Five Clans, One Crowm

Blood and Sand

The silence that followed Oscar's words stretched like a blade between them.

Ivanna rose from the floor in one fluid motion. She was shorter than he'd expected, but there was a coiled power in her frame that reminded him of a drawn bowstring. The torchlight caught the scar across her throat, turning it silver. Her eyes never left his face.

"Explain," she said. "Now."

Oscar stepped deeper into the room, motioning for Kelvin to stay by the door. "The Bleached Maw is hunting artifacts connected to the Iron Crown. They believe the first key to finding it is a person. Someone with a specific bloodline." He paused. "I have reason to think that person is you."

Ivanna's expression didn't change. "And why would you think that?"

"A scholar named Mike. He knew something about the key. Before the Bleached Maw took him, he tried to say your name."

"My name." She tilted her head, a predator assessing prey. "Half the city knows my name. I'm a pit fighter. People pay to watch me bleed."

"This is different." Oscar took another step forward, slow and careful, the way you'd approach a wounded animal. "Mike wasn't just any scholar. He spent decades studying the Ten Schools and the old bloodlines. If he said your name, it means something."

Ivanna's hand drifted to her belt. Oscar caught the glint of a blade, thin and curved like a talon. "And you expect me to believe you just happened to find this scholar, just happened to learn my name, just happened to show up here out of the kindness of your heart?"

"I never said kindness." Oscar met her stare. "I need you alive. The Bleached Maw can't get their hands on your blood. If they do, they'll find the Crown. And if they find the Crown, everyone I care about dies."

For a long moment, Ivanna just stared at him. Then she laughed—a harsh, bitter sound that echoed off the stone walls.

"You're insane," she said. "Or stupid. Probably both." She turned away, walking toward a small table where her fighting wraps lay coiled. "I've been in this city for three years. I've bled in the arena more times than I can count. If my blood was some magical key, don't you think someone would have noticed by now?"

"Maybe they did." Oscar's voice was quiet but firm. "Maybe that's why the Bleached Maw has been watching the Coliseum. Maybe that's why they're moving now, after all this time."

Ivanna's hands stilled on the wraps. She didn't turn around. "What do you want from me?"

"Let me help you. Work with me. After the fight tonight, come with us. There are people who can protect you."

"I don't need protection." She turned, and now her eyes blazed with something Oscar recognized—the same fire he'd seen in the mirror after Kael died. Rage. Grief. The desperate need to prove she wasn't a victim anymore. "I've survived this long on my own. I kill what threatens me. I don't run."

"The Bleached Maw isn't like the men you've fought in the arena," Oscar said. "They use forbidden techniques. They don't feel pain the way normal fighters do. They heal from wounds that would kill—"

"I know what the Bleached Maw is." Ivanna's voice cut through his words like a blade. "They killed my mother."

The words landed like a punch to the gut.

Oscar stared at her. "What?"

"When I was six years old. They came to our village in the northern hills. They were looking for something—a relic, a person, I don't know. They slaughtered everyone. My mother hid me in a grain barrel before they found her." Ivanna's voice was flat, emotionless, as if she were reciting a story about someone else. "I watched through the cracks as they cut her open. They were checking her blood. Testing it for something."

Oscar's throat went dry. "And they just left you?"

"They didn't know I existed. My mother made sure of that." Ivanna's jaw tightened. "I crawled out of that barrel three days later. A slaver found me walking the road, half-dead from hunger. He sold me to the fighting pits. And here I am."

Kelvin spoke for the first time, his voice soft. "Then you know what they're capable of. You know why we can't let them find you."

"I know why I can't stop running." Ivanna's eyes flicked to him, then back to Oscar. "But I'm tired of running. The Bleached Maw wants my blood? Fine. Let them come. I'll paint the arena with their bones."

"That's not a plan," Oscar said. "That's suicide."

"It's my choice." She grabbed the wraps and began binding her hands with quick, practiced movements. "I have a fight to win in less than an hour. After that, we'll talk. Maybe."

Oscar stepped toward her. "The Bleached Maw could already be here. They could be waiting for you in the arena. If you go out there—"

"Then you'd better be ready to pull me out." She finished the wraps and flexed her fingers. "But I'm not leaving before the fight. I won't give them the satisfaction of making me run again."

Oscar wanted to argue. He wanted to grab her and drag her out of the Coliseum before the Bleached Maw made their move. But something in her eyes told him it would be useless. She'd made her choice. She'd been running from these people her whole life, and now she was ready to turn and face them.

He understood. He understood too well.

"Fine," he said. "We'll be in the crowd. If anything goes wrong—"

"You'll know." Ivanna brushed past him, heading for the door. "Because the screaming will be impossible to miss."

She was gone before Oscar could respond.

Kelvin let out a breath he'd been holding for too long. "Well. That went better than expected."

"She's going to get herself killed."

