City of Shattered Chains

Despite being in view of the city, it still took a while before we finally made it down the mountain road snaking its way down the cliffs. It was enough time for Rosa to share a few more details.

Supposedly the mine of Zedia is one of the biggest on this side of the Empire. The people working there are all convicts from all over the land, brought to serve their sentences via hard labor. Hence Zedia’s title as the penal mine-city.

Just the thought of it makes me uneasy, but while Rosa also seems far from comfortable with the circumstances, she assures me that the convicts are supposed to be only petty criminals. According to her, to be given the choice to serve one’s sentence at Zedia is a privilege given only to criminals that may still be reformed; they clear their name with a few years of honest, if back-breaking labor, which does pay, apparently, and they come out at the end with a modest severance bonus to help them set their life straight.

I must admit, for a prison, that doesn’t sound all that bad.

“But then what are we being taken there for? Are we being passed off as criminals?”

Rosa does not offer an answer, only a resigned shrug. We both can only hope for the best.

Finally the cart seems to slide down to the bottom of the canyon. To either side of us extends a stone rampart, about three meters tall, that surrounds the city proper. Towers are set about its length at regular intervals, at the top of which I notice people keeping watch.

The road leads to the closest gateway, sealed with a mesh of metal bars. Our cage cart grinds to a stop just before it.

“I bring two for the pits,” says a voice I don’t recognize, male. Our driver? I still can’t see from this angle, as the driver’s seat is completely separated from our cage by a wooden wall.

I hear steps splashing on mud around us. Two persons step into view, one at either side of the cage, and study us as keenly as we study them back. One is a man with a rather grotesquely pox-scarred face, his cheeks hardened and crumpled, with a few tender red marks still remaining.

The second individual has what I can only plainly describe as the face of a brown-furred wolf, complete with an elongated snout bearing a long, bald groove where a cut has scarred, and two pointed, furry ears at the top of… his? her? …their head, though one has its tip chipped off.

Both of them are wearing a rather worn looking outfit, somewhat like a uniform, but the colors have faded from grime, and the details are obscured below patches of crude armor and leather. They’re also carrying long guns, though in a similar state of disrepair. The most notable thing about them is a piece of mustard yellow cloth tied around the guy’s head as a bandana and around the arm just over the elbow for the wolf.

The werewolf catches me staring a bit too long and growls, bearing sharp fangs. I quickly look away.

“Seems good,” the human guard finally says, waving his hand at the gate. “Straight to the pits, no funny business!”

I think the driver calls something back, but it’s drowned by the groan of the metal gate as it’s lifted open. The cart wastes no time hurrying through.

The first thing to greet us on the other side is the stench of sewage, absolutely revolting. The neighborhood closest to the wall is a mess of shoddily built concrete and stone buildings massed together, each malformed by the whims of its builder and obvious signs of wear. Doors and windows alike are closed only by curtains, if at all.

And then the people… they look worse for wear, only rags for clothes as they wander the muddy streets or idle in front of their homes, watching us go by with cold, hard stares. I notice others like the werewolf guard at the gate, others with animal traits, some mixed with human, some very keenly beast-like. A few I notice due to their stature, standing one full head or more taller than others around them, perhaps over two meters tall.

If I still held any lingering skepticism over the possibility of having travelled to another world, it is now fully discarded.

“Look at them…” I mumble, still struggling to believe it.

“Something is wrong,” adds Rosa. “Is Zedia really like this…?”

I glance at her. “What do you mean?”

“The city looks so worn down… something must have gone wrong.”

There’s no real answer I can suggest. From what she had described, a prison city where people worked diligently for a second chance, I also didn’t expect it to look quite this miserable.

The main road continues further and further into the city, leaving behind the shoddy neighbourhood at its edge and entering an area that seems marginally better. At least the people don’t seem as worn down, and the pitiable homes have been replaced by sturdier, bigger, more purposefully and uniformly built huts.

Nonetheless, it still unmistakably reminds me of a prison camp. It’s also curious how now most of the people we see also have some sort of noticeable yellow accessory like the guards at the gate.

Eventually we reach a broad, open plaza, at the center of which sits a pedestal holding up a pair of broken-off stone legs, the only remnants of the statue that once surely stood there. There is also the biggest building we’ve seen yet, an amalgam of huts linked together with masses of wood, stone and cement.

Our cart slides to a stop in front of the building before a ruined main entrance, nothing but a doorframe with a missing door and two holes blasted through the walls at either side of it. There’s a few armed, yellow-scarfed guards overseeing it.

I hear a tap on the wood towards the front of the cart as a hooded figure, our driver, jumps off the driver seat and walks over to the yellow-scarfed guards. They briefly exchange words, and soon enough the driver is back, holding two unchained shackles with a gold-grey vein running their circumference.

“We’re here,” he says as he unlocks the heavy padlock keeping the cage door shut. “Can the outworlder walk?” he asks looking at Rosa, who only nods in response. “Good.” He pulls himself up to the cage door, opens it and tosses the pair of shackles in. “Put these on around the neck, one for each of you.”

Rosa takes hers slowly, while I glare back at the man. “What if I don’t?”

The hooded driver reaches under his coat and pulls out a pistol.

“Alright, fair enough, fair enough,” I say, reluctantly picking up the other shackle. I follow Rosa’s example, opening up the wide metal ring and clicking it shut around my neck. It doesn’t bite into my skin too much as long as I don’t try and look down, but the weight and the chill of the metal will take some getting used to.

“Out,” the man commands, hopping off the cage opening.

I hurry to climb out first, offering my hand to Rosa to help her down as well. She barely steps on the muddy ground before our driver ushers us towards the big building’s entrance with a rude shove.

The guards standing around the entrance are distracted, chatting, laughing, playing cards, there’s even bottles scattered around their feet that most assuredly hold no mere juice. If only the brute with a pistol wasn’t right behind us, I’d consider making a break for it with Rosa.

The only guard paying attention is a woman sitting behind a bulky wooden counter set up right by the entrance. She has brown hair and dark flaps on the side of her head. Only when she turns to me and they raise slightly do I realize the flaps are actually her ears. Seems like another beast-like person, though her face is completely human, with just heavy eyebags under her tired-looking eyes.

“Two for the pits?” she asks as we approach.

“Only him,” says our escort, shoving me forward. “Put him with the Bewitched.”

I tumble towards the desk, shooting a glare at the rough man before turning to the lady. “Hey, sorry, but we need your help. There’s been a mistake here.”

The lady doesn’t look up, scribbling away at a ledger on the counter before her. “You see, we aren’t criminals,” I continue, “we’ve been kidnapped by a man named Celmund and-”

“I can see that,” interrupts the lady, reaching over the counter to grasp my chin and push my head aside, inspecting the area where Celmund’s spear struck. As she does so, she quickly leans over, her face reaching uncomfortably close to mine, and I hear her take a deep breath.

I jump back from her grasp with a startle, blushing, but she barely reacts, already sinking back into her seat. “Did he make these scars or was it the witch?”

“No idea,” the driver responds, pushing Rosa closer. The lady does the same to her, leaning over the counter to take an intrusive whiff.

“E-excuse me!” Rosa whimpers, squirming, meekly accepting the lady’s grip, and the rude beast-lady takes her sweet time with a couple more whiffs.

“Hey, look!” I try again insistently, taking a forceful step forward that earns me a forceful tug on my arm from the driver, but also gets the lady to slink back away from Rosa. “...look, the point is that I’m an outworlder. I shouldn’t be here!”

“Eeh,” coos the lady, unimpressed. “Sure you are, buddy. He got hit in the head a bit hard, huh? Poor bastard.” She shakes her head with a small, sardonic grin, scribbling a bit more into her ledger. I hear Rosa sigh with a mix of relief and disappointment.

“Anyway, he goes with the Bewitched,” she continues. “How about the girl?”

“A healer,” responds the driver.

“Got it. Hey!” The lady barks, gesturing forcefully to the lazying guards who quickly jump to their feet and approach. “Him with the Bewitched, her to the butcher shop!”

A couple of gruff guards reeking of alcohol seize me by my arms. “Hey wait!” I protest as they drag me away. “You can’t separate us! This wasn’t part of the deal!” But nobody except Rosa seems to listen.

