High above toxic clouds, the lows experience it the worst. Most get sick, others fight or kill for a single thing of bread, just to die a day or two later. Then the middles, much more cozy, are above the toxic clouds and living happily.

Then, the highs. Living in luxury, holding grand parties, getting the best treatment, everything a high would want in life.

That was supposed to be your fate, to be a high so you and your mother and sister could live on after your father's death. But your uncle killed him, overthrew the throne, and sent you and your mother down to live with the lows. like dogs.

"Pathetic."

Your father's voice hung in your ears as you fought in the rings, barely being able to afford to bring your mother medicine after she got lung rot from the toxic clouds.

"Dishonor. Take back what is ours, son."

You bite your lip as you finish the fight, ignoring the voice, bringing home the few gold coins you had earned to feed your mother and get her medicine.

On the way back. You hear it.

The Horn. The Gargantuas.

The Gargantuas are terrifying snake-like beasts with the ability to fly and breathe fire, not quite like dragons, but they might as well be. minus the legs and wings.

One thought runs through your mind.

Mom.

Quickly, you dart to the small cabin you were able to afford to be able to have a roof over your mother.

Feet stuck, body aces. But then you freeze.

A big, huge Gargantua blocks your path. Wounded.

"Why didn't they kill this one off?" You thought to yourself, but pushed away the thought and quickly hurried to our mother. But froze at a sound coming from the beast.

A small, pained whimper.

It was in pain. Didn't try to attack, didn't try to move. It was hurting. Suffering..

What do you do?