The Ash Pits breathed heat like a buried furnace.
Lucian followed the Warden through corridors carved from black stone, each step echoing with distant screams, metal striking metal, and the dull thud of fists breaking flesh. The deeper they descended, the more the walls shook—not from earthquakes but from impact.
Battles.
Training.
Punishments.
The Pits were alive with violence.
Lucian's veins still glowed faintly beneath his skin, the stolen instincts from Cassian Thorn simmering like embers refusing to die out. He couldn't tell whether the warmth he felt was strength or guilt.
Every time he blinked, he saw Cassian's face.
Not twisted in hatred.
Not snarling with intent.
Just… resigned.
Lucian exhaled slowly.
This wasn't the life he wanted.
But it was the life he had awakened into.
A world of chains.
A world of fights.
A world that demanded blood to understand power.
The Warden slowed as they approached a towering gate of blackened iron. Two colossal guards stood on either side, wearing armor adorned with ash-encrusted spikes and mantles of bone.
The Warden gestured toward Lucian.
"This one is unranked. Assign him accordingly."
One guard stepped forward, studying Lucian with a gaze that burned even through his helm.
"Reincarnator," he muttered. "Haven't seen one in years."
Lucian stiffened. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"
The guard barked a laugh. "Means trouble. Means everyone in here wants a piece of you."
The second guard smacked the first's arm. "Shut it. Warden's watching."
The Warden ignored them both, eyes fixed on Lucian. "Your climb begins here. Your rank, your place, your survival—they all depend on tonight."
Lucian frowned. "Tonight?"
"Yes." The Warden nodded. "Your first official match. Not a kill-for-core fight. A ranked arena match. With rules."
"Rules?" Lucian asked skeptically.
"Rules designed for the spectators," the Warden said. "Not for your safety."
Lucian's chest tightened.
He wanted to ask _why him_. Why he was thrown into a structure built to break men. Why reincarnation delivered him into chains instead of freedom.
But the Warden raised a hand.
"Questions will not save you. Only strength will."
The gate behind them groaned open, revealing a massive chamber filled with ascending platforms, cells, training rings, and hundreds of fighters circling one another like wolves in a cramped den.
Lucian stared.
Every man and woman here wore scars. Some fresh, some faded. Some old enough to have been earned in another lifetime.
A heavy silence fell as they noticed Lucian.
And then—
A ripple of whispers.
"That glow…"
"Reincarnator?"
"He killed Cassian Thorn?"
"Already?"
"No way. Cassian was Rank 47."
"If that's true…"
"He won't last. Glow attracts predators."
Lucian's stomach churned.
The Warden stepped beside him, voice low. "Let the stares become familiar. In the pits, eyes are sharper than blades."
Lucian ignored the whispers and focused on the room.
Three central pillars rose from the floor, each carved with symbols and ranking tiers. Fighters climbed them like ladders, adjusting wooden plaques bearing names and numbers.
Rankings.
Scores.
Fates.
A bell chimed across the chamber—three deep notes that shook dust loose from the ceiling.
Men and women stopped mid-training.
The Warden smiled slightly. "Perfect timing."
Lucian braced himself.
"What now?"
The Warden stepped back. "Now, they come."
A great metal gate on the northern wall burst open.
From it emerged a woman dressed in blackened leather armor reinforced with chain loops, her hair tied into tight braids adorned with bone rings. Her presence commanded silence with no need for words.
Every fighter in the chamber stiffened.
The guard nearest Lucian whispered:
"That's Kaelis."
Lucian's breath caught without reason he understood.
Kaelis.
The name struck something deep inside him—a chord of memory he couldn't place, a blade-edge of familiarity slicing through the fog of his past.
As she approached the center of the chamber, her gaze swept across the fighters like a sift of judgment.
Then her eyes found Lucian.
For a moment, the world seemed to freeze.
Her eyes were sharp—silver, cutting, carrying weight and sorrow and danger all at once. Not the eyes of a stranger. Eyes of someone who had seen him before.
Lucian's heart stumbled in his chest.
Why did she look at him like she knew him?
