The crowd’s cheers and jeers reverberated through the underground chamber, their masked faces leaning forward to catch every moment. Countess Luann watched from the edge of the arena, a shiver of horror and fascination creeping over her. She had heard rumors of what happened here, but witnessing it left her both entranced and disturbed.

The hound suddenly jerked, shaking the boy loose. He stumbled backward, nearly collapsing, but he quickly steadied himself, his eyes narrowing as he sized up his opponent. The creature lunged at him, claws scraping the stone floor, but the boy twisted, sidestepping the attack. Grabbing the chains binding his wrists, he spun them with surprising agility, using them like a weapon as he prepared for a final move.

Kila, standing beside Luann, chuckled softly. "He’s something special, isn't he? That resilience... you don’t find it often."

Luann felt a chill at Kila's words, her gaze fixated on the child below. There was something almost unnatural about the way he fought, a raw determination that seemed to have been forced upon him by endless hardship. He lunged forward, looping the chains around the hound’s thick neck in a swift, practiced motion, pulling with every ounce of strength he had left. The beast choked, thrashing wildly, but the boy held firm, his face twisted with effort.

Finally, with a shuddering whine, the hound slumped to the ground, defeated. Silence fell over the arena for a moment, and then the crowd erupted into applause, their voices echoing off the stone walls. The boy released the chains, staggering back, his breath labored and his body trembling.

Kila looked on, a glint of pride in her eyes. "A remarkable little fighter, don’t you think?" she remarked, her tone casual, as if discussing a prized possession.

But Luann could hardly respond. Her gaze remained on the boy, who stood amidst the chaos with an empty, haunting look in his eyes. There was no sense of victory on his face—only exhaustion and something darker, deeper, a pain forged in silence. She realized then that he was no mere child; he was a survivor shaped by cruelty, his spirit hardened by the relentless demands of this place.

And as he looked up, his gaze flickering over the masked spectators, Luann felt an unsettling sensation that he saw them all for what they truly were—predators masked by the thin veneer of civility, enthralled by the spectacle of another's suffering.

As the applause began to die down, Kila signaled to a guard, who entered the arena with a look of authority, gesturing for the boy to leave. The child stumbled forward, his gaze distant, as if he were retreating inward, back to some place where the world’s cruelty couldn’t reach him. Yet, his steps were measured, and he held his head high despite his evident exhaustion.

Countess Luann followed Kila down a shadowed hallway that led away from the arena. As they walked, the sounds of the crowd’s excitement faded, replaced by the quiet, eerie hum of the underground corridors. The reality of the boy’s situation settled over her, a mixture of pity and disquiet warring within her mind.

Kila broke the silence. “You see now, Lady Luann. The strength he possesses... it's something our world needs, wouldn’t you agree?” Her tone was almost triumphant, as if she had presented a flawless work of art.

Luann hesitated, searching for the right words. “needs?... Hmm it's what I need" she silently said 

Kila shrugged with an indifferent smile." I'll guide you to his room."

They reached the dimly lit room where the boy was being led. Inside, a healer quietly bandaged his injuries while he sat in silence, his gaze fixed on the floor. Luann noticed how he didn’t flinch or wince as the healer worked, his face betraying no pain, as though he’d grown numb to it long ago.

Steeling herself, Luann stepped forward. "What's your name, child?"

The boy’s eyes flickered up to meet hers. There was a weariness in them far beyond his years, as though he’d long ago stopped hoping for kindness or understanding. “Names don’t matter here, Lady,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Even his spirit knows the truth of this place. He is here only for survival,” Kila said with a smile.

Kila’s smile vanished, replaced by a cold glint. “He was born to fight, and fight he shall. That is his only purpose here.”

They soon left the room quietly as if they already knew this will happen. Upon reaching her carriage, Gherane stopped and said, "Kila, don’t let anyone see that child or consider him for adoption."

"Keep him here once a week; I want to see how this boy fares in the arena," Gherane said with a smirk on her face before she walked away.

Kila bowed her head with a cold smile. "Understood, Lady Gherane. He will remain here, unseen and untouched."

