Aren dreamed of snow.
Not the clean kind. Not the gentle white from stories. This snow was heavy, wet, and red beneath his feet. It clung to his skin and dragged at his limbs as if the ground itself wanted to keep him.
He walked anyway.
Each step hurt.
Each step mattered.
When he opened his eyes, he was lying in the infirmary—if the pit's rotting side chamber could be called that. The ceiling dripped. The air stank of mold and iron. A woman sat nearby, grinding herbs with a stone pestle, her back turned.
"You should be dead," she said without looking up.
Aren swallowed. "So I've been told."
She snorted. "You were out for two days. Rib fracture. Muscle tear. Internal bruising." She glanced at him then, sharp eyes missing nothing. "Yet your breathing is steady. That's new."
Aren frowned. His body still hurt, but beneath the pain was something else—a faint warmth, like embers under ash.
"What happened?" he asked.
The woman shrugged. "You fought. You lived. Same as always." She paused. "But the wardens are nervous."
That got his attention.
"They say you didn't look angry," she continued. "Most men in the pit fight with hate. You didn't. You looked… empty."
Aren said nothing.
Inside him, the warmth stirred.
January Record: Observing.
His breath caught.
The words appeared not in the air, but in understanding, etched somewhere between thought and instinct.
Current State: Broken but Unyielding.
Recommendation: Continue.
Aren closed his eyes.
For the first time since January, something in the world was not asking him to die.
It was asking him to endure.
The woman stood. "Rest while you can. They'll throw you back in soon." She hesitated. "What keeps you standing, pit boy?"
Aren opened his eyes again.
"Someone's watching," he said.
She shook her head and left.
Alone in the dim chamber, Aren flexed his fingers. The tremor was still there—but beneath it, his grip felt… firmer. Denser.
Outside, the pit roared.
Above, false gods slept.
And somewhere beyond sight, the January Record continued to watch.
Aren smiled, slow and quiet.
He would give it something worth recording.