Chapter 6 - Worth the Walk

  Kain walked up to the edge of the crater.

  Up close, it wasn’t just a hole in the earth. It was built—carved and shaped into something deliberate. The outer rim rose nearly thirty feet above the surrounding land, stone packed and reinforced until it formed a broad, circular wall. From there, the ground dropped sharply, sinking deep below the surface into a vast arena that reminded him of a sunken football stadium.

  The scale of it made his chest tighten. Crude entrances dotted the outer ring at uneven intervals—dark openings carved into the stone, some reinforced with stacked rocks arranged into rough housing structures. They clung to the crater’s exterior like barnacles, forming a settlement wrapped around the arena itself.

  Scarabs moved throughout the space, scattered along the rim and between the structures. Some carried stone or bundles of fruit. Others knelt near small fires or gathered in tight clusters, low sounds passing between them.

  Then they saw him. Movement halted. Every Scarab along the outer ring went still, heads turning in near-perfect unison. The sudden quiet felt heavier than noise. The only ones who didn’t freeze were the figures stationed at the largest entrance—a wide break in the stone reinforced with thick slabs and packed earth.

  Guards. One of them broke away immediately, disappearing into the entrance at a hurried pace. The others stayed.

  They began to move toward Kain, slow and measured, spreading slightly as they advanced. The guards approached with care. Their steps were slow, deliberate, each one watching Kain as if he might change shape at any second. Their eyes weren’t on his face at first. They were on his hands.

  Kain hadn’t noticed when it started. Somewhere along the long walk toward the crater, he’d fallen into the habit of rolling the Veyra between his fingertips—letting the faint light flicker from one finger to the next, coiling and uncoiling in small, controlled motions. Not summoning it fully. Not shaping it into anything useful.

  Just keeping it moving. Something to occupy his focus while he walked. Something to keep his mind from drifting.

  The guards’ attention made the habit obvious. Kain glanced down at his hands and felt the awareness snap into place. The light faded immediately, retreating beneath his skin like it had never been there at all.

  The change didn’t go unnoticed. The guards slowed, then stopped. Their gaze lifted—slowly, deliberately—from where the light had been to Kain’s eyes.

  For the first time since they’d started approaching him, they met his stare directly. Kain tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking between the guards.

  “So,” he said, voice easy, almost bored, “are we about to do this, or are you just here to stare at my hands?”

  No answer. Why did I want to fight so bad? He though.

  The guards didn’t shift. Didn’t bristle. Didn’t react at all. They just stood there, bodies angled forward, weight balanced, watching him in silence.

  Seconds stretched. The air tightened. Kain was just starting to reconsider his wording when movement caught his eye at the main entrance.

  The guard who had broken away earlier reappeared, stepping back into the light. He wasn’t alone. Someone followed him out. Kain’s breath hitched—just a fraction. Human?

  The man walked with a stiff, uneven gait, posture slightly hunched as if his body hadn’t quite decided what shape it was supposed to hold anymore. He wore simple, worn clothing, but it was the skin that made Kain’s focus sharpen.

  Gray crept along the man’s hands and up his neck in irregular patches, dull and pale, blending into his natural tone in a way that looked permanent rather than injured. His fingers were no longer fully human—longer than they should have been, joints pronounced, nails thickened into rough, claw-like shapes that flexed when he moved.

  Kain stared. “…Huh,” he murmured under his breath. “First human I’ve seen since I got here.”

  The thought followed immediately after. How many more like him are there? The man drew closer, flanked loosely by the guards, eyes fixed somewhere past Kain rather than on him. Whatever he was becoming, whatever line he’d crossed, it hadn’t left him unaware. Just changed. The man stopped a few paces away and straightened as much as his posture allowed.

  “My name’s Sonen,” he said. His voice was still human—rough, tired, but steady. “Where did you come from?”

  Kain glanced past him, then turned and pointed a thumb back over his shoulder. “That,” he said. “The endless scorched nothing. Very scenic. Hard to miss.”

  Sonen stared at him for a moment. His jaw tightened. “Yes,” he said flatly. “I can see that.”

  He took a breath through his nose, irritation slipping through the cracks of his composure. “I’m asking where you came from.”

