“You’re all here,” the deep voice boomed from the front, louder than a voice had any right to be, “because you’re the dregs of society. You’re nothing more than ruffians who steal and kill!”

Tibs couldn’t see the man. He could barely catch glimpses of shiny armor and the top of a helmet. He’d always considered his short stature an advantage, small people had an easier time sneaking into and out of places, but now it meant all he saw was the back of people.

He’d tried to get closer, but they pushed him back. Even looking pitiful, a trick he sometimes borrowed from the beggars and street urchins, didn’t help. He was snarled at and pushed back. The people around him looked nastier than the group he’d arrived with.

They’d been taken from the cell and dragged through parts of the city Tibs had never ventured into, and onto a stone platform with gray columns at each corner ,carved with symbols. He’d feared this was where he’d get punished, but once the last of them stood on it, the surrounding buildings had been replaced with a grassy field, trees in the distance on one side, a mountain on the other, and tents being put up.

Before he could take in more, he, and the group he was in, was dragged off the stone platform and they walked for a long while until they reached more people. A lot more people. Tibs had seen a wooden platform with the mountain as a backdrop. Then he’d been among the crowd, all taller than he was, and he couldn’t see much anymore.

“But,” the man’s loud voice pulled Tibs back to the present. “Instead of heading for your usual punishment, be it having your tongue cut out for practicing sorcery without accreditation, a lashing for fighting, hanging for killing, or losing a hand for stealing, you are the lucky ones.”

The man next to him snorted. “Right, lucky.” The man noticed Tibs looking at him and smirked. “You here for pissing off a noble too, kid?” he was dressed better than Tibs, everyone was, but also better dressed than most others; but the fresh scar going from temple to jaw gave him a nasty look.

Tibs looked away and rubbed his wrist to keep the impulse to rifle through the man’s pocket in check. The butcher block was where Tibs had been headed; get a hand cut off, so whatever this was, he considered himself lucky. Not that it had been fair he should be thrown into a cell just for surviving. After Mama’s death, he’d had no one but himself to depend on.

“This once in a lifetime opportunity comes to you courtesy of this brand new dungeon.” The man on the platform moved. Tibs made out an arm going up indicating the mountain, but whatever he was expected to see there, was hidden from his view by the people before him.

“All of you will go through the dungeon.” The man’s voice was so loud Tibs wondered if magic carried it. He’d heard about magic, even if he’d never seen anyone practice it. “You’ll be put in a team with four other people and sent to conquer the dungeon. Some of you will die.” The man stated. “No, a lot of you will die.” He raised his voice over the complaint of the crowd. “And I don’t care! This will be faster and cleaner than what you were headed for, and your death will serve society, instead of your life being a burden on it. And who knows,” he continued, his tone becoming mocking. “Maybe those of you who survive will manage to become productive members of our society.”

The man next to Tibs snorted again. Was he a man? Tibs glanced at him. He was certainly older than Tibs, but then everyone here had to be. He was taller, but other than the scar and the clothing, his skin looked smooth and he looked around worriedly unless someone looked directly at him. Tibs looked around, paying closer attention to the people. Most wore rags, those close to Tibs’s age being street urchins, while those older looked mostly like beggars. He saw one person reach in a pocket and out, a disappointed look on her face. No one had anything in their pockets, Tibs suspected. Like the man—boy?—next to him, a few were dressed better. Maybe they’d been more successful criminals, or, Tibs thought this one more likely, they hadn’t been Street.

“I expect you noticed the tents being erected,” the man said. “That’s going to be the dungeon town. It’s going to be where you’ll stay while waiting for your turn in the dungeon.” He paused, and Tibs looked back, but his view in that direction was also blocked. The crowd seemed even deeper. How many people were here? Had they emptied his street completely? He’d known two in his cell, a thug who worked as an enforcer for the thieves’ guild, and a beggar who’d pointed Tibs to a heavy pocket a time or two. But they’d disappeared in the crowd as soon as they arrived.

“To those of you brave enough, or stupid enough, to think you can manage it, I encourage you to try to escape this duty. I am certain the adventurers who have been tasked with preventing you from doing so will be more than happy to introduce themselves to you in your attempt, maybe they’ll even tell you what they did to end up with this job, before ending you.”

Tibs looked at the handful of better-dressed people he saw. Was that who they were? Like magic, Tibs had heard of adventurers. Stories of them going around the realm, killing monsters, stopping wars. He’d never thought about them beyond that. Somehow those among the crowd didn’t have the heroic stance stories gave adventurers.

“If by now you don’t understand that I don’t care if you live or die, it’s because you aren’t listening. And because I want to make sure there’s no confusion, I’m going to state it clearly. You don’t deserve to live!” the crowd erupted in protests. Tibs joined them. He’d spent his life surviving, gathering slivers of copper to buy the protection of his sleeping hole, stealing a moldy loaf to quiet his stomach. Wasn’t the realm there to ensure everyone lived? Even if it didn’t seem to do anything for those living on the street.

