The sun had risen higher by the time I stepped outside. I felt the light pressing against my skin—warm, filtered through tree cover and morning mist. The grounds still held the bite of early dew, and every sound was too clear, too sharp. Birds. Wind. The steady rhythm of footsteps behind me—Ramon, quiet but heavy, his mana a warm pulse just off my shoulder.
I paused.
I could feel him before he moved. Lycian.
He hadn't followed me out at first. But the moment I reached the edge of the forest, his presence slid back into range—serrated, deliberate, like the scrape of a blade pulled from its sheath. I didn't hear him walk. Lycian never announced himself with footsteps.
He stopped just far enough to avoid closeness. Just near enough that I'd know he was there.
His mana rippled with cool precision. Controlled. Sharp.
"I'm not coming," he said, finally. No greeting. Just fact.
I turned my head toward the voice, though all I could see was a haze, a dark vertical blur at the edge of the trees. His mana shimmered faintly along his outline, jagged and fluid, coiled inwards like a serpent guarding its own throat.
"I didn't expect you to," I replied quietly.
A long pause.
There was a breeze—light, brushing through the trees—and it caught something in his aura. For a heartbeat, I sensed something . Then it was gone.
"You'll handle it."
Not a question. Not encouragement. A statement, like gravity.
"I don't know what they want from me," I said, fingers curling slightly against the rough strap of my satchel. "But I know what they'll see."
"They'll see a girl who could over throw their whole city," he answered. "Let them make what they want of that."
There was something unspoken in his tone. Not softness—he never offered that. But there was… belief. And from someone like Lycian, it meant more than anyone's praise.
I tightened my grip on the gem in my pocket. It remained still. Cold. Its mana presence barely whispered. I wondered if Lincoln had known how much I'd need something to hold.
"I'll see you again," I said, voice steadier than I felt. "Tri-Continental's only around a year away."
Another breeze.
And then—quietly:
"See you then."
It was the closest thing to a promise I'd ever heard from him.
I turned away. Not because I wanted to, but because if I didn't, I might not. He didn't stop me. Of course he didn't.
As we walked, I let the sound of Lycian's mana slip further and further into the background. Until it was just another part of the forest.
Until it was gone.
The road had gone smooth some time ago. I felt it in the way my steps echoed—clean stone beneath my boots, no grit to catch on. The shift in air told me we'd crossed into royal ground: everything smelled sharper, crisper. Like sage burned into the walls. The kind of place where even the silence was polished.
We passed guards. mana signatures, blunted with discipline, held too tight for me to read more than shape and posture. Ramon walked just ahead, close enough that I could catch the warm edge of his mana if I reached.
The court doors shut behind me with a hollow sound, sealing me into quiet.
I stood still for a breath, letting the silence settle. The air was cooler here, touched with incense and old stone. There were no blurs of people nearby, no voices. Just the distant breath of a beast—Kaelen—his mana thick, lounging somewhere to my left. A massive shape, familiar and unreadable.
King Hadrian stood ahead. I couldn't see him well—just a vertical blur in the haze, his silhouette barely defined in the dim room. Without my blindfold, I caught the faintest glimmers of mana. Just enough to trace outlines. Just enough to know where not to step.
"You came," Hadrian said.
I nodded. "I didn't think I had much choice."
His chuckle was dry, but not unkind. "No. I suppose not."
There was a pause, long enough to stretch. I didn't move.
"You've heard of the pits?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Not really."
"They were once a place of discipline," he began, voice calm, thoughtful. "We used to send prisoners—dangerous ones, traitors, war criminals. A way to earn a death with purpose. Or, rarely, redemption."
I didn't speak. Just waited.
"But over the years, the nobles… twisted it. Now it's theater. Bloodsport. Their soldiers are trained in the viewing stands. Mages gamble. The court attends as if it's art." A breath. "But the fighters—the slaves and criminals—they die too quickly. There's no thrill in watching someone lose in ten seconds. No risk."
His tone shifted slightly. Not apologetic. Just honest.
"They want something new. Someone unpredictable. And you… are all anyone talks about."
I felt the gem in my pocket, small and cold. I didn't grip it. I just kept it there. A still point.
"I haven't trained for this," I said quietly. "I'm not a performer. I'm not even—"
"Lincoln gave you something," Hadrian interrupted. "That's more attention than most will ever get. And yes, I know you haven't trained under him—but that hasn't stopped the rumors."
A slight ache pressed at my ribs. It was strange hearing Lincoln's name from Hadrian. Like he didn't belong in this room.
