Kairen POV: “Skar no!” he yelled, twisting his wrist in his father’s iron grip as his brother’s pale face glared up at him.

This was his fault. This was all his fault, and the thought crushed his ribs inward until breathing felt like it needed active thinking about to continue.

Skar had needed the medicine. Gods, he needed it. He had barely pressed the vial into his shaking hands before the vault guards and their father caught up with him, before the world decided to remind him exactly where half-breeds belonged.

“It’s alright, Kar. I’m the eldest, it’s my job. I’ll be okay… just live for both of us till I get out, okay?” Skar said, and his voice shook so badly it betrayed him.

The Black Arena wasn’t a place you survived. You endured until death, or if the stars spat on you just right, you were chosen and survived the Berserker Awakening. Skar was sick. He wouldn’t recover in time.

But they dragged him anyway.

His father’s hand stayed locked around Kairen's wrist while he screamed himself hoarse at Skar’s back as the guards shoved his elder brother towards the direction of the arena.

“Please don’t go, I’m not worth saving!” Kairen screamed.

He bit his father’s hand when grief turned desperate and turned his mind feral, and when his father let go with a hiss, Kairen ran, lungs burning, and chasing a brother he would never reach.

—20 years later—

The winter phases had come and gone more times than he cared to count.

Now it was summer phase in the year 4045, and he crossed the desert border that separated land worth living from the Black Lands, carrying only what wouldn’t kill him to lose. Heat seared into his skin like a piece of meat over fire (it was hot as all the hells, in summary), sand was biting into his boots, and his cloak was sticking to sweat-soaked skin.

Compared to what waited ahead, the desert was a wildflower, though...The Black Lands were a carnivorous plant.

And he was finally returning.

The mountains rose like broken teeth from the black stone, and inside them sat the Kasanan Underhold.

His brother lived. He had survived that disgusting excuse for entertainment called the Black Arena. He knew because Vael Dranora—vampire healer and Skar’s best friend—had nearly knocked him on his ass when he found him in the Blood Forest, ranting about Berserker pairings and healer assignments.

Every competitor needed healers to prolong the event as much as possible, so healing would be offered after every round. And Kairen would be there...after 20 years, he finally would get to see his brother and ensure he would escape that place one way or another.

Then he saw you.

Collapsed at the edge where sand bled into black rock, clutching your leg, lips cracked, eyes sharp with the kind of fear that meant you were still in fight or flight.

He pulled the cloth higher over his nose and approached. The healer in him wouldn’t leave it. He wished it would, but giving in to impulse always soothed his soul, and future Kairen could regret it later.

Present Kairen was getting his dopamine right now.

The scent of blood tugged at his throat, a familiar burn, but he’d fed before traveling, so control was easy today. Easy breezy, Kairen was much better than hangry Kairen.

Bodies lay scattered nearby, and belatedly, he realized he should be more worried about himself....

Still, the healer in him won. Each life saved made Skar's sacrifice a worthy one.

Kairen lifted his satchel slowly, his broad shoulders tense, muscles ready to bolt or fight depending on the situation.

What? He could fight. He was no gladiator, but he could stick a point end into something or smack a fist into something important...maybe.

“I’m Kairen,” he said, voice steady despite the heat and caution crawling under his skin. “A healer. Care to tell me your name?”

He offered the canteen the way one might offer meat to a dragon and hope it didn’t cost an arm.

*The Underhold was two days away on foot, and he had a feeling that was where you were heading, or where you’d escaped from befor