“I don’t care!” the man’s voice boomed so loud the crowd stepped back and Tibs almost lost his footing. “If you want to live, you have to earn that right! And you do that by surviving this dungeon!” The crowd’s protests quieted to displeased grumbling.

“I’m sure you lazy lot think all you’re going to have to do is lie around while you wait for your turn. I’m sure that’s how you’ve lived your life until now,” the man said, the sneer carried in his tone, “but that is over. From this point on, you start earning your right to live.” A pause, but this time the crowd didn’t react to the statement.

“Most of you are classless. That’s also over. The guild has no use for anyone without a class. For those here because they were arrested, that crime more than likely dictates your class, since you’ve already shown a predilection for it. The rest of you will be tested and classified according to the results.” The crowd grew agitated again. “Quiet down! Those won’t kill you, and if you aren’t good for anything else, we’ll make you a fighter. Anyone can be one of those. When you aren’t busy training, you’ll be helping build the town. Unless you want to sleep under the stars, you are done getting things for free!”

Tibs snorted. Free. Like living on the street was free. Maybe it wasn’t the work city folks did, but staying alive took a lot of work.

“What are you still doing here?” the man yelled. “Go to town and see the trainers!”

The crowd shifted, then as one it turned.

Tibs hunched in on himself, knowing a crowd wasn’t kind to anyone smaller than it was. He remained standing, watching pockets pass as people jostled him and each other. So many pockets his fingers itched to dip into some of them. This was normally a perfect opportunity, with everyone distracted by pushing others out of their way. He noticed one with a bulge. It was on a clean, undamaged pair of leather pants. Someone had something!

He moved closer as a yell came from elsewhere in the crowd. “Thief!” a woman yelled. The crowd parted around her and Tibs saw the beggar she punched fall. “Keep your filthy hands to yourself!” She wore robes that had the look of wealth, even if they were dirty. She kicked the beggar as a man in clean armor, leather, Tibs thought, pushed his way through the crowd, and stopped her from administering another one.

“No fighting!” he ordered her.

“That filthy beggar touched me!” she yelled. “Tried to steal from me!”

“I’ll deal with him,” the man said with a nasty smile and grabbed her arm. “But unless you want me to deal with you too, you’re going to do what I tell you.”

“Let go of me, you peasant,” the woman ordered. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

The man turned his nasty smile on her. “You’re a criminal. No better than that beggar.” He looked over her crimson robe as her angry expression broke under the statement. “Stole forbidden books, I’m guessing. Thought your money and status would protect you?” He pushed her away none too gently. “In this place, it means nothing.”

She slapped him, the action surprising her almost as much as him; emboldened; she tried again. This time he caught her hand, a blue aura surrounding it. Tibs thought the man’s blue eyes glowed as the aura spread over her hand and arm, frost forming. Her expression turned to pain.

“I’m going to let this one pass,” the man said, “out of respect for the status you used to have. But don’t think it’s because I’m nice. I got sentenced into guarding the lot of you, and I have the right to kill anyone of you who causes trouble. Is that clear?”

She nodded and he pushed her away, the ice over her arm shattering and melting as it fell off.

“That goes for everyone,” he yelled at the people who’d watched the exchange. “Give me a reason and I’ll be happy to do the dungeon’s job for it. I’m sure it’ll like your body already dead just as much as if it kills you itself.” His gaze left the crowd to settle on the beggar who’d managed to crawl a few feet away.

“Oh good, you’re running.” The man’s smile made Tibs swallow in fear and hope to never have it turn his way. With a foot, the man pushed the beggar on his back and held him in place by placing it on his stomach.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” the beggar pleaded, raising his hand to protect himself. “I wasn’t stealing, I just wanted to touch the robe, it’s so beautiful.”

“Sure you weren’t,” the adventurer sneered, grabbing one of the beggar’s hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you.” The blue aura returned, and Tibs looked at the eyes. They didn’t glow, they were simply such a vivid blue he’d thought they had. The aura that encompassed the adventurer and beggar’s hand grew brighter.

The beggar whimpered in fear. Tibs had to look away as the intensity grew too much. There was a snap and a scream from the beggar. Tibs forced himself to look. The adventurer held the beggar’s hand in his; it was the blue of ice on a sunny day, vivid and brittle and no longer attached to the beggar’s wrist.

The beggar cradled the jagged stump to himself, the end the same blue as the hand, although there, red was replacing the blue. It was melting, Tibs realized, and his stomach protested.

Before it could empty itself, the man’s blue eyes fell on Tibs, a cold and cruel blue that made him forget about the discomfort. As much has he hadn’t wanted the man’s nasty smile leveled on him, Tibs decided his cold and uncaring gaze was worse. This man didn’t care. Not for the beggar’s pain, not for why Tibs had needed to pick pockets, he just enjoyed causing pain. Without realizing it, Tibs had his hands behind his back, out of reach of this man filled with ice.

“Yes, little would-be thief, you’d do better to keep your hands to yourself, unless you want to suffer this man’s fate.” He looked at the hand he held, looked around, and everyone scattered to avoid receiving that gaze. He watched the adventurer squeeze until the hand shattered; Then Tibs too was running away.