3. Tix

Walking through the sterile corridors, the weight of our silence was palpable.

The faint buzzing of the overhead lights melded with the gentle hum of the prison's life support systems.

The walls, constructed of cold metal and etched with the tales of countless souls before us, seemed to tighten around us, creating an intimate cocoon.

I could feel her close, her soft breaths syncopating with my own.

The scent of her skin was intoxicating — a mix of wildflowers and something more exotic, otherworldly even.

With every step, the rustling of her negligee sounded like a soft whisper.

I stole glances at the female from the corner of my eye, careful not to be too obvious.

Her gaze was distant, her eyes clouded with deep thought.

The delicate frown lines on her brow made her look almost fragile, vulnerable.

There was an inner strength in those eyes, a fire that told me she wasn't one to be underestimated.

The gentle curves of her body were barely hidden beneath the sheer negligee, amplifying her natural beauty.

The soft glow from the ceiling lights painted her skin with a shimmering golden hue, making her appear almost ethereal.

My fingers itched to touch her, to trace the contour of her cheek, to feel the warmth of her skin.

I resisted, reminding myself of the situation at hand.

We passed several guards as we journeyed to my cell.

They didn't spare us more than a cursory glance.

To them, I was just another prisoner, and she, my newly claimed Prize.

It's funny how desensitized they've become to the little intimacies and tragedies that unfold within these walls daily.

The tang of the prison environment, with its traces of recycled air and cleaning agents, was a constant reminder of where we were.

It was almost impossible to forget, but with her by my side, there was a slight alleviation to the mundane, a spark of color in a sea of grays.

My cell door slid open with a hiss, revealing the modest space I called home.

I motioned for the female human to enter, and she hesitated for a split second before stepping inside.

The room was relatively barren, save for a bed and a desk with a couple of personal items.

As the door closed behind us, the sense of confinement was immediate.

It also afforded us the privacy I so desperately craved.

The low hum from the outside world was now muffled, and all that remained was the gentle rhythm of our breaths.

"Welcome to my humble abode," I tried to lighten the mood with a small smile, tasting the nervousness on my tongue.

She looked around, taking in the details, her fingers brushing against the rough surface of the walls.

I could sense the unease rolling off her in waves.

The slight tremor in her hands.

I wanted to ease her worries, make her feel safe.

"I know this isn't the most comfortable place," I began, "but we both have access to a much more… flexible place. The important thing is I wanted to talk to you, away from prying eyes and ears."

She nodded, her blue eyes meeting mine. "I figured as much. We… we have a lot to discuss, don't we?"

I approached her slowly, aware of the crackling energy between us.

The soft glow from the overhead lights illuminated her features, casting shadows that danced with her every movement.

"Yes," I whispered, my fingers brushing against hers, sending electric jolts up my arm.

The sensations were overwhelming — her touch, the intoxicating scent of her, the soft sounds of our breathing.

She was real.

Really real.

And now just a figment of my imagination.

"What's your name?" I asked.

"Grace," she said. "My name is Grace."

It was the perfect name for her.

I told her my name and it was met with a blank stare.

We had a lot to discuss.

* * *

The cell washeavy with silence, pregnant with anticipation and lingering questions.

The dim light filtering in painted the room with a hazy glow.

Our eyes, in the subdued lighting, seemed to see more than just the outward appearance; they sought the mysteries deep within.

The faint hum of the prison systems was ever-present in the background, barely noticeable but a reminder of the world that we were part of.

The rustle of her clothing and the soft intake of her breath were the only sounds breaking the stillness. "How did you do it?" she finally asked, her voice carrying a note of genuine curiosity.

"Do what?" I replied, though I had an inkling of what she was referring to.

"In the pits," she clarified, her human eyes searching mine. "How did you defeat the fighters without lifting a finger? Without striking a single blow?"

I grinned, enjoying the intrigue.

Instead of answering right away, I decided to tease a little. "You've been dreamwalking for a long time, haven't you, Grace?"

She looked taken aback by the sudden shift in topic. "Yes, but what does that have to do with—"

I held up a hand, gently interrupting her. "Indulge me," I said. "You've experienced the power of dreams, the strength of our subconscious fears. But tell me, have you ever used it to manipulate? To influence?"

