Pits

Aerion moved through the crowded streets, his jaw tight, eyes flicking toward the stone bridge ahead. The crowd bustled on, unaware of what lay beneath their feet.

At the edge, he glanced down. The brown water shimmered, but it was the narrow, worn staircase cut into the stone that caught his eye—half-hidden in shadow.

Without hesitation, he made his way over, descending the steps as though he belonged, his movements casual despite the tension coiling in his chest.

The stone was slick with moss, the smell of brackish water thick in the air. The noise of the city above was distant, muffled by the weight of stone.

A low, uneven archway in the wall caught his attention. It was no grand entrance—just a small, worn opening, rough around the edges as if carved long ago and forgotten. No door marked the threshold, a flickering torch light at the end of this tunnel. 

He approached cautiously, hand brushing the jagged stone. His fingers lingered for a moment before he ducked through the arch, the cool air rushing over him as he moved forward.

His hand rested on the hilt of his blade. He barely flinched as rats scuttled around his feet—familiar creatures in these dark places. The sound of his footsteps bounced off the damp stone walls, unnerving in the otherwise heavy silence.

As he reached the end of the hall, the flickering torch illuminated two paths. One led left, the other right.

He chose right.

The passage opened into a large, poorly lit chamber. Dozens of iron cages lined the walls, the air thick with the stench of sweat, blood, and decay. He approached one of the cages, eyeing a scarred, bleeding dog trapped inside. 

Its black fur was matted, a large metal collar biting into its neck. Bandages were sloppily wrapped around its wounded stomach, stained dark with blood.

Aerion clenched his jaw, steadying himself against the cage as anger flared in his chest. His thoughts flicked to the bond he shared with his crow, his horse. 

This same cruelty was being inflicted on children.

The image of a black-haired, purple-eyed boy shot through his mind. The dead blue-eyed boy with the silver coin embedded in his skull came next.

He forced the burning anger down, replacing it with a cold, steely resolve. His gaze shifted to the far end of the room, where a pair of large wooden doors stood ajar.

He approached cautiously and stepped through, his eyes scanning the massive space beyond. A wooden fence, nearly six feet high, boxed him in. Benches lined the walls above, seating for at least a hundred spectators. Blood stained the sand beneath his feet. His stomach churned at the sight.

Another pair of wide open doors beckoned him, and Aerion stepped through. A vast room opened before him, the flicker of torches casting long shadows on the walls. Cages lined the chamber once more, but this time their contents truly tore at his heart.

Children, lying in cramped iron bars, clothed in little more than rags, their bodies still in restless sleep. His gaze fell on one boy—a boy with black hair, all too familiar. Aerion quickly made his way over, dropping to a knee. The boy appeared unharmed, save for minor scratches.

He rapped gently on the cage, the sound lightly echoing off the stone walls. The boy's eyes, purple as amethysts, flickered open. His pupils dilated in recognition.

"You," the boy whispered, his voice hoarse, brows furrowed as he shrank back into the shadows of the cage. Aerion raised his hands in a gesture of peace, the moment heavy with tension.

"I've seen you," the boy said again, more quietly, his words laced with fear and confusion.

Aerion felt the weight of the words, though they made little sense. He couldn't let confusion stop him now. "I'm here to get you out of here," he whispered, his eyes darting between the cages. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled with the feeling that time was running short. He was lucky to have come this far unnoticed.

"Trul—ow!" the boy winced, his hand flying to his mouth. Blood seeped between his fingers, and Aerion's brow furrowed with concern.

"What is it?" Aerion asked, but his concern turned to disgust as the boy opened his mouth, revealing teeth—filed into sharp points, more animal than human.

Aerion's blood roared in his ears, fury rising in him like a storm, but he forced it down. He leaned his forehead against the bars, drawing a deep breath to calm the rage burning inside.

"Listen," he said, his voice steady, though every word tasted of ash. "I need to leave—find help—but I'll be back for you." He started to rise, but the sound of voices from the entrance made him freeze.

"Seven hells!" a man cursed, his shout carrying through the chamber. Aerion and the boy snapped to attention, and Aerion pressed a finger to his lips, signalling silence. He slipped up a nearby staircase that led into the stands, a dagger in hand.

"It's nothing," a woman's voice replied, cool and dismissive. She was too far away to see, but her tone carried no urgency.

"Nothing? The King knows!" the man hissed, his voice low and filled with fury. It echoed off the stone walls, sharp and savage.

Aerion crouched behind the high back of a bench, his ears straining to hear more.

"The court has known before," the woman scoffed, her voice smooth, almost mocking. "And last time, you ran like a dog with your tail between your legs. While I held this place together."

The man growled in response, and Aerion's grip on his dagger tightened. Every word sharpened the dread in his gut.

The woman continued, unconcerned. "Tonight's event will go on as planned. And after that? We disappear. By the time we return, the King's worries will be nothing but a whisper."

