I stared at the swirling potion bottle in my hands, the liquid inside twisting like it had a mind of its own. Then, with a flick of my wrist, I tossed it upward, only for it to vanish midair. My gaze dropped to the golden ring on my finger, and sure enough, I could feel the bottle settling neatly inside.

  Finally. FINALLY! My very own storage ring. These little things were absurdly convenient, almost unfairly so, but in Varkaigrad, they were rarer than honest house heads. Even nobles had to bleed gold and favors just to get their hands on one. I didn’t know how things fared over in Lithrindel, but judging from how casually those elves flashed theirs around, I was willing to bet they had a far healthier supply.

  Anyway, Lysska had taken the ring I’d swiped from that Gold Core earlier and had it reforged into something entirely new with Vasilisa’s help. The material itself was leagues better, naturally, the final product ended up high-grade too. And since it wasn’t the same ring anymore, anyone trying to trace it would have one hell of a time. Even if some nosy diviner managed to get a fix on it, slipping through my anti-divination layers would be another story altogether. Paranoid? Maybe. But when it came to divination, you couldn’t afford to be anything less than paranoid.

  I glanced around my cluttered workshop, licking my lips as I prepared for the day ahead. The clock told me it was nearly ten in the morning. The Colosseum would awaken from its slumber around noon, and I needed to be within its grounds by then if I wanted the system to recognize me as an official participant. Until that confirmation, I wouldn’t have its protection, one more risky little detail to handle before the real fun began. Still, it couldn’t possibly be worse than going toe-to-toe with a Gold and living to tell about it.

  Sliding another potion into the ring, I channeled a bit of mana through the band and felt the contents shift within the pocket space. Everything was neatly arranged. Good. Everyone would be preparing right now, I couldn’t afford to be the one caught unready. Whatever the trials decided to throw at me, I’d done all I could. This time, I wouldn’t be the lacking dragon.

  Once satisfied, I stepped out of my alchemy cave. Outside, Lysska waited, joined by Alice, Belle, and Vasilisa. Odd lineup. That crew together usually meant something was up.

  “Ready?” Lysska asked.

  I nodded, though a bit of unease flickered in my gut. “Mostly. But… are you all hiding something from me?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. Both she and Alice had been acting suspicious ever since I came back. Even Belle mentioned Alice had gone missing for a while. Something had happened, and I could feel it, they just weren’t saying what.

  “Nothing that requires your concern… for the moment,” Lysska said. “All is in hand. Keep your focus on the goal ahead.”

  I shrugged. So be it. “Anyway, I’ve done all I can to prepare. Without knowing the shape of the trials, there was little else to be done.”

  “That is the entire point,” she replied. “A prime quality they will test is your ability to adapt. Once the trial scenario begins, locating the challenges within that realm and seeing them through to the end will fall solely to you. You must bend without breaking.”

  “Sounds fun,” I said dryly.

  And somehow, I already knew it would be anything but.

  From what I’d gathered so far, the trial scenario would only begin once the first stage ended and only eight participants remained. Then, we’d be whisked away to some remote corner of the spirit plane, where the Colosseum would reconstruct pieces of the world from the world’s memories to form a sealed battleground. The scale could vary wildly, sometimes as vast as a ruined city, sometimes as small as a lonely village. Completely unpredictable.

  There would be people in those simulations… except, not really. They weren’t living beings, just constructs, props the Colosseum used to dress its stage. The trials themselves could take any shape: a gauntlet of challenges, a labyrinth riddled with traps, a monster hiding behind a peaceful fa?ade. The only constant was uncertainty.

  Each trial adapted to its participant, pushing them at their limits rather than handing out easy victories. Meaning, for me, it would definitely not be a battle trial. Not because I was built for it, but because that’s where I was strongest. This led me to believe mine would be a battle of wits or wills, for a straightforward fight I might just conquer, which gave me every right to be nervous.

  And the trials weren’t neatly sequential either. Each existed on its own level of difficulty, scattered across the scenario. Choosing which to tackle— and when— was left entirely to the participants. Reckless ones burned out fast. The smart ones lasted longer. But again, that all depended on what kind of trials awaited us.

  I shook my head. No point in overthinking what I couldn’t predict. As always, when the time came, I’d adapt. I always did.

  For now, the goal was simpler, gain entry into the Colosseum.

  ***

  There was a very practical reason why that step was… tricky. I wasn’t yet under the Colosseum’s protection. Until I was officially registered as a participant, I was fair game. Which meant I had to sneak my way into the arena grounds, slip past every House Head’s scrutiny, and blend in among the others, without any of them realizing who I really was.

  The first checkpoint was another obstacle entirely. The security there was suffocating, Flameclaws checking every participant one by one before allowing them inside. Paranoid bastards. They’d even layered the place with anti-phase wards, making sure no one could dip through the shadow dimension. So, yeah, they knew exactly what kind of trickery I was capable of.

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  Fine. If they wanted to make it a game of wits, I’d play. And I was getting somewhat good at winning those.

  “Target spotted,” I whispered into the relay, crouched in the cramped darkness of a closet. “I’m in his quarters. He’ll come in soon to grab his sword and… hah, turns out he’s got his own storage ring. Shame I can’t pry it open.”

  Through the narrow crack in the door, I watched the drakkari warrior polish his gilded armor, his movements precise and deliberate. My claws flexed slightly as I grinned to myself.

  “Good. I’ll draw the guards’ attention on your signal. I’m in sight.” Vyra’s voice sounded oddly chipper given the chaos she was about to cause. Considering her role, I could forgