The wall is cold. The expulsion notice and the damages claim sit on the desk. His wallet is empty. Leon Crawford leans against the wall of a rundown rental in the old quarter, slumped on the floor. His dull blond hair remains a disheveled mess. "[whispers] Lilia..." The black grimoire in his hand stays cold and silent. Even when he strokes its cover, the silver lock refuses to gleam. Lilia hasn't appeared even once since the battle at the ruined church. His chest aches. When mana runs dry, this is how drained a spirit becomes. It's all my fault. Footsteps echo from the alley outside. "[gentle] Leon, can I come in? I brought breakfast." Misha. Flaxen bob, green eyes, charming freckles—he can picture her clearly. The scent of freshly baked bread drifts through the gap in the door. His stomach growls loudly. But. He can't let her see him like this. Cast out of the guild, drowning in debt, unable to even protect Lilia—just a man sitting with his back against the wall. "[serious] I'm fine. I'll manage on my own." He answers without opening the door. "[sad] Manage on your own... doing what...?" Misha's voice catches. He can sense her biting her lip on the other side of the door. A long silence. "...I'll leave it in front of the door." A small clink. Footsteps fading away. Leon slowly opens the door. Warm bread wrapped in cloth. When he looks up, he catches a glimpse of Misha's back as she turns the corner of the alley. Her flaxen hair sways in the morning light. He wants to run after her. But he no longer has the right to chase— — Just before noon. "[angry] I'm here to collect the collateral!" A gruff voice booms outside the window. Vincent. Three underlings behind him. Debt collectors in leather armor. How did that man get wind of this? "[angry] Open the door, or I'll kick it down!" Bam! The door rattles. Clutching only the black grimoire, Leon leaps out the window. "[excited] There he is, after him!" He runs through the narrow alleys of the old quarter. Tangled cobblestones, laundry hung out to dry. Duck under—fwap! A wet sheet plasters itself across his face. "Whoa!" In that instant, one of the underlings spots him. "Right there!" Running again. A pile of wooden crates looms ahead. Can't dodge—crash! He tumbles over with the crates. Miraculously, he rounds the alley corner and presses himself flat against the wall. The footsteps pass by. Hahh, hahh. He's out of breath. Still clutching the grimoire, he pushes deeper and deeper into the alley. He stumbles into a ruined building half-buried in ivy. A sign lies fallen—a gray urn. Low cheers and heat seep through the boarded-up door. He pries off a plank and slips inside. Beneath the ruin's floor, stone steps descend. At the bottom, a broad passage lit by bonfires. A burly man in leather armor stands waiting. "[serious] Did you wander in? Or did you come here on purpose?" Leon blurts out the first thing that comes to mind. "[embarrassed] ...I came here on purpose." Even he doesn't understand why he said that, his expression bewildered. — The underground arena: Garg Pit. Once the staff learned he'd been expelled from the guild, he had two choices. Fight in the betting matches, or be handed over to the authorities for trespassing. No money. No place to go back to. Leon nodded. He's shoved into an underground cell. A dim stone prison. The cold air stabs at his skin. Someone else is already here. A small girl huddles in the corner. White beast ears—ears stretching nearly twenty centimeters—twitch faintly. A magical contract seal glows dimly on her neck. Countless scars crisscross both her arms. "[serious] O-oh, sorry. I'm Leon. What's your name?" The girl keeps her back turned and doesn't answer. She's on guard. Naturally. Leon's stomach growls spectacularly. Grrrrrrrr. "[embarrassed] Uh... if you've got food, give me half. I'm seriously starving." The girl turns around. An exasperated look. Amber eyes glare sharply at Leon. "[cold] ...You just got caught, and you're pretty carefree." Reluctantly, she holds out a scrap of bread. "[excited] Thanks!" Inside the cramped cage, the two sit side by side with their backs against the wall. The cold seeps through the stone. "[quiet] You too... being used by someone?" A low voice. The contract seal on Tina's neck glows faintly. A slave contract. If she defies her employer, searing pain will strike. Leon looks at the back of his own hand. The contract seal with Lilia. Similar, yet different. "[serious] ...Mine's less like being used, more like being trained. Probably." "[sarcastic] Probably?" "[embarrassed] Right now, she's giving me the silent treatment, though." He stares at the black grimoire. Lilia remains silent. — The night deepens. The chill from the cold stone wall is relentless. Tina shivers, hugging her knees. As a beastkin, she might be more vulnerable to the cold than humans. Leon takes off his cloak and drapes it over her shoulders. "[cold] Don't need it." "[gentle] Just wear it." Tina says nothing more. In the end, she doesn't push it away, and they lean against the wall side by side until morning, close enough to feel each other's warmth through the cloth. In the dim light, Tina's sleeping breaths begin. Her white beast ears sway faintly, hovering just barely close enough to touch Leon's shoulder. Small shoulders covered in scars. The contract seal etched into her neck. (I absolutely cannot let this one fight in the arena.) For the first time, that feeling kindled clearly in Leon's chest. — Before dawn. The cell opens. "[serious] Two newcomers. Fight a juvenile Grand Bear." Chained together, they're dragged out into the passage. Beyond the iron bars, a circular arena comes into view. Four hundred spectators already fill the seats, they're told. The smell of earth hangs in the air. Tina speaks flatly. "[cold] There's no escape. All that's left is to fight." She begins loosening up her scarred arms. In her eyes, there's no resignation, no fear—only cold resolve. Leon presses the black grimoire to his chest. "[angry] Lilia! I know you're there, you can hear me! Even if you don't come out, I'm going in!" Silence. The passage door begins to open with a heavy groan. Grrrrrrrrr. Leon's stomach growls spectacularly again. Tina's eyes widen for just an instant. The next moment, she lets out a small snort. "[laughing] ...You really are carefree." An incongruous, faint laugh born in the tense moments just before being dragged into the arena. Leon grips the grimoire once more. Lilia is still silent. His mana is unstable. No weapons. But—there's no turning back now. The light of the dust-filled arena shines down on the two of them.