When Sand returned to the corridor leading to the Arena after rolling around in the sand to smother the flames on his pants, he found Kreg waiting for him with his arms crossed. The muscular orc narrowed his eyes as he stared him up and down appraisingly. “Well, ain’t ye just full of surprises."

Sand bowed to him humbly. “It’s all thanks to your and Master Silveros’ care.”

“Keep that glib tongue to yerself,” snorted Kreg contemptuously. But when he continued, his tone was a bit more amiable than a moment before. “Well boy, it seems yer in luck. A big-shot just happened to pass by these parts and dropped in to catch a show. Master Silveros was keepin’ her entertained and when she heard that yer under ‘is patronage, she asked ta meet ye.”

It wasn’t uncommon for a distinguished guest to call upon and reward a Gladiator whose performance had pleased them. In actuality, the rewards were less for the Gladiators and more of a sign of goodwill towards their patrons. There was a lot of consideration involved in this gifting process. Depending on the political allegiance of the donor and the type and price of the gift, they could be sending any sort of message. As for the Gladiators – the very fact that they could profit off the political machinations of the Orcs was good news. Hardly anyone gifted a newbie though. They tended to die a bit too quickly to make good use of whatever resource was delivered to them. For Sand to get a call right after his debut match was indeed lucky.

Kreg gestured for Sand to follow as he led the way down the network of passages. “Come along and when ye get into the room, be on yer best behaviour. I don’t want ta hear a peep outta ye otherwise I’ll be crackin’ yer skull – no matter how much money ye make me.”

Sand didn’t reply, one wasn’t really expected from him. He followed Kreg through corridors that distinctly sloped upwards. If he was guessing right, they were now travelling under the seats of the stadium towards the private boxes. The muffled sounds of the audience excitedly stamping their feet on the ground lent credence to that theory.

After a few minutes, they reached a small wooden door much like the secret doorway in Torak Silveros’ study. Kreg drew out a large iron key from one of the many pockets that covered his leather jerkin and opened it. Once they passed through, he locked it, letting the ornate tapestry that had erstwhile covered it swing back again.

Turning to Sand, Kreg was just about to exhort him to behave again when his eyes fell upon the shield in the boy’s grasp and the sword stuck in the sheath attached to his belt. “Damn! I forgot ta tell ye to return those,” he cursed as he slapped his forehead. “Well, we could go back but… better not test the boss’ patience… jest drop ‘em. Ain’t nobody gonna steal em from here and ye can take them when ye return.”

Nodding, Sand placed the weapons in a neat pile against one wall of the corridor, even shedding the charred strips of cloth tied around his legs, trying to make himself more presentable.

“Keep yer eyes on the ground,” exhorted Kreg one last time before pushing the door to the private room open.

Keeping his eyes to the ground, Sand followed Kreg into the room, his booted feet sinking into the thick fur carpet laid over the floor. He had no idea what beast had kindly donated it's hide to the noble cause of orcish luxury but he was sure that it had been the pricey kind.

There were four others already in the room when they entered, and out of the four, three were encapsulated in jet-black robes that revealed precious little about their occupants. The fourth person was Torak Silveros himself dressed in his finest.

Sand took in as much as he could through his peripheral vision and drew his conclusions. First, going by his attitude towards them, whoever the big-shot was, she was extremely influential; much more so than Torak. So, a Violet Mage... or higher. Second, she didn't want her identity exposed - hence the cloak. Third, she was a vampire.

While the first two conclusions were byproducts of keen observation and logical reasoning, the third had drawn deeply from Sand's previous life's experiences. Even the voluminous cloaks that covered them couldn't completely hide the misshapen forms of the two Blood Thralls that stood rigidly behind the third cloaked figure's chair like statues. Despite the featureless black masks covering their faces, the blood-red eyes, without any separation between the sclera and the iris, shining through from the depths of their hoods were enough to identify them for those in the know.

They might look peaceful now, but once triggered, they wouldn't stop till either their opponent of they themselves were torn to shreds. Sand had fought a Thrall once. He never wanted to fight one again.

"Master, Lady, I brought the boy," announced Kreg with a deep bow to both of them.

