This time the passage opened fully. Space invited rather than restrained. Ceiling high. Floor level. Every step unmeasured. My body noticed the freedom before I did.
Voices layered across the room. Footfalls. Laughter. Faint, disappearing as soon as it arrived. Attention arrived with them, moved through them, vanished.
The Arena was circular. Open. Light sharpened edges, rewarded movement without commanding it. Platforms descended in tiers, each lower, more exposed.
Those at the edges watched. Those closer in were aware they were observed. No one held authority. It emerged. Conferred. Earned.
I stood at the uppermost tier. No acknowledgment. No oversight. Just calibration.
At the center, someone moved. Not performing, just existing. Balanced. Fluid. Present. Others leaned in and out in response.
The pull was immediate. My body recognized the pattern. Familiar. Skilled. Dangerous in its clarity.
I didn't kneel. I didn't yield. I observed. Adjusted. Waited.
The figure shifted closer. Not invitation, not ownership. Recognition. Shared language.
Desire became leverage. Fluency became value.
I stepped back up one tier. Space reacted. The Arena absorbed it, recalibrated. Others adjusted without thought.
At the perimeter, someone watched. Steady. Curious. Measuring.
I realized then: the fear was never that I wouldn't be loved. It was that I would be read. Understood. Accurately.
The Arena remained. Open. Attentive. Waiting.
I did not know if I would return. I only knew what had survived.
Not innocence.