I watched my friend's back as he descended, spears of sunlight glinting off the steel bands of his pauldrons intermittently. Holes in the ceiling allowed light to filter through to the tunnel from above in sections of shadow and light, and they cast our descent into a strange play, though I couldn't hope to interpret a meaning from the shadows.

An age later, and simultaneously feeling less than a few heartbeats, the stairs abruptly stopped, giving way to a smooth stone floor. We followed the snaking pathway around the edge of what must have been the waterfall, completely insulated by the rock and unable to hear the cascade just outside.

The tunnel then opened into a large antechamber, racks of weapons and wooden benches lining the edge of the room. People lounged around, talking intermittently and warming up together in an overwhelming mix of colours. Ribbons and silks denoting clan affiliation were wrapped around each person present and tapestries hung on the walls, no doubt liberated from various 'lowlander' settlements, given the eclectic mix of peoples and myths that were depicted without any unifying pattern.

We hovered uncertainly in the tunnel mouth for a few moments before a man in robes came bustling over, a heavy chain hanging on his chest. He introduced himself as one of the event organisers – it was a crude translation of his title that doubtless missed much of the significance he was afforded, but that was the best I could provide to Nathlan in the moment – and things proceeded quickly from there.

Before I knew it, I was sitting on a wooden bench, looking at my knees and intermittently clenching my hands into fists. Nathlan had won his first match with ease, despite being significantly under levelled. He was only in the low thirties, but given his powerful and rare combat class, he likely had attributes surpassing most 1st tiers, even those at the peak at level 50.

He didn't have much of a chance to give me the rundown, since I was whisked away virtually the moment he returned, but he managed to tell me that he won, that I should relax, and that the arena was 'a marvel reminiscent of the architectural wonders of antiquity' – a very Nathlan way of saying it looked pretty fucking cool.

I was escorted out of the 'holding cell' as it seemed to me – I'm sure it was more of a waiting room but with the whole 'being underground' thing and the lack of sunlight, not to mention the iron-banded doors… It definitely felt like a holding cell to me. I followed the official out through another looping tunnel, hearing my footsteps echo around us. As we moved though, that sound started to become muffled, overwhelmed by a growing roar.

I thought at first it must be the roar of the crowd, my heart speeding up at the thought of so many people shouting together. I had managed to distract myself from such thoughts for long enough to reach the end of the tunnel, but as we entered the arena proper and I stepped out of the unassuming archway following the gesture by the official, I staggered as it all hit me at once.

It felt as if a thousand lions roared directly in my face, and I could feel their spittle hitting me. The reality was in fact the thunderous crash of tonnes of water hitting the ground every moment, and the mist rising from the floor spraying up at me. That reality was no less intimidating in the moment though. I felt small, insignificant, and achingly delicate.

I stepped reverently, unable to stop but trying to move as slowly as possible to savour the experience as I walked. Stone steps rose before me, slippery from water but crossed-hatched to give a semblance of grip. To each side was a gently curving wall, overhung with a jutting cliff of white and red stone, though the colours of the rock were partly covered by vibrant mosses; greens and blues and even bright yellows visible at different points – a wild tapestry, chaotic in a way that only nature can be.

And beyond the mosses, a score or more feet out into the open air, fell the water. A sheeting mass of white and blue hung as if suspended, details always moving but the totality unchanged. It was an impossible sight, and I did finally pause to take it all in. It wasn;t unexpected, I'd known we were aiming for the bottom of the sinkhole since I'd spied it from above in Sadrianna's parents viewing platform.

But still. The scale of it was impressive enough to make me hesitate. I started to climb the steps ahead, hearing the roar of water amplify as I drew closer. The steps led to the top of a large stone dais, but as I reached the top, I saw that it was concave, flowing down and away smoothly from where I stood.

The water smashed into the angled wall and ran down into a moat that circled a much smaller dais raised above it, though the details were blurred by the wall of water. It was clear that dais is where I would face my opponent, and so I squared my shoulders and strode forwards.

