The Fall of the Thirteen

Chapter 4 - Schrodinger's Cat

*October 8th one year ago | Location: Ackro, Circle of the Sand*

WHOOSH!

A sword flew passed my head, missing me by just a few millimetres. The ground beneath me shook as the people in the stands stomped their feet and cheered in excitement. The person who threw the sword screamed as he prepared for another strike, this time opting to come at me himself; his dagger was raised above his head ready to take my life. I dodged his attack and used his momentum to push him to the ground. He was back on his feet in no time. He slashed at me wildly and I barely escaped his advances. What I saw in his eyes was what I imagined would be the same thing I would see in the eyes of a shark that's just tasted blood. This man was in a state of frenzy, and just like a shark, he, too, was out for blood – mine.

The crowd was in the same state as they continued to chant. My opponent slashed at me again and this time, I was too slow to evade the attack. The dagger missed my left eye but managed to open a long gash down the entire length of my left cheek. The crowd roared.

His confidence renewed; he raised his dagger to finish me off. Doing so left him wide open. I swept his legs from under him and twisted the dagger out of his hands. My right hand balled into a fist and landed several hits on his face until the presence of his blood on my knuckles shook me out of my trance. He was barely breathing, and his face was almost unrecognisable by the time I stopped.

"End it!" A voice I recognised almost instantly, shouted. But, as I raised the dagger above my head and I thought about how I controlled my opponent's fate as they danced on the line between life and death, I couldn't find the strength to finish off what I started – to finish what I came here to do.

Instead, I delivered a blow which knocked him out instantly. I threw the dagger as far as I could and looked in the direction where the voice had come from. "No!" I spat. "If you want him dead, do it yourself."

The crowd booed as my actions brought an end to their frenzy.

The person nodded their head and my knees buckled from under me. Two guards had come from behind, knocked me off my feet and rendered me unconscious. The last thing I remembered seeing was a guard looming over the person I defeated mere seconds ago, his sword aimed at my opponent's chest. With one move, he did what I couldn't.

*****

I awoke to the sound of chains rattling; my head was pounding like someone had just used it for drum practice. "Leave us," the voice from the arena said.

"Yes, your Highness."

"Why am I in here?" I asked, rubbing my temples.

"You're in there because I am your King and you disobeyed direct orders from your King," the King tutted.

"I did as you asked. I fought in that stupid fight."

"Though what you say is true, the fact remains that you failed to kill your opponent, which of course was the primary objective of the fight. You know how that arena works, boy. Two go in and only one comes out alive."

As my vision started to clear, I saw my hands and feet bound in chains that were firmly attached to the ground.

The King continued. "That arena allows those who committed a crime to fight for their lives against an executioner who are far more superior in combat to prove they are worthy of a second chance. Though you have not committed any crimes, you went in there because we had a deal. You go in and fight for me – for your Circle – and I keep your idiot of a friend, who can barely stand on their feet, out. If you want to walk away, fine. But if you stay and don't complete your end of the deal, then you and I are going to find out how long that thief can survive in the arena."

"Don't you dare hurt h-"

"Disobey me again and I won't have a choice. Your friend's blood will be on your hands. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I gritted. "Let me out."

"No. In there, you won't be much of a problem. You'll be let out whenever you're needed." He knelt outside of my cell, allowing us to be at eye-level of each other. "Every time you enter that arena, you fight to win; you fight to kill. Is that clear, boy?"

I nodded, reluctantly.

"Good. That symbol on your arm means you are a part of the Sand. Start acting like it."

With that, the King left. I rubbed the part of my forearm where our Circle's mark took its rightful place two years ago - the day of my eighteenth birthday. They say that we should wear the mark with pride, show the world that we are proud to be a part of this Circle. It's not like that for me. It used to be. Right now, it weighed heavily on my arm, serving as a constant reminder of what I must do to save a friend: kill or be killed.

*****

*December 11th of the present year*

The door to my cell swung open, waking me from my slumber. The guard, who I've decided to call Jerry, released me from my chains and gestured for me to follow him. Jerry was not a guard of many words. "You know you're not forbidden to say my name," I called after him. He remained silent. I tried again. "It's not that hard of a name. Eh-lah-yus. Elias." No luck.

Suddenly, Jerry took a different turn to what I had gotten used to this previous year. "This isn't the way to the arena," I said.

"We're not going to the arena," Jerry replied in his monotone voice.

"Then where are we going?"

"The King demands your presence. He's sending you out of the Kingdom for a mission."

Oh, I thought. That's new. For a year, my life has constantly been trips from my cell to the arena to fight. Though Jerry provided some form of the more normal human interactions when he accompanied me from my cell to the arena, I would be lying if I said I wasn't excited for this break in routine, for a chance to talk to someone else rather than the guard who rarely spoke more than two sentences.

"Where am I going?"

Jerry opened the door to the heart of the castle – the King's throne room – before giving me a long hard look as if he were saying goodbye. "Arem City, the Circle of the Sky."