She looks on, eyes sharp with worry, as another guard seizes her by the arm and pulls her away roughly. Still, she manages to call after me, “Please don’t worry! I’ll be fine!”

And so I helplessly watch as I am once again separated from my only support in this strange land.

I’m dragged through a long series of dusty, gloomy corridors that seem to ramp down. Gradually, the walls of the building give way to carved stone as the hallways become tunnels leading further and further underground, into what must certainly be the famed mine of Zedia. The air grows chilly, heavy and stale, while the sounds of clashing metal and cracking stone echo from further within, along with distant shouts.

Eventually we reach a thick, hardwood door with a single guard looking over it. “One more for the Bewitched,” announces one of the men dragging me, and the guard nods, sliding open the multiple metal latches holding the door.

“Would you hold for just one second?!” I demand. “I’d like to talk to the warden, the chief, anyone that’s in charge-!“

“Oh shut up!” the guard interrupts me, tossing me through the open doorway. I slam my toe on the raised doorframe and tumble to the ground, groaning from the pain radiating up my leg. “Try not to annoy your cellmates.”

“Assholes!” I yell back, but get cut off by the heavy thud of the hardwood door swinging shut.

In the brief time since arriving in this world I’ve been threatened, knocked out, kidnapped, manhandled, imprisoned, perhaps even cursed. Kim and my only other ally, Rosa, have been taken away to who knows where, and I might spend the next who knows how long getting worked to the bone in a mine.

If only I hadn’t left the pan unattended. If only I’d spoken up about what we needed to do so that Kim wouldn’t have tried pouring water into a grease fire. If only she’d done as I asked and left her necklace behind…

No, if only I’d thought to grab her bag before running out of the kitchen. I knew what that necklace meant to her.

There’s no benefit to blaming others. She made mistakes, yes, but it was nothing I couldn’t have made up for with sufficient precautions and foresight. It all came to this because I allowed it to.

But this… how could either of us have known it would all come to this? Is it even reasonable to look for what to blame for bringing us here? Or were we doomed to fall into this world as soon as we read that damn scroll?

Then again, if we hadn’t been transported when we were, then both of us might be dead right now. Two part-time college students burnt to a crisp in a dumb accidental fire that ran rampant in an old building nowhere near up to code. Talk about a wasteful end.

No matter how bad things are, at least we are still alive. Everything else is besides the point. None of that matters. The past is the past. There’s no blame, no fortune, nothing. There’s only the circumstances set before me in the present moment and what I know I must do.

My first priority should be to find my way out of this cell, then locate Rosa. If we get as far as escaping the penal city, then I could think of looking for Kim.

…but how to even begin? Break a hardwood door, breach iron bars, push through dozens of violent, armed guards, comb every corner of a mine I don’t even know the size of? Let alone escape the city afterwards.

Too much, it’s too much. Being alive is little comfort when I can’t even fathom how I’m supposed to deal with this situation. I claw at the dusty ground, mind rushing through endless could haves and might be’s, as my limbs shiver tensely and my chest heaves with ragged breaths.

Calm down. The first step should be to calm down.

“Deep breaths, deep breaths.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Slowly regain control of my senses.

“That’s it. You’re calming down now. Good.”

I never thought myself prone to panic attacks, but I guess everyone has a limit. There’s no benefit to rushing ahead. Calm down first, then I can start figuring things out.

“Are you okay now? Thought you’d pass out for a moment there.”

No, I’m fine now. Just for now, maybe, but fine.

It takes me a while, but I finally realize that the gruff, deep voice I’m hearing is not just in my mind.

I slowly turn to the interior of the cell. There is a man there, broad shoulders, a full head and beard of trimmed, if greasy auburn hair, and a bandage covering his left eye, wearing a tattered uniform jacket and the shackle around his neck. He is down on one knee, looking at me with a firm, yet patient expression.

He tries smiling, but the prominent tusks growing up from his lower jaw keep me wary.

“Hello,” he says. “I’m Gunther. For what it’s worth, welcome.”