The waterfall was many feet thick and would no doubt knock down a person without enhanced attributes, possibly fatally. I had to assume that if you were deemed strong enough to fight in the arena though, you were strong enough to cross through the barrier of rushing water. While I had seen it as a relatively clear curtain of water, marred only by the occasional patches of white water kicked up by the protruding wooden beams in the caves above, towards the bottom it was a bubbling, frothing mess. I would have been apprehensive to face this if I had stumbled upon such a feature out in the wilds by myself, but knowing that each competitor had to face it too gave my nerves some steel, and I took a deep breath before marching forwards.

The pressure was immense, and the slap of water on the exposed skin of my neck and arms was a stinging shock. I had faced such pains before though, and walked through with my head bent and arms out to my side for balance, weapon and shield in a white-knuckled grip in each hand.

I strode as confidently through the breach as I could, the impromptu shower waking my mind and refreshing my body in a surprising way. It also hurt like all hells. Without looking I knew the skin on my neck and arms was red, and the sting as it was touched by cool air was enough to tell me it was beaten raw. No matter. I didn't want to show weakness now that the harm was already done, and so descended the remaining steps before leaping the two or so meters up over the moat and onto the dais.

Blessedly, the stone was dry and I came to stop smoothly, standing from my slight crouch to my full height. Leaning back, I looked up and around, marvelling once again at the view. The sinkhole must have been a near a thousand feet in diameter, and water fell all around to the base of the cavern from a large circle of sky several hundred feet above.

Looking around, I noted the hundreds of small caves littering the cliff through which spectators stood shoulder to shoulder. Larger caves had bigger groups and consequently bigger wooden structures to part the water. Towards the top of the sinkhole were smaller groups, often sitting in fine-looking chairs or cushions, food and even attendants present to serve the whims of the no doubt more powerful and rich families and groups that sat, literally and figuratively, above the unwashed masses below.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

I was unsure if anyone could be described as unwashed being so close to this massive shower, and the hierarchy of the clans – while clearly formalised and enforced – seemed relatively flat compared to 'the lowlands' through which I'd travelled and learned of, but the point still stood; big dogs at the top, runts at the bottom. I smirked to myself at the imagery, especially considering I'd gone by the name 'Runt' for a while before being gifted my current moniker, though Lamb honestly wasn't much of an upgrade, in all honesty.

My awe must have been fading, hence my irreverent thoughts coming back to the surface, and so I refocused with an effort of will. I was alone on the stadium, and my emergence from the wall of water had enthused the crowd. I couldn't really hear them over the deafening crash of water, but I could see the ones standing in the lower caves shouting and hollering in excitement through their 'windows'.

I looked around for the Holder, and after a few moments saw a woman standing off to the side, her head barely peeking over the edge of the dais, stood as she was on the curved wall behind it. She nodded at me in respect or acknowledgement – I wasn't sure which – and stepped lightly up onto the raised dais to join me.

I say stepped rather than jumped because she appeared to float as if on air, crossing the distance between us with a grace that looked so normal and effortless, I barely noticed that she was hovering above the floor until she arrived and stepped back down to the rock next to me.

She bowed her head again, and in a soft voice introduced herself.

"Well met. I am Finanda, the Holder of this circle, and I will be overseeing this fight."

*Vera*

She stood quietly in the cave, high up in the cliff face, trying her best to keep her nerves at bay. Jorge and Sadrianna's parents sat on comfortable-looking cushions discussing something Vera was neither particularly interested in nor able to understand. Geopolitics was not something she liked to dwell on, despite Jorge's seemingly renewed interest in recent days.

Sadrianna seemed to have a similar view, leaning against a wall on the other side of the cave toying with a small knife, looking nervous but trying to hide it. Vera sighed and shifted, looking out past the wooden beam that split the wall of water in front of them, giving her an unobscured view to the arena below. It was currently empty save for the Holder standing just off the dais at the edge, but she knew Lamb would be entering soon.

Nathlan had won his first fight handily, putting on an admirable display of swordsmanship and even ending the fight with a novel combination of his two key Skills. It was still early in brackets, so the feat wouldn't garner him much interest, but it was a good showing, nonetheless, and Jorge would be proud.

