The city was still bleeding.

  Not loudly—not anymore—but in the quiet ways that lingered after violence. Stone replaced stone where walls had cracked. Fresh banners hung where older ones had been cut down, their colors too clean, too new. The scent of smoke clung stubbornly to the air, mingling with baked bread and hot metal.

  No one laughed yet.

  Morning came anyway.

  Lucien sat on the edge of his bed, slowly unwrapping the final bandage from his ribs. The skin beneath was pale, marked with faint shadow-scars that hadn’t been there before the trial. They pulsed once—then stilled.

  He flexed experimentally.

  No pain.

  Almost healed.

  His gaze drifted to the Sword of Truth resting against the wall. He didn’t reach for it.

  Not yet.

  Outside, the city stirred.

  Boots on stone. Merchants opening shutters. Contestants murmuring over breakfast tables—some boasting, some silent, some staring into nothing like the dead might answer back.

  Then—

  The air rang.

  Not sound alone. Presence.

  A voice rolled across the city, amplified through sigils and spellwork so refined it vibrated in bone.

  “Good morning, glorious survivors.”

  The announcer sounded delighted.

  Lucien froze.

  So did everyone else.

  “Two weeks remain until the Second Trial,” the voice continued, savoring each word. “And while patience is a virtue… boredom is a sin.”

  Across the city, heads lifted.

  Forks stilled. Conversations died.

  “Today,” the announcer said, almost fondly, “we offer you a diversion.”

  A pause.

  “A game.”

  Luna Sangrelle sat alone at a long table, fingers folded neatly around an untouched cup. Her eyes gleamed—not with excitement, but calculation.

  Alicia Helior paused mid-bite, brows knitting.

  Athena Skjaldryn tilted her head, listening intently.

  Leon stopped laughing at something Dialos Morvayne had said, his smile fading into something more practiced.

  Valor Drakaryn, sprawled across his bed, cracked one eye open.

  “Tch.”

  “Hidden somewhere within the city,” the announcer went on, “is a single golden butterfly.”

  A ripple of confusion passed through the air.

  “A trinket?” someone muttered.

  “A prize,” the announcer corrected cheerfully. “The first contestant to capture it will be granted immunity in the Second Trial.”

  That landed.

  Immunity.

  No execution. No elimination.

  Survival, guaranteed.

  Athena’s wings twitched.

  Alicia slowly set her cup down.

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  Leon’s expression didn’t change—but his eyes sharpened.

  Luna smiled.

  “And so,” the announcer concluded lightly, “the hunt begins now.”

  The voice vanished.

  Silence held for a single heartbeat—

  Then the city erupted.

  Valor rolled onto his side and buried his face in a pillow.

  “Immunity?” he scoffed. “Why would a dragon need that?”

  He closed his eyes again.

  Elsewhere, Leon and Dialos stood near the outer training grounds, blades resting against their shoulders.

  “A butterfly,” Dialos laughed. “That’s what they think will entertain us?”

  Leon’s gaze drifted toward the city proper.

  “Don’t underestimate small things.”

  Dialos grinned. “You always say that.”

  Leon said nothing.

  In the women’s quarters, Alicia rose from the breakfast table, already pulling on her gloves.

  “A scavenger hunt,” she murmured. “They’re mocking us.”

  Athena folded her wings neatly.

  “Or testing us.”

  Luna remained seated, watching contestants rush past her—some laughing, some shoving, some already shouting plans.

  She rose last.

  In the market district, Elenor Sylvair moved quietly between stalls, basket tucked under her arm. The city noise pressed in around her—too loud, too fast.

  Her fingers tightened on the handle.

  Above the rooftops—

  A white owl lifted into the air.

  Its wings were vast and silent.

  Its eyes reflected the city below like a warning.

  The first scream came from the western avenue.

  It cut through the city like a blade—sharp, panicked, unfinished.

  At first, no one understood what they were hearing.

  Then five contestants came running back from the market district.

  Their eyes were wrong.

  Not wild. Not afraid.

  Empty.

  They didn’t shout warnings. Didn’t ask for help.

  They moved with purpose, blades already raised.