Why did he feel like he had stood before her once, blade-to-blade, breath-to-breath?
Kaelis blinked slowly.
"You," she said.
The chamber erupted.
"She recognizes him?"
"Why him?"
"No way—Kaelis doesn't look at anyone!"
"Is he dead already?"
"Lucky bastard. Or unlucky."
Lucian swallowed. "Do… do I know you?"
Her gaze sharpened. "You shouldn't."
Something in her voice—a tremor—said otherwise.
The Warden stepped forward. "Kaelis Dorne, as Ash Marshal of the Pits, this reincarnator stands ready for registration."
Kaelis didn't look at the Warden.
She only looked at Lucian.
As though trying to remember him.
Or trying very hard _not_ to.
"The Basin sky cracked when he awakened," the Warden added. "His emergence drew Shatterbeasts. His first Gauntlet was completed."
Kaelis' eyes widened slightly.
"Cassian is dead," the Warden finished.
Whispers exploded again.
Kaelis exhaled once, slow and controlled.
Then she stepped closer until she stood only a breath away from Lucian.
"Reincarnator," she said quietly, "do you remember anything before waking in the Basin?"
Lucian searched the fog of his mind.
Flashes.
A fall.
A blade.
Her eyes.
"I… remember someone," he said softly. "Someone with your voice."
A single muscle in Kaelis' jaw tightened.
The Warden's eyes flickered with interest.
Kaelis stepped back half a step. "Then your memory is… unstable."
Lucian frowned. "What are you to me?"
Kaelis looked away.
"A warning," she whispered. "And maybe your death."
Before Lucian could speak, she turned sharply and addressed the entire chamber.
"Fighters of the Pits! Tonight, the reincarnator enters the Arena for his first ranked match!"
A roar thundered from the gathered warriors.
Kaelis pointed to Lucian.
"He fights for Rank 50."
Lucian blinked. "Rank… 50?"
Kaelis nodded. "The lowest rank. The start of every climb."
Lucian clenched his fists. "And my opponent?"
Kaelis looked directly into his eyes.
"Whoever wants to kill you the most."
The chamber erupted into cheers.
The Warden smiled thinly.
"Welcome to the Arena, Lucian Raine," he murmured. "Tonight, you see the true nature of your second life."
Lucian swallowed hard.
His veins pulsed.
His hands trembled.
But he didn't flinch.
Whatever this trial was—
whatever fight awaited him—
he would face it.
He had no choice but to climb.
The crowd dispersed like a shifting tide, fighters peeling away into training rings, cell corridors, and weapon platforms. But the whispers about Lucian didn't fade; they rippled through the Pits like a spark leaping from torch to torch.
"Reincarnator in Rank 50 tonight."
"He killed Cassian Thorn?"
"Kaelis saw something in him…"
"He won't survive three minutes."
Lucian tried to breathe steadily, but the air here tasted metallic—raw iron, sweat, and old blood soaked into the stone. The Pits were more than a prison. More than a training ground.
They were a crucible for monsters.
The Warden gestured for Lucian to follow him toward a cluster of stone platforms raised above the fighters below. "Your match begins after sundown," he said. "Use the time to learn the Arena's rules."
Lucian stepped up beside him. "Rules? You mean there actually are rules?"
The Warden's lips twitched faintly. "Rules that matter to _them_." He nodded toward the fighters. "Not to you."
Lucian frowned. "Why not me?"
"Because reincarnators are not protected by the code." The Warden clasped his hands behind his back. "You are not citizens of the Pits. You're anomalies."
Lucian swallowed. "So they can kill me freely."
"They can try," the Warden corrected.
Lucian didn't find that comforting.
They approached a tall slab of stone etched with symbols and numbers—the **Arena Rank Board**. Wooden plaques hung from iron nails, each bearing the name of a fighter and their current standing.
Ranks 1–10 were carved in gold.
Ranks 11–25 in blackened steel.
Ranks 26–40 in bone-white.
Ranks 41–50 in charcoal ash.
Cassian Thorn's name plaque—Rank 47—had a slash through it.
Lucian's stomach tightened.