Nothing Vera didn't expect to see. He had a style made for duelling – impeccable footwork and great skill with a longsword. His level was comparatively low, but the combat class made up most of the difference in attributes – it was the Skills that would be the problem. They were under-levelled compared to most top 1st tiers, and Nathlan's particularly were not heavily combat focused.

And yet she hadn't been concerned, and wouldn't be until he reached later rounds and fiercer competition. Her real concern was for Lamb. He had a comparative advantage with attributes compared to pretty much all 1st tiers at this point due to his combat class – it was no more potent than Nathlan's, but he still had over ten levels on the man – but no amount of raw power could make up for a deficiency in skill. Especially given Jorge's challenge. Personally, she thought it was a bit of a waste for him to limit himself and get kicked out early, but she suspected Jorge was trying to teach the man a specific lesson. He liked to do that, the enigmatic bastard.

She worried Lamb was going to get a reality check. His Skills were well-levelled, but even more than Nathlan, they weren't optimised for one-on-one combat. Without the chaos of an active battle and an attribute advantage, she suspected he'd have issues measuring up to the technical ability of his opponents.

His arrival only confirmed her fears.

The curtain of water shielded the arena from the view of those waiting and likewise shielded the competitors from the crowd before they fully entered. This curtain was split on the southern side, as Lamb strode out through the water-wall.

Fool of a boy, she thought to herself, unable to help the small smile that slipped past the stony mask that was her face. It grew wider when she heard the answering roar of the crowd, and Arynia's exclamation.

"I love the confidence! Showing he can take a beating before he even enters the fight. What a statement."

Ventus picked up the thread of conversation his wife had started; "Is your man down there cocky, or smart? I can't tell if this was a calculated risk to mess with his opponent's head, or just showboating."

The question was directed at Jorge, and the older man just shook his head, a mysterious smile on his face. "Guess we'll find out," he said evenly.

But Vera knew the truth. Lamb had no idea how to actually enter the gods damned arena and hadn't bothered to ask.

"Well, no matter. He's up against Grashtan's son, and he takes after his father from what I hear." Ventus remarked.

"So, he's a smug prick too?" Sadrianna asked, and her mother laughed in response.

"Just so," Arynia said.

*Lamb*

I bowed, feeling a slight charge to the air around us from her power. She was clearly in the 3rd tier. Where Vera dominated the world around her, this Holder – Finanda, I reminded myself – seemed to be accepted by it. Her presence was undeniable, but seemed less a challenge than a comforting weight.

"Your opponent draws near, young lowlander. You had best prepare yourself."

It was the first time I'd heard that expression said without even a hint of derision or insult, and I turned to follow her gesture towards the opposite end of the dais.

I saw nothing for a few moments, before the water about half a dozen feet above the ground split apart. An elegant blade emerged through the waterfall and forced itself into the light, glittering in the midday sun.

The blade twisted to show its flat to the earth and sky, and the water split to either side, creating a doorway of air beneath the blade through which my opponent strode. The blade abruptly dropped alongside the arm wielding it, and its wielder stepped quickly through, not a drop of water marring their person.

Ahhhh. So that's how it's done. I looked down at my drenched clothes and mismatched armour, still dripping onto the floor in a puddle around my legs, then back at the elegant person opposite as they strode across the dais.

I must have looked a little embarrassed as the Holder shot me an amused glance before leaning in to whisper, "The crowd loved it. If you win decisively now, it will look like it was a deliberate show of force. If you lose though? Well…"

I absorbed that while ringing out my soaking hair and tucking it into my armoured vest. Squaring my shoulders, I resigned myself to fighting in soggy shoes and stepped into the centre of the arena opposite my opponent.

I saw his confident smirk, the finely engraved glaive leaning lightly against his shoulder, and the expensive-looking filigree on his shining breastplate. He didn't exactly look like a barbarian from the mountains. There was only one thing he reminded me of now that I got a good look at him. The sons and daughters of rich nobles I saw hanging around in the canyon city of Colchet, drinking and laughing at all hours of the day. Pampered, entitled, arrogant.

Perhaps I was being overly judgemental though, after all I knew precious little about the mountain clans or their society. The next words out of his mouth confirmed that I wasn't, however.

"Don't worry boy, I'll make this quick."

Fucking nobles.

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