The roar of the Hollow Pit audience still rang in James's ears when Ilyanna stepped between him and Merid, her eyes flashing dangerously.
"You've got three seconds to explain yourself," she said, her hand drifting toward her bow. "If you think you can just shove James into some blood sport without telling us why—"
Merid raised both hands, her voice tense. "Alright, alright! You want the truth? Fine."
The librarian's shoulders sagged as though a lifetime of weight had just dropped onto them. "This isn't about the guild. It's… personal."
James frowned. "Personal?"
Merid hesitated, glancing toward the pit where workers were clearing away the blood from the last fight. "A month ago, I lost something—an heirloom that's been in my family for generations. A silver signet ring with a red jasper crest. My grandmother wore it during the founding of Iguro's first library."
"You lost it?" Ilyanna's voice was sharp.
Merid grimaced. "I was buying supplies for the library when someone lifted it from my pocket. I thought it was gone forever… until I found out who had it."
She looked around the chamber before lowering her voice. "Isaac Arturo."
James's brow furrowed. "Who's that?"
Merid's lips tightened. "The youngest son of House Arturo—the noble family that owns half the land west of the river. Spoiled, arrogant, and more dangerous than he looks. Isaac is one of the main sponsors of this pit. He promised me I could have the heirloom back… if I won a match here."
James blinked. "And you said yes?"
Her laugh was humorless. "I'm an old librarian, James. I can barely lift a bucket of water, let alone trade blows with some pit-fighter. I tried to refuse, but…" She swallowed, her hands balling into fists. "Isaac stormed into the library two days ago. He took the ledger that listed my staff and decided if I couldn't fight, my people would. He sent two names to the arena: Pepe Tuazon… and you."
Ilyanna's hand curled into a tight fist. "Where's Pepe now?"
Merid's face darkened. "He already fought. Didn't last ten seconds. Now Isaac's keeping him somewhere in the arena's lower cells. He said the only way Pepe walks free is if the second challenger fights and wins."
James glanced at the pit, his stomach knotting. "So… you brought me here because I'm your last card to play."
Merid looked at the floor. "I didn't know how else to get you here without you walking away."
"Walking away?" Ilyanna's voice was ice. "We should be walking out right now."
"We can't!" Merid's voice rose in desperation. "If we leave, Pepe will vanish into Isaac's little network of debts and thugs. And my grandmother's ring will be melted down or pawned off to another noble who doesn't care what it means."
The noise of the crowd swelled as the announcer hyped the next fight. The stench of sweat, ale, and raw greed pressed in on them from every angle.
James rubbed his temples. "So either I fight… or Pepe and your heirloom are gone forever."
Merid nodded miserably.
Ilyanna's eyes narrowed. "Or I fight instead."
Merid's head jerked up. "You? No—Isaac won't allow—"
"Then he can try to stop me," she snapped. "James is a mage, not a brawler. If this pit runs like I think it does, they'll throw him against some monster of a fighter who won't give him a chance to breathe. At least I can handle myself."
James opened his mouth to argue, but she shot him a look that shut him up instantly.
"Besides," she added, "I don't care what rules this noble brat plays by. I'm not letting him break you for sport."
Merid wrung her hands. "You don't understand, Isaac—"
"—is just a man," Ilyanna cut in. "A man who thinks his title means he can do whatever he wants. I've dealt with his type before."
Before Merid could answer, a slow, mocking clap cut through the din.
From the far side of the pit entrance, a young man approached. He was dressed in fine crimson silks, a jeweled dagger hanging at his belt purely for show. His hair was immaculately styled, his smirk practically dripping with condescension.
"Well, well," he said, his voice smooth and infuriatingly self-assured. "The librarian's pet rats have arrived."
Merid stiffened. "Isaac."
Isaac Arturo stopped just a few paces away, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd lost your nerve. But here you are. And… oh my, is this the assistant you were hiding?" His gaze lingered on James with mock appraisal before sliding to Ilyanna.
"And you brought an archer. How quaint. Unfortunately for you, the pit doesn't use bows."
"I'll manage," Ilyanna said flatly.
Isaac's smirk widened. "You? Oh, this is rich. You're not even on the list, little bird. But I suppose I can make an exception. Watching you fail might be even more entertaining than watching the mage flail."
Ilyanna's jaw tightened. "Let's make a deal. If I win, you release Pepe and return the heirloom."
Isaac tilted his head, pretending to think. "Hmm… tempting. But what do I get when you lose?"
"You get to keep running your little blood circus without my arrows in your throat," she said coldly.
For a moment, Isaac simply stared at her. Then he laughed—loud, sharp, the kind of laugh meant to draw attention. A few nearby spectators glanced their way, curious.
"You've got spirit," Isaac said at last. "Fine. You fight. But the rules stand—no weapons you bring yourself, no killing, and no running. You win, you walk with your friend and your little trinket. You lose… well, you'll join Pepe in the cellar until I decide otherwise."
He gestured toward the pit. "You've got two minutes to get ready. Try not to embarrass yourselves too quickly."
As Isaac sauntered away, Ilyanna exhaled slowly.
James stepped forward. "You don't have to do this. I can—"
"No," she said firmly, meeting his eyes. "You're our mage. If something happens to you, the guild's as good as done. Let me handle this one."
Merid bit her lip. "Ilyanna, if you lose—"
"I won't," she said, already pulling her hair into a tighter knot.
The announcer's voice boomed again, calling for the next challenger. Ilyanna gave James a small nod before turning toward the pit's crude wooden steps.
James watched her go, his hands clenching at his sides. He hated feeling this powerless.
Somewhere below, the crowd roared as the arena master declared her name.