—-

It turned out the cell I was thrown into was quite spacious. Instead of a plain cubby in the tunnel wall, it was more of a full cave in its own right with a wide, open room, furnished with a table big enough for multiple people, a small cast iron stove and even a rusty sink and faucet. I was able to take a proper sit to clear my mind, with even a bowl of warm stew set welcomingly before me. Before I knew it, I had wolfed down the entire thing.

“Haah,” I sigh, feeling my energy returning. “Thank you.”

Across the table from me, Gunther smiles, taking idle sips from a cup. “Perks you right back up, doesn’t it?”

Someone else approaches my table, offering me a tin cup and a cat’s smile. “Tea?”

I look at the serviceable man. He is lean, tall, dressed in a white shirt under a velvet vest, with a tuft of fluff puffing out from his collar, right under his neck shackle. His face is a cat’s, his fur grey with dark lines running up his forehead and specks of white and brown sprinkled over his cheeks. The way his fur grows into pointed edges at the sides of his face and the tips of his long ears reminds me of a lynx.

With a grateful nod, I accept the cup. “Thank you, uhm…?”

“Siabahn,” he responds, his smile candid, whiskers sparkling in the dim light. “A pleasure.”

“So, Leo,” Gunther says, and I quickly turn back to him before I gawk at Siabahn’s feline features for too long. “Going over your story just now, you said your group was captured while travelling through the area, were split up by your captors, and as far as you know only you and a priestess friend of yours were brought here, correct?”

“Mhm,” I nod, taking a sip from my tin cup. It has a somewhat metallic taste, but it’s almost hidden in the caffeinated sweetness of the tea. Almost.

Perhaps I felt bribed by the soup, because as soon as I sat down and started eating, Gunther didn’t need to prod me that much before I relayed to him what had happened to me, being captured by the murderous Celmund, my pact with the witch Cethlenn, being separated from my friends and finally landing here. It was as if a floodgate had been cracked open.

I did leave out a few details, mainly that I came from another world and the ‘divine mission’ Rosa told me about. Nice as they seem, Gunther and Siabahn are convicts here, so I’m a bit wary of sharing that part with them.

Though, are they really convicts here?

Gunther rubs his beard pensively. “Right, and do you know what you’re here for?”

I anxiously sip more of my metallic tea. “Not sure. The guards said something about putting me with the ‘Bewitched’? I’m assuming that’s you?”

Gunther rolls his eye, letting Siabahn take over. “Yes, that’s the name given to us by the witch.”

“Then you were put in here by them too?” I ask, feeling a spark of hope. “Do you know where they’d have Rosa and Kim? With Rosa I heard they were taking her to a butcher shop and I don’t know what it means…!”

“There is no need to be concerned,” Siabahn interjects, yet his voice is gentle, still with his candid smile. “That is simply what they call the infirmary here. Despite the name, it does function as one. If your friend is a priestess, she will be well looked after.”

I gulp down a knot in my throat, feeling one weight off my shoulders, but the same anxiety from before is still bubbling back up. “And Kim? Rosa said we were separated but if there’s any chance she might be in this city as well then…”

“Don’t bother,” Gunther interrupts. “If Celmund took her, she is as good as dead.”

My heart drops like a boulder into my stomach. “…w-what do you mean?”

“That man has no conscience. He uses people and throws them away once he’s done. If she can fight…”

I shake my head. “She can’t!”

He shakes his. “Then you won’t see her alive again. I’m sorry.”

“No no, that can’t be right!” I bark back, running anxious hands through my hair. “He said he needed us, both of us! He wouldn’t just kill her off!”

“Needed for what?”

“I don’t know!”

“Think back,” pushes Gunther. “There must’ve been a hint, something you can do? Something you were asked to do?”

To save the world? To rot here while it fell to ruin?

“Think!” he insists. “Did they give you a mission?!”

“No, man! I wasn’t told shit!” I snap. “Up until yesterday my only concerns were… bullshit school tests and serving coffee for a living. Then we’re suddenly stuck in a strange land where I’ve been thrown in prison while my friend is probably dead, and I don’t even get why! Fuck am I supposed to do?! That’s what I want to know!”