Hadrian stepped closer—just enough for me to make out the sweep of his coat, the contained glow of his mana restrained behind his ribs.
"You were never supposed to be part of this," he said, his voice lowering. "But I can't hold them off anymore. The nobles fund the front lines. Their armies patrol the inner provinces. If I deny them this, they'll pull out."
I turned my head slightly, toward Kaelen's weight in the corner. The lion hadn't moved, but his mana shifted—a ripple like thunder turning over in sleep.
"So what?" I asked. "You're asking me to let them throw me in like a bone?"
"No," Hadrian said. "I'm asking you to walk in like you're holding the leash."
His words landed heavy. Not cruel. Not warm. Just real.
"I'll place restrictions. I'll choose the fights. You won't be alone in this, Annabel. But I need you to give them a taste of fear again. Something they can't control. Because if they see you that way, they'll stop seeing you as a toy."
"And if they don't?" I murmured.
"Then I'm afraid the kingdom itself may not survive long enough to regret it."
Silence settled again. Kaelen stirred, a low exhale rolling out like heat.
I felt the familiar quiet in my chest—the place where fear and purpose met. I wasn't ready. I probably wouldn't ever be. But that had stopped mattering a long time ago.
"I'll do it," I said.
Hadrian didn't thank me. Kings didn't do that.
But there was a shift in his mana—small, like a breath held too long finally let go. "Then we begin preparations tomorrow."
I nodded once, slowly, but the weight of it settled too quickly. The silence stretched between us again.
"If I'm supposed to scare them," I said finally, "that means I have to fight seriously."
I didn't mean to sound bitter. But it slipped out anyway. Because I knew what that would look like—what it would mean.
"You want me to go in and show them something terrifying," I continued. "Which means unleashing what I've spent years trying to keep in check. That kind of power puts more eyes on me. Makes me a spectacle."
Hadrian was quiet for a long moment. Then:
"They're already watching."
He stepped forward—close enough now that I could make out the faint, edges of his mana. Strong, regal, but not oppressive. A lion caged in flesh.
"Nearly every noble house has heard your name," he said. "They talk about you at galas, at strategy meetings, in whispered corners of court. Your power. Your vision. The fact that you survived Lincoln's mana aimed at you without being erased."
I flinched slightly at that—not because it wasn't true, but because I didn't like hearing it framed like survival was a trick.
Hadrian continued. "What we're doing now isn't to introduce you to them. This is for the common people. The ones who still think you're a myth. A blind girl with too much power and no discipline. They've heard rumors—but they haven't seen you."
"And you think the pits will fix that?"
"I think it will reframe it," he said. "They'll see something raw. Something unrefined but undeniable. And they'll remember you. That's what matters."
I stood still, my hand brushing the edge of the stone pillar near me. The roughness of it grounded me, like the gem in my pocket. I didn't like being watched. I didn't like feeling like a weapon on display.
But I liked the alternative even less.
"You're asking a lot," I murmured.
"I know," he said. "And if I had another choice—I would take it."
Kaelen stirred again in the corner, his mana unfurling in a long, steady wave. I imagined the lion standing, watching, just as silent and heavy as his master.
"I'll need time," I said. "To prepare. And I want to choose who I fight."
"You'll have both," Hadrian replied. "You're not a prisoner, Annabel. Just a very, very dangerous guest."
I almost smiled at that. Almost.
Hadrian turned slightly, and I felt the air shift—one of the guards approaching, then retreating just as fast. A silent exchange.
"There's one last thing we need to discuss," the king said. "The fights themselves."
Of course.
My hand tensed around the gem again, the cool, featureless mana still silent beneath my fingers. "You already have a list."
"I do," Hadrian admitted. "But I want your input. I won't throw you to wolves you wouldn't choose to face."
That caught me off guard.
He went on. "There are criminals on death row—murderers, traitors, war offenders. Violent men with long lists of sins."
I nodded slightly. "Those I'll fight."
"And there are slaves," he said, voice lower now. "Some bred for the pit. Others… taken. They've done nothing wrong, only survived."
My jaw clenched. "No."
Hadrian inclined his head. "That's what I expected you'd say."
I could sense the tension in the room again. Kaelen was still. So was Ramon. But Hadrian's mana pulsed faintly with something unreadable. Braced.
"There's more," he said. "After those matches, once the nobles are convinced you're not just a rumor—they'll push for something bigger. Their real test."
I waited.
"A pit champion. One of their own, technically. They've invested in him for years—fed him scrolls, cursed weapons, even bonded familiars he tore through. His name is Alcra. He's not a criminal. He fights because they ask him to."
