The shining light of a lantern went out, darkness taking hold for a mere moment. The talker had come again, obscuring the light as he passed by the lanterns. Galal went to the wall in response, leaping up it and grabbing hold of the ledge with the tips of his fingers. It was just enough, and he pulled himself over the wall as he had before. He had come a long way since his first attempt.

The talker sat on the flat stone. Seats. They were seats. A place to sit. Galal prefered to stand or crouch. The seats were ill-fitted to his size, or perhaps his body was not shaped for sitting. Either way, he would stand.

“Don’t kill her,” the talker spoke. Nalmet. His name was Nalmet.

“I don’t kill females,” Galal replied. Although he had not seen a human one before, he could tell from the scent. It was familiar.

“Don’t hurt her. She is…” he paused, the word stuck in his mind. “Is there a word for royalty?” he asked, switching to his own language. He had taught Galal, and Galal had learned.

“No. Alpha or leader are closest.” Nalmet nodded as he replied in a mix of the languages, repeating the words in the human tongue. Galal put them to memory. Language was useful.

“She is a leader. Many lower leaders here as well. Don’t kill any humans for now,” Nalmet said. Lower leaders? Ah. He did not have a single word for them, but he understood. Powerful humans. Galal did not understand human power that well, but he understood well enough. They gave the commands.

“I won’t kill humans yet. When training?” His arms and legs itched, his muscles almost twitching at the thought. He needed battle. Blood.

“Soon. Can you smell them?” He could. Not just the humans, but the monsters that had been prepared for him. They were new smells, mostly of fear. Only one monster did not smell of fear. The biggest, most likely. Or the dumbest.

“I can.” Galal looked down upon the fur smelling talking man. Despite being taller than the other humans, Galal felt that he was small. All things felt small, now.

“Have you grown?” Nalmet asked. A coincidence? Or could the man know his thoughts?

“I am still young,” he replied. He was not yet an adult. He would continue to grow, and the world would continue to look smaller and smaller.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’”,” he said, pulling a book from his robes. He jotted something down, no doubt about Galal’s height or age or something else. He had a feeling it was always about him. He shut the pages, the book disappearing beneath his robe as he stood. “That will be all for tonight,” he said. He turned away from Galal and left, Galal in turn dropping to the arena below. It was time for sleep.

He had awoken before the dawn broke. The arena was covered in darkness, yet in his left eye he could see it all as well as he could see in day. He closed his right eye to help focus, looking around at the dull details of his prison. No, not a prison. Not anymore. He could leave if he wanted. They couldn’t hold him back.

White walls of marble surrounded him. As did brown dirt, a bit of green grass. And red blood. Colors were such a wonderful thing, and now he knew their names. Red was his favorite. The way it spilled from the fallen. The way it dripped from his blade, the way it splattered across the ground, across the white walls. Humans liked art, the talker said. Perhaps Galal liked it, too? At least in his own way. There was beauty in the world, just as there was an ugliness to it.

He took hold of the sword he had been given. Many weapons were given to him. Sword, hammer, a dull club, a spiked club, a spear. So many, all of different sizes and weights, all designed for killing. Galal swung the sword with one hand, swiping through the air in quick motions. He imagined the feeling of the blade cutting through a man or an animal. The talker had said it was to be used with two hands by humans. So small, they were. He could barely fit his own hand around the grip. He dropped the sword and lifted his next weapon. An ax, much bigger than the one he had used when he was captured.

Its single edge was long and round, and at the tip was a spike much like a spears. The talker had said it wasn’t a true ax, more a pole weapon, but it suited Galal just fine either way. With a careful swing he tested it. Its weight, the best way to hold it, that fastest way to swing it. He tested it all. It was his favorite, of course. The best weapon to do what he loved doing. Fighting.

But he would have no match today, nor tomorrow. They wanted a big fight, something exciting. He shared that with the humans. The joy of fighting, the thrill of killing, the sense of superiority. To know that he was powerful, to know that the world was not done with him, and that he was not done with it. To know that he could win. And to win he needed to prepare.