I set my elbows on the table, burying my face into my palms, fingers gripping my hair. “I don’t get it at all. Give me a damn break already. There’s no damn mission. I just don’t know what’s going on.”

A long moment of silence passes, though I still feel their gazes on me. How I wish I could just wake up right now and shrug off everything that's happened as a bad dream.

Instead, Siabahn breaks the silence. “Rosa is still counting on you.”

Rosa. What right do I have? Why do I even bother being so concerned for a person I just met? My fingers run over my scalp where Celmund’s spear knocked me out, feeling the coarse scar left there. This world must have healing magic of some kind, cause I struggle to believe the wound could have healed so quickly.

Rosa did that. Maybe that’s just her job as a priestess, but she did that for me, asking for nothing in return. Even as she was taken away just now, all she did was ask me not to worry.

What sort of person would I be if I did not feel indebted to her?

I slowly lift my face. “Yes, I guess so.”

Siabahn nods. “And what would you be willing to do to get her out of here?”

“I don’t know,” I say, not so much lacking conviction, just direction. “Whatever I need to, and not just her, but both of us.”

“Whatever it took?”

I look at Siabahn.

Oh.

I think I get it now.

“Whatever as in… do anything they asked? You’re wondering if I’m your enemy.”

Both Gunther and Siabahn twitch ever so slightly.

Of course. I did mention the deal I made. I guess I’d be cautious of me too.

“Look,” I start, “If the witch had asked me to do something, then I don’t think I could even refuse, but she didn’t. I’m being as truthful as can be here, I was not given a task to do here.”

I bet it all on sincerity, but I start regretting my words as soon as they leave my mouth. Aren’t I saying I shouldn’t be trusted anyway?

But it somehow seems to work, as both Gunther and Siabahn noticeably relax. “Sorry for pressuring you,” Gunther says, scratching his hair with an ashamed frown. “We had to make sure you weren’t here just to mess with us.”

“Cethlenn has put prisoners against each other before,” Siabahn explains. “We feared you might be a plant.”

I sigh, still feeling my heart thumping in my chest. “So I’ve cleared up your suspicions?”

Gunther shrugs. “Well enough.”

“Then the part about my friend being dead, were you testing me or did you mean it?”

Gunther goes deadly quiet for a moment. “…I’ve no way of saying for sure whether she’s dead,” he finally admits. “But as long as she’s with that bastard Celmund, her life is in danger. That much is no lie.”

“Sounds like you know him.”

“Well, we are here because of him and the witch, just like you.”

“Okay,” I say, thoughtful. “So you have no love for them.”

“None at all,” Gunther confirms. Siabahn seconds him with a nod.

“Then tell me how to get out.” I look Gunther directly in his only eye. “Please.”

He returns the gaze, steady, intense, unwavering. I almost fold to it, but I press on, as if looking away now would break me down entirely.

Finally, Gunther answers. “There are only two ways out of this place: as a scumbag, or in a bodybag.”

“As a…” I shake my head confused. “Excuse me, I had heard this place was a prison for minor criminals, and that people got out upon serving their sentence.”

“Yes, Zedia was known for that,” Siabahn explains. “But it would seem that Zedia no longer exists. Now a band of outlaws is in control, and they have turned it into a fortress.”

“What? So are you saying every guard out there…” Siabahn confirms my fears with a nod before I finish my thought. “How did that happen?”

“We are not sure of all the details, but we can share what we’ve managed to figure out.” Siabahn waves his cup with gusto as he shares the tale. “As you say, it used to be that Zedia was a prison meant to hold and reform only petty criminals. But it would seem that some time ago, the local baron wished to expand the mine and increase its production, so he negotiated with the lords of neighbouring provinces to send as many of their captured criminals as possible to Zedia, paying no attention to the filter that once existed on the severity of their crimes.”

Gunther interjects. “But that moron of a lord did not consider that this place wasn’t built or manned to handle hardened outlaws, let alone every cutthroat seized across the eastern march.” He takes a long swig of his cup. “Who knows how long it took, but I can’t imagine it was very long at all before all those inmates organized themselves, overpowered the guards, and seized power for themselves.”

