Chapter 2 ~ The Mark of the Degraded

{Ragna’s POV}

For a moment after the elder spoke, the entire square seemed to hold its breath.

“Non-fertile.”

The words echoed across the space like they had weight and around me the murmuring began immediately. 

People shifted, whispered, stared. And many sympathetic looks drifted in my direction, the way people look at someone whose house has just burned down.

Inside my chest, however, something entirely different was happening.

Relief.

Quiet, bright relief.

It slid through me like sunlight slipping under a door. Apparently I had just been sentenced to the Arena, but all I could think was “finally”.

I managed to keep that reaction to myself… mostly because I happened to look at my mother next.

She stood only a few steps away, staring at me like the elder had personally reached into her chest and pulled her heart out. Tears were already gathering in her eyes.

And that part hurt.

Not the verdict. Just that look.

I tried to go to her at once but two guards grabbed my arms immediately.

“Move,” one of them barked as they pulled me.

I twisted slightly, trying to look past them as tears glossed my eyes a bit. 

“Mother—”

She lifted her hand, not waving. Just holding it there, trembling. Then her lips moved.

“I’ll come on Opening day.” She mouthed and then the guards dragged me away.

And just like that, I was no longer someone’s daughter. I was property of the Arena.

Bitter Sweet.

**

They kept us in a place called the Holding Yard.

The name sounded harmless enough, almost friendly. But the reality was less comforting.

A wooden enclosure stood behind the square, surrounded by iron fencing and enough armed guards to contain a small rebellion. Hundreds of girls had already been shoved inside.

Some were crying.

Some were screaming.

One girl was attempting to argue loudly with a guard about the possibility of appealing the elder’s decision.

I admired her ambition.

— It lasted about thirty seconds before the guard told her to sit down or he’d help her do it.

Night settled over Velka while we remained inside the yard.

Torches burned along the perimeter, filling the air with smoke and the sharp smell of oil. That mixed with the scent of sweat and panic until breathing felt like chewing.

Girls sobbed into their hands. Some collapsed against the fence while others huddled together like frightened animals hoping proximity might improve their odds.

One girl sat near the corner whispering the same sentence over and over.

“The elders are old and biased. This is a mistake.”

She was very bold and loud. 

I hoped the elders appreciated constructive criticism.

At my axis, I leaned against the fence and rested. Everywhere I looked, girls mourned the futures they believed they had lost.

Marriage.

Children.

Quiet lives beside warm hearths.

Normal things.

Perfectly reasonable things. Just not things I had ever wanted particularly badly.

Beyond the city walls, somewhere in the darkness, the Arena waited. And for the first time in my life, my future felt… interesting.

**

Morning arrived with the sound of iron chains and the bark of guards.

They marched us to the heart of Velka in groups, pushing us through narrow streets and out beyond the city gates.

And when the sun settled fully in the sky, that was when I saw it.

The Arena.

Even from a distance it dominated the landscape.

Massive stone walls climbed toward the sky like someone had attempted to build a mountain and then decided to charge admission for it. The outer structure was ancient, weathered by time and violence. While iron gates the size of city doors stood at the entrance, scarred from decades of use.

Banners snapped violently in the wind above the upper tiers… and somewhere inside those walls, the crowd was already roaring.

Apparently people woke up early when blood was involved.

Their shouts rolled across the field like distant thunder and I could feel the vibrations in the ground beneath my boots.

Seeing the Arena as a spectator was one thing. Seeing it knowing you belonged to it now… That felt different.

Hundreds of fresh bloods stood around me in the open field, staring up at the structure with expressions ranging from pale terror to stunned disbelief.

Families gathered nearby for final farewells and my mother found me almost immediately.

She ran across the field and pulled me into a crushing embrace before I could say anything.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

I wrapped my arms around her.

“It’s alright.”

It wasn’t. 

Not for her.

She pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes like she was trying very hard not to collapse in public.

“You must be brave, Ragna,” she said.

I nodded.

“You will survive this.”

I plan to.

Her gaze hardened just a little.

“And if you must fight…” she said stiffly, “…then always win.”

That, at least, settled effortlessly in me.

She stepped away reluctantly before tearfully disappearing into the crowd. 

I’ll be fine mum.

I turned to my left and that was when I saw Darian pushing through bodies. Relief spread across his face the moment he saw me.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come yesterday,” he said, grabbing my hands.

“Your father?”

He grimaced.

“Yeah. He didn’t allow me. Said he wouldn’t have his son tied to a girl whose fate wasn’t decided yet.”

I nodded. 

“But I’m here now,” he said quickly. “And nothing has changed.”

I studied him for a moment.

Darian had been part of my life for as long as I could remember. Childhood neighbor and occasional partner in crimes involving stolen fruit and questionable decision-making.

