King Without a Throne

Torvek's world shrank, pulled taut into three brutal focal points: the unconscious weight of the boy on his shoulder, the searing pain in his old legs, and the pair of glowing red eyes now locked onto him. The low growl that rumbled from the Gravemaw's throat was no longer just a sound; it was a vibration that traveled from the arena sand, up through his worn boots, and settled as a lump of ice in his stomach. There was no longer a magic thread holding it back. The beast was now free, wild, and the only thing imprinted in its chaotic brain was the shadow of the figure it had just seen before the pain came.

Time to think had run out. Time to be a hero had passed long ago, buried with his missing arm in this very arena years ago. All that remained was instinct. The instinct of an old gladiator who knew how not to die.

"Damn you, kid…." Torvek growled, more to himself than to the limp Kairan. He pivoted his body, not running straight for the gate—a fool's mistake—but sideways. He used a shattered pillar as a momentary obstacle. He couldn't outrun the beast. His only chance was to stop it from running in a straight line.

The Gravemaw charged. Not with lightning speed, but with the blind force of a beast. It crashed into the pillar, shattering it into dust and gravel. The ground shook. Torvek staggered, the weight of Kairan on his shoulder feeling like an anchor threatening to drag him down.

Above, on the balcony, chaos had its own color. Lord Valerius had finally managed to control the magical backlash in his body. His pale face was now flushed with a cold, controlled fury. The pain had turned into humiliation, and humiliation had turned into a need for retribution.

"Catch them!" he commanded, his voice as sharp as broken glass. "Bring that Nulla to me, alive. I will tear his secrets from his pathetic body myself."

His two knights moved, their Blood Sigils flaring. However, they hesitated. Their lord's command was absolute, but below, a loose Gravemaw was now a threat to everyone, including their lord if it decided to leap.

This chaos was Torvek's only ally. As the knights hesitated, the crowd of spectators finally broke from their confusion. Fear overcame curiosity. Panicked screams erupted. People began to push and trample each other to get out of the arena, away from the beast that was now roaring in frustration. Silas shrieked from his balcony, his high-pitched voice lost in the pandemonium.

In the midst of the pandemonium, Torvek kept moving. He was no longer "The Silver Storm," the champion. He was a cunning old rat who knew every nook and cranny of his labyrinth. He ran towards the smaller service gate, where losers and corpses were usually dragged out.

The Gravemaw saw him and charged again. Seeing the attack coming, Torvek did something crazy. With his one strong arm, he threw Kairan's body forward, making him slide across the sand, before he himself dropped to the side. The beast's claws tore through the air where he had just stood. He could feel the heat from its body. As he rolled, his hand grabbed a piece of rusted chain lying in the sand. Without a second thought, he swung the chain and slammed it against one of the Gravemaw's hind legs.

The attack was nothing more than an insect bite to a creature of that size. But it was an insult.

The Gravemaw stopped. It turned, its glowing red eyes now locked on Torvek. It had momentarily forgotten its unconscious prey. Now, it had a new target who dared to fight back.

"Yeah, come here, you ugly beast," Torvek hissed, out of breath. "Forget the kid."

It bought him a few seconds. Enough for some people in the crowd to act—whether out of hatred for the nobility or just a desire to see more chaos. Empty ale bottles and stones began to fly towards the Gravemaw, small distractions that made it even more confused and angry.

Torvek didn't waste the opportunity. He ran to where Kairan lay, lifted him again, and staggered towards the service gate.

As he reached the gate, Valerius's two knights finally landed in the arena. "Stop, traitor!" one of them shouted. A small fireball flew towards Torvek.

Cursing, Torvek pushed the gate with his shoulder, but it was stuck. Desperately, he turned and used his back to shield Kairan, bracing for the pain.

However, the fireball never arrived.

A throwing axe. It spun through the air and hit the fireball mid-flight, causing it to explode prematurely. Torvek turned his head. A few other gladiators stood near the barrier, their faces hard and determined. The arena had its own laws.

"Go, old man!" one of them shouted. "We'll hold them off!"

That small resistance provided the time Torvek needed. With a final, desperate kick, he managed to open the stuck service gate and drag himself and Kairan into the darkness of the corridor behind it.

The air in the corridor was cold and foul-smelling, a relief from the heat of the arena. But he wasn't safe yet. The echo of the knights' angry footsteps now sounded behind him.

"Hold on, kid," Torvek whispered, his breath ragged. "We have to keep moving."

He ran through the labyrinth of corridors he had memorized his entire life: left at the pipe junction, right near the collapsed sewer drain, down through a hidden hole known only to veteran fighters. The shouts of the knights in the distance sounded frustrated. They might be strong, but here, in the gut of Velmire, they were just lost strangers.

Finally, he reached a dead end in front of a seemingly solid stone wall. This was the end of the road for others, but not for him. He carefully laid Kairan down, then pressed a loose stone. With a low grinding sound, a section of the wall slid aside, revealing a small, hidden room—his old hideout.

He dragged Kairan inside and closed the stone door, locking them in total darkness. For the first time, he allowed himself to breathe. He lit a small torch he always kept there.

In the flickering firelight, Kairan's condition looked grim. His face was as pale as a corpse, his lips blue. His burns were severe, and a dark stain of blood was seeping through his clothes at his hip, where the Gravemaw's tail had struck him. This boy was on the verge of death.

As Torvek carefully tore away the rest of Kairan's shirt to check his wounds, his eyes stopped on something strange. In the center of the boy's chest, where there should have been nothing, there was now a mark. Not a glowing Sigil. Not a wound. It was a patch of inky blackness, like a shadow stitched into his skin. It had an irregular shape, and it seemed to absorb the light from the torch, making it look like a hole into the void.

It wasn't there before. Torvek was sure of it.

"By the forgotten gods," Torvek whispered, a chill that had nothing to do with the corridor's temperature crawling up his spine. "what in the hells are you, kid?"

He got no answer. Only Kairan's shallow, irregular breaths echoed in their silent hideout, while outside, in the dark corridors of Velmire, the hunt had just begun.