Darkness. An endless void.

  Cold traced down Jason’s spine as his breath turned ragged. His palms were wet again. The nightmare returned, the same one—Ashar’s distant voice echoing through the blackness.

  “Help me…”

  The whisper grew sharper, nearer, until a weight tugged at Jason’s leg.

  He jolted awake, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. Vincent slept soundly beside him, unbothered. At least Jason hadn’t thrashed this time.

  He pressed his trembling hands against his face. The tears threatened to rise again. The memories always came back with the dreams, vivid as if carved into his skin. Half-expecting blood, he glanced at his palms—only sweat.

  Above him stretched the black ceiling of their cell. He stared into it, lost. For so long he had walked in the shadows of Ashar and Friederick, following their guidance without question. Now… there was no one left to lean on. Every step forward felt like instinct, not choice. Could he survive without them? Could he even live?

  Vincent remained, but Jason still did not trust him. Tahuuk was strong, yes, but only in the arena. Outside it, Jason felt utterly alone.

  The thought chilled him: he might fight tomorrow. Survival always came first. His pulse slowed as his mind shifted away from the past.

  After some time Vincent stirred, stretching his limbs. He noticed Jason awake, clothes damp but eyes not bloodshot.

  “Nightmare again?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” Jason kept his gaze on the ceiling.

  Vincent didn’t pry. He moved into his morning routine until the scrape of boots outside the door silenced them both. A guard slid the door open, shadows spilling in.

  “You—rec room. You—prep room,” the guard ordered, pointing between them.

  Vincent frowned. “Doesn’t he get to choose?”

  “He was asked for this fight. Seems he’s a profitable bet.”

  Vincent’s eyes narrowed. He knew what that meant. Without another word, he followed the guard to the recreation wing. Jason rose, expression unreadable, and walked toward the prep room.

  The corridor thickened with noise the closer he came—clashing metal, strained voices, the stench of sweat and iron. Inside, the prep area buzzed with life. Fighters gathered weapons at the counter, strapped on armor, and waited on benches.

  Some eyes burned with determination, their posture shouting a single message: I will survive. Others, especially the lower-class survivors of the last battle, sat hollow-eyed and fearful. Not all were here—some had gone for side jobs in the rec room, scraping by for tokens. But those here knew the truth: three tokens bought life, and only battle would pay the price.

  Jason scanned the room, searching for a familiar towering blue figure. No sign of Tahuuk. He made for the counter, asking for a short blade—a sword suited to his size.

  As the guard turned to fetch one, a shadow loomed over Jason. He turned and saw him.

  Tahuuk.

  The tension drained from Jason’s shoulders. A small smile broke through.

  “Seems you’re back,” Tahuuk said.

  “Didn’t really have a choice.”

  The guard returned with a shortsword, another with Tahuuk’s spear from the last battle. Weapons were handed over after inspection, and the two found a bench.

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  Before Jason could sit, Tahuuk’s voice cut in. “You lost your determination?”

  Jason froze. He said nothing.

  “I saw you yesterday. You weren’t the same when you left here.”

  Jason lowered his gaze. He couldn’t meet Tahuuk’s eyes.

  “Speak. We are about to fight. Without the will to survive, you’ll endanger us both.”

  Jason blinked, startled. Tahuuk already saw him as a battle partner, not just another prisoner.

  “I… was reminded,” Jason muttered. “Of what happened to me.”

  “What happened?”

  Jason hesitated. But something inside urged him forward. “I lost my home.”

  Tahuuk’s stern expression softened, just a fraction. He asked quietly, “Where?”

  “Ironwood. I lived there with my grandfather and uncle.”

  Tahuuk gave only a small nod. Jason pressed on, the words spilling out like water breaking a dam.

  “Then we didn’t have enough money. My grandpa stole something—for me. To keep me alive.” Jason’s voice cracked. His eyes watered. Still, he continued. “They found out. They came searching… they killed people… then they got to him…”

  His gaze locked on Tahuuk’s. “They killed him. Beat him while I watched. I tried—I really tried! But I couldn’t do anything!” The dam burst. Tears streamed as his voice broke into sobs.

  The other fighters didn’t flinch. They’d seen children cry before—fifteen was too young for this place, yet too old to escape it.

  Tahuuk remained still, silent. Only when Jason’s sobs quieted did he place a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  “It is the past. You cannot change it. Even then, you could not have changed it.”

  Jason swallowed, shuddering.

  “You are a child. They ensured your survival. And you—your first battle proved you carry something rare. Did they teach you?”

  Jason wiped his eyes and nodded.

  “Then honor them. Carry their legacy not with grief but with will. Remember them as warriors would: not by falling to despair, but by surviving. In battle. In life.”

  The words struck Jason like a blade drawn clean. The weight on his chest lifted, just slightly. For so long he had bottled everything inside. Now, for the first time, he was not alone.

  He drew a steady breath, wiped the last of his tears, and met Tahuuk’s eyes with a firmer gaze. Not hardened, not fearless, but determined.

  Tahuuk rose, spear in hand, as the guards barked orders. “Form two lines!”

  The fighters obeyed, their faces set like stone.

  Tahuuk didn’t go for the line immediately. Instead, he walked over to the racks of armor, leaving Jason confused for a moment. When he came back, he tossed something into Jason’s hands — a pair of cloth, fingerless gloves.

  Jason looked down at them, then back at Tahuuk. The alien only gave a firm nod, no words needed. Jason slipped the gloves on, tightening the straps. The rough fabric pressed against his palms.

  Jason nodded back, more to himself than to Tahuuk, and wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the shortsword. His grip felt surer, steadier than before. He was ready.

  The female officer returned to the catwalk above. “No chains today. You will form squads. At least one squad must survive, and those who do will be rewarded!”

  The massive door ahead groaned. Sunlight speared through as the arena revealed itself. The roar of the crowd surged—bloodthirsty and deafening. Pillars gleamed under the light. And there, seated smugly, was Lord Veyrn.

  Jason’s eyes burned into him. Veyrn’s smirk was all it took for rage to flicker. But he remembered Tahuuk’s words and forced the fury down, holding steady.

  The announcer stepped forward, voice booming.

  “Today, our fighters may look familiar—some return for their second test of survival. But today’s battle is unlike any other, for it is a reenactment of the moment that forged our Empire! Eighty years ago, on the blood-soaked Fields of Draknor, we stood strong against the feared Rashtaki hordes. It was here that a young commander—Rayleigh—rose above all others. And in the heat of battle, when the odds were hopeless, his eyes began to blaze with a red fury unseen before! With that power, he tore through beast and rider alike, leaving only ruin in his wake. From that day forward, he was no longer a man—he was our Emperor!”

  The crowd erupted, chants pounding the air: “Emperor Rayleigh! Emperor Rayleigh!”

  Jason’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent. Survival was all that mattered.

  The announcer spread his arms. “On this side, fighters of Lord Veyrn, representing the squads who stood with the Emperor!”

  The opposite doors rumbled open. The earth shook.

  “And on the other side—the feared riders of the Rashtaki! Brought here by the gladiators of the Dalh merchant group. The beast riders!”

  The ground quaked as massive paws struck the sand. A monstrous beast, four meters tall, snout snarling, lumbered forward with a rider on its back. Two more followed, shaking the arena with every step.

  Jason’s stomach dropped. Fear clawed through him.

  His gaze darted to Tahuuk. Surely the warrior had a plan. Surely he knew how to survive this.

  But what Jason saw froze him deeper than the beasts.

  For the first time, Tahuuk’s face showed something close to fear.