Ravian's knees hit the dirt first, the impact barely registering through the haze of exhaustion that had settled over him. The world around him tilted, a blur of colors and motion, but none of it mattered. His body was shutting down, pulling him under like a heavy blanket of darkness. His breath rasped in his throat, each inhale a shallow, stuttering gasp as he fought to stay conscious. But even that was slipping.
He had no strength left. Nothing.
The last fight had burned through whatever reserves he had left—rage and desperation had carried him this far, but now even that was gone. He had survived, but the cost was more than he could bear.
The dirt beneath him was cool, gritty against his cheek as he collapsed fully, his body finally giving out. For a moment, everything went still. The noise of the arena, the distant cries of the other children—it all faded into a muted hum, distant and unreal. His vision blurred, darkening at the edges, and Ravian let himself fall deeper into that darkness, welcoming the relief it promised.
Maybe this is it.
The thought drifted lazily across his mind, but it didn't stir any emotion in him. There was no fear, no panic. Just…acceptance. If this was the end, then so be it.
The world was too far away to care about anymore.
A hand clamped down on his shoulder, rough and unfeeling, jerking him back to the surface of consciousness. Ravian's eyes fluttered open, but his body refused to respond, the weight of exhaustion pressing him down like a stone. The grip on his shoulder tightened, and through the haze, he heard a low, guttural voice.
"Get him up."
Another set of hands grabbed him under the arms, hauling him upright. His legs dragged in the dirt, useless beneath him, as they carried him away from the arena. His head lolled to the side, his vision too blurred to make sense of where they were taking him. The noise of the arena grew fainter, and soon all that remained was the dull throb of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears.
He was barely aware of being dumped onto a hard surface, the jarring sensation sending a spike of pain up his spine. But even that felt distant, as though it were happening to someone else. His eyes slipped shut, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Ravian let himself go. The tension that had coiled so tightly within him finally released, his body sinking into the numbness that washed over him in waves.
Time became meaningless.
Hours? Days? He couldn't tell. He drifted in and out of consciousness, his body too broken to move, his mind too fractured to think. The pain that had been his constant companion since the trials began was a dull ache now, buried beneath layers of exhaustion. The world outside his mind ceased to exist, replaced by the blank, empty void that swallowed him whole.
When he finally stirred again, it was to the sound of low murmurs. He blinked, his eyes heavy, struggling to adjust to the dim light of the space around him. It wasn't the arena. The ground beneath him was hard and cold, the air thick with the stench of sweat and blood. His throat was dry, parched, but even the effort to swallow felt like too much.
He shifted slightly, wincing as pain flared in his side. His body was stiff, each muscle screaming in protest as he forced himself to move. He managed to prop himself up on his elbows, his head swimming from the effort, and for the first time, he saw where he was.
A dark, cramped room, filled with other children.
They lay scattered around him, some curled up on the ground, others slumped against the walls. Their faces were pale, hollow, their bodies battered and bruised. Some of them were unconscious, others awake but staring blankly ahead, lost in their own worlds of pain and exhaustion.
Ravian felt no kinship with them. They were just like him—survivors. Not friends, not comrades, just others who had made it this far. But there was no comfort in that. No solidarity. They were all the same—broken, beaten down, nothing more than bodies trying to hold on to whatever scraps of life they had left.
His gaze drifted across the room, settling on one of the children near him. A boy, no older than him, was lying on his back, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. His eyes were closed, his face smeared with dirt and dried blood. For a moment, Ravian wondered if the boy was dead, but then he saw the faint flutter of his pulse at his throat.
Alive, but barely.
Ravian let his head fall back against the cold ground, his chest tightening with the effort of breathing. The room felt like a grave. The walls pressed in on him, the air thick and suffocating, but there was nowhere else to go. No escape.
He didn't know how long he lay there, his body too weak to move, his mind drifting in and out of awareness. Time slipped away from him, lost in the blur of half-sleep and pain. Every now and then, he would hear the distant sound of footsteps, the low murmurs of the overseers as they passed by, but none of them spared a glance at the children lying in the shadows.
We're not special to them. None of us are.
It was a truth that Ravian had always known, but now it settled over him like a cold, heavy weight. He wasn't special. He wasn't stronger or more resilient than any of the others. He had survived, yes, but that was all. Surviving didn't make him anything more than another body in this pit of blood and dirt.
There were no heroes here.
Another wave of exhaustion swept over him, pulling him back under. His eyelids fluttered shut, and for a moment, he allowed himself to sink into it, letting the darkness claim him once again.
-----------------------------------------------
When he woke again, it was to the sound of harsh whispers.
Ravian blinked, his vision slow to focus, his body stiff and sore as he shifted slightly. The whispers grew louder, sharper, and he realized they were coming from just outside the room. His heart lurched, the familiar tension coiling in his gut as he strained to listen.
"They'll break soon," a voice muttered, low and gruff. "We've pushed them far enough."
A second voice, colder, replied, "It doesn't matter. The weak will fall, the strong will keep going. That's all this is. Nothing more."
Ravian's heart sank. He had always known, deep down, that this was what it was about. Survival. Nothing more. There was no grand purpose behind it, no greater goal. They were being pushed to their limits, forced to fight and bleed, just to see who would survive.
And Ravian had survived.
But now, as he lay there, weak and broken, he wondered what the point of it all was.
Survive. Keep going. That's all it is.
The voices faded, their footsteps retreating down the hall, leaving Ravian alone in the dim silence of the room. He let his head fall back against the cold ground, his chest tight with the weight of exhaustion.
The garden was gone. The kindness, the softness of who he had once been—it was all gone, buried beneath the blood and dirt that clung to his skin.
And yet, he was still here.
Still surviving.
But surviving wasn't enough anymore.