The Warden plucked a blank plaque from a basket and carved into it with a ritual blade, each stroke sharp and precise.
**LUCIAN RAINE**
**Rank 50**
He hammered it into place at the very bottom.
Lucian stared at it. His breath trembled for a moment. "This is really happening."
"Yes," the Warden said quietly. "Your climb begins at the bottom, as all must."
Lucian forced a breath. "And Kaelis… what is she?"
"Ash Marshal," the Warden said. "One who oversees trials, disputes, rises, and falls. She is the blade that cuts away weakness."
Lucian nodded slowly, gaze drifting across the Pits. Fighters practiced with spears, chains, axes, and bare fists. Some sparred with beasts chained to stone pillars. Others meditated in circles carved with glowing runes.
The noise, the heat, the intensity—it was overwhelming.
The Warden gestured toward an open platform. "Begin stretching. You don't want your muscles locking during your first match."
Lucian blinked. "You're… giving me advice?"
The Warden held his gaze. "I want you alive."
Lucian's brows lowered. "Why?"
"Because the world has seen many reincarnators." His amber eyes didn't blink. "But very few with your spark."
Lucian shifted uneasily. "You mean the glowing veins. The Core."
"No," the Warden said. "I mean your refusal to break when you should."
Before Lucian could ask more, a heavy set of footsteps approached.
A burly fighter with a shaved head and scar-lined arms stomped toward them. He carried a massive stone hammer across his shoulder and a smirk across his lips.
"You're the reincarnator," he said, eyeing Lucian up and down.
Lucian tensed. "Yes."
The man laughed. "Small. Fresh. Fragile."
Lucian said nothing.
"But glowing," the man added. "I like glowing."
He leaned closer. "Makes the kill worth watching."
Lucian stiffened, veins flickering faintly.
The Warden stepped forward. "Back off, Feral."
The man—Feral—held up his hands. "Just saying hello to new blood." He turned and lumbered away, chuckling.
Lucian exhaled.
The Warden watched Feral go. "That one won't fight you tonight. But his eyes are already on you. Expect him in a future rank climb."
Lucian tightened his fists.
The Warden continued. "Now. Before your match begins, I need to know something."
Lucian met his gaze. "What?"
The Warden's voice dropped to a quieter, sharper register.
"When you look at Kaelis… what do you feel?"
Lucian's breath caught.
He hadn't expected the question.
He didn't know how to answer it.
He didn't understand the feeling himself.
"I feel…" He hesitated. "…like I've met her before."
The Warden nodded slowly. "And you may have. Or you may not. Memory drift among reincarnators is unpredictable."
Lucian frowned. "Memory drift?"
"When a soul resets through the Core, the memories scatter," the Warden said. "Fragments bleed through only when connections are strong enough."
Lucian swallowed hard. "Connections?"
"Yes," the Warden said. "Connections of fate. Of conflict. Of love. Or of death."
Lucian's veins pulsed once, sharp and bright.
He remembered the shadow of a blade.
A woman's silhouette.
Eyes like silver fire.
His breath trembled. "I think she killed me."
The Warden didn't look surprised.
He only said, "Good."
Lucian stared. "Good? How is that good?"
"Because," the Warden replied, "it means your paths were bound long before this lifetime. That kind of tie is… powerful."
Lucian shook his head. "I don't understand."
"You will," the Warden murmured, "once the Core stops protecting your mind."
Lucian stiffened. "Protecting?"
Before the Warden could answer, the chamber darkened—torches dimming as a low horn sounded from above.
The Warden stepped back. "Sundown. Your match is beginning."
Lucian's heart pounded.
Fighters stopped what they were doing.
Some climbed onto ledges for a better view.
Others leaned against railings.
The air thrummed with anticipation.
Kaelis strode across the upper walkway, her silver eyes glowing faintly.
She raised her hand.
"Rank 50 Arena… open."
The ground beneath Lucian rumbled.
A large circular platform rose from the depths of the Pits—iron-plated, rune-lined, surrounded by spiked railings stained with old blood.
Lucian stared.
This was the Arena.