"Maybe. Or maybe she's exactly what we need." Kelvin moved to the doorway, peering out into the corridor. "Someone who's been fighting the Bleached Maw her whole life? That's not a victim, Oscar. That's a weapon."

Oscar didn't answer. He was already thinking about the fight to come, about Harrow the Mountain's Wrath, about the dark figure he'd seen in the gallery. The Bleached Maw was here. He could feel it in the air, in the way the shadows seemed to move at the edge of his vision.

"Come on," he said. "We need to find good seats."

---

The main event was announced with a blast of horns that shook the Coliseum walls.

Oscar and Kelvin pushed their way to the front of the gallery, ignoring the protests of the nobles around them. Below, the arena floor had been raked clean, the blood from earlier fights soaked into the sand like a dark memory. Torches blazed around the perimeter, casting long shadows across the empty fighting grounds.

"Harrow the Mountain's Wrath enters from the northern gate," the announcer's voice boomed. "And from the southern gate... the Cinder Step. Ivanna."

The crowd erupted. Coin changed hands. Somewhere, someone screamed a prayer.

Harrow emerged first. He was enormous—easily twice Oscar's size, with arms like tree trunks and a chest scarred from a hundred battles. He carried a massive iron club over his shoulder, its head studded with jagged teeth. The sand shook with each step he took.

Then Ivanna appeared.

She walked into the arena like a ghost, her movements almost too smooth, too graceful. She wore no armor, just simple fighting clothes that showed off the scars covering her arms and shoulders. Her blades were already drawn, two thin knives that caught the torchlight and turned it to silver fire.

"They're going to kill her," Kelvin breathed. "Look at the size of him."

"She's faster," Oscar said. "And she fights like no one I've ever seen."

"How many of her fights have you seen?"

"This will be my first."

The horn sounded again. The fight began.

Harrow charged first, swinging his club in a wide arc that would have crushed stone. Ivanna moved before the blow was even halfway through its path, slipping under the swing and slashing at his legs. Her blade bit into his thigh, drawing a thin line of blood.

Harrow roared and kicked out. Ivanna danced back, light as smoke. The crowd gasped.

"You're quick," Harrow growled. "But speed don't matter when there's nowhere to run."

He swung again, this time low and fast. Ivanna leaped over the club, twisting in mid-air, and landed behind him. Her second blade found his back, slicing between his ribs. Harrow stumbled, blood pouring down his side.

Then he turned and caught her with the back of his hand.

The blow sent Ivanna flying across the arena. She hit the sand hard, rolled, and came up with blood streaming from her nose. The crowd roared with bloodlust.

"Get up," Oscar muttered. "Get up."

Ivanna got up.

Harrow charged again, swinging his club in a relentless pattern, each blow forcing her back toward the arena wall. Ivanna dodged and weaved, but Oscar could see her slowing. The earlier blows had taken their toll. Blood dripped from a gash on her forehead, and her breathing came in ragged gasps.

"Now would be a good time for that Cinder Step," Kelvin said.

As if hearing him, Ivanna changed.

The air around her shimmered. For a moment, she seemed to fade into the shadows, becoming less substantial, less real. Harrow swung at where she'd been standing. His club passed through empty air.

Then Ivanna materialized behind him.

Her blades flashed once. Twice. Three times.

Harrow's knees buckled. He crashed to the sand, his club falling from nerveless fingers. Blood pooled beneath him, black in the torchlight.

The crowd went silent.

Then, like a wave, the roar broke over the Coliseum.

Ivanna stood over Harrow's fallen body, her chest heaving, her blades dripping. She raised her head and scanned the crowd. And for one terrible moment, her eyes met Oscar's.

That's when Oscar saw it.

Moving through the gallery, slipping between the spectators like smoke through cracks, were figures in dark cloaks. He counted three, then four, then more. They weren't moving toward the exits. They were moving toward the arena floor.

The Bleached Maw had made their move.

Oscar grabbed Kelvin's arm. "We have to get down there."

"Down there? Oscar, the fight just ended. The guards—"

"Now!"

He pushed through the crowd, shoving nobles and merchants aside. Behind him, Kelvin followed, cursing. The roar of the crowd was still deafening, but Oscar could hear something else now—a change in the air, a shift in the energy of the arena.

The Bleached Maw was closing in.

Oscar reached the railing and vaulted over, dropping into the sand below. The fall jarred his ribs, but he didn't stop. He ran toward Ivanna, who was still standing over Harrow's body.

She turned at his approach, blades rising. "What are you doing?"

"The Bleached Maw," Oscar gasped. "They're here. In the gallery. They're coming for you."

Ivanna's eyes went wide, then hardened. "Where?"

Oscar pointed. But when he looked up at the gallery, the dark figures were gone.

They'd vanished into the crowd like they'd never been there at all.

Then the torches went out.

The Coliseum plunged into darkness.

And in that darkness, someone screamed.