Grace seemed puzzled, her delicate brows furrowing. "No. I've always kept to myself in the dreamworld. Why?"

Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply, the lingering aroma of fresh fabric and her exotic scent filling my nostrils.

The sensations were grounding, allowing me to focus. "Because, Grace, that's precisely how I won in the pits."

She blinked, trying to make sense of it. "I don't understand. How do you use dreams to win a physical fight?"

I leaned closer, my voice dropping to a whisper as I shared my secret. "I found out who my opponents were going to be. Then, the night before, I delve deep into their dreams, journeying into their most intimate and hidden fears. Everyone, no matter how strong or fierce, has something they're terrified of."

She looked slightly disturbed. "That's… invasive."

I nodded in agreement. "It is. But remember, this is a world where the rules are different, where survival often means tapping into any advantage we can find."

Grace seemed to mull it over. "So, you'd find out their deepest fears, and then?"

A sly smile tugged at my lips. "Every culture, every being has unique symbols, stories, and creatures they fear. All I had to do was bring a semblance of that fear into the pits. Sometimes, it's an image, other times a sound or even a scent. Sometimes it's a creature. The power of the mind is incredible, Grace. If you can make them believe their worst fears are coming to life, even for a moment, you've already won."

I could see her processing the information, the soft murmur of her thinking making the room feel alive. "So, you never had to fight. You simply psyched them out."

I chuckled softly. "A clever way to put it, but yes. I… psyched them out. It's not the most honorable method, yet it is effective. And it kept me safe."

She was silent for a moment; then, a faint smile played on her lips. "That's… impressively cunning."

"Thank you," I replied, genuinely pleased by her reaction. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, a strange blend of pride and embarrassment. "I never wanted to be a fighter. I can hold my own in a battle, but why take the risk of being injured? Getting hurt at Ikmal can be a death sentence."

We shared a moment of understanding, the weight of our experiences drawing us closer.

The soft glow of the room, the distant hum of the prison — it all seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of us, connected by our shared secrets and the infinite possibilities of the future.

I leaned in closer.

Every little detail about her was magnified — the soft ambient lighting reflecting off her skin, the subtle rhythm of her heartbeat that I could almost hear.

"But nothing I've said is new to you, is it, Grace? You already knew what I told you," I began. "The power of entering dreams, of manipulating them? It's not just about surviving in the pits. It's about the freedom it offers us."

She swallowed, her throat moving delicately, and I was acutely aware of the warmth emanating from her. "I've always just seen it as a… a personal escape, I suppose. A way to explore, to learn."

I nodded, my senses heightened. "Exactly. Think about it. If two dreamwalkers were to combine their abilities, imagine the possibilities. The dreamscape is vast, almost limitless."

Her blue eyes widened in realization. "Dreamwalker? So that's what we're called?"

I couldn't help but chuckle, the sound blending seamlessly with the soft echoes of the prison around us.

The sensation of her closeness, the mingling of our breaths, was intoxicating. "Yes. It's what it is called in my culture. Not all of my species can do it. In fact, only a very small number can."

She seemed to mull this over, her fingers drumming lightly on her thigh.

The soft pattern felt rhythmic, comforting. "It's a beautiful term. It's also dangerous. The Supervisor…"

I nodded gravely. "Yes, the Supervisor. If he knew about our ability, he'd certainly find a way to exploit it. Or worse, eliminate the threat."

Her fingers went still, and the sudden silence felt louder than any noise.

"That's why we need to be careful," I told her. "I promise not to reveal your secret as long as you keep mine."

Our gazes locked, and the weight of mutual trust was palpable. "Deal," she whispered.

For a moment, we simply sat in shared silence, absorbing the significance of our bond.

Soon, a budding idea took root in my mind, and although I didn't give voice to it yet, I felt it beginning to gather momentum in my mind.

But first, there was something else I had on my mind, and it'd been there ever since I saw Grace on that Prize Pool platform.

I shrugged my shirt off and let it fall to the ground.

Grace ran her eyes over my sculpted form before her eyes fixed on mine, her nervousness palpable. "W… What are you doing?"

"I claimed you, Grace," I told her. "And that means you are my Prize. We are bonded as dreamwalkers… And now it's time we bonded in the physical realm too."

I closed on her, my blood already engorging my member.

She was mine.

All mine.