Arun awoke to the sound of fluttering wings before immediately coughing up sand and blood. He stood and tried to orient himself, there was a dull throbbing in the back of his head. He reached for the origin of the pain and a stinging sensation ran down his spine. He looked down at his hands which were covered in blood.


    He looked up, birds made of light skirted across the dome ceiling. Their bodies carved runic symbols into the glass-like material. Arun''s eyes felt like they were going to pop out of his head as he looked around and took in the overwhelming crowd of the arena. They numbered in the tens of thousands he’d have to guess. They filled rows and rows of seats that scaled up and around the arena’s wall.


    He quickly began to connect the dots and as he did so his leg shook. When the final Lightwing finished its duty it dissolved into a fine yellow dust and sprinkled onto the contestants below. He looked out at them and counted…22…no 23.


    Arun looked to his right - A hulking brute of a woman, rippling muscles and scars across her face approached him. She wiped the particles off her face and smiled down at Arun, flashing her silver teeth and tusks. “Today we live for the people”. Arun turned away, ignoring her, but he felt her stare burning into the side of his face.


    She was excited. Why? What exactly was exciting about this? Either way her demeanor and words had confirmed the truth that was slowly dawning on him. This was-


    His thoughts were interrupted when, above them, the Lightwing’s carved symbols began to glow. The glass ceiling began to turn completely transparent and then faded away entirely. The roar of the crowd was deafening.


    “Do you feel that little one? The eyes of the crowd, their hopes upon us, their woes and worries melted away by-


    Arun couldn’t make heads or tails of what she was saying as the crowd’s cheering reached a crescendo.


    “Only one will remain…”, a booming voice echoed. “Only one will have a chance to fight for their freedom. This is the Light Circus and here we bleed for you”!


    The Sun’s rays seemed to blaze down upon Arun and the others like a spotlight. He shielded his eyes.


    “Arrows! Scatter!”, someone yelled.


    Arun was slow to react. He barely managed to get behind the large woman on his right.


    An arrow pierced her head. She dropped. The crowd bellowed in response, some of them began to throw ripe fruit and veg, but Arun’s attention was on the aggressors. In front of him, plated in gold and violet armor - The Sun Guard. They were already reloading their bows.


    Arun ran the other way, deciding that looking back would only slow him down, his long toenails scratching against the ground. The other prisoners screamed as they were struck by arrows. They begged for help, for release, for death even. Stranger still, were the few that decided to stand and fight.


    Arun arrived at the wall on the other side of the arena. He planted his back against it and looked around. The arrows had stopped. The Sun Guard was now approaching any surviving contestants with swords drawn.


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    Those that weren’t crippled, adopted a low stance. They aimed for the legs, and though most of them were struck down immediately, one had managed to actually take down a single guard.


    He was a tall man, not exceptionally, but everyone was tall compared to Arun. He had dark skin, a lean build with long limbs. His earlobes had been cut off - he was one of the Nalija and it did not surprise anyone that he alone could compete with an armed opponent.


    Sitting atop the Sun guard, he let loose with flying fists, hammering down relentlessly. When the man was bloody enough the prisoner raised his fist in the air, shouting out something that Arun couldn’t quite make out. Then he weaved around him, controlling his opponent’s movements by shifting his own weight till he had a vice grip around his neck.


    A cloud passed over, casting a large shadow over the arena. Almost immediately the Sun Guard became piles of empty armor and weapons. Simultaneously, the crowd began to boo.


    There wasn’t much time before the shadow passed and they returned. Arun ran towards one of the piles, his bare feet cutting open against the sand and rock below them. He picked up a sword and shield, then dropped the shield when he realized that he could not carry both. He promised himself that if he got through this he would spend more time working out. He held the sword with both hands, and raised it above his head. The thing was nearly as long as he was.


    “You there”!


    Arun turned his head. The Nalija was trying to get his attention. “Together”.


    Arun hesitated as the man ran towards him


    “Goblin! We fight together! Put your sword away”.


    He stared into the eyes of the Nalija, but he did not move. He was frozen. The Nalija drew closer but Arun’s mind was fixated on the words of the announcer - only one will remain.


    As the Nalija approached, all smiles and country charm, the shade began to shift. Arun placed his blade inside the eye holes of the empty armor in front of him. The being that formed within the armor died the second it spawned. The Nalija stood towering over Arun and grimaced at the scene. “That was not very honorable…”.


    “Honor is a very human thing and I did not ask for this”.


    “I am Ruja”.


    Arun exaggerated his eyes and stared into the distance behind the Nalija. “Look out”!


    Ruja turned around quickly, instinctively swerving to the right and dishing out a flurry of blows…but he was fighting air. Behind him, Arun lifted the sword with all his might and rushed forward. But Ruja seemed to have eyes on the back of his head. He twirled gracefully, grabbed the sword by the hilt and kicked Arun’s chest with enough force to send him rolling backwards.


    Had he been just a little stronger, a little faster, he might’ve connected. Once again he cursed his diminutive physique. Ruja spat on the ground in disgust before he turned to face the remaining Sun guard.


    Arun could barely stand now. Sand clung to the sweat on his skin, rubbing in with gashes and bruises. The crowd’s chanting seemed far away and sleep would’ve been easy to slip into. What little he could see was gray and blurred.


    Then came a low growl.


    He wondered when was the last time he’d eaten. An odd thought considering he’d probably die right here, right now, an inconsequential casualty of war and greed.


    Another growl, followed by a vibration throughout his body.


    Figures. He was dying and all he could think about was food. Pathetic and a stereotype.


    “GRRRAAAGGGGHHHH. FEED ME”!


    Arun’s eyes shot open. He looked down at his stomach. “A-are you talking to me”?


    “I HUNGER”!


    “Is this what happens when you’re dying”?


    Everything went black.