Chapter 6 — The Arena's Eye
The roar of the crowd hit Kael like a wall of heat.
The Colosseum of Crowns was a circle of polished blackstone that gleamed under the morning sun. Carved banners of the five ruling houses hung in even arcs above the stands, each house's crest flapping lazily in the breeze. Tens of thousands of voices blended into a single, pulsing chant, echoing off the stone in a rhythm that made the ground hum under Kael's boots.
> Side: "Statistically, sixty-two percent of them want to see you bleed."
Kael: "And the other thirty-eight?"
Side: "Want to see you die spectacularly."
Kael kept his expression unreadable as he stepped into the sand, the gate slamming shut behind him. Across the arena, the other remaining competitors filed in — twenty-one in total, each representing a noble house, guild, or city-state. The Festival had started with nearly four hundred fighters; now, the elite few faced the eyes of the Five Crowns themselves.
The central platform held them — five thrones, each masked and robed, identities obscured but voices unmistakable. The Black Crown sat still as carved obsidian, hands folded, watching Kael as though he already knew the outcome.
---
The announcer's voice rang out.
"Final Trial: The Crucible! Rules — survive and triumph over all who stand in your path. The arena is your only ally, the crowd your only witness. Begin!"
The gates around the arena groaned open. From the shadows beyond, creatures poured out — not beasts from the wild, but crafted monsters: steel-scaled wolves, reptilian horrors stitched with arcane runes, and towering stone golems whose steps shook the sand.
Kael didn't move.
He counted. One, two, three heartbeats. Then the chaos erupted as contestants lunged forward, weapons flashing, spells hissing through the air.
---
A wolf-beast the size of a horse charged Kael, fangs bared. He sidestepped, blade flicking in a clean upward stroke that split the creature's jaw to the brainstem. The crowd roared at the kill — they always roared for blood.
He kept moving, weaving between fighters, never committing more force than necessary. Steel on steel, sand spraying underfoot, the air thick with the stink of sweat and magic.
Above, he caught the subtle gesture from the Black Crown — two fingers tapping once on the armrest.
A signal.
---
The sand shivered under him. He moved instinctively, Spatial Step flickering him ten feet to the left just as a massive golem's fist smashed where he'd stood. The impact cratered the sand and sent shards of rock flying.
> Side: "That one wasn't on the roster."
Kael: "So it's personal."
Kael darted in close, using the golem's own swing to pivot around its arm. His blade struck at the rune cluster on its neck — once, twice — and the creature shuddered before collapsing in a heap of stone.
---
By the time the horn sounded, only three fighters stood. Kael among them. The crowd screamed his name — though half of them spat it with venom.
The Black Crown inclined his head. Just once. Enough for Kael to know: he'd been marked.
---