Chapter 2
Morning crept into the narrow street in shades of pearl and ash, the city stirring beneath a sky still bruised with night.
Elion locked the door behind us, the sound sudden in the quiet as he pulled his cloak tight against the lingering chill.
“Are you ready?” he asked, drawing my cloak closer around me.
I smiled at the indulgence and nodded as he started forward.
I fell into step beside him, my grip tightening on the strap of my Bondward satchel as energy coiled beneath my skin, restless in a way I hadn’t felt in years.
Today, I wouldn’t merely observe in the dark.
I would work beside him. I had spent my life around sabers.
I knew exactly what they could do. But I had never stood alone with one, healing it without Elion between me and harm.
We had barely reached the bend in the street when voices carried through an open doorway, low and strained with grief.
“…please,” a man whispered. “She didn’t mean it. She dropped the platter, that’s all. She’s careful. She’s always careful.”
My steps slowed as the plea drifted after me.
Inside the small stone dwelling stood our neighbor, bent nearly double beneath his fear.
His hands were red and raw with the unmistakable marks of a bathhouse cleaner, skin scalded by steam and cracked by harsh lye.
His iron piercing lay on display, dull against his skin, unremarkable and damning.
His daughter knelt before him, shoulders shaking, her own iron ring glinting beneath her nose, blonde hair bound in haste.
“Save your pleas, they won’t do you any good,” the man in front of them said, holding a missive. “The Praetor requires recompense for the insult.”
“She was just nervous,” our neighbor tried again. “It was her first feast. The floor was slick—”
“Enough.”
Two legionnaires stood near the door. One reached down and hauled the girl to her feet. She didn’t scream. Her eyes were wide and glassy, her hands fumbling toward her father as if trying to hold his face in memory even as she folded inward with fear.
“You should be honored that the Praetor finds her pleasing and doesn’t send her to a pleasure house,” the legionnaire said casually. “Though it is a shame—such a delicate beauty.”
His voice hardened. “Stay out of our way. If I so much as hear you try to free her, I will come deal with you myself.” He spat the words as they dragged the girl away, the man with the missive folding the paper as he fell into step behind them.
Our neighbor collapsed to his knees. I stepped forward without thinking. Elion’s hand closed around my wrist, and he shook his head. “We can’t do anything for them.”
Behind us, the father sobbed as he staggered back into his house .
I had seen his daughter many times. She had lost her mother young to the same disease that had taken my parents. They died when I was three. I still felt their absence like a quiet ache I’d learned to live around, though I couldn’t even remember their faces.
The entire Traders Quarter had been struck by it, and commerce had collapsed after half our merchants died within a week.
The Aedile, whose vast villa stood behind the market square, should have done something.
Instead, he offered no aid, shutting his gates to keep the sickness out.
As though the quarter beneath his rule meant nothing at all.
“Keep up, Tina. I want to be there before sunrise.”
Elion was already turning the corner at the end of the street, and I quickened my pace to catch up.
We passed through the market toward the center of Caelora.
Carriages rolled by, legionnaires stationed at every corner.
Wealth showed itself here in wide streets and polished stone, no trace of the mud that clung to our own quarter.
We weren’t poor, not truly, but we couldn’t afford to live here.
Not since Elion’s income had dwindled to his Bondward pension.
The atmosphere grew tenser as we moved deeper. Plum-wine banners stamped with the Imperator’s curled serpent signet snapped above us, strung between marble pillars that marked each street leading toward the Maw. The closer we drew to the heart of Caelora, the more its violence revealed itself.
Then it rose before us, the Maw, monstrous even at sunrise, an immense ring of blackened stone carved into the city’s bones.
The approach to its gates was lined with towering pillars of dark marble, each carved with sabers in every size and stance.
Massive arches joined them overhead, the last arch forming the gaping jaws of a colossal saber, its jagged stone teeth poised to swallow all who entered.
Even from here I could hear it—the distant echo of steel, the roar of unseen crowds, the promise of blood vibrating low beneath the stone. I hated it, yet I couldn’t turn away.
“Elion,” I said as we continued walking. “I studied extensively yesterday. Would you like to hear the roster?”
He didn’t look at me. “Begin.”
