“The concealment I cast on you both will hold for a while, so you won’t need the vials yet,” she says. “And I doubt the suits will see use in the next rounds. But I want them stored here, in your lodge. Safer this way. I won’t risk carrying the whole stock.”
Without invitation, she strides straight into the nearest bathroom. I exchange a look with Zeriel, his frown mirroring mine, and we both follow—but by the time we reach the doorway, she’s already stepping back out. I glance inside. The space is plain, barren, and offers no hint of where she hid them.
“Don’t bother,” she says smoothly, already turning toward the door.
“So this is just a storage room for you now?” Zeriel asks, irritation lacing his tone.
“I'll be in touch,” is all she answers. “Be ready to move. Adapt.” She begins to pull her hood back up, her form blurring into near-invisibility. “And remember, for the prelims, you watch. Nothing more.”
She flashes me a look like the warning is meant for me, then slips back out through the door, vanishing into the misty night.
The weakness rushes back into my legs. “A massacre,” I whisper, grasping the wall.
Zeriel secures the door, his movements methodical. “Selen’s women are tough, though,” he murmurs.
The quiet confidence in his tone startles me, and I raise an eyebrow. The light brushes over his face, catching in the stubborn set of his features. I want to believe it, gods I do. But the image won’t leave me: the roar of the arena, screams rising under dragons’wings, steel flashing in the chaos. Any magic they’ve learned to use will be painfully limited under a thousand prying eyes.
The walls feel too close. I push off from the wood, needing space, needing air. I move toward my room. I need to… process this. Try to mentally prepare. The thought of just sitting there, spectating… I don’t know how I’ll be able to bear it.
Inside the bedroom is a double bed with clean linens, a small writing desk, and an open wardrobe against the far wall. Inside hang several outfits of exquisite quality: fine silks, delicate embroidery, rich colors that would probably cost a year's wages for many.
Formal attire for tomorrow’s prelims, when we’ll be dressed in finery to sit and watch lives extinguished for a crowd.
My stomach heaves. I slam the wardrobe doors shut and back away, bile rising in my throat. The perverseness of it all has never felt more obscene. I cross to the window, desperate for air through the bars. Outside, the forest pulses with its strange light. In the distance, I can just make out other lodges, where champions and their entourages prepare for tomorrow in their own ways.
Somewhere behind me, I hear Zeriel's footsteps as he retreats to his room. I wait for the click of his door, but it doesn’t come. He’s keeping it open, for whatever reason.
I turn away from the window. I know I need to rest too, but my heart feels leaden in my chest. I pull on a pair of thin night clothes, then fumble with the lamp, extinguishing it before surrendering my weight to the bed.
I stare up at the ceiling, my mind racing with… everything.
Just weeks ago, I was still in the slums. Not comfortable, not happy, but anchored in a kind of predictability. Now everything’s in constant motion, rushing toward something I can’t stop. The sand keeps pouring, faster and faster, and despite my newly awakened gift, I’ve never felt this powerless.This useless.
I roll onto my side, facing the window, staring at the pulsing light of the forest. My eyelids eventually grow heavy despite the churning in my gut. But I drift in and out, never quite reachingsleep, trapped in that hazy space between consciousness and dreams.
A faint scratching sound pulls me back from the edge of slumber.
My eyes snap open. The scratching comes again, more insistent. Something at the window. I sit up slowly, squinting through the darkness.
The bars. Something's moving between them.
I slide silently from the bed, years of survival instincts kicking in. Whatever it is, it's small enough to fit through spaces barely wider than my wrist.
A flash of movement—too fast to track—then something launches from the window directly at my face. I throw myself sideways, hitting the floor hard as the thing sails over me. It lands with a wet slap against the far wall.
In the dim glow from outside, I make out a nightmare: a creature the size of a small cat, but nothing like any animal I've ever seen. Its body is gelatinous, semi-transparent, with a cluster of spindly limbs that end in needle-sharp points. Inside its translucent body, I can see organs pulsing, glowing with the same eerie light as the forest.
It rights itself with unnatural speed, skittering across the wall before dropping to the floor. Its body undulates, rippling as it orients toward me. No eyes that I can see, but somehow I know it's found me.
It lunges again.
I grab the nearest object—the lamp from the bedside table—and swing it like a club. The lamp connects with a sickening squelch, but the creature barely slows. Its limbs wrap around the object, the wood hissing on contact. I drop it with a gasp as acid begins to burn my fingers.
The thing springs again, and this time I'm not quick enough. It lands on my shoulder, limbs immediately piercing through my clothes. White-hot pain explodes where it touches me. I scream,clawing at it, but my fingers sink into its gelatinous body, burning on contact.
The door bursts inward, and Zeriel is there in the same breath—blade drawn, moving so fast it’s like the air folds around him.
The creature detaches from my shoulder, whirling to face the new threat. It makes a high, keening sound—like glass being dragged across metal—and launches itself at Zeriel.