"Does your greed know no bounds?" The man hissed, Aerion crouched lower, his heart hammering in his chest as the voices drew nearer. A soft clink of armour reverberated off the stone walls. 

He risked a glance over the bench and saw them—a dark-haired man and a blonde woman, with four guards trailing in their wake.

He ducked back behind a bench, his heart roaring, he definitely couldn't take out six people on his own. His jaw clenched, he needed to leave while he could, get Marq and Thorin, let the King know.

"We have new, important guests, if we cancel and flee, they are likely to think we stole their coin and ran" she said as she shook her head, her blonde hair tied back from her tanned face. 

The man scowled "This is madne—"

The woman silenced him with a sharp hiss "Remember who led this place the last time Royal attention was placed upon us" she reminded. The man only clenched his jaw as he took a deep breath. 

"The guests should be here soon" she said as her eyes swept over the stadium above. Aerions eyes widening in shock as his fists clenched at her words. "Prepare, I'll be sending a Raven" she said as she left the arena, trailed by her guards. 

"What about the bastard?" The man asked, his tone resigned. The woman turned her head, a merciless glint in her eyes. 

"Where do you think the rest of our guard has gone?" she asked coldly. She didn't wait for his response, turning her back on him as though the answer was obvious.

Aerion eyes widened, the guards were clearly looking for him. His eyes narrowed, she seemed sure, certain that her guard could find him. Did they have access to The Red Keep? 

A cold chill of fear ran down his spine, the fear only amplified when he suddenly heard a guest arrive, coming up the same staircase he had climbed not even minutes ago. The man was wearing a dirty brown cloak, the hood drawn over his head. 

Aerion was at the very top of the stands, above almost everything with a stone wall to his back, so he dropped back down behind the high backed bench, his ears perking as he heard the man sit down. 

He would need to wait for more guests to arrive, and then slip out in the mix. 

—-

Not even fifteen minutes later and the guests seemed to flood in from multiple different entrances in the stands he hadn't noticed before. The seats filled quickly, eagerly as an anticipated energy filled the room.

His mind raced. If he left now, they would spot him immediately. But slipping into the crowd…Yes, he could hide in plain sight.

He lifted his hood above his head, slipping onto the bench he was hiding behind. His eyes wandered over the crowd, disgust building within him and money started to change hands.

They were gambling.

They were not poor men, golden dragons and silver stags switching hands easily. His anger flared, they spoke casually of the children and dogs. They knew their names, the way they fought.

Most of these people clearly came here regularly. 

He eyed the benches, many seats still left empty. Then his eyes wandered over the men and women in the stands. None wore armour, none had swords at their hips, he could only see small daggers and the like.

They felt safe here.

As the weight of the room's depravity settled over him, the initial fear twisting in his chest gave way to a burning rage. These were no warriors, no honourable men. They were gamblers, trading blood for sport.

His anger further ignited, the heat burning through his very essence. His thoughts went back to the children in cages, their teeth filed into sharp points like animals. These people felt safe, untouchable, in their seats above the blood and misery. That would change.

He would make sure they never felt safe ever again. 

—-

Eventually the crowd filled, the benches packed, Aerion now bumping shoulders with two men. His purple eyes narrowed on the dark haired man in the centre of the arena below him.

Aerion had a plan. 

"Welcome! Welcome!" The man shouted, all of his fear from earlier gone as he shifted into a showman. "Let's get this started!" The men in the crowd clapped politely, Aerions disgust only furthering at the facade of civility these people wore. 

Two dogs were dragged out, thrown to the ground by a large guard. The dark haired man leaves the pen, closing the doors behind him, locking the two dogs in together. The two animals almost instantly shot towards each other. 

Pained yelps, growls and barks were barely heard through the sudden cheering. Aerion clenched his jaw, standing to his feet, as he made his way through the now cheering, standing crowd. 

He had a plan

This celebration of blood only solidified his resolve to commit to this plan. 

He eyed the staircase that he had climbed up earlier, casually as if he belonged there, he climbed down. The cheering and pained yelps echoing through his ears. He walked past cages, children looking up at him fearfully as he made his way through the room. 

He couldn't even bear to look down at them. 

He walked towards a nearby set of doors, then turned left heading towards the room with the dog cages. Dozens, almost forty cages lined the walls, scarred, wrathful dogs held within. 

They were awake now, they knew what was coming for them. Aerion eyed the room, making sure no one was here. Before he dropped to a knee, eyeing the scarred black dog he had seen earlier. 

Aerion slipped into the dog's skin, the creature's fury and terror slamming into him like a wave. His vision blurred as he saw through its eyes—the world tinted with red. 

For a moment, the dog's mind resisted, wild and untamed, the raw emotion almost too much to bear. But Aerion pushed deeper, steadying himself. Slowly, he quieted the rage, smothered the fear. What replaced it was something new—loyalty, obedience.

Subservience to him.

—-

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