Lucian was lying on something cold and hard. Metal bars surrounded him on all sides, but they gleamed faintly, golden, catching light from nowhere.
He sat up slowly. His hands were wet. He looked down.
The floor was covered in a thin layer of dark liquid. He thought it was water at first. Then the smell hit him. Iron. Thick and warm.
Blood.
It pooled around his knees, slowly rising. He tried to stand but his legs wouldn't cooperate.
Then he saw them.
Far away in the darkness, past the bars. A pair of eyes. No face. No body. Just a pair of massive eyes, staring directly at him.
They didn't blink.
Every nerve in his body screamed at him to move. Not fear. Something deeper. The same instinct that tells you to pull your hand from a fire before you even feel the burn.
The eyes grew larger. Closer.
Something grabbed his ankles from beneath the blood. Cold. Strong. He clawed at the bars, but his fingers slipped on the metal. The blood rose past his waist, his chest, his neck. He thrashed, kicked, tried to scream, but the liquid filled his mouth and dragged him under.
He woke up gasping on the filthy floor of the shed. He had no idea how long he'd been out.
After what he did, he thought he was going to die, but they threw him into a stable-like shed at the edge of the arena. The place stank of hay and rot, the sour smell stinging his nose. The only light came from a faint stone lamp on the wall. He lay on the filthy floor, too sore to care, blood drying on his skin and sweat soaking his shirt.
He glanced at his hand. After killing another human, he felt nothing. Nothing at all. It was different from before.
Even the pain in his side didn't hurt as much as he expected. He poked at his left arm. It was probably cracked, but he didn't feel much. His fingers could still move, but the whole arm felt weak and useless. He checked his ribs, counted the bruises, and pressed where it might be broken.
"So weird," he muttered.
Someone shoved a small cloth bundle through the door. Inside, he found a bitter-smelling pill and a strip of rough linen. He swallowed the pill without thinking, then used the cloth to wrap his wounds. His hands fumbled, but the bleeding slowed. Soon after, a wooden bowl slid in. He ate without tasting it, just trying to fill his stomach.
When he had enough strength, he glanced up and spotted a tiny window near the roof, just big enough for him to squeeze through. He stacked old boards and bales of straw, careful not to slip, and tried to reach it. His fingers brushed the edge of the window. Suddenly, a shadow blocked the light outside.
A head popped through. He lost his grip and crashed into the hay.
"What!" he started, but a familiar voice cut him off.
"Lucian!" Lizzy called, squeezing through the window. "I knew you'd be here!" She wiggled, almost got stuck, then tumbled in and landed beside him in a heap.
He sat up, groaning. "How did you know where I was?"
She brushed herself off and grinned. "Master told me." Then she lunged forward and hugged him tight, pressing her nose to his shoulder. "Also... I can smell you."
"Are you a dog now?" he mumbled, half smiling.
Lizzy snorted and dug through her little bag. "Here," she said, pulling out a handful of leaves, a tin of ointment, and a chunk of bread. "For you."
He eyed her. "Did you steal these?"
She hesitated. "I stole. Borrowed. I borrowed them from Master."
"Master?"
She nodded. "Yeah. She's a... well, a herbalist."
He took the ointment and smeared it on his worst cut, wincing at the sting. "What happened to you?"
Lizzy shrugged, picking hay from her hair. "Uh... they dragged us to that scary woman. She put a weird stone on my neck. After that, I can't remember anything."
"What? Did you become awakened? What class?" He stared at her, surprised.
Lizzy frowned, still looking lost. "Class? I... I don't know. Sorry."
"It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "We'll figure it out later."
Suddenly, the door crashed open, splinters flying across the straw. A very young man barged into the shed, sharp-eyed and wearing a stylish coat with a chain at his belt. He looked them up and down, smirked, and kicked the broken door aside like he owned the place.
"Well, well. What do we have here? A couple?" he sneered, his gaze landing on Lucian and Lizzy.
. . .
Lucian stood ready to fight while Lizzy hid behind him.
"Relax, kid. I'm not here to fight you."
Another big man entered, carrying a battered wooden chair. He set it down with a dull thud. The sharp-eyed man sat, sprawling across the seat, while the other stood behind him, arms crossed.
"Name's Killian. You?" he asked.
"Lucy," Lucian answered, his voice wavering.
He chuckled, a low rumble. "Lucy, I want you."
Lucian frowned, confused. "What are you talking about?"
"Your fight was impressive. Killing some lowlifes in there was crazy," Killian said. "Besides, you're a Blessed."
"Blessed?" Lucian echoed.