The place where his climb began.
The place where he might die.
Kaelis looked down at him.
Her voice carried through the Pits like cold fire:
"Lucian Raine. Step forward."
Lucian inhaled slowly, the green veins brightening beneath his skin.
The Warden leaned close.
"Remember," he whispered. "Do not fight to survive. Fight to evolve."
Lucian stepped toward the Arena.
And somewhere deep inside him, the Core stirred like a beast waking to hunger.
Lucian stepped onto the rising platform as the crowd's low rumble shifted into something sharper. Hunger. Anticipation. The kind of electric tension that meant blood was about to be spilled.
The Arena floor was iron beneath his feet, cool despite the heat of the Pits. Runes crawled like scars across its surface—coiling lines that pulsed faintly with green light as if sensing his presence.
The railings around the platform rose higher than Lucian expected, spiked and jagged like a cage. He wasn't entering a ring.
He was entering a prison that expected him to die.
Kaelis stood above, overlooking him from the Marshal's platform. Her silver eyes glistened with something Lucian couldn't decipher—conflict or caution or memory.
"Lucian Raine," she called, her voice carrying perfectly through the arena. "Tonight, you fight for Rank 50. You fight for your right to stand in this world."
Lucian's heart thundered.
He forced his breathing steady.
Kaelis raised a hand. "Your opponent—step forward."
The opposite gate screeched open.
A tall, wiry man walked out, stretching his arms lazily as though he'd just awoken from a nap. His hair hung in greasy strands. His skin was marked with tattoos of spiraling chains wrapping up his arms and across his chest.
But what struck Lucian most wasn't his appearance.
It was his eyes.
Cold.
Empty.
Violent.
The man smirked as he stepped onto the Arena.
"Name," Kaelis called.
The fighter cracked his neck. "Jarek Coil."
Lucian's stomach tightened.
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
"Coil-Fighter Jarek."
"Rank 49."
"He volunteered the second Kaelis opened the match."
"Look at his arms. Those chains mean he's killed at least ten challengers."
Jarek stared straight at Lucian, licking his teeth like he was savoring a meal.
"You're the reincarnator," he said, voice thick with anticipation. "Good. Been a while since I killed one of your kind."
Lucian didn't respond. He couldn't trust his voice to be steady.
Jarek grinned wider. "Come on. Show me that glow."
Lucian felt the Ash Core stir—
not violently,
not painfully,
just awake and attentive, like a predator lifting its head.
Kaelis raised her hand.
"Rules of Rank 50 Arena," she announced. "No weapons. No interference. Fight until one can no longer continue."
The crowd roared.
Lucian exhaled shakily.
No weapons.
Just fists.
Just stolen instincts.
Just survival.
Kaelis' hand slashed downward.
"Begin!"
Jarek moved instantly.
Not charging—no, that would have been predictable. Instead, he slid across the Arena floor with shocking speed, his movements razor-smooth, body low and angled like a serpent coiling for a strike.
Lucian barely dodged the first blow.
Jarek's fist whistled past his ear.
The second blow came faster.
Lucian raised his arm—
Jarek's knuckles slammed into Lucian's forearm, pain shooting up his elbow.
Lucian staggered back.
Jarek didn't relent.
He snapped forward again, steps precise and fluid. Every movement seemed calculated, each strike aimed not just to injure—but to break.
Lucian ducked a high swing—
But Jarek's knee drove into his stomach.
Lucian gasped, dropping to one knee.
The crowd roared with approval.
Jarek circled him. "Get up, glow-boy. I want to see what Cassian died for."
Lucian forced breath through clenched teeth.
His veins flickered.
But the Core didn't surge.
It remained calm—waiting for him to act, not reacting for him.
Lucian swallowed hard.
"You're fast," he said.
Jarek smirked. "Fast enough to rip that Core out of your spine."
He lunged again.
Lucian dodged right. Jarek anticipated it, catching Lucian by the shoulder and twisting him around with brutal force.
Lucian slammed into the railings. Pain shot down his back as metal spikes tore into his shirt, scraping skin.
