The days bled together.
Ashes. Scrubbing. Chains.
Asha no longer cried. Her tears had dried with her innocence. She moved like a ghost among the other slaves, silent, bloodied, unnoticed. Her hands, once soft and small, were now cracked and raw from scrubbing stone floors slick with filth.
She wore rags. Her long hair had been hacked off to a jagged mess. Her skin stank of sweat and ash.
And her eyes… her eyes were wrong.
They used to be wide and curious, sky-bright. Now, they burned. Hatred lived behind them like coals under ice.
She didn't know the name of the Varn outpost where they'd taken her, some northern fortress turned slave depot. It didn't matter. All she remembered was Virehold burning, and her mother's blood spilling onto polished stone. Her father's death rattle. Halric's screams. Lina's...
Asha clenched her fists until her nails cut her palms.
One day.
One day, she would slit every Varn throat. She would drive hot irons into their eyes. She would gut them and feed their tongues to crows. And she would smile while doing it.
There was one man who watched her.
A tall slave guard with a scar over his brow, arms like tree trunks, and a gaze that never seemed to move from her.
Dagon.
He never spoke. Never struck her. Just... watched. Day after day. His eyes followed her as she scrubbed blood from boots, emptied chamber pots, carried buckets of slop too heavy for her small arms. She hated him, too. She hated them all.
But she noticed things. His uniform was cleaner. His movements sharper. The other guards listened to him. He wasn't like them. He was something else.
And somehow, that made her hate him even more.
That night, the door to her cell creaked open.
Asha sat huddled on a pile of straw, too exhausted to move. Her eyes flicked up and immediately knew something was wrong.
Three guards entered.
Drunk. Laughing.
Her stomach turned to ice.
"Well, well," one sneered, kicking the straw aside. "The little rat's grown quiet."
Another knelt in front of her, grabbing her chin roughly. "You got noble blood in you, girl? Hmm? Pretty enough under the grime."
Asha didn't blink.
"I'll cut your tongue out," she said softly.
They laughed. One drew a dagger, not to use, just to scare her. "You'll scream. They all do."
The first man shoved her down. Her breath caught. Panic surged... sharp, white-hot, shattering her hateful calm.
She kicked. Bit. Tried to fight. But she was six. Just six.
"Stop squirming," one growled, fumbling with her tunic. "We're just gettin' started..."
And then her rage cracked like glass.
Terror flooded in.
Her limbs froze. Her throat clenched. The red-hot hate she'd clung to... gone. She was just a little girl again, trembling under the weight of monsters.
"No... no please... !" she gasped.
Her eyes locked on the ceiling. She couldn't scream. Couldn't breathe.
Where was her fire now?
Where was her father? Her mother?
She was alone.
A boot slammed into her ribs.
Asha cried out, folding over, breathless. One of the guards laughed and grabbed a fistful of her tunic.
Then...
CRACK.
The man's skull folded inwards like a broken egg. Blood sprayed the wall.
The other two barely had time to react.
THUMP. A dagger punched through the second man's throat, hand-thrown with surgical precision. He fell to his knees, eyes wide, gurgling.
The last guard reached for his sword,
Too slow.
Dagon was on him like a shadow with weight. His elbow shattered the man's jaw, and then he crushed his windpipe beneath a brutal bootstep. Silence fell.
Asha lay frozen on the straw. Her whole body trembled. Her tunic was half torn, her lip bleeding. Her breath came in short gasps, but her eyes never left Dagon.
He turned toward her, his chest rising and falling with measured calm.
Blood covered his knuckles.
He crouched in front of her, not too close. His gaze met hers, flat, unreadable, until something strange passed over his face.
A small, quiet smile.
Not mocking. Not cruel.
Sincere.
"Hey, kid," he said, voice low and hoarse.
"If you don't want to die... don't lose your hatred."
Something in her chest lit up again. A glowing coal under ash.
Asha's hand darted out. She grabbed the dead guard's fallen dagger and lunged for Dagon's throat with a scream.
He moved like smoke.
In a flash, his hand caught her wrist, twisted, and the blade fell from her fingers. He kicked it away but he didn't strike her. Didn't yell.
He just watched her.
Her chest heaved. Her eyes still blazed. Tears, rage, defiance, all tangled in a knot of something pure and poisonous.
And Dagon grinned.
"Good," he muttered. "You were trying to kill me."
He stood and stepped back, as if satisfied.
"That fire in you? Most girls break. You didn't. That means you've got a choice now, Asha Valemere."
Her breath caught. He knew her name.
"You can stay here and be another broken whore. Or..."
"You become the first woman in history to survive the pits and rise as a knight."
She stared at him, silent.
"You'll need to train. Learn to fight. Kill. Win."
"You'll have to lie, pretend to be a boy. Gladiator schools don't take girls."
She sat up slowly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
He continued, pacing slightly, as if laying out a warplan.
"It won't be easy. It'll hurt worse than anything you've felt so far. And if anyone finds out what you are..."
"They'll hang you from your ankles and feed your body to the dogs."
He stopped and looked back at her.
"Do you trust me?"
Asha stared. Her jaw clenched.
"No."
Dagon laughed. Not cruelly, almost proudly.
"Smart answer."
He knelt beside her again. This time he pulled a small blade from his belt, not to kill, but to slice her hair.
Short, rough cuts. Sharp and fast. In seconds, the girl was gone. A ragged-haired, dirt-smeared child soldier sat in her place.
He offered her a hand.
"Name's Dagon. My brother owns the best pit school in Merosia."
"His name's Kael. Tell him I said you're worth betting on."
She didn't take his hand at first.
But she stood.
And walked.
They left the blood-stained cell behind.
Outside, night cloaked the world in darkness. A lone carriage waited by the gates, the horses already bridled.
Dagon opened the door, gestured for her to get in.
"This is the last time anyone will call you girl, Asha," he said. "From now on, you're just another runt looking for glory in the sand."
She didn't answer.
She climbed into the carriage. And didn't look back.