As Gherane climbed into her carriage, she cast a final glance back toward the orphanage, her expression a mixture of amusement and calculation. To her, the boy was nothing more than a prized possession, a weapon to be honed, kept hidden from prying eyes and potential saviors. She reveled in the power she held over him, knowing that in the shadows of the Sere of Hope, she controlled his every breath and movement.

The carriage door closed, and with a snap of the reins, Gherane disappeared down the cobblestone path, leaving Kila to carry out her orders. Inside, Kila’s mind spun with plans, already thinking of ways to further break and shape the boy into the perfect instrument. He would remain hidden, bound to this life of blood and survival, with no one to offer him escape or a future beyond the arena.

Unaware of the dark plots woven around him, the boy sat alone in the dim cell, his gaze hollow and unfocused. For him, tomorrow was only another fight, another day of survival, and dreams of escape or a life beyond had long since faded into the distant echoes of forgotten hope.

Suddenly, he heard a knocking sound on his door. The boy just lay on his bed, ignoring it. Then, the door opened. He was about to command his shadows to eliminate the stranger when he suddenly stopped, sensing he knew who it was.

“Oh... it’s you,” the boy said.

“I... I...” 

The girl was on the verge of tears, and the boy looked around, confused, trying to think of a way to cheer her up. “Uh, um... stop crying,” he said awkwardly.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry… I didn’t know it was you, alright?” he said gently, patting the girl’s head as though they had shared this familiar warmth countless times before.

“So, what brings you here, Xia?” the boy asked with a soft curiosity.

“Did they make you fight again?” Xia’s voice was laced with worry, her eyes scanning him for any fresh bruises or marks.

The boy sighed, offering her a small, forced smile. “Nope.”

Xia pouted, crossing her arms before giving his foot a light kick. “This orphanage is such a two-faced bunch of bishes!” she grumbled, a mix of frustration and childish defiance in her tone.

The boy chuckled, unable to hold back his amusement at her fiery response.

“Let’s escape together?” Xia suggested with a hopeful smile, her eyes shining with a quiet desperation. But as she lifted her hand, the boy noticed small bruises and puncture marks, like traces from repeated needle pricks.

“What’s this?” he asked sharply, his tone shifting to one of protective anger as he took her hand, examining the marks closely.

“Oh… you already know…” Xia mumbled, lowering her gaze in discomfort.

The boy’s frown deepened, and shadows began to swirl around him, an instinctive reaction to his growing anger.

“It’s fine…” Xia murmured, turning her head away, trying to downplay the situation.

The boy let out a resigned sigh and then looked at her with a curious expression. “Xia, your hair changed again. It’s like it went from silver to… silver-pink,” he observed with a hint of wonder.

“Ehh? It did? I didn’t even notice!” Xia replied, surprised, then, with a vulnerable note in her voice, she added, “Hey… when I’m really tired… can we leave this place?”

“We will,” he said firmly, his voice carrying an unyielding promise.

Xia’s face softened, and she gave him a gentle smile as she set down a small basket of food beside him, her hand lingering for a moment.

“See you in the morning, Emris,” she whispered before quietly slipping away.

When Emris was placing the food that xia brought his shadows emerge and said.

"You know, I can easily kill everyone that's hurting you," the shadow whispered ominously, its dark tendrils writhing with barely contained rage.

"Now's not the time," Emris replied, his voice steady despite the shadow's threat. Suddenly, a man appeared before him, kneeling in submission.

"Report," Emris commanded, his tone sharp and authoritative.

"They took Miss Xia against her will," the man said, his voice low and urgent. "They dragged her from her room and brought her to the holy temple. There, they placed her on a stone table surrounded by a magic circle. Countless needles were pricking her body, extracting her blood and transferring her energy to some girl."

Emris's expression darkened at the news, his heart racing with a mix of anger and fear. The shadow around him seemed to pulse in response to his distress, and he clenched his fists, feeling the weight of his power thrumming beneath the surface.

“Who would dare to do this?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"The High Priestess and her followers," the man replied, bowing his head. "They believe that by siphoning Xia's energy, they can awaken a dormant power in their chosen vessel."

A chilling silence filled the air as Emris processed the information. “We need to move. Now,” he said, determination flooding his veins. “I won’t let them harm her any further.”