King Without a Throne

This stone box was suffocating. It smelled of dust and things long dead. The door thudded shut behind them, a sound so final it felt as if the outside world had ceased to exist. All that remained was a thick silence, broken only by Kairan's ragged breaths and the steady drip of water somewhere in the distance, the relentless heartbeat of Velmire.

Torvek guided Kairan to a pile of old animal hides in the corner. His one remaining arm was surprisingly gentle as it supported the boy's frail body. "Rest now, kid," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You've earned it."

Rest. The word felt like a cruel joke. Kairan's body collapsed, but his mind was still a raging storm. Every nerve ending was an exposed wire, screaming in a chorus of pain. He could feel Torvek's presence nearby, a steady but weary warmth, colored by an old bitterness and a new, fierce protectiveness.

Watching the boy, seeing the flashes of pain and confusion on his face even as he lay there, Torvek kept himself busy. He found the small chest Lyra had mentioned: clean bandages, a waterskin of fresh water, and a small, hard loaf of bread. He sat on the floor beside the hides, his throwing axe always within reach. Outside, in the main workshop, they could occasionally hear the scrape of a chair, the clink of a vial. Lyra was at work, pulling the threads of her web.

"Don't trust her," Torvek said suddenly, his voice breaking the silence that had settled over the room.

Kairan's eyes opened slightly. "She's helping us."

"She's helping herself," Torvek corrected. "People like Lyra don't have friends, kid. They have assets. Right now, you're a very valuable asset. But the moment you stop being profitable, she'll dump you without a second thought."

"You sound like you know that from experience," Kairan whispered, his voice hoarse.

Torvek laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Experience is the best teacher in this pit." He looked at his one arm. "I used to have a partner. A small-time bookie with a cunning mind named Silas. I brought in the wins in the arena, he managed the profits. We had big plans." He paused, an old shadow crossing his eyes. "Turns out his plans were bigger than mine. He bet against me in a fixed fight. I lost my arm. He bought this arena with his winnings. People like Lyra and Silas… they're cut from the same cloth."

The confession hung in the air, heavy with unspoken history. Kairan didn't ask for more. He didn't need to. He could feel the echo of that old betrayal in Torvek's weary aura.

"We'll be fine," Torvek said after a moment, changing the subject. He checked the crude stitches on Kairan's hip. "As long as we watch each other's backs. More importantly, how are you feeling?"

"Like I'm being burned and shattered at the same time," Kairan answered honestly, his voice a rasp. "And… there are voices. Not real voices. More like echoes. I can feel their emotions... more clearly now." He paused, looking at Torvek with a gaze that seemed older than his years. "I can feel your hidden fear. Your hatred for Silas... it's like a constant fire. And Lyra..." Kairan hesitated. "Her greed is sharp, but behind it is a greater ambition. She doesn't just want coin. She wants a chance. That's what we can use."

Torvek fell silent, a chill running down his spine. This kid had truly changed. "Don't ignore it," he said firmly. "But don't let it control you. If you can feel them, maybe they can feel you too. Be a ghost, kid. Not a beacon."

He watched Kairan, who was now silent, processing his warning. This boy was more dangerous than any army. And he, a one-armed old gladiator, was his only protector. The absurdity of it all was now amusing and not so frightening.

Time passed slowly. Torvek changed Kairan's bandages with fresh ones. Lyra's green paste seemed to be working; the redness around the burns had subsided slightly. Kairan drifted in a feverish sleep. At one point, they heard a new sound from the workshop—a low, hushed conversation.

"Someone's outside," Kairan whispered, his eyes snapping open, suddenly alert.

Torvek nodded, his hand already gripping his axe. They fell silent, listening. The whispers were indecipherable, but the transaction was clear. Information was being exchanged. Plans were being made.

Finally, the bolt was drawn. Lyra's footsteps were sharp and decisive as she entered.

"He looks less dead. Good." Her calculating eyes immediately assessed Kairan's condition. She tossed a small, heavy pouch onto the hides. "Your payment, Torvek," she said. "For services rendered years ago. Enough for a new start, if you choose to part ways."

Torvek didn't touch the pouch. "I'm not going anywhere."

Lyra shrugged, as if she'd expected it. Her focus shifted to Kairan. "The plan is set. There's a cargo hauler heading north at dusk. It carries waste. No one inspects it too closely. It's our best chance."

"What's the catch?" Torvek asked, already knowing there was one.

"The catch," Lyra said, a grim smile touching her lips, "is that the depot is right under the guards' noses. And since yesterday's incident, Valerius has tripled the patrols. Reaching that depot is a suicide run." She knelt, bringing her face close to Kairan's. "But I have a route. Through the old maintenance tunnels. It's dangerous and filled with things worse than rats. Just the two of us might make it, but he," Lyra motioned to Torvek with her chin, "is too conspicuous."

"No," Torvek said, standing. His voice was a growl. "I'm coming."

"Don't be a fool!" Lyra snapped, her patience wearing thin. "You'll slow us down. This needs stealth, not strength."

"And what happens when you decide your new 'partner' is more valuable sold in the middle of a tunnel?" Torvek shot back.

"You think I'm as stupid as Silas?" Lyra sneered. "Selling the only person who can read Sigil weaknesses? I'm smarter than that, old man."

"He comes with me," Kairan said.

Both adults turned to him. Kairan's voice was weak, but his tone was firm. He pushed himself up, hissing in pain but meeting Lyra's gaze without flinching.

"He's part of the deal. My guard." He looked at Torvek, and for the first time, there was something other than shared desperation between them. There was loyalty. "We go together, or we don't go at all."

Lyra stared at the boy, then at the stubborn old gladiator. She saw the unwavering resolve in both their eyes. She let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through her short hair. This was already more complicated than she had anticipated.

"Fine," she relented, her voice tight with annoyance. "Have it your way. But listen to me carefully. If he slows us down, if he makes a sound, if he gets us caught… I will leave you both for the rats without a second thought. Understood?"

Torvek nodded. Kairan, despite the pain, nodded as well.

"Good," Lyra said, standing. "Get what rest you can. We move in one hour. The hell you were promised is waiting."

She turned and left, the stone door closing behind her. The short respite was over. The game had begun.