A fair fight in the name of justice

Using past connections, Jäwell and Sarin reached the prisons by night. They were hiding their presence from the guards. When they arrived, they noticed that Rahir was the one who suffered the most. He was eaten by concern for his family, but not only. Bruises and wounds were witnesses of the treatment he had received, no doubt Rahir tried to fight back when the guards caught him. 

The others were in no better shape, they stood up and rushed to the bars of the cell they were in. An expression of joy covering their tired faces. They were all, without exception, joyful to see that Sarin and Jäwell made it safely and alive through the hordes. No matter how difficult the situation could be. 

Urak passed a hand through the cell and touched Jäwell to be sure he was not dreaming. He wanted to be sure this was real. Mikel sighed in relief, "You made it together. You should run to Civitas, now."

Rufon laughed, laying in a corner, as calm as usual, "Of course they made it. It needs more than a little journey to end our comrades."

There was a clear contrast between the gravity of what was about to happen and the atmosphere. The execution had been proclaimed, and yet, they were discussing and chuckling as if nothing was about to happen. Sarin looked at the cell, it was as if the bars didn't exist. They were reunited, and they felt strong together, it was certain they would find a solution. 

"When is the fight in the arena programmed?" Jäwell asked to come back to the main subject. 

"We are going to fight in three days," Mikel answered directly.

Sarin had a smile, relieved about the situation, "Are the rules as usual?"

"Yes, this will take the form of a battle. If we manage to survive and win, we are free," Urak explained. 

"Of course, they will have weapons and armor while we don't," Chuckled Rahir, "They don't dare to give us a fair fight, but we will massacre them!"

Jäwell seemed to have an idea, he raised his head to Mikel with conviction, "Sarin and I should be captured to join you, then. It would be safer if we were all together."

Gabron, who remained silent during all the discussion, interrupted as Rufon was about to answer, "No. We will be more efficient if we know at least you two are safe. It gives us a reason to win and join you."

Sarin nodded, he could easily understand this logic as he had been worried about Jäwell so many times and putting himself in danger due to that. He was thinking hard about another way to help them, Falin noticed his look as he remembered how they poisoned the Rosebudians. 

"You will not try this. The arena is sacred, poisoning them would private us from an honorable fight," Said Falin immediately.

Mikel took a deep breath, "Even if we die, we will die as free men. Fighting honorably for justice."

"These bastards closed their doors and didn't send any help. I want them to be fully conscious when I reduce them to the state of pulp," Rahir growled. 

Jäwell and Sarin understood, they didn't try to convince them to change their mind or influence the fights in any way. Now knowing that a victory could grant them freedom, they were reassured about the outcome of the fight, confident in their allies' strengths, and it was with this mindset that they returned to the tavern. 

It was almost the morning when they entered their room in secret, Sarin closed the door behind him and leaned against the wood, taking a long deep breath, and having a smile on his face. Jäwell chuckled as he reached the bathroom.

"Since how long are you holding your breath, Sarin?" Jäwell said from the other room, amused by his companion's reaction. 

"I have no idea, too long. But it seems now that we have a bit of luck. They are going to make it. I am sure of it," Sarin said confidently as he joined the bed to sit down for a moment to rest from the strong emotions he had these past days.

"After they win, we will all join Civitas. From there we can go North and reach the conquered territory of Alaric. He may be stupid and arrogant, but he listens to us. He will raise an army to defend against the undead."

"Alaric's armies proved to be disorganized and ineffective," Sarin stated coldly while pouring a glass of wine for Jäwell and himself.

"Yes, they do, but if we speak to him in the right way, he will name us generals and let us manage. He will not risk facing the horde without us. We have too much experience and he knows it. Even being the most idiotic leader I met, he can understand when someone knows more than him."

Sarin laughed, he stood up from the bed to join Jäwel in the bathroom and give him the second cup. As soon as he passed the doorway, he stopped himself in disbelief. Jäwell was in a bathtub, relaxing from the tension he accumulated recently. His bare chest emerged from the water and was visible to Sarin. 

Until now, Jäwell never took care to particularly hide himself, but none of the riders could have seen him in such an intimate way before this night. Sarin placed the glasses in silence on the table near the bath and took a step closer, his eyes staring at Jäwell's back. 

