Chapter 246: v3- - 7: Arena fighters III

The guards led them through another corridor.

Cassian followed without speaking.

His arm still burned.

Every step sent a dull ache through his ribs and leg, but he kept pace with the others.

They passed several iron gates before stopping at another section of the compound.

One of the guards unlocked a door.

"Inside."

Robert listened.

He glanced at Cassian.

"New quarters."

Cassian looked through the doorway.

It was still a cell.

But it was different from the one they had occupied before.

There were fewer men.

The room was larger.

Each fighter had his own bed, separated from the others by enough space to move without stepping over someone.

The mattresses were still thin, but clean.

Blankets had been folded at the foot of each bed.

There was a larger basin near the wall, several wooden buckets, and a long table holding food and water.

Cassian looked around.

Robert stepped inside.

"Well."

He glanced at his bed.

"I’ve seen worse."

Cassian entered after him.

The guards shut the door behind them.

The lock clicked.

Still prisoners.

Just better-kept ones.

Cassian walked toward one of the beds and sat carefully.

His ribs protested.

He leaned back.

For the first time since waking in that shed, he wasn’t surrounded by twenty or more bodies lying on the floor.

He had space.

Water.

Food.

A bed.

And, apparently, time.

Robert dropped onto the mattress beside him.

One of the guards remained outside.

He said something.

Robert listened.

Then turned toward Cassian.

"He says we’re staying here until the next game."

"When?"

Robert listened again.

"Four days."

Cassian nodded.

"Does he know what it is?"

Robert asked the guard something.

The man answered.

Robert shook his head.

"No."

Cassian looked toward him.

"They don’t tell us?"

"Apparently not."

Robert leaned back.

"Maybe that’s part of the fun."

Cassian gave him a look.

Robert shrugged.

"Not for us."

The guard continued speaking.

Robert listened.

"There’s water."

Cassian glanced toward the bathing area.

"Bathing?"

Robert nodded.

"There’s a bathhouse at the end of the corridor. We’re allowed to use it."

Cassian looked toward the guards.

"Allowed?"

Robert gave a small laugh.

"Apparently we’re valuable enough now to be clean."

Cassian said nothing.

The guard opened the door again.

"Come."

Robert translated.

"The bathhouse."

Several of the fighters stood.

Cassian followed.

--

The bathing room was larger than he expected.

Stone basins had been built along one wall.

Water steamed faintly from several of them.

For a moment, Cassian simply stood there.

Warm water.

After more than a month, he could hardly remember the last time he’d bathed.

The others began stripping.

Cassian removed his clothes without hesitation.

There was no reason to preserve modesty among men who had already seen one another bloodied in an arena.

He lowered himself into the water.

Heat spread through his body.

Cassian closed his eyes.

His muscles loosened almost immediately.

He stayed there for several minutes without moving.

Then he began washing.

Dirt came away from his skin.

His hair.

His arms.

His chest.

The water around him slowly clouded.

Cassian looked down at his reflection.

He almost didn’t recognize the man staring back.

His face had thinned.

His hair had grown longer.

A rough beard covered his jaw and cheeks.

There were still bruises along his ribs.

His body had lost some of its strength during the weeks of captivity.

And on his upper arm—

the Arena’s mark.

Cassian touched it.

The skin around it was still red.

He looked away.

Across the room, Robert was washing himself.

Neither spoke.

There was nothing that needed saying.

For once, they were simply allowed to be still.

--

They were given clean clothing afterward.

Plain trousers.

A loose shirt.

Simple shoes.

Nothing valuable.

Nothing that could easily be turned into a weapon.

Cassian dressed slowly.

The clean fabric felt unfamiliar against his skin.

He ran a hand through his wet hair.

It had grown considerably during his captivity.

There was no mirror.

He didn’t need one.

He already knew what he looked like.

Different.

Rougher.

Thinner.

Older than he had been a month ago.

But alive.

That was enough.

The guards gathered them again.

"Back."

Robert translated.

The men followed.

--

Their quarters were waiting for them when they returned.

Cassian sat on his bed.

Robert dropped onto his own.

For a while, they simply rested.

Then Robert looked toward him.

"They said four days."

Cassian nodded.

"Until the next game."

"Yes."

"Do they know what it is?"

Robert shook his head.

"No."

Cassian leaned back against the wall.

Four days.

His body needed them.

His ribs were still healing.

His leg was still weak.

He had no idea what the next game would demand of him.

But at least now he had time.

Time to recover.

Time to observe.

Time to learn.

Cassian looked down at the mark on his arm.

The Arena had given them better food.

A bed.

A bath.

Medical care.

Enough to keep them alive.

But the lock on the door remained.

And so did the mark.

Cassian closed his eyes.

--

The first day passed quietly.

Cassian slept more than he expected.

His body demanded it.

Whenever he woke, food had already been placed inside the quarters. Water was always available, and the healers came twice to inspect his ribs and leg.

They spoke to him each time.

