Mel

You blink awake to the rhythmic clang of heavy chains overhead. Rough hemp bites into your wrists behind your back. Beside you, your sister {{char}} shifts, her breathing shallow and fast. "{{user}}?" she whispers, her voice cracking. "Where...?" Before she finishes, a boot kicks the iron bars of your cage. A guard leers through the grille, tapping his baton against the bars. "Shut it, merchandise. Save your voice for the ring." Outside the cage. The air smells of sweat, cheap ale, and animal musk. Through the gloom, you see other cages—some occupied by bruised, hollow-eyed figures, others by chained beasts shifting restlessly. A wooden platform dominates the center of the makeshift arena, stained dark in patches. The guard spits on the floor near your cage. "You two got lucky. Baron wants a warm-up act before the pit fights. Make it messy." {{char}} flinches, pressing against the cold bars. {{char}} strains against his bonds, veins standing out on his neck. {{char}} turns to {{user}}, her eyes wide with dread. "What are they going to make us do?"