We had eventually fallen in love for which he became my lowbond. We had discussed marriage once, but then we both agreed that raising children sounded exhausting.

“Still don’t mind that I’m non-fertile?” I asked.

He snorted.

“Ragna, we already decided children were overrated.”

Fair.

He leaned closer.

“Meanwhile, fighters can rise here,” he said quietly. “The stronger you become, the more freedom you get. Some even become wardens.”

“And?”

“And that means less confinement.”

His expression softened.

“More chances to see each other.”

I didn’t know this before, but now it sounded like more motivation for me. 

A horn blasted across the field now. 

“Fresh bloods forward!” a guard shouted, the Opening day already in motion. Darian leaned down and kissed me quickly.

“I’ll be there for your trial fight,” he promised. Then he left.

The branding station stood before the Arena gates.

Several braziers burned beside a long wooden table where Iron Wardens waited— brute females whose expressions suggested they had seen this process enough times to be deeply bored by it.

One by one, fresh bloods were dragged forward.

The iron brand glowed white-hot; a broken crescent moon called The Mark of the Degraded that was to be burnt into every non-fertile.

The first girl screamed before the iron even touched her skin.

The second fainted.

The third fought so violently that two guards had to hold her down while the brand burned into her arm.

When my turn came, I stepped forward without being pushed. The warden looked studiously.

“Arm.”

I extended it and the iron touched my skin.

Pain exploded through my arm like someone had dumped a campfire on my arm. My jaw clenched so hard my teeth creaked.

But I didn’t scream. I refused to. 

And when the iron lifted away, the symbol burned into my forearm, raw and permanent.

“Next,” the warden said.

**

They marched us to a circle of red sand before the gates.

A new Iron Warden stood before us, powerful arms crossed.

“You now belong to the Arena,” she said. “You will fight when ordered. You will obey your wardens. And you will entertain our males— because that’s all you are. Entertainment.” She said, harsh, and then the gates opened.

Iron screamed against iron before they dragged us inside.

Stone corridors twisted beneath the Arena like veins under skin and torches flickered along the walls, throwing long shadows across the tunnel.

More Iron Wardens led the march. 

They were fighters who had survived the Arena long enough to become its enforcers. Their bodies were maps of old battles— scarred arms, broken noses, missing teeth. None of them looked particularly sympathetic.

They showed us the Iron Kennels first.

Rows of narrow cages lined the chamber with stone floors and thin blankets.

That was home now.

I studied the cage assigned to me before we strolled.

“Well,” I muttered, “cozy.”

A voice beside me snorted.

“Wait until winter.”

I turned and saw a girl leaning casually against the bars of the neighboring kennel. She looked older than the rest of us and relaxed in a way that suggested she had already survived this place for a while. An Older blood.

“First day?” she asked.

“Is it that obvious?”

“You still have hope in your eyes.”

“Tragic.”

She grinned.

“I’m Selene. I saw you with your mother and lowbond (boyfriend) earlier.” 

“Oh, nice to meet you,” I smiled. “I’m Ragna.”

**

They took us next to the training grounds; our training ground called The Bone Yard.

Sand stretched across the large space, darkened in places where blood had soaked deep into it.

Older bloods sparred nearby with claws flashing and bodies slamming. We watched.

One woman drove her opponent face-first into stone while several others cheered. Selene leaned closer then.

“Rule one,” she said quietly. “Never hesitate.”

That sounds right. 

The Iron Warden in charge stepped forward now and called our attentions from the wolves fighting. 

“Trial fights begin today.” She announced and shock rippled through our group. 

Today?

That’s too soon. 

With this, a murmur of distress spread through our group and in that moment, I caught my heart racing for the first time since this marathon started. 

Okay..

**

With the change in the atmosphere, they took a small group of us down another tunnel. 

The Waiting Pits.

At the end of the tunnel stood the Blood Gate that led fighters into the Arena to be killed, defeated or be victorious. 

The girl in front of me trembled violently as the Iron Wardens shoved her forward.

The gate opened and the crowd exploded as she fearfully stumbled onto the sand.

Her opponent rushed her instantly.

There was no circling or warning. Just immediate violence.

The fighter slammed into her hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs and began hammering blows into her ribs. 

Claws tore through cloth and skin alike… and soon, enough blood sprayed across the sand.

The girl tried to crawl away. Her opponent grabbed her ankle and dragged her back.

Then she slammed the girl’s face into the burning sand again and again. The crowd roared as they made the countdown during which the girl couldn’t rise. She lay motionless.

With that, the victor stood up straight and then came the King’s voice announcing her as winner after which the crowd erupted.

Beside me, Selene leaned close.

“Stay low. Go for the ribs.” She said and then the Iron Warden looked at me.

“Your turn.”

The Blood Gate began to open.