled an ominous air, making her heart beat faster with every minute.

The familiar metallic sound announced the guards’ presence and shortly after, the dungeon doors were opened, letting in several guards. Each cell was unlocked, one at a time and the prisoners aligned themselves in a straight line. Around six guards remained behind, making their way towards them, in an alert manner.

They seemed to take forever to reach them, each step banging louder and louder inside Alera’s head. As they reached the last two cells, one of the guards snickered at them, while turning the rusty key in the lock.

‘It would seem you three will receive some special treatment today.’

But they never gave other details. No one told them anything, but they knew what this meant. Four weapons stared at them silently as each started to change: two daggers and two long swords. Alera recognised the sword Asendriel had to use the day before, barring its jagged teeth at her, from the corner, where it was sitting quietly. Next to it, there was another sword with a similar aspect.

To her, both weapons looked  like they were created with the single scope of inflicting as many wounds as possible, slowly driving their victim to a painful death, by blood loss. In contrast, her own daggers were slim, with no additional edges, ready to grant a fast death, if the wielder wished it.

All three finished changing and as they grabbed their weapons, she sneaked a peak at Tellor. She imagined their war experience must have put them in many situations where death was inevitable. To her, a war was like Death’s playground, a place where nothing else mattered and where the lives of men were nothing more than small blades of grass that were being torn from the ground when their time came. From what she could tell, like her, Asendriel was familiar with death and, as heartless as it may sound, he didn’t hesitate to kill, if the situation demanded it. But Tellor was different and she couldn’t understand why. He had a bleak look on his face as he lifted his weapon, as if dreading all the lives he would take. She remembered him speaking fondly about his weapon the other day, so what was so different about this sword? Why was he so remorseful?

The guards locked the door behind them and the three blood elves entered the cage facing the arena. No words were spoken between them, as they proceeded walking towards the cage bars. Alera could see the day sky and it only added to the general bad feeling that was piling inside her heart.

The Badlands were usually extremely sunny and hot, but today the sky was covered with heavy gray clouds, hanging menacing above the arena, as if whatever god lived up there refused to be an accomplice to the battle that had to follow. The gloomy sky contrasted powerfully with the crowd that was present in the tribune. She could hear them cheering from the other room, eager for blood shed.

‘Don’t die!’ she whispered in a low voice, looking straight in front of her.

‘Same to you.’ added Tellor.

‘My friends!’ came Baruing’s voice booming above them. ‘I have prepared an amazing battle for you today!’

Alera gripped her weapons hard, the sensation of cold metal against her hands was soothing and calming.