I had left that foolish boy again, with only a hope that I indeed planned to join his cause. Was I going to, that was yet to be seen. Sure, he made some good points. While I have a rather comfortable position, many of the slaves experience suffering daily. Some are even called to the masters' laboratories and never seen again. Punishment to correct a stoneling or cub is fine. But whatever a master does to those that displease him, that is the genuine horror.

  Exiting the portal door, I arrived in the barracks. It was a location we had only recently discovered. Much of the temple was still unexplored; the master had yet to command another expedition through the unknown doors. The barracks were a welcome addition to his domain. As I passed the stone walls, I could barely make out the faded murals of battles. I wondered what army made its rest within these hallowed grounds.

  Recalling the few times the master actually deigned to grant us knowledge. He spoke of the great Strigoi, of which the mistress Griselda is the last of her kind. At least in this region of the world. They once knew the temple as the Sanctum Strigoris, the seat of their empire. Stryga was the land, and the sanctum, its capital. Master said there was much... human foolishness in the history books, so few knew the truth of the sanctum. They were not simply a vampiric empire; they were merchants, manufacturers of exotic blood.

  I thought of all of this, the history, the grandeur of this place. Raking my claws across finely chiseled stone, I could feel the magnificence of such a holy site. And now I was considering tearing it down, brick by brick. Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but I had given my life to the Sanctum and to the masters' will.

  "Doctore." A young Volkaran soldier bowed as I entered the soldiers' quarters.

  So lost in thought, I barely recalled how I got here. Luckily enough my feet knew precisely where I needed to be. Nodding to the diligent young cub, I quickly enter the room. The wide space seemed to expand before me, no longer cramped, but large and populated by scents. Garathi and Volkaran alike casually meandered around, some playing card games, other's games of strength.

  I saw a familiar Garathi pair playing stone crack. It was rather a trivial pastime of theirs. It involved two sides petrifying an arm each, gripping their hands and squeezing until one of them cracked... literally.

  "You will crack first; I can see it here." The leftmost Garathi traced his finger over his opponent's hand.

  "Shut up and squeeze, weakling," the other barked.

  "Like I need to, look at these young ones, see how inferior his stone is," he pointed to the straining arm, almost at its limit. "I wouldn't build anything of worth with this."

  "Shut up!"

  "If you died, your corpse wouldn't even make a statue last for a decade."

  "Calraz, shut your mouth and..." before he could complete his insult, the raw sounds of stone cracking audibly, rang out.

  What followed was screaming, a pained exhalation and an arm damaged by excessive force. The Garathi fell to the floor, clutching his limb like a broken treasure, eyeing the creature that broke it with all the rage he could muster. None of his kin came to his aid; most cheered his abuser on, for he was the winner of the contest.

  Calraz basked in the glow of his victory, before his eyes shifted to the entrance. I locked eyes with the man, and his smile widened as he took me in. All thoughts of the young runt he had just bested, flitted away and soon he was rising to greet me. Crossing the room in a matter of moments, his arm slowly returned to flesh before presenting the limb. I took his arm in hand and performed the greetings.

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  "How do you weather?" I asked.

  "Solid as a mountain." He responded with the typical greeting.

  "That is good. I came here to discuss a matter of grave importance. May we speak... in private?"

  He agreed without question; such was the trust we shared. And with no more words, we left the communal quarters for Calraz's private room. Passing several curious faces, I monitored each of them. Just in case I needed to deal with them later. Pausing midway, just as the door to his private room swung open, I wondered at what point I became committed. Shaking those thoughts away, I strode inside as it shut behind me.

  Looking around, I examined the simple lodgings. Calraz was never one for luxury, he lived by the strength of his arm and the pride of his honour. Unlike others whom clawed their way into our master's good graces, only to realise he had none.

  "What is this about, Unas?" I growled at the mention of my true name.

  "I am Doctore, even in private."

  With hands raised above in surrender, I glared for a moment longer before accepting the lapse.

  "Before that, were you on the master's guard detail?"

  "My men and I will be there tomorrow. Why do you ask?" His gaze narrowed. Was that caution?

  Instead of speaking, I turned away from the man, eyes searching for a distraction. They eventually settled on a small wooden table, atop which was an artefact of immense worth. Something any Garathi warrior would kill for, and some had tried. Calraz left many bodies in defence of this. It glistened in the torchlight, my face reflected in the blade so clearly, it may as well be glass.

  Enchanted weapons were rare; most used common blades, and the rest utilised dungeon weapons. But a true enchanted blade, one created by mortal hands, was a treasure. I couldn't help but admire the craftsmanship, the handle, the pommel shaped like a bat.

  "Is that why you are here, old friend?" He approached, placing a hand on my shoulder. "To challenge me for Bloodfang?"

  Couldn't stop the grin and the memories, sights and sounds, the smell of blood. The roar of the crowd and the glory of battle. But just as the memory surfaced, so did it fade.

  "No," I turned back to my old friend. "She has been and always will be yours."

  "You speak to me as if she were a woman I claimed." He joked, a wide-brim smile showing teeth.

  "She is as dangerous a woman, you recall Anna?"

  "She was a good woman; she died well in the arena." And as he praised her name, he could not hide his sorrow. "You haven't answered my question. Why are you here?"

  I hesitated. Many visions crossed my mind: how he would react, what he would say and, finally, what he would do. Every moment I delayed, I risked talking myself off the path. And it is the path I shall walk, but not alone... if I can manage.

  "It is time we left the temple." I declared firmly.

  The moment I uttered those treasonous words, the jubilant Calraz fell silent. We lingered in the stillness for some time, each taking the other's measure, waiting for the next move. Calraz was the first to speak.

  "The master..." I cut him off.

  "No, without the master's permission." I corrected.

  Silence again, only for his eyes to narrow to slits. "Explain?" He said coldly, stepping around me and edging towards Bloodfang.

  "I think it is time for us to part ways with our master." I said it, the truth.

  Steel glinted in the torchlight as a blade flew from its resting place and came to rest on my throat. I barely flinched, but the fear was there, just beneath the skin. Our eyes met, two killers waiting for the other to show their worth.

  "Is this a trick? A test?" Calraz demanded.

  "No trick, no test, the master is unaware of this meeting. I come on behalf of Rakshur."

  The blade wavers; the mention of that name nudges the deadly encounter slightly away from certain death.

  "I heard he fled the arena in the company of strangers."

  "He did, and it is with those strangers that they plan liberation."

  "Liberation, what inanity are you spouting?" He reacted as expected.

  "I don't think I am insane; I am thinking clearly now. We can break free... together we can defeat him."

  Another pause, the tension in the room rose again, a situation at the edge of a blade, eager to tip right over that edge into bloodshed. Instead, no one shed any blood, and steel did not brutally meet flesh. All that pierced the silence was a resigned sigh.

  "What's the plan then?" He withdrew his sword from my neck and eyed me warily.

  "We just need your men on board and, when the time is right, we deal with the master." And just like that, it's treason and plots.

  I made a commitment. I committed myself to the moment I asked the honourable warrior. If we killed the master, we would be free. Liberation was within our grasp. But every moment we paused, unable to take that next step, was a moment for us to falter. My old friend, fear returned from the depths of my tarnished soul; the hounds of Hades nipped at my heels. Would he claim me, or would I send another who was more worthy of the underworld's wrath?

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