“A former bandit named Nuren runs the place,” Siabahn adds. “Everyone that arrives here now has two choices, either prove useful enough to be accepted into his gang, or work to death as a slave.”

“Is the yellow sash all the guards wear, is that their symbol?”

“Exactly.” Siabahn nods happily. “Very observant of you, Leo.”

“And nobody’s done anything about it?” I question further. “Did the baron not try to take the mine back?”

“Oh he did,” Gunther says. “The older guards around here still gloat about it. Nuren’s gang might be riff raff, but Zedia is a nightmare to siege even without all the fortifications they built. The baron’s attempt failed; lots of good lives were wasted.”

“So we can’t expect any help from outside.”

“There is always hope that the capital might send someone,” Siabahn says.

“Who? The Knights? Yeah right.” Gunther shakes his head with a cynical chuckle. “They must have their hands full with the rest of the Empire falling apart; they likely have no time to come out all the way out to the frontier. If they did, we wouldn’t be here.”

I sit in silence for a moment, looking at my empty cup. “Have you considered breaking-?”

“Shh,” Siabahn interrupts, holding a finger up to his mouth as his ears perk up. Gunther mimics him and I press my lips shut.

A moment later, I notice the sound of steps coming from outside the cave, faint at first, echoing from the tunnels beyond, gradually growing louder and louder. I suppose those feline ears of his aren’t just for show.

The steps reach our door and rattle the hardwood with a series of impatient thuds. A window slit at about eye height slides open, though it’s too dark to see who is standing beyond. “Bewitched!” a gruff voice commands. “You’re up! Be ready in five minutes!” Then the window promptly snaps shut.

“Five minutes, hah!” Gunther grumbles as he stands from the table. “Used to be we were given ten minute notice.”

Siabahn collects the tea cups and deftly puts them away, quick, yet without a hint of hurry. “I’ll wake up Luach.”

“Please do.”

Siabahn slides down another tunnel at the back of the kitchen area that I hadn’t really noticed until now.

“Ah, you’re leaving?” I ask, also standing up. “Is your shift starting or something?”

“Us?” Gunther tilts his head at me. “What do you mean ‘your’? You’re going too, Leo!”

“Huh?”

“You’re with the…” The name sneaks right to the tip of Gunther’s tongue, but he stubbornly swallows it back at the last moment. “You’re one of us now.”

My body shrinks a little, dreading the work that is surely waiting. “Oh boy…”

“Need anything? Sip of water? Nature’s call? Get it done now cause this is your last chance for the next several hours.”

“I’m good,” I say, waving my hands insistently. I spot Siabahn walking back from the tunnel, and behind him…

Tall, athletic, wild blue hair tied into a charmingly unruly ponytail, cool sapphire eyes, an aloof, relaxed expression. She wears dark, slack pants, worn and torn at the knees, and a tight, cropped top that highlights her figure, from her smooth belly, to her slender, toned arms.

Though what draws my eyes most are the scales, blue, smooth scales that dot her frame in patches, following the curve of her hips and the blades of her shoulders. Her arms and legs are completely encased in them as well, with long-fingered hands and webbed, three-towed feet, both of which end with long, pointed claws.

As she passes by me, I notice a pair of horns sprouting upwards from the sides of her head, though her right one is shorter, snapped at its midpoint, matching a scar that stretches diagonally down from the top right of her head and stops just short of her eye.

Eyes that are staring back at mine with a slight frown.

I quickly look away. “Uhm… Leo. I’ll be a part of your team.”

Her gaze remains steady on me, unimpressed, reproaching. I can’t even say anything cause I must admit, I’ve shown a bit of a bad habit since arriving on this world. There is just too much encouragement for my eyes to wander.

“Luach, this is Leo; he’ll be a member of our team from now on.” Siabahn then turns to me. “Leo, meet Luach, the last member of our group.”

“Nice to meet you,” I greet again, trying to dispel the awkward atmosphere.

She stares for a moment longer. “…hmm.”

Having offered only the faintest hum of acknowledgement, she continues on her way towards the entrance of the cell, dragging a long, bulky, blue-scaled tail behind her.

I fight back the desire to gawk further before I earn myself a reputation I won’t be able to live down.