Jarek leaned close, breath hot and rotten against Lucian's cheek. "You glowing freaks think you're special."
Lucian gritted his teeth and shoved him away.
Jarek laughed. "Yes! That's it. Show me fire!"
Lucian stepped forward, fists clenched. "You talk a lot."
"And you glow a lot," Jarek retorted.
Before Lucian could blink, Jarek's elbow smashed into his jaw. Lucian's vision went white for a moment. He staggered, barely keeping his footing.
His Core flickered again.
Not fear.
Not desperation.
Recognition.
**THREAT PATTERN IDENTIFIED.**
**COPY POSSIBILITY: 1% — TARGET: JAREK COIL (CHAIN FOOTWORK).**
Lucian blinked sweat from his eyes.
Chain Footwork.
That fluid sliding motion—
the way Jarek shifted weight—
the way he controlled distance—
Lucian could steal it.
He only needed to hit him once.
Jarek approached again, more carefully this time. He sensed Lucian's change in stance.
"Finally fighting back?" Jarek asked. "Good. I'll savor your Core more."
Lucian didn't respond.
He watched.
Jarek stepped left—
weight on his toes—
hips angled toward Lucian's blind side—
Lucian moved forward.
Not to strike.
To _interrupt_.
Jarek blinked, caught off guard—
Lucian's fist shot forward, but Jarek slipped aside with predatory grace.
Lucian expected that.
He pivoted.
His elbow clipped Jarek's ribs—
a glancing blow, not enough to harm—
But enough to copy.
A shock ran through his arm.
**COPY SUCCESSFUL — CHAIN FOOTWORK (1%).**
**AGILITY +1%.**
**DIRECTION SHIFT +1%.**
Lucian gasped as instinct flooded his reflexes—
the exact calculations Jarek used now sparking in his own mind.
Jarek didn't notice yet.
Lucian did.
The Core pulsed warmly under his sternum.
This was his advantage.
Jarek lunged again, expecting Lucian to retreat.
Lucian slid left, weight shifting smoothly, foot gliding across the Arena floor in perfect imitation of Jarek's own technique.
Jarek's eyes widened.
Lucian countered with a strike to the shoulder.
Not strong—
But sharp enough to sting.
Jarek snarled. "You… copied me."
Lucian didn't deny it.
Jarek roared and charged—this time with rage clouding his precision.
Lucian dodged with a sliding pivot.
Jarek swung wide.
Lucian ducked under the blow, stepping inside the arc.
His fist drove upward into Jarek's jaw.
Blood sprayed.
Jarek stumbled back.
The crowd exploded into cheers.
Lucian pressed the advantage, sliding into Chain Footwork again—smooth, fast, fluid.
He struck Jarek's ribs.
Then his shoulder.
Then his throat.
Jarek growled, spitting blood.
"You little—"
Lucian struck again.
And again.
And again.
A dozen small blows that didn't kill—
but broke Jarek's rhythm.
His confidence.
His bearing.
Finally, Lucian saw the opening.
Jarek swung wildly—
Lucian stepped inside the arc.
His fist collided with Jarek's chest.
Jarek gasped, staggered—
fell to one knee.
Lucian's lungs burned. His veins glowed faintly.
He didn't want to kill him.
Didn't want to repeat Cassian's end.
"Stay down," Lucian said, voice trembling. "Yield."
Jarek looked up slowly.
And smiled.
"You really don't understand the Pits."
He surged upward, lunging with everything he had left—
Right into Lucian's rising knee.
The impact cracked like breaking timber.
Jarek collapsed.
Motionless.
Kaelis raised her hand instantly.
"Jarek Coil is unable to continue!" she declared. "Rank 49 falls."
She turned her gaze to Lucian.
"Lucian Raine rises."
The crowd erupted, shaking the Arena with their cheers.
Lucian stood in the center, chest heaving, blood on his knuckles, veins glowing faintly like living lightning.
Kaelis watched him with unreadable eyes.
The Warden watched him with calculation.
And far above, in the stormed sky outside the Pits,
a single green crack of light flashed silently.
As if acknowledging his climb.