The underground smelled of blood and rust.
Metal walls dripped with condensation, and the only light came from flickering torches mounted between iron bars. Shadows moved across cracked stone — not from people, but from beasts that had once been men.
Down here, names didn't matter. The crowd didn't cheer for identities. They cheered for blood. For the roar of torn flesh. For the sight of someone falling and never standing again.
A boy stood alone at the far end of the corridor.
Slender.
Pale skin, bruised knees, feet bare. His hair was dark, falling over his eyes like a curtain of ash. He was younger than the others. Maybe fifteen. Maybe younger. His thin arms were wrapped in gauze, and a long, strange scar ran from the base of his neck to his collarbone — like a vine burned into the skin.
Around his neck, a chain. And at the end of that chain — a rusted tag with a number:
134.
He didn't speak.
He never had.
And yet, they called him by a name:
Kalyan Roche.
The boy with the Vein of Silence.
---
A guard barked from behind the bars.
"Cage B. Open the gate. Subject 134 is up."
The iron doors moaned open.
Kalyan stepped forward, barefoot on the blood-soaked stone. His eyes were blank — like glass over deep, uncharted water. But something in his steps felt heavier than they should have been. As if he carried more than just his own weight.
The tunnel opened into an arena — circular, wide, and surrounded by stone seats stacked into darkness. Hundreds of masked spectators sat in silence, each wearing robes and gilded jewelry. Nobles, gamblers, and power-chasers. All of them waited… waited for the next scream.
A voice echoed across the dome.
"Lords and Ladies of the Deep Circle… your first match of the cycle: a rareblood against a beastborn!"
A metal gate screeched open on the other side of the arena.
From it emerged a monster twice the boy's height — flesh mutated, eyes red, fangs dripping. Its arms were thick as tree trunks, its body pulsing with unstable veins. It wore no armor, just leather bindings to keep its insides from falling out.
The announcer called it:
"Grontash the Breaker!"
Cheers thundered.
But Kalyan didn't flinch.
He walked to the center of the arena and stopped. A faint breeze passed over the sand as his chain swung gently. Across the colosseum, Grontash roared and slammed its fists into the ground, cracking stone and rattling skulls.
Still, the boy remained quiet.
Motionless.
Waiting.
A noblewoman in the high seats narrowed her eyes.
"Is that… the silent one?"
"Veinless?" her companion asked.
"No," she replied. "Look closer. That boy's a bearer."
---
In this world, people were born with special veins — threads of power that glowed under the skin, linked to emotion, trauma, lineage… or curses.
Some veins gave superhuman strength. Others gave perception, manipulation, illusion, control.
But Kalyan's vein?
The Vein of Silence.
A nerve-vein that erased his voice from existence — not just muteness, but true absence. Even if he screamed… the world would never hear.
His pain was mute. His power… untraceable.
The arena bell rang.
Grontash charged.
Flesh thundered across the sand as the beast lunged with a roar that shook the arena walls. The crowd gasped as the monster's claws sliced toward the boy's neck.
Kalyan vanished.
Not teleported. Not disappeared.
He simply moved — too fast, too quiet, too unexpected.
He reappeared behind Grontash and slid to a stop, his fingers twitching slightly. From beneath his tattered shirt, strange black lines began to pulse across his arms. His veins. They moved like ink, forming symbols that didn't belong to any human language.
Grontash turned and swung a boulder-sized fist toward the boy's spine.
Kalyan ducked.
Jumped.
Grabbed the beast's shoulder, flipped over its back — and struck once.
A single palm to the nape of the monster's neck.
No sound. No impact.
Just silence.
But in the next heartbeat… Grontash collapsed.
His muscles spasmed. Eyes rolled back. His breathing stopped. And then — nothing.
The crowd didn't even cheer. They just stared.
The announcer stuttered.
"Subject… 134… victor."
Kalyan stood over the corpse, his head bowed. His body trembled, not from fear — but from something else.
He looked up toward the nobles.
Not at them.
Through them.
As if he knew someone… somewhere… was watching him for more than sport.
---
In the medical chamber, Kalyan sat on a metal table, being stitched without anesthesia. He didn't blink. The medic mumbled.
"Third win in a row... they'll start to notice."
He glanced around, then whispered closer.
"You're not just surviving, are you, kid? You're… looking for something."
The boy said nothing.
He couldn't.
But the medic noticed the way his fingers tapped a rhythm into his knee.
Three taps. Two pauses. One long press.
A signal.
The door opened.
A tall man entered. Dressed in black, with a white veil over his mouth and a metal book chained to his hip.
His voice was deep, cold.
"Subject 134. You are to be relocated."
The medic blinked.
"Relocated? To where?"
The veiled man turned.
"To the upper tier. Sector 5. They've requested him for the Trial Rings."
"Trial Rings?! But that's— that's not for kids!"
The veiled man didn't respond. He only looked at the boy.
"Come."
Kalyan stood.
He followed the man through twisting corridors, up spiraling stone stairs. The smell of the lower pits faded. The air changed. Cleaner. Colder.
When they reached the top gate, the man paused.
He leaned in slightly and whispered words that no one else could hear.
"You're not one of them, are you?"
Kalyan blinked.
The man smiled.
"You're something else."
He pressed a sigil into the gate, and the iron slid open with a hiss.
---
Beyond the gate…
The city opened.
Not the arena.
Not a chamber.
A city. Built inside the mountain, with towers of obsidian, rivers of molten silver, and sky-fires dancing between floating rocks. People in robes, armor, and glowing tattoos walked between markets and temples, unaware that beneath them — bloodsport ruled.
Kalyan looked up.
For the first time in years…
He saw the sky.
Not real sky — artificial, painted with ancient tech and long-dead lights. But still… it wasn't a ceiling.
He stepped forward.
And for just a second, the silence in his heart… cracked.
---
Somewhere across the city, a girl sat in a library, studying old books.
She paused.
A wind passed through the open window.
Her silver eyes widened.
"...He's awake," she whispered. "The silent bearer… is finally rising."
---
And elsewhere, in a far darker place…
A council of masked figures gathered around a throne made of ribs.
One of them spoke.
"Confirm it. The boy with the Vein of Silence has survived his third round?"
Another replied.
"Yes. And he's… adapting."
A deep voice rumbled from the shadows.
"Then the seal has started to fade."
A long pause.
They all turned toward the throne.
"Bring him to the Spiral Court. Before his memories return."
---
Final Scene
Back in the city, Kalyan walked silently through a narrow path between glowing vines. He touched a stone pillar — one that pulsed softly beneath his palm. Something responded.
An old mark beneath his skin glowed.
And from within his chest…
A voice.
Not his.
Not human.
> "You're getting closer, boy. But the truth you seek is buried in more than silence."
> "It's buried in blood."
---
🩸 Final Line:
"He couldn't scream… but the world was about to hear him anyway."