Boots drummed the arena's wooden benches, creating a steady rhythm for the chants singing Estera's name as she shadowboxed to get her blood flowing. Sweat dripped down her face from the sun drenching the chalky earth at her feet, and she shook out her arms, causing the spikes on her leather armor to glint under the sizzling rays. If someone looked closely, they would still see crimson stains on them from her last fight.

And like that occasion, she knew she would win again.

Propping her leg on the weathered railing in front of her, she cast a long glance at the thrones nestled under the black awning on the second level. Only six of the seven seats were occupied, making her wonder where her mother was? Switching legs, she held the pose to observe her opponent. They paced back and forth in the center of the arena, wasting time instead of preparing.

"Matalo," her mother, Catalina, whispered in a warm breath across her ear, but Estera didn't need to hear it to remember her task.

The rules were simple: Follow the laws of the community or die. Her opponent signed their death certificate when they spat in her mother's face during a town hall meeting. Never in the history of their community had someone been so bold to accost a leader.

"Lo hago por ti." Estera turned to her. "This time, it's personal."

Smiling proudly, her mother pulled out a tiny glass jar, and Estera got down on one knee. She straightened her shoulders and tilted her head back just enough to let the sun warm her mahogany skin.

"Sangre, de mí sangre." Catalina traced a crooked finger from Estera's hairline, all the way down to her chin. As the breeze blew, she felt the cool touch of garnet paint left behind. "Rise."

"The blood of my people relies on my hand. The blood of my people will never soak this land. For I am the chosen, a warrior, a mountain, a force no enemy can command," she recited.

"Sangre, de mí sangre," Catalina concluded and covered Estera's hands with hers - hands which had deep scars and fractured bones that never healed correctly from the Great War of the Territories. To an outsider, her mother was disfigured, but to Estera, it was the sign of a true warrior. A badge that many wore proudly, and one she hoped to wear as well someday.

"Look." Catalina pointed to the old woman standing up from the middle throne.

A crown of deer antlers and rabbit skulls adorned her head of long silver waves, with wiry strands coaxing the breeze as she walked to the balcony overlooking the fighting pit. The crowd went silent. It was time. Like every fight, her cloudy eyes scanned the audience absently as her flabby arms brought a conch shell to her lips, and the rabbit bones dangling from her necklace clanged like wind chimes with her movements. Estera closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she heard the familiar sound circulate the arena, she glanced at her mother one last time, and Catalina blew her a kiss.

Pushing her shoulders back, she clasped the stair rail to make her descent into the pit. Recently, Dev began waiting at the bottom. He was older than her by five years, and the rumor was that he wanted her to be his partner.

"It's your fiftieth fight today." He handed her a sword, and she held it out, admiring the razor edge in the sunlight.

"You've kept track?"

"It takes most Enforcers ten years to accomplish what you've managed to do in five, so yes, I've taken notice."

"How long did it take you?"

"Six." He smiled and glanced at the thrones under the awning. "Maybe one day we can sit up there together. Would you like that?"

Estera felt a faint thump in her chest as she finally looked him in the eyes. Dev was one of the strongest Enforcers, and together they could make a powerful partnership. Her mother once said to look at them as business deals and go with someone who could strengthen her community position. Love was a privilege, and if she wanted to sit on a throne as a leader one day, she would have to make sacrifices.

"I might," she sheathed the sword.

Pleased, he pulled a handmade necklace from his pocket. "It resembles the birthmark on your collarbone."

"I see that." She caressed the small carving of a lightning bolt.

"Would you accept it as a symbol of partnership?" he asked, and she slipped it around her neck.

"It'll do."

Satisfied, he planted a quick kiss on her forehead. "I'll make arrangements with Agatha to receive her blessing. Good luck out there."

Black flags on the perimeter of the pit rattled angrily in the wind as she made her way to the center where her opponent paced with a set of axes on his back. Citizens stood on tip-toes trying to see beyond the shoulders in front of them. The old woman blew the conch shell again, and it was the first time Estera's opponent stood still, but only to bow.

Within seconds, she found herself ducking from the ax flying towards her, initiating the fight.

There was barely enough time to recover as her opponent charged forward, flinging another ax. Estera dropped to her knees and slid past him while running her blade across his thigh, drawing first blood. The crowd cheered, and she sprang to her feet, spinning quickly to face them, but they were already on her heels. She jumped back, avoiding the blade jabbing at her.

Thinking quickly, she blocked the knife with her sword and used her spare dagger to cut upwards across his chest. She spun out of reach before he could swing at her and swiped a deep gash down his back, encouraging a roar of applause from the crowd. She circled, ready to stab again, and when he scrambled to recover an ax from the dusty ground, Estera struck like a cobra.

This time, the wound was too deep, and she had to abandon the blade as he began whirling his weapon at her — oblivious to the knife sticking out of his ribs. The sharp edge glinted under the scorching sun, and Estera jumped back several times before countering with her sword. The collision reverberated up her arm and into her marrow, but she ignored the pain and whacked again. Metal clanged against metal until finally, she knocked the ax from his grip, but her weapon went with it.