Killian leaned forward. "Yes. I can see, or rather, smell your faint aura in your eyes."
Lucian kept his voice steady. "I don't know you."
Killian leaned back, making the old chair creak. "Fair enough. How about I answer three questions as a reward for the show you put on?" His grin widened.
Lucian nodded quickly, barely waiting. "Where are we?"
Killian glanced at him, amused. "This place is called Crossroad. It's an island near the eastern continent. Most Westerners don't even know this place exists. Once you're here, there's no easy way out."
"What? The Da-dark Continent?" Lizzy stammered, terrified. Her hand clung to Lucian's sleeve, knuckles white.
"Impossible," Lucian said, shaking his head.
The Dark Continent was supposed to be a myth, a scary story for kids in Valeria. Full of horrors and mysteries left by the old gods. He never thought it could be real.
The big man handed a slip of paper to Killian. Killian glanced at it and spoke. "Fourteen days ago, you were shipped here by one of the Desire Lunatic factions. They probably had someone with a Wanderer class or something similar."
Lizzy's hand shook at his side. "W-we need to leave, Luci."
Lucian caught her arm and squeezed gently. "How do we get out?"
Killian's grin turned cold. "You don't. You're a slave, remember." He pointed to the collar around Lucian's neck. "Work for me, and maybe someday you earn your freedom."
Lucian forced himself to ask one final question. "What is Blessed?"
Killian sat back, folding his arms. "A Blessed is someone favored by a god since birth. They don't go through stages like other classes and don't have a core. Instead, they carry a fragment of the god's power, letting them wield the abilities of the classes they're tied to."
He studied Lucian, eyes lingering on the red light in his. "You're from Valeria, aren't you? Only a Warrior Blessed has an aura like that. It's not often you see it here."
He tilted his head. "Are you an illegitimate child?"
"How dare you," Lizzy started, but Lucian held up a hand.
He met Killian's gaze. "Yes. I grew up in an orphanage."
Killian sniffed, nodding slowly. "I knew it. I can smell that you belong here."
He looked at Lucian, waiting. "I answered your three questions. So, what's your answer?"
"I refuse," Lucian said.
Killian shrugged. "Well, up to you." Then he raised one finger, a grin spreading across his face. "One more game. Last chance."
"What if I still refuse?" Lucian asked.
Killian chuckled. "You won't."
He stood up, the big man following him. Then he paused at the door.
"Oh, and don't think about escaping. That collar isn't just for show."
He left, the door still lying in the straw where he'd kicked it aside. Lucian looked at the open doorway. His feet wanted to move. Every part of him wanted to run through it and not stop. But Killian's warning sat heavy, and the collar pressed cold against his neck.
He stayed where he was.
. . .
"What do we do now, Lucian?" Lizzy asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"I don't know. We need information," he said, staring at the dirt floor.
He looked at her. "What about your master? Who is she?"
"I-I'm not sure. She said I'd become her apprentice, but I never even learned her name," Lizzy said. She looked down, twisting the edge of her sleeve.
They sat in silence, listening to shouts and cheers echoing from the arena outside.
Lizzy helped him make a rough cast for his broken arm, using a stick, dried leaves, and some strips of cloth. Her hands worked quietly, focused, then she started rubbing ointment on his back, giggling and turning red.
"What's so funny?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
She shook her head, grinning. "Ah, nothing... I just thought of something."
After she finished patching him up, they sat together a little longer. Lizzy stood, brushing straw from her skirt.
"I should go. My master will get mad if I'm gone too long."
Lucian watched Lizzy slip out, careful as she squeezed through the window and dropped down on the other side.
After she left, he stretched out onto the floor and stared up at the ceiling. The word "Blessed" stuck in his head. He held up his hand and tried to copy what Roswell used to do back at the manor, but nothing happened. He pressed his fingers to the collar, half-expecting something to happen, maybe some sign of aura.
"Blessed, my ass," he muttered.
Killian said one more fight. What if he agreed? Would it change anything, or would he just end up like everyone else here?
He stripped off the cloth from his right wrist. The mark looked stranger than before, a pupil-less eye, three twisted horns on top, and three bony fingers curled underneath. He turned his wrist, expecting it to glow or sting or move.
Of course, nothing happened.
"What is this supposed to be..." he whispered, tracing the mark. Was it a brand? A curse? Something else?
His mind drifted. He wondered what his family was doing right now. Were they worried? Was Belle even alright? He pictured her trying to still act tough, after she was almost kidnapped. But mostly, he worried about his mother. He hoped she wasn't blaming herself or losing sleep.
"I miss her voice," he muttered. "And her cooking, too."