Sand felt a piercing gaze sizing him up making him feel utterly exposed beneath it. A melodious voice rang out within the room. "Look at me," it said. And everyone present obeyed. Kreg, the Thralls, even Silveros - all of them felt a compulsion to do what the voice asked of them even though they weren't the target of the voice.

As for Sand, he felt it much, much deeper. His blood sang in his veins and his thoughts refused to remain his own. He didn't resist and looked into the eyes of the owner of that voice. He didn't resist because he knew it would be futile to do so. Against a Dungeon Mage, he might as well have been a mortal for all the good his meager magic would do him.

His eyes met a scarlet pair set in a face shrouded by a veil and shaded by a hood. All he could see were those scarlet pupils beneath long, white lashes and he knew that she was beautiful. And he knew that she knew his secret.

Not all of them or even most of them, but one of them. One that got her to say the next few words. "How much for the boy?"

Snapping out of his daze Silveros' back was soaked with cold sweat at how easily he had been swayed by her magic. Regaining his composure with great difficulty, he replied with a respectful smile, "Where, where milady. How can I charge you for anything? Just think of him as my gift to you."

Even as his heart sank at the development, Sand couldn't help but admire the man's astute business sense. He had replied in the perfect way to glean the greatest profit. If he had set a definite price, he wouldn't have been able to set it too high - and he would probably even have to set it at rock bottom out of respect for the woman. But if he did this on the other hand -

The woman huffed lightly. "When has my noble clan ever had to stoop low enough to receive handouts? I will send either Vlad or Igor with the money by tomorrow. I'll pay at the going rate for a Yellow mage."

- the ball was in her court and she would have to overpay out of her sense of honour. But sadly, Silveros didn't know that the woman was more shameless than him. She had clearly detected Sand's top ranked talent. Though it irked him to think of himself that way, the price of a Yellow mage wasn't close to his true pricetag.

"I needed a slave to experiment my shard combinations on - his current setup is quite suitable. I hope the shards come with him?" she asked.

"Of course, milady."

Nodding in satisfaction, the woman snapped her fingers and the space in one corner of the room began to distort as the Gate to her Dungeon appeared, filling the room with the rich smell of blood. It wasn’t so much a Gate as it was a waterfall – a sanguine waterfall that gushed down from the mouths of three grotesque skulls made of scarlet stone floating unsupported in the air. The blood that cascaded down splashed noiselessly upon the floor, turning illusory before the spray could touch the occupants of the room. Its appearance lending the atmosphere in the room a macabre aura.

If Sand wasn’t sure of the identity of the mysterious woman, now, seeing her Dungeon Gate, there was no doubt in his mind. For some reason he couldn't even begin to guess at, the third Princess of the Enzeal clan had come visiting two years earlier than scheduled. This time, without her husband accompanying her.

‘Then again, the only reason I know that she had come at all is because of how grand the occasion was in my previous life.’

The Princess and her beau, Vincent Sangre, the Crown prince of the Sangre Royal family were the first envoys the Vampires had ever sent to the Tyhr. It was the first time they had even acknowledged the Orcs’ existence since their Banishment, so of course the Chiefs would propagandize the event as much as possible. That’s why even as a mere mortal scullery boy in a two-bit restaurant, Sand got to hear of it. It was all the patrons could talk of for weeks.

The day of their visit had even been declared a public holiday and people had thronged the streets to catch even a glimpse of the vaunted Dungeon Mages that had graced Gehenna with their presence. Every street had been festooned with intertwined strips of cloth dyed red and black – the colours of the Sangre and the Enzeal Royal family respectively. The grandeur of the occasion had engraved itself into Sand’s mind and he had recalled an associated fact.

For their entertainment, the eight top ranked Yellow mages among the Gladiators had been forced into a free-for all deathmatch and the survivor had been presented as a gift to the power couple. The story of how the Princess had opened her Bloodskull Gate to induct the winner into her Dungeon had spread far and wide with envy directed towards the victor among the human slaves. After all, being the slave of a Vampire – that too of a Princess – was a huge step up from being a mere pit slave in the Arena.

That had been Sand’s ticket to freedom – or at least, the first step towards it. He had planned to grow his strength in a planned manner in the Arena till he had full assurance of victory. Then he would hitch a ride with the two aristocrats to the Vampire Metropolises where a huge chance was waiting for him.

