That night, they moved him.
No explanation. No ceremony. Just chains and a hood and a stairway that went up instead of down.
When the hood was torn away, Aren found himself in a stone chamber lit by a single blue flame. The walls were carved with symbols—old, deliberate, and wrong to look at too long.
A man waited inside.
He wore Warden black, but cleaner, sharper. No scars. No grime. His eyes were calm, calculating.
"I am Kars Vell," the man said. "Pit Overseer."
Aren said nothing.
Kars studied him the way one might study a tool. "You fight efficiently. You don't indulge. And today—" he smiled thinly "—you embarrassed us."
Aren met his gaze at last.
Kars's smile faltered, just slightly.
"There are rules," Kars continued. "The pit feeds the city. The city feeds the false gods above. Men like you disrupt the balance."
Aren felt the warmth coil tighter inside him.
Threat Detected.
He didn't flinch.
"What do you want?" Aren asked.
Kars stepped closer. "I want to know why the Record noticed you."
The air seemed to tighten.
Aren understood then.
Kars could feel it too.
"I don't know," Aren said truthfully.
Kars's eyes hardened. "Then you will learn. Slowly."
He gestured.
Chains snapped tight, forcing Aren to his knees. Pain ripped through his shoulders. He gritted his teeth, breathing through it, focusing inward.
The warmth responded again—subtle, stabilizing.
Kars noticed.
Interest flickered behind his eyes.
"Good," he murmured. "You're not empty after all."
As Aren was dragged away, a final understanding settled over him, cold and clear.
Kars Vell would not be an obstacle.
He would be the first enemy.
And enemies, Aren was learning, were simply achievements waiting to be earned.