My blood went cold.
Hadrian continued, voice quieter now. "He's a triple affinity mage. Ice. Water. And…"
He paused.
"…Sound."
The word hit like a slap.
"Sound?" I echoed.
"Yes. Not scroll-born. He was born with it. Like you were, with Space."
I shook my head slightly. "I've never heard of that affinity, guess i have a lot to learn."
"He's special like you, with space." he said.
The silence that followed was thick.
"Sound magic is a problem for me," I admitted. "I don't see. I track mana by listening. Echoes. Patterns. If he can distort the field—"
"He's your counter," Hadrian finished for me. "I know."
I felt that truth press down on me like a weight.
"He's not just rare," Hadrian went on. "He's experienced. A Rank One. Fifteen years in the pits."
I exhaled, slow and sharp. "I'm ten."
"I know."
"He's been fighting longer than I've been on this earth."
"Which is why I'm telling you this now," Hadrian said. "If you accept the fights, if you step into that arena—even once—the nobles will push for Alcra. And once it's set…"
He hesitated. Just long enough for me to feel the shift.
"…I won't be able to stop it."
I turned toward him slightly, mana tracing his outline in my mind. He was serious. More than serious. This wasn't a threat—it was a warning.
"The nobles see you as a spectacle," he continued. "A threat. Or a symbol. Either way—they won't let the match end cleanly. Not with him. It'll be to the death."
My fingers curled tighter around the gem in my pocket, the edge of it biting into my skin.
"If Lincoln were here," Hadrian added, voice dropping, "we might have had leverage to block it. But he's… tied up. At least for a little bit. And without him in the room—"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
I understood.
Without Lincoln, the scales tipped further out of our control.
"And Alcra?" I asked, voice low.
"He doesn't show mercy," Hadrian said. "Not to slaves. Not to soldiers. And he won't make an exception for a child. If you drop your guard, Annabel… he'll drive a spear through your throat. Clean. No hesitation."
"There was a girl," Hadrian said. "Fifteen. Fast. Smarter than most. She cut him early—split his cheek open. First blood."
He paused.
I already hated what came next.
"He took his time after that," the king continued, voice lower now. "Broke her stance. Crushed her hand so she couldn't hold a weapon. Tore the ground out from under her with controlled pulses until she crawled instead of ran."
My throat was dry. I didn't speak.
"She begged," he said. "It didn't move him."
He paused, then:
"He dragged her by the hair to the wall. And he made sure they were all watching."
My stomach clenched.
"Every time she tried to speak, he struck her head into the stone. Not hard enough to kill. Just enough to daze her. Then he'd lift her face, show it to the crowd—bloodied, blinking, still alive. As if to say: Look. She's still here. Let's see how long she lasts."
The image turned my blood cold.
"They cheered," Hadrian said. "And he kept going until her eyes didn't track anymore, showing the crowd her face after every smash." I could hear King Hadrian squeezing his fist in anger. "She was crying the whole time, and i regret it every day that i didn't interrupt"
"And then?" I asked, voice like steel.
"Then he slammed her skull one final time. Cracked it open. Let her drop in silence."
My fists were clenched so tight. My nails dug into my skin until blood dripped.
Hadrian's voice was steady, but his mana rippled with something under the surface—something like regret. Or rage.
"He doesn't kill for victory," he said. "He kills to teach fear."
I didn't flinch. I just listened.
And the worst part was—I believed him.
Then said, evenly, "Can I request a healer?"
That seemed to throw him off.
"A healer?" Hadrian asked.
"My ribs are broken, and i have a bad slash on my chest." I said simply. "Hunter grounds didn't go exactly smooth."
There was a beat of silence—and then Hadrian laughed. Not mocking. Just… disbelieving.
"You've been standing, walking, arguing with me, with broken ribs?"
"I've had worse," I muttered, not entirely untrue.
He huffed a breath, still half-laughing. "You're either braver than half my generals or completely out of your mind."
"Maybe both."
"I'll send for one immediately."
"Thank you," I said, because I meant it.
Hadrian. Still. Measured. But not unmoved.
Ramon. Quiet. Waiting.
Kaelen. A faint golden pulse of patience, steady near the door.
"When do the pits open?" I asked.
"3 days," Hadrian said. "No more no less. The nobles won't wait long."
My grip tightened until the gem bit harder. I welcomed the sting.
Alcra.
Sound magic.
A veteran against a child. Or at least that's what they think.