  One of them struck first—steel sliding cleanly between another contestant’s ribs. The victim gasped, disbelief frozen on their face, before collapsing into the street.

  Blood hit stone.

  That was when panic truly began.

  “Stop—what are you doing?!”

  Another contestant rushed forward, only to be tackled and driven headfirst into a wall. Bone cracked. Someone screamed again—this time closer.

  Alicia and Athena saw it at the same moment.

  They had been crossing the courtyard, heading toward the city at a measured pace, when the crowd ahead of them broke apart—people scattering, tripping over each other, shouting incoherently.

  “That’s not a spar,” Alicia said sharply.

  Athena’s wings flexed.

  “No.”

  They moved faster.

  Luna appeared just in time.

  She stepped sideways—accidentally—directly into Athena’s path.

  “Oh!” Luna gasped, stumbling back and falling hard onto the stone. “I—I’m sorry—”

  Athena reacted instantly, kneeling. “Are you hurt?”

  “I think I twisted my ankle,” Luna said softly, eyes glossy, breath shallow. She reached out as if to steady herself—

  Athena caught her wrist.

  Alicia glanced back once, concern flickering—but the sounds ahead grew worse.

  “We’ll come back,” Alicia said. “Stay here.”

  Luna nodded, lowering her gaze.

  As soon as they turned away, Luna’s expression went still.

  Cold.

  She brushed her fingers lightly against Athena’s sleeve as the Valkyrie rose.

  Just a touch.

  Just enough.

  They reached the edge of the chaos.

  Bodies lay scattered—some moving, some not. Contestants fought contestants. Blades rang against armor. Blood soaked into market stone between overturned carts and shattered stalls.

  “Stand down!” Alicia shouted. “This isn’t the trial—”

  Athena didn’t answer.

  She moved.

  One moment she stood beside Alicia.

  The next, her wings snapped open and she launched forward—straight into her.

  The impact slammed Alicia into the ground hard enough to crack stone. Breath punched from her lungs as Athena pinned her, forearm across her throat, eyes glassy and unfocused.

  “Athena—!” Alicia gasped. “What are you—”

  Athena struck.

  Alicia barely rolled aside in time, the blow shattering stone where her head had been. She scrambled to her feet, heart hammering.

  “What’s gotten into you?!” she demanded.

  Athena didn’t respond.

  She attacked again.

  On the far side of the city, Dialos felt it before he saw it.

  The air was wrong.

  Too sharp. Too loud.

  Then a body hit the ground in front of him.

  A pedestrian—older, unarmed—collapsed as a contestant wrenched their blade free.

  Leon swore. “Dialos—!”

  Ten contestants surged forward, faces slack, movements jerky, unnatural.

  “They’re not fighting us,” Dialos snarled. “They’re hunting.”

  They didn’t hesitate.

  Dialos met the first attacker head-on, his massive blade cleaving through steel. Leon moved faster than seemed possible, dragging civilians out of reach, shouting directions, snapping commands that people obeyed without thinking.

  A contestant lunged at a child.

  Leon tackled them.

  The knife missed the child by inches—

  —and buried itself in Leon’s shoulder instead.

  He hissed in pain but didn’t let go.

  Dialos roared, fury shaking the street, and drove the attacker back.

  By the time the dust settled:

  One contestant lay dead.

  Two others bled out on the stone.

  Five pedestrians were already gone.

  Two more cried out in pain, clutching wounds that wouldn’t close.

  Dialos breathed hard. “This isn’t normal.”

  Leon pressed his hand to his shoulder, jaw tight. “No.”

  He looked up at the skyline.

  “It’s planned.”

  Lucien heard the roar from his window.

  Not human.

  Not beast.

  Something old and furious.

  He was moving before he fully understood what he was hearing.

  The city below was chaos—figures clashing, magic flaring, blood staining streets that had only just begun to heal.

  Then he heard it again.

  A roar from the city’s heart.

  Deep.

  Massive.

  Wrong.

  Lucien’s hand closed around the Sword of Truth.

  This time—

  He didn’t hesitate.

  Shadows surged at his feet.

  And he vanished.