But now, with the appearance of the Princess ahead of time, all his plans had gone down the drain. ‘Is the effect of my rebirth on the timeline?’ he mused before scrapping that line of thought. It was too early and his presence too insignificant to cause such a wide deviation in the chain of events. It was more likely that the Princess had visited Gehenna undercover before. Even if she hadn't been all cloak and dagger about it, there was no way for Sand – a mere mortal – to know about the dealings of Dungeon mages.

Sand realized yet again how flawed his information really was.

Disgruntled by Sand’s dazed expression, one of the Thralls, Vlad (or was it Igor?) prodded Sand in the back impatiently, almost sending him crashing headfirst through the Gate. Staggeringly regaining his balance, he sighed once more internally at the helplessness of the situation and walked through the bloody cataract without further prompting.

He would just have to make the best of it.

One moment, Sand was in a plushly arranged private booth in the Arena of Sin, the next he was shivering atop a snowy mountain. Unlike the gut-wrenching sensation of being warped from one end of a spatial tunnel to the other that he had experienced while entering the Demon Gate, travelling through the Bloodskull Gate was a simple walk through a portal connecting two worlds. An appropriate analogy as a Dungeon could be considered a small world all unto its own with its own set of rules and idiosyncrasies.

Sand looked behind him. There, the phantom image of the Gate was in the process of rapidly dissipating. Within moments, no trace of it remained heralding the beginning of his confinement within the Dungeon until its owner was kind enough to release him.

Calming down swiftly, he took in the lay of the land, his current vantage upon a snow-covered peak giving him a panoramic view of the entire Dungeon. The region was broad – large enough to easily accommodate the entire city of Gehenna and its surroundings. The boundary was, to his eye, perfectly circular and all along it, jagged, bone-white mountains towered into the crimson sky.

Encircled by this mountain range was the central valley that sloped downwards gently into the shape of a bowl. The soil of the valley too was the same skeletal white. The very centre of the ‘bowl’ abruptly dropped down into a deep abyss that glowed orange with internal fire.

Moving his gaze closer home, Sand inspected the snow under his feet. The snow was the colour of blood. As were the rivulets formed of molten snow that merged into swift streams that rushed towards the centre, plunging over the steep edge into the abyss. In fact, going by the cloying smell permeating the entire region, it was blood.

As soon as the cataracts of blood touched the fire at the bottom of the abyss, it evaporated, rising up into the sky as a pillar of bloody vapour that coalesced into sanguine clouds which were blown away by the thermals towards the mountains. Cloud merged into cloud and they grew heavier and darker as they approached the sky above the peaks, finally bursting, releasing their load of moisture that froze in the icy temperatures of the Dungeon edge into flakes of blood snow.

‘It is a complete cycle,’ observed Sand, fascinated. ‘There is a temperature gradient between the central portion of the Dungeon and the edge – two polar opposite shards of Fire and Ice bound together by the blood as it cycles through the phases of evaporation, condensation and precipitation. Fire, Ice and Blood. That’s three shards right there. Then the mandatory two of Space and Time. So, five shards. But… but why do I feel that there is something more?’

Sand frowned deeply as he scrutinized the environment again, searching for the source of that discordant feeling. Then it hit him with all the subtlety of a sack of bricks. ‘Of course there’s something more! This Dungeon isn’t even fully complete. The entire place is made up of Genesis stone not some white rock! It’s an Embryonic Dungeon. But how?!”

This realization thoroughly shook Sand’s concept of magic. Weren’t five shards enough to form a Dungeon? If so, how was this one still in its embryonic form after thoroughly fusing all five shards. Did that mean it could fuse more. Then what were the limits and how was one supposed to go about it?

Question after question swam up to the surface of his mind vying for his attention like a school of fish in a pond tussling over scattered crumbs of bread. His lack of warm clothes or weapons, the disruption of his carefully laid plans, his future ideals - throwing everything to the back of his mind, he doubled down to break the mystery laid before him. If reclaiming humanity’s lost dignity was his ideal, his end goal, then the study of magic was his passion.

Right now, he couldn't be gladder that providence had disrupted his plans because going by this Dungeon, the way he had been training was wrong – or at least, incomplete.