Sat woke up with a searing pain her thigh. She felt disjointed from reality, probably from some kind of drug they had fed her.
She was in a sterile, white hospital bed in a sterile, white room. This was probably the sick bay. She had never been in it before, because she had never been hurt as badly as this.
She thought about how she had lost, how that man in the fancy clothes, with his brown hair bleached golden by the sun at the tips….
He had no right to be where he didn't belong. Rich dandies like him should stay in their office. He ought to-
A twinge of pain brought her back.
She should be thinking of fixing her weaknesses, so she would never, ever, be hurt again.
Her sword. It had failed her. She needed a new weapon, something unexpected. The answer came to her: double sickles of silver.
And her armor, it would need improvement. A skirt of leather strips, held together by silver links, just like the Secondary Realm gladiators.
And those wings that the blonde Superior Denizen was wearing. She could get a pair second hand at the market, maybe fix them up. After all, the rules stated that the fighters could use anything they were good at that were provided by their house. And Sat would fully take advantage of that.
So she drifted back into her drug induced sleep….