THE WARRIORS OF TWO WORLDS

chapter three

Blood in the Sand

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The sun shined bright above the training yard, turning the sand golden and hot. Jaden’s hands were sore and covered with cuts, his arms shaking from another morning of endless training. Kael stood a few feet away, watching with cold eyes.

“Again,” Kael said, his voice calm but heavy.

Jaden groaned and raised the wooden sword again. His body screamed for rest, but he obeyed. He slashed at the training dummy, his swing weak and unsteady.

Kael walked closer. “You’re still holding back,” he said quietly.

“I’m not,” Jaden breathed out. Sweat ran down his neck. “I just… I can’t feel my arms anymore.”

Kael stopped in front of him and struck him across the face with the flat side of his wooden staff. The hit wasn’t meant to kill, but it was strong enough to knock Jaden down.

“You think your enemies will care that your arms are tired?” Kael said. “They’ll cut your throat while you’re catching your breath. Get up.”

Jaden pushed himself up, tasting blood in his mouth. Every day had been the same. Pain. Training. Hunger. Sleep. Then pain again. But somewhere inside, he could feel something changing — a small fire burning stronger each day.

Kael handed him a real sword this time, not wood. The blade was rusty, but sharp enough to kill.

“Tomorrow, you fight in the pit,” Kael said.

Jaden froze. “Against who?”

Kael looked at him. “Another slave. Just like you.”

For a moment, Jaden thought he was joking. But Kael’s face was stone cold. The pit wasn’t training. It was real. Someone would die tomorrow.

Kael turned and started walking away. “Sleep early,” he said without looking back. “You’ll need your strength.”

That night, Jaden couldn’t sleep. Around him, other slaves were snoring or whispering to themselves. Some prayed, some cried softly. The air was heavy with fear and sweat.

He stared at the ceiling of the stone cell. I’m going to fight another man. I might have to kill him.

The thought made his stomach twist. He had trained in MMA, yes, but that was sport — with rules, gloves, referees. This was different. This was about survival.

As he lay awake, he heard soft footsteps. A shadow stopped at his cell bars.

It was Kael.

“Can’t sleep?” Kael asked.

Jaden shook his head. “How do you do it?” he asked quietly. “How do you fight and kill without losing yourself?”

Kael’s eyes were calm. “You do lose yourself,” he said. “At first. Then, if you live long enough, you find something else inside you. Something harder. Stronger. That’s the real you.”

He dropped a small piece of bread through the bars. “Eat. Tomorrow, you stop being weak.”

Then he left.

Jaden looked at the bread. He wasn’t hungry. He was scared.

The next morning, the guards dragged him to the pit. The crowd’s noise hit him like thunder. Hundreds of people filled the wooden stands, screaming, betting, throwing coins. The smell of blood and dust filled the air.

The pit was just a round hole in the ground surrounded by high walls. The sand below was stained dark red.

Across the pit, a gate opened. Another man walked out — tall, muscular, with scars on his chest. His face was calm, but his eyes were dead.

“That’s Rorik,” Kael said from above, watching from the trainer’s area. “He’s killed three men already.”

Jaden’s throat went dry. He gripped his sword tightly.

The horn blew too fast.

Rorik ran at him fast, swinging his sword. Jaden barely blocked the strike, feeling the shock travel up his arm. He stepped back, but Rorik kept coming — slashing, stabbing, pressing harder.

Jaden stumbled, his feet slipping in the sand. He felt a blade graze his shoulder — a thin cut, but it burned.

“Fight back, boy!” Kael shouted.

Rorik attacked again, raising his sword high. This time Jaden ducked, rolled to the side, and swung low. The blade sliced Rorik’s leg. Blood sprayed from the cut.

The crowd roared.

Rorik grunted in pain and kicked Jaden in the chest, sending him crashing into the wall. Jaden’s vision blurred. He coughed and spat blood. His sword fell from his hand.

Rorik limped closer, smiling darkly. “You’re too soft,” he said. “You don’t belong here.”

He raised his sword for the final strike.

Then something snapped inside Jaden.

He rolled quickly, grabbed a handful of sand, and threw it into Rorik’s face. The man screamed, covering his eyes.

Jaden grabbed his sword again and stabbed — once, twice, three times — until Rorik fell, blood pouring from his chest.

The crowd exploded into cheers.

Jaden stared at the body. His whole body trembled. His heart pounded. The sword was still in his hand, shaking.

Kael jumped into the pit, landing beside him.

“Look at me,” Kael said firmly.

Jaden didn’t move. He was staring at Rorik’s lifeless face.

Kael grabbed his chin and forced him to look up. “You lived,” Kael said. “He didn’t. That’s all that matters here.”

“I killed him,” Jaden whispered. “I… killed him.”

Kael nodded. “And you’ll kill again. Or you’ll die next time. The pit doesn’t care about guilt.”

He looked at the crowd, still screaming Jaden’s name. “Congratulations, Jaden Cole. You’ve taken your first step as a warrior.”

That night, Jaden sat alone outside the cells. The moonlight shows how scared he was. His hands still smelled of blood.

He thought about Rorik — the fear in his eyes at the last second.

A strange mix of feelings filled him. Fear. Sadness. But also… something else. Power.

He remembered the moment Rorik fell. The sound of the crowd. The rush in his chest. It felt… alive.

Kael walked up behind him quietly. “You feel it now, don’t you?”

Jaden looked up. “What?”

“The power,” Kael said. “Once you taste it, it never leaves.”

Jaden said nothing. He looked down at his hands.

Kael turned to leave, then stopped. “Tomorrow, we train again,” he said. “The real training starts now.”

Jaden nodded slowly.

When Kael walked away, Jaden whispered to himself, “If I must kill to survive… then I’ll do it.”

The moonlight reflected on his eyes — calm, cold, and no longer innocent.