“Rhenik Varros.” I started. “Bonded to a pale cream saber named Ilyth.” I pictured him the way he’d been described, light on his feet, precise in every movement. “The bond gives him heightened speed and precision. But he tires quickly. He won’t last in prolonged combat.”
“Good. Next.”
We passed the Praetor’s villa behind the Maw, its presence heavy even in passing, legionnaires stationed thickly around it.
We were deep in the War Quarter now. Several of them grinned as we passed, their looks resting on me too long.
I edged closer to Elion. He inclined his head to them and quickened our pace.
“Sevrak Thane,” I continued. That one was easy to remember.
“His saber, Voryx, is massive, white-striped, and heavily muscled, lending him overwhelming strength.” I hesitated slightly.
“But he’s slow to recover. Lacks agility.
They’re both injured often and he… he enjoys it. Toying with his opponents.”
Elion’s mouth hardened. “May the goddess spare you from ever being bound to him. He is mutilated, inside and out. Whatever remains of his soul lies buried beneath scars.”
“Charming.”
“You shouldn’t joke about this. Once you enter the Ludaryn, try not to catch his eye.”
I nodded faintly and reached for the next name.
“Vayren Thanor. He’s bonded to Kharos, a saber black as night.
The bond gives him… everything that matters.
Lethality. Control. Strategy. His weaknesses…
” I hesitated, “are unknown. I read he’s never lost in the Maw, which makes him the champion of Caelora. ”
Elion finally turned. “They call him the Ringbreaker. He is paraded through Valystria as the Imperator’s executioner. You are right—he has never lost in the Maw, and he provides the Empire its greatest spectacle.”
I snorted. “Legends always bleed when cut deeply enough. He’s still a man.”
“When I was at the Ludaryn, he wasn’t old enough to choose a Bondward, but even then none of the younger ones dared approach him.” He frowned. “He was closed off. His saber was the same, accepting no Bondward near him. Both were punished at every turn for failing to heed instruction.”
“Do you know what changed?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter, Tina. You leave your old life behind once you enter the Ludaryn. It’s the same for warriors and Bondwards. Now continue. One more for now.”
“Decian Serrex. Bonded to a russet-furred saber named Threx. His stamina is unmatched.” I tilted my head slightly. “But he becomes unstable when separated from Threx.”
“Good. But don’t treat this as recitation alone. Once you enter the Ludaryn, you should maneuver into the path of a warrior of your choosing. If you know which of them would treat you best, it will make your life much easier—and prevent me from turning entirely gray.”
My steps faltered, and I slipped my arm through his, patting his hand. “It’ll be fine. You’ve prepared me well. I’ll make sure not to give you cause for worry.”
“Knowing you. That’s a promise you’re unlikely to keep.” His mouth turned at the corner, and I smacked his shoulder.
“If one of them and his saber chooses you,” he continued, all traces of humor gone, “you’ll be taken to the Temple of Lunarion. From that day on, until one of you dies or you are cast aside for a better Bondward, you will be bonded for life.”
“We have no say in any of this. I have to be chosen, yet they could cast me aside as well… is no bond sacred to them?”
“I know your thoughts on the matter, but the Ludaryn will change you. It changed me as well—you adapt to survive. You especially need to adapt. Hide your temper. It will do you no favors. I implore you to take my advice seriously.”
“I do.” When I turned twenty-five and a warrior chose me, I wouldn’t break. I would become the best Bondward Caelora had ever seen.
We left the cobbled streets behind, the ground giving way to soft sand that crunched beneath my boots as we neared the city gate.
The path split ahead. Turning left led to the Imperial Quarter.
We were never allowed there without escort—only the golden-pierced were.
The Ludaryn stood on those hills, along with the Imperator’s villa, more palace than residence.
I averted my eyes from the walls surrounding the quarter.
Even from this distance, an army of legionnaires stood before the entrance.
Following the road, we reached the city’s outer gates at last. The marble doors stood between high stone walls, the station manned by a pair of guards.
“Good day,” Elion said with a nod as he presented his Bondward insignia.
“Bondward Elion, you may proceed.”
The gates opened before us with a deep groan that echoed outward. Beyond the city, the Saber Training Grounds stretched across a vast expanse of sand, enclosed by towering stone walls.
We followed the road, sand crunching beneath our boots as the enclosure slowly grew larger. Legionnaires paced the parapets overhead while a lone watch outpost overlooked the entrance.