For a moment, she panicked, her hands completely naked. Taking a quick breath, she balled her fists and lifted them into position. Her opponent did the same — initiating a waltz of jabbing and missing. Every time Estera saw the spike-covered glove harpoon towards her, she ducked and slid sideways to follow it up with a Southpaw punch. The crowd cheered for more.

"Give up," Estera demanded.

"Never!" he growled and kicked earth into her eyes.

She immediately felt the burn and tried blinking away the sand, but all she could see was the blurry silhouette of her opponent lunging.

Their bodies crashed to the ground — the weight of a rhinoceros deflating her lungs. She bucked, and clawed, but couldn't manage to roll away. As her vision cleared, she was met with the red glare of dilated pupils. Hunters were known to take enhancement medicine to keep them awake for several days, but it wasn't just the ability to remain alert that made it powerful. It was the adrenaline and increased strength that came with it.

"Cheater," Estera gasped.

"A win is a win," he clipped and headbutted her.

Everyone in the crowd was on their feet, watching as she received blow after blow with blood spraying into the wind. She tried everything she could to fight back, but her limbs were like rags easily tossed aside. Catching sight of the blade jutting from her enemy's ribs, she snatched it, but it was twisted from her hand to use against her. Estera blocked the knife with her forearms and watched the tip puncture through the other side of her flesh.

For the first time in years, she felt fear as her opponent lifted the knife high into the sky with the blade winking at her in the sunlight. His white knuckles gripped the handle tightly, and he was about to slam it down for the final blow when the old woman shouted.

A set of Enforcers dragged Estera's opponent off, and she blinked up at Dev in disbelief while he helped her to her feet. The disappointment was etched in his crinkled forehead, as he dodged her eye contact.

"Is she alive?" the old woman gripped the balcony handrail, her cloudy eyes absently searching.

"He cheated," Estera whispered. "He took enhancers."

"A win is a win." Dev frowned.

"No, but-"

"You lost Estera." The wind, which carried a warm current, felt glacial as his arms abandoned her, and he stepped aside.

She dropped her gaze to her boots and studied the dark drops landing on them in splatters. The wound on her arm was a scratch compared to what was about to happen, but she was a warrior and knew her life was lived one fight at a time. Death was inevitable.

Murmurs in the crowd drew her attention, and she followed everyone's eyes towards the procession of leaders, making their way to the center of the pit. It had been years since an Enforcer lost, and despite knowing the consequences for failing at her job, she shuddered while hugging her arm.

"Estera Montenegro, Enforcer of the people, blood of our blood, you fought, and you failed," one of the leaders stated.

"But-"

Another leader held up his hand in disgust. "When you can't defend our community from rogue members, you become useless. Get on your knees."

They parted briefly to allow Catalina to step forward, a sword in hand.

"Mamá..."

"On your knees, Estera. Your blood now belongs to the earth," her mother said calmly.

"Stop!" the old woman exclaimed from the balcony, grabbing their attention.

"Rules are rules, Agatha," a leader shouted.

The old woman scowled and spat a brown glop over the railing. "Yes, rules are rules, and I have the final say. Estera lives."

"She cannot!" another leader objected and turned to Catalina. "You need to control your mother. Estera failed our people."

"Estera lives!" the old woman pounded the railing.

"Lives!" someone from the crowd echoed.

"Lives!" cried another.

"Lives!"

Soon, the entire arena was shouting the words, and Estera gazed about, her heart beating rapidly, her breaths quick. Mercy. She needed mercy. The old woman raised her thumb into the air, followed by a colorful wave of fists doing the same. The leaders spun around, taking in the collective plea, and they had no choice but to comply. Rules were rules, and as long as Agatha drew breath, she'd always have the final say.

"The people have spoken!" The old woman waved her arms over the crowd. "Estera Montenegro, you've been granted mercy, but you are no longer blood of our blood."

At the snap of her fingers, Enforcers began dragging Estera from the pit. Desperate, she pleaded for them to give her a chance to say goodbye, but Catalina had already turned her back and was walking away.

"Mamá!" she cried, but it was useless as their calloused hands shoved her through the gates.

"Gimme a second," Dev said, sliding through the tall wooden doors, and she glanced up at him, her eyes widening with hope, but then she felt the pinch of his necklace ripping from her. "You don't need this anymore."

Her face crumpled as he slipped back through the gates with a thunderous clang of the doors shutting her out for good. Trembling, she searched the desolate terrain around her. Where was she supposed to go? She practically knew nothing about the other territories, aside from the east having doctors, and the west having farmers.

Glancing to the north, she narrowed her eyes at the storm clouds darkening in agitation. Aside from rumors of witchcraft and cannibalism, she knew nothing about the north.

Maybe it was worth finding out?

Unbuckling her armor, she began walking while shedding her old life — not bothering to look back.

One day, they'd regret letting her go. She would make sure of it.

***
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