When he was at reach, he touched the large dark scars he had on the two sides of his collarbone from the tip of his fingers. His voice was lost in a strange fascination. 

"What are these marks, Jäwell?"

Jäwell didn't move or react. He had left Sarin being curious, understanding that he needed answers to be able to keep being on the same path together. 

Jäwell had a strange expression of pride and pain as he answered, "These are my wings. They left these marks when I implanted it in my back."

"You can fly?!"

"Of course I can. I can do everything. I am the prince of the shadows, everything made in the shadows can be controlled by me."

Sarin's jaw dropped to the floor. The scars were not normal. They were too long, large bands of darkness and symmetrical. They were like nothing he had seen before, and he started to touch them with his full hand without restraints anymore not realizing how inappropriate he became. 

Jäwell shivered, the scars were not painful, but the memory of this atrocious moment was printed in his mind. Sarin was hypnotized by the multiple scars of different kinds present on Jäwell's body. It was a true collection of what could inflict injuries in the seven worlds, Jäwell could animate a museum by himself. 

Sarin stepped in front of him and saw a large bite mark, he had never seen a creature that could inflict something like that, and he swallowed. Not daring to ask that was burning his lips. Jäwell understood and laughed heartily. 

"This is Tarim, we fought when we met. He is a dragon."

Sarin gasped, "A dragon? A real dragon?"

"Yes, Tarim and Talim were living together in a castle in another world than this one. I managed to convince them to come to Ombrae and help me in my project."

"Are they like you? You mean that your kind of family tree counts two dragons?"

Jäwell grabbed the wine from the table, exposing himself a bit more to Sarin's view, without caring one bit. 

"There are two dragons, but only one has my blood. Clyss was made from the union between Zuline and I."

"You just said Tarim and Talim, not Clyss," Sarin frowned slightly, lost and confused. Jäwell was speaking with casualness. He didn't notice that he was mentioning over four centuries of stories and memories with someone we lived so shortly. Someone who already had issues understanding the concept of multi-worlds.

"Tarim and Talim are brother and sister. In their homeland, dragons couple with a human twin. A kind of alter ego, who gives them twins as well. Talim is human."

Sarin almost fell, he grabbed a seat quickly before he lost balance. He tried to picture in his head how it was even possible, but as the images were coming, he preferred to stop it. 

Jäwell continued to share his past battles and his incredible adventures. Showing each scar of his body as a true trophy and witness of the time he had been alive. Most of his wounds have been healed with dark blood, but their shadows remained in the form of a dark signature. 

The days passed quickly, talking and enjoying their time, they almost forgot it was the day their comrades would be battling in the arena. Jäwell was taking his time as it was still very early, but Sarin suddenly had a stomach ache during the night and became extremely stressed. 

Jäwell saw him and proposed to him to go drink some wine at the counter of the inn. That it would help him to relax his nerves. Sarin took his advice and joined the main room. He covered his face to not attract too much attention as he ordered a little cup when he overheard two soldiers speaking together.

"Are you going to participate in the fights?"

"Of course not, there is no sport in this. It disgusts me."

"Still… Kicking the face of these traitors with shackles."

Sarin didn't believe it. It was not a fight, it was a true execution. He ran to the arena as fast as he could, and the show had already started. There were an incredible number of soldiers from every rank to face the riders. No doubt the propaganda was terribly efficient in Akshren. Everyone wanted to kill the riders. 

The riders entered the fights with shackles, no armor, and no weapons. There was nothing to help them defend themselves and offer a fair match. "They are not going to make it. It was fake," murmured Sarin as he realized the terrible truth. 

He decided to run to Jäwell, to decide how they could help their comrades, not accepting the fact that it was already too late. Every guard present in the arena had this expression of joy to be able to punish them after they defied the supreme authority. 

The number of people participating was astonishing. Sarin, suddenly, saw Jäwell running in his direction. Sarin was puzzled, Jäwell claimed with sweat, "They have chuckles! I heard a guard! They are going to die!"

Sarin took Jäwell's hand, he always had pretended to not care about everyone, and here he was, trying to save humans from humans.