  Kain shrugged. “I walked.”

  Sonen’s eyes narrowed. “Alright,” he said, patience thinning. “Let me try again.” He lifted one altered hand slightly, counting off as he spoke. “The Fade Belt. The Verdant Belt. Or the Murfken Swamp Line.” Sonen's eyes narrowed. "Or is it the ravine?" Each name landed with weight, spoken like places people didn’t cross by accident. Especially the last one. He said that like a detective that was on to a criminal.

  Sonen lowered his hand and looked at Kain carefully. “Which one.”

  Kain blinked. Once. Then again. He stared at Sonen for a beat too long before answering. “I have absolutely no idea what any of those places are.”

  Sonen’s expression hardened. Kain lifted a hand slightly. “Also, ‘Murfken Swamp Line’ sounds made up. Like someone tried to scare kids away from the water.” That did it.

  Sonen’s jaw set, irritation finally showing through the practiced calm. The gray creeping along his neck seemed to stand out more as he leaned forward slightly. Kain sighed. “Okay, alright—reset.” He gestured vaguely beneath his feet. “I woke up a few days ago. Lying on hot ground. Alone. No idea how I got there or why.” He paused, then added more quietly, “That’s the honest version.”

  Sonen didn’t respond right away. He studied Kain with open skepticism, eyes moving from his face to his clothes, then back again. The silence stretched long enough that Kain felt the urge to fill it—and resisted.

  Yeah, he thought. He thinks I’m joking. Maybe I shouldn’t have led with the sarcasm.

  Sonen finally shook his head. “I’ve never seen clothing like that before,” he said. “And whatever path you came from, it wasn’t easy.”

  His gaze lingered on Kain’s worn tank top and battered frame. “You look terrible,” he added bluntly. “So if I had to guess?” He tilted his head slightly. “Murfken Swamp Line.” Kain opened his mouth to object. Sonen didn’t give him the chance. “Well,” he continued, a thin edge of interest creeping into his voice, “Sir Amon might actually be pleased. It’s been a while since we’ve had someone new worth watching.” He turned and gestured toward the entrance with his altered hand. “Come on.”

  Kain hesitated for half a second. “…Sir Amon?” he repeated under his breath. Then he stepped forward.

  They moved through the interior passages of the crater, the stone walls closing in around them. The tunnels weren’t natural. The surfaces bore the unmistakable marks of hands—uneven grooves, rough angles where stone had been chipped away piece by piece. The ceilings rose just high enough to walk without ducking, widening and narrowing unpredictably as the corridors curved inward.

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  As they went deeper, the sound reached him. A roar. Distant at first, muffled by layers of stone, then louder with every turn they took. It wasn’t a single voice—it was many, overlapping and rising together in heavy waves. The sound carried rhythm, surging and falling in a way that made Kain’s pulse adjust without his permission.

  A crowd. Watching something. Kain’s eyes drifted to the walls as they passed. Burn marks scarred the stone everywhere—darkened streaks climbing upward, blackened patches where heat had kissed too long. Some were wide and violent. Others thin and precise, like warnings etched into the structure itself. He slowed slightly, taking it in. Sonen noticed.

  “Sir Amon has a temper,” he said without looking back, tone casual in a way that suggested this was common knowledge. “The stone remembers it better than people do.”

  Kain huffed softly. “Starting to get that impression.” He hesitated, then asked, “So who is this Amon guy, anyway?”

  Sonen stopped walking. Just long enough to make the pause uncomfortable. He turned his head partway, one altered eye fixing on Kain. “That’s Sir Amon,” he corrected.

  Kain raised his hands a fraction in surrender. “Right. Sir Amon.”

  Sonen resumed walking. “I don’t know how you managed to make it this far without hearing his name,” he went on. “This place exists because of him. The fights. The crater. All of it.” The roar ahead swelled again, closer now. “You don’t just stumble into this,” Sonen said. “The journey alone turns most people around. If it doesn’t kill them first, it convinces them it isn’t worth it.”

  He glanced back over his shoulder. “Most decide they’d rather live without proving anything at all.” The implication hung there.

  Kain said nothing. He just kept walking, the sound of the crowd growing louder with every step, the burn-scarred stone guiding him toward whatever Sir Amon had built at the heart of it all.