Cassian understood nothing.

Not a single word.

He could only watch their gestures and the way they examined his wounds.

Robert translated when he was nearby.

"Their healers are satisfied with the way you’re healing."

Cassian nodded.

That was enough.

The pain remained.

But it was different now.

Less sharp.

Less consuming.

He could breathe without wincing every time.

Robert spent much of the day talking to the other fighters.

Cassian listened, though most of the conversations around him remained meaningless.

The Imperial language was rare here.

Whenever someone spoke Milician, it was nothing but sounds to him.

Robert, however, seemed to have no trouble understanding.

He moved easily between the two languages, speaking to the other fighters and occasionally translating something for Cassian.

Some of the men had survived previous games.

Others had been in the Arena for months.

A few had been there for years.

Cassian could not follow most of what they said.

But he watched them.

He remembered their faces.

Their scars.

The way they reacted when certain guards passed.

The way some men became quiet whenever particular names were mentioned.

There was information here.

He simply couldn’t access most of it yet.

--

By the second day, Cassian could walk without favoring his leg too badly.

He began exercising.

Nothing strenuous.

Just enough to test what his body could do.

A few stretches.

Slow movements.

Squats.

He tested his balance.

His ribs protested whenever he pushed too far.

So he stopped.

There was no point turning a healing injury into a worse one.

Robert watched him from his bed.

"You’re going to hurt yourself."

Cassian continued stretching.

"I know."

"That doesn’t seem to bother you."

"It does."

Robert shook his head.

"You’re strange, Carlo."

Cassian ignored him.

He continued.

His body had kept him alive once.

He needed it to do so again.

Around them, the other fighters talked.

Cassian couldn’t understand them.

Occasionally, Robert would join in.

Sometimes he would laugh.

Sometimes he would argue.

Sometimes he would return and tell Cassian something he had learned.

Cassian listened whenever he could.

But he was still largely shut out of the conversations taking place around him.

He would have to learn the language.

Eventually.

--

The third day was quieter.

Cassian spent most of the morning walking the perimeter of their quarters whenever the guards allowed it.

He observed.

The corridors.

The doors.

The guards.

The routines.

He noticed which passages were heavily watched.

Which doors remained locked.

Where the fighters were taken.

Where the healers came from.

Whenever a guard spoke, the words meant nothing.

Cassian could only watch their movements and try to understand what they wanted.

Nothing gave him a way out.

Not yet.

But he kept looking.

He had learned long ago that knowing a place was the first step toward understanding it.

Robert eventually joined him.

"You’re still looking."

Cassian glanced at him.

"At what?"

"Everything."

Cassian said nothing.

Robert smiled faintly.

"You really don’t know how to rest, do you?"

Cassian continued walking.

"I’ve rested for three days."

"You’ve been unconscious for three days."

"Exactly."

Robert laughed.

"You know, most people would call that resting."

Cassian didn’t answer.

--

That afternoon, the healers came again.

They examined his ribs.

His leg.

The wound along his side.

One of them spoke to the guard.

Cassian watched them exchange words he couldn’t understand.

He looked toward Robert.

Robert listened for a moment before turning to him.

"They’re satisfied with the healing."

Cassian looked at him.

"Meaning?"

"You can fight."

Cassian nodded.

That was all he needed to know.

--

That evening, the food arrived earlier than usual.

The quarters were quieter.

Even the more experienced fighters seemed subdued.

Cassian noticed.

"What is it?"

Robert looked around.

"Nothing."

Cassian waited.

Robert sighed.

"People get nervous the night before a game."

Cassian’s gaze moved toward the others.

Some were already lying down.

Others sat quietly.

No one joked.

No one argued.

Cassian understood.

Tomorrow.

The next game was tomorrow.

He looked down at his hands.

His body was not fully healed.

It didn’t need to be.

It only needed to be strong enough.

Robert sat across him.

"Tomorrow."

Cassian nodded.

"Tomorrow."

Robert leaned back.

"We still don’t know what they’re going to make us do."

"No."

"Could be anything."

Cassian looked toward the barred door.

Beyond it were the same corridors.

The same guards.

The same walls.

He had spent the past few days observing them whenever he could.

There was no opening.

No weakness he could exploit.

No way out that didn’t end with him being caught or killed.

Cassian lowered his gaze to his hands.

So this was it.

For now.

Unless something changed, that was the price of his freedom.

He didn’t like it.

He didn’t accept it willingly.

But he understood reality well enough not to fight against what could not be changed.

He needed to survive.

He needed his body to heal.

And eventually, somehow, he would walk out of this place.

His thoughts went to Marian.

He wondered what she believed had happened to him.

He wondered whether she had already mourned him.

The thought tightened something in his chest.

He closed his eyes.

There was nothing he could do for her from here.

Not yet.

So he would endure.

Three years.

Hopefully less, if circumstances changed.

But until then, he had no choice.

Tomorrow would be only their second game.

And he intended to survive it.

--

Tbc