The town of Ardent Hollow lay far to the west, where the land cracked dry under endless sun and dust storms swept like hungry spirits. Merchants passed through by day, but by night the true heart of the town beat beneath the ground. Down a flight of rusted stairs, behind barred gates and oil lanterns, roared the Pit—an underground arena where men, women, and beasts fought for coin, glory, and survival.
And at the center of that pit, undefeated in fifty-seven matches, stood Honey.
Her real name had been lost long ago. The man who raised her—Rufar, the arena's owner—had named her after the creature she resembled: fierce, unyielding, and feared even by lions. Her white-striped hair gleamed with sweat as she stood in the dirt ring, blood dripping from her knuckles.
The crowd screamed her name.
"HONEY! HONEY! HONEY!"
Her opponent, a towering sellsword twice her size, lay broken at her feet. Honey spat blood onto the ground and raised her claws.
"That's fifty-seven," she growled, voice hoarse but steady.
---
Later, in the locker chamber behind the pit, Rufar approached her with his usual grin. He was a thick man with gold teeth and a limp, but his eyes gleamed sharp as knives.
"You did it again, girl," he chuckled, tossing her a rag to wipe her face. "Fifty-seven matches. Never lost once. You know what they call you out there now?"
Honey sat heavily on the bench, her body covered in bandages. She dabbed at the blood on her cheek without looking at him. "What?"
"The Beast of Hollow." Rufar's grin widened. "Even the gamblers are scared to bet against you. You've made me richer than kings."
Honey snorted. "And me?"
"You eat. You fight. You live." He crouched to meet her eyes. "That's more than the streets would've given you. You'd be bones in a ditch if I hadn't taken you in."
Her jaw tightened. Rufar wasn't wrong. At seven years old, starving and feral, she'd been caught stealing food from his stalls. Instead of cutting her down, he'd thrown her into the Pit. She had won her first fight that same night.
She had never stopped winning.
---
As Rufar left, a boy from the staff lingered by the door. He was younger, maybe fifteen, with wide eyes that looked at Honey like she was a hero.
"Miss Honey," he said timidly. "You were amazing out there."
Honey smirked, her fangs flashing. "Don't call me miss. I'm no lady."
The boy flushed. "Still… how do you do it? You never seem afraid."
Her smirk faded. For a moment, silence stretched between them.
Finally, she said, "It's not that I'm not afraid. It's that fear doesn't matter once you're in the pit. You either bite back or you die."
The boy swallowed hard, then nodded and left her to her thoughts.
---
That night, as she sat alone in her small chamber above the arena, Honey stared out the cracked window at the desert moon.
Fifty-seven fights. Fifty-seven wins.
But what did it mean?
She had no family, no home beyond the Pit. The people of Ardent Hollow cheered her name, but none cared who she truly was when the lanterns burned out. She was a weapon, nothing more.
Her claws flexed against the windowsill. "Is this all there is?" she whispered to the night.
---
The following evening, Rufar brought her into his office. The air reeked of incense and ale. He gestured at a map sprawled across the table.
"There's talk from the east," he said, tapping the parchment. "Something stirring in Frostwood. Strange beasts, villages whispering about omens. Even word of wolf-blooded twins."
Honey arched a brow. "And that matters to us because…?"
"Because people pay good coin for stories, and better coin for champions who can prove them wrong. I'm sending you east for a match—something bigger than this dusty town. The Hollow's too small for you now."
She crossed her arms, tail twitching with irritation. "And if I refuse?"
Rufar leaned forward, gold teeth flashing. "You don't refuse. You fight, because that's what you are. You're my beast, Honey. Don't forget who gave you everything."
Her claws dug into the wood of the table, splintering it slightly. For a heartbeat, she imagined tearing out his throat, ending his grip on her life.
But then she thought of being seven years old, half-dead, and the hand that had fed her.
Her claws retracted. She stood. "Fine. East it is."
---
As she prepared to leave Ardent Hollow, the boy who had spoken to her earlier caught up to her at the gates. He held out a small charm—crude, made of string and a polished stone.
"I made this for you," he said shyly. "For luck."
Honey frowned, then slowly took it. "Luck's a lie," she muttered. But she tied it around her wrist anyway.
The boy smiled. "Maybe. But even beasts need someone to believe in them."
Honey looked down at him for a long moment, then ruffled his hair with a clawed hand. "Don't end up in the pit, kid. You're too soft."
With that, she turned and walked into the desert night, the crowd's chants still echoing faintly behind her.
---
The road east stretched endless, and for the first time in years, Honey was leaving the Pit. She didn't know what awaited her—beasts, twins, or prophecies whispered on the wind.
But one truth burned in her chest like fire:
She had never lost.
And she wasn't about to start now.