  As they walked, it started to sink in. This wasn’t just a crater with tunnels. It was a maze.

  Corridors branched off at odd angles, some sloping downward, others climbing back up before cutting sideways again. Entrances disappeared behind stacked stone and tight turns. Kain tried to mark the path in his head out of habit—left, right, down, curve—but it fell apart almost immediately. If he had to leave on his own, there was no chance he’d find the same exit again. That realization settled deeper than he liked.

  He glanced at Sonen’s back. “So,” he said, tone casual, “what exactly do people hope to get out of all this?”

  Sonen slowed just a fraction. Then he almost laughed. “You get to fight Sir Amon,” he said, like it was obvious.

  Kain blinked. “That’s the prize?”

  Sonen nodded. “If you’re still in one piece after defeating his most devoted followers.”

  Kain frowned. “Followers?” Plural.

  Sonen stopped walking. This time, he turned fully. He looked at Kain with open confusion, head tilting slightly as if reassessing something important. “Wow,” he said slowly. “You truly are ignorant, aren’t you?”

  The roar of the crowd swelled again ahead of them, louder now. And suddenly, fighting Amon didn’t sound like the first test. It sounded like the last. Kain hesitated, then spoke again. “You’re the first human I’ve seen in days,” he said. “Are there others like you here?”

  Sonen slowed. Then frowned. The expression wasn’t confusion at first—it was something closer to unfamiliarity, like Kain had used a word that didn’t quite translate. “Human?” Sonen repeated. He rolled the word around once, testing it. “No. There aren’t any humans here.”

  Kain stopped walking. “…What?”

  Sonen turned slightly, his altered hands flexing as he spoke. “We’re Scarabs,” he said plainly. “All of us.”

  Kain stared at him. “Then what are—”

  “I was partway through my evolution,” Sonen interrupted. “Into a—”He paused, searching for the word, then waved it off. “One of those.” He gestured vaguely back toward the tunnels, toward the gray-skinned figures moving through the crater. “Drifts...mindless. Driven. Strong, but empty,” Sonen continued. “That’s what happens to most of us. The longer we stay in the scorched lands, the further we go.”

  Kain glanced at Sonen’s hands again—the claws half-formed, the skin no longer fully his own. “What stopped it?” Kain asked.

  Sonen’s mouth tightened. “Veyra.” He flexed his fingers once, faint light flickering just beneath the gray skin. “Learning to use it slowed the change. Anchored me. Kept my mind intact.”

  He looked at Kain more closely now, eyes sharp. “Lucky timing. Or stubbornness. Depends who you ask.”

  Kain exhaled slowly. “So the Scarabs I fought before…” he started.

  Sonen nodded. “Same people. Different stage.”

  The corridor ahead pulsed with noise and heat, the sound of the crowd rolling through the stone like distant thunder. “This place doesn’t turn you into something else,” Sonen said quietly as they resumed walking. “It finishes what the world already started.”

  The thought crept in before Kain could stop it. Would that have been me? He pictured the Scarabs he’d fought earlier—their feral movements, the emptiness behind their eyes. People who had gone too far to come back. He flexed his fingers slightly, grounding himself in the sensation of being here, of still being himself. If I hadn’t figured it out…If the Veyra hadn’t answered… The question lingered longer than he liked.

  Another thought surfaced—sharper, more dangerous. He almost asked it aloud. Can you hear the voice too? The system. The one that spoke from somewhere deep inside him, measured and exact, like it had always been waiting. The idea of saying it out loud felt wrong. Premature. Like giving away a card before he understood the game. Kain let the question die where it formed.

  Instead, he looked back to Sonen. “So,” he said, keeping his tone even, “what can you actually do with Veyra?”

  Sonen glanced at him sidelong as they walked, the faint gray along his jaw catching the light from the corridors. “That depends,” he said. “On how much you have. How stable it is. And how much of yourself you’re willing to put behind it.”

  Kain frowned. “That doesn’t sound reassuring.”

  Sonen gave a short, humorless breath. “It’s not meant to be. I'm very curious as to how you're this unaware.”