The iron locks of the hardwood door clank open. “This way, Leo,” says Siabahn, beckoning me to come along as we follow Gunther and Luach out of the cell.

——

We’re escorted down the tunnels of the mine by a small squad of yellow-wearing guards; three in front leading the way, two keeping an eye on me at the back. I tried to keep track of where we were going, try and build a mental map of the tunnels in case there was ever the chance to escape, but I quickly got lost in the multiple bends, turns and branching paths. The place is a maze.

What I did keep track of was the amount of guards. Down pretty much every branch I could look, there were more guards, keeping watch, marching through, resting, sometimes in pairs, others in bigger groups, but almost never alone. There is a whole army of outlaws down here. Just like Gunther said, Zedia is a fortress.

Fortress and maze. I had never thought of myself as claustrophobic, but the tunnels are starting to get to me. It’s easy to picture how the authorities failed to recapture Zedia, but it’s also deflating my hopes of escape.

I almost forget the place is supposed to be a mine as well, but I do spot groups of workers being escorted down the tunnels like us, terribly haggard and wearing nothing but rags. The guards rudely push them along, tolerating not even the slightest delay.

And we’re not going down their same direction?

“Uhm, Siabahn?” I whisper to the cat man walking in front of me, giving a quick, wary glance at the two guards behind me. “I’m actually not familiar with mining at all. Could you tell me what our job is, exactly?”

Siabahn glances back, his feline cheeks raised in amusement. “Mining? Whatever do you mean, Leo?”

“Huh? What do you mean?” I shoot back, careful not to raise my voice. “Is this not a mine?”

Siabahn gives me another glance. “…oh dear,” he whispers, his grin remaining. “So you really weren’t told anything at all!”

Before I can think of a comeback, the guards at the front of the group swing open an iron bar door and usher us inside. Gunther, Luach and Siabahn go right in, but I lag behind, wondering what sort of game is at play here.

“In!” one of the guards behind me commands, pushing me along, and I’ve no choice but to stumble in. The iron door snaps shut right behind me.

Inside are four aisles of racks filled with weapons; swords, axes, hammers, knives, spears, crossbows, guns, all in different shapes and sizes. There are even a few pieces of armor on the far side of the room, around a different entryway that is also sealed with iron bars. The place is an armory.

“What the hell is this?” I mutter, feeling my stomach churning. There’s a distant, low rumble that seems to vibrate through the stone walls, but I can’t tell what it might be.

“Leo!” Gunther calls out, beckoning. A bit reluctantly, I head to him, passing by Siabahn and Luach as they browse the racks like shelves at the grocery store.

I join Gunther near a rack of guns. “So,” he starts, looking over the selection while strapping some metal pauldrons on, “which is your weapon of choice?”

“I’ve never used one!” I admit. “Don’t tell me we’re about to-”

“Musket then,” Gunther interrupts as he pushes a ridiculously long gun onto my hands. If I set the stock down on the floor, the barrel would reach up to my chest. “Can’t go wrong with it. Rest that end on the shoulder, point this end to the foe, pull the trigger to fire. Questions?”

“N-no,” I stutter. “But-”

“Good. Bayonet?” He shows me a long knife with a ring for a handle.

I shake my head, meaning “No thanks”, but Gunther must have been merely asking whether I knew how to put it on because he demonstrates anyway. “Just fit the socket onto the end of the barrel like this, get the lug into the groove like this, twist, push, and turn the ring here to lock it. Done.” Gunther gives the blade a tug to show me it’s tightly in place. “What about reloading?”

I can barely keep up. “...no?”

“Hmm, well…” Gunther shrugs, trying to look apologetic. “Make the shot count.”

A bell rings. The far gate starts to lift open. It’s only then I notice the stairs leading up, and at the summit, sunlight?

“Stay close to us and you’ll be safe,” Gunther warns, resting a blunderbuss on his shoulder. “Oh, and be careful where you’re pointing, okay? Wouldn’t want to shoot us in the back!” He slaps my elbow with a tusk-bearing smile I couldn’t hope to return. He heads up the stairs first, followed by Luach who is carrying a long katana in its scabbard, and Siabahn with a pair of twinned blades joined at the pommel.

I look at them go frozen in place, feeling completely unprepared, chest tight with fear, but also with no small amount of anger. Would it have killed them to explain things a bit?!

Glancing over the racks quickly, I’m drawn to the swords and the spears. If only I had time to browse properly, but a guard standing by the entrance is tapping his foot impatiently. The one thing I simply can’t do without is protection, so I rush to the armor rack, honing in on what seems like a steel breastplate.

Unluckily for me, the armor is wrapped up in a tangle of leather straps that doesn’t come loose with a simple thug. I do consider trying to untangle it, but when the guard notices, he takes a threatening step towards me and I give up on it, settling instead for a miniature steel shield, a buckler. With it and the musket in hand, I rush up the stairs after my allies.

The light at the top stings my eyes. The distant rumble from before grows steadily louder and louder, until I can tell exactly what it is.

A crowd, cheering and screaming, echoing from the cave walls.

The place before me slowly comes into view as my eyes recover from the dimness of the tunnels. It’s a wide open chamber, still underground, though illuminated by a huge hole in the ceiling that bathes everything inside in natural light. The walls are lined with several tiers of scaffolding or passages cut directly onto the stone, creating a sort of stadium. People are lining the edges, the ruckus of their voices filling the entire chamber. Many wear those recognizable yellow sashes on their outfit, but not all of them, especially the further up the walls they are.

And we, the Bewitched, me, and about a dozen other people I don’t know, we are at the very bottom of the chamber, an uneven stage of solid rock with boulders, rubble, and piles of wreckage dotted about as obstacles. We are trapped inside by iron bars slamming the passages we arrived from shut, and solid stone and cement barriers closing off what seem to be the earthen ramps that once led up to the higher floors.

It’s an arena, and we’re the spectacle for the day.

“Welcome all!” booms a voice from somewhere above, a man’s, strong enough to drown the rumble of the crowd. “Welcome to today’s special event!”

The crowd roars anew. I have to crane my head up quite a bit before I find the man speaking, sitting in an alcove at the top of the wall, though I can’t see him all that clearly through the glare of the skylight. Seems like a burly man, heavily built, sitting on a rustic throne.

If I had to guess, I would say that is Nuren, the man that usurped Zedia for himself. The other people sitting lined up with him in that VIP alcove could be his guests or aides, though they’re even more difficult to make out.

Except for one. All I can clearly see is her hair, but that tone of pink has already seared itself into my memory.

Cethlenn, the self-proclaimed Witch of Agony.

For a moment, my panic turns to a lump of anger in my throat.

Nuren’s voice booms again. “Today, I bring you a very special spectacle, a monster hunt! Four teams of intrepid warriors will face off against a wave of bloodthirsty beasts. Only the ones that collect the most heads while keeping their own will be crowned victors! Use every tactic and trick at your disposal, no matter how vile, and seize glory for yourself!”

A crash suddenly echoes through the chamber. I notice another tunnel, one on the far side of the arena, closed by a wooden hatch shut and secured by a couple of iron bars.

Another crash. The wood and the bars locking it buckle with the force of whatever beast is desperately struggling to enter the arena.

Gunther kneels, readying his blunderbuss. With only a gesture, Siabahn and Luach spread out in front of him, covering his flanks.

I gulp.

“Leo!”

Though my legs feel like jelly, I rush to Gunther’s side. His face is now completely without humor, stoic and intense. He points his blunderbuss at the buckling hatch as another crash splinters the wood.

Not knowing what else to do, I mimic him, shouldering my musket and aiming alongside him.

He gives me a curt, approving nod. “Stay close, make the shot count, and above all, don’t die.”

“Today!” booms Nuren, “I present you monsters from the wild jungles of Ungaradesh, where the light of the divines could never hope to reach, and all things that crawl, fly, or writhe in the muck think only of when they’ll next spill blood! Will our teams of fighters survive?! Or will it end in a savage feeding frenzy?! Hope you’ve all made your bets cause we’re done wasting time! Release the beasts!”

The two locking rods slide up. The hatch finally bursts open.

“Let the carnage begin!”