  He lifted his altered hand slightly, letting a dull shimmer roll just beneath the skin. “Some of us use it to reinforce our bodies. Some shape it outward—fire, force, pressure. Sir Amon…” He hesitated, then continued. “He doesn’t just use Veyra. He burns through it.”

  Kain’s eyes narrowed. “And you?”

  Sonen lowered his hand. “I use enough to stay myself.” The answer carried more weight than it should have.

  They walked on, the roar of the arena growing louder ahead, and Kain felt the shape of the path tightening around him—not just the stone corridors, but the choices waiting at the end of them. Kain didn’t notice the change at first. The floor angled upward so gradually that it registered more as effort than elevation. Then the steps became obvious—wide stone stairs worn smooth at the center, their edges chipped and uneven. As they climbed, the walls shifted with them. Color drained away.

  The pale stone gave way to deep charcoal black, the surface scorched and glassy in places, like the rock itself had been burned past recovery. The texture changed too—less rough, more fused, as if something had exploded here and the stone had decided to remember it forever. That thought had barely finished forming when the air shook.

  A thunderous yell tore through the corridors, so loud it rattled dust from the ceiling and sent a vibration straight through Kain’s chest. It wasn’t pain or anger alone—it was presence. The kind that announced itself whether you were ready or not.

  Before Kain could react, Sonen’s hand snapped out and caught his arm. “Move,” He said sharply.

  He yanked Kain sideways into the nearest doorway just as a rush of heat blasted past where they’d been walking. Flames roared through the corridor in a blinding sweep, licking the walls and vanishing as quickly as they’d come. The stone glowed faintly in its wake. Kain stared at the empty stairwell, heart hammering.

  Sonen released his arm and stepped back out into the corridor, already continuing upward as if nothing had happened. Kain blinked, then followed.

  Before he knew it, they had arrived in a large chamber with a lot of light. Kain could see the sky all of a sudden. Sonen had dropped to one knee without Kain realizing it.

  The movement only registered when Kain noticed the sudden shift in posture—Sonen’s head lowered, one fist pressed to the stone floor, body angled toward the throne with practiced precision. Kain glanced down, then back up.

  Sonen’s voice carried clearly despite the distance.“Sir Amon. A new challenger has arrived today. He claims origin from the Murfken swamp line.” There was a pause. Then the figure on the throne leaned forward.

  Stone scraped softly as weight shifted. Flamelight stirred, casting long, restless shadows across the arena walls. Amon’s head emerged from the silhouette, fire licking lazily around his shoulders as he regarded the space below. Eyebrows rose. Not in disbelief. In interest. “Murfken?” Amon said, tone lifting slightly. “That’s a long walk for someone still breathing.” His gaze slid past Sonen and settled on Kain. Slow. Appraising. Unhurried. Then a faint grin pulled at the corner of his mouth.

  “I take it,” Amon said, voice echoing effortlessly through the stadium, “it’s this rough-looking guy here.”

  The flame around him brightened just a touch. Not enough to threaten. Enough to promise. Amon didn’t bother sitting back.

  “Let’s waste no time,” he said, already rising from the throne.

  The flames around him flared in response, crawling higher along the stone like they were eager for the same thing he was. His attention never left Kain as he spoke again, voice carrying with casual authority.

  “That’s a long journey you’ve taken,” Amon said. “You don’t walk that far unless you’re strong.” He turned his head slightly, not even looking at the Scarabs below as he issued the order. “Put him on the field immediately.” The arena stirred. Scarabs along the edges shifted, low sounds rippling outward as the command spread. Gates began to move. Stone scraped against stone somewhere below as mechanisms older than reason responded. Amon’s gaze snapped back to Kain. “And don’t insult him,” he added, lips curling. “Send our strongest three. Non-exhausted.”

  That earned a reaction. Even from here, Kain could feel it—the subtle tightening across the arena, the way attention sharpened. Three wasn’t a warm-up. It wasn’t a test bout. It was a statement.

  Amon leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees, chin propped on one fist. Firelight danced across his eyes as he studied Kain openly now.

  “Let’s see if the walk was worth it,” he said. Below, gates began to open.

  And somewhere beneath the roar of the crowd, Kain felt the familiar pull in his chest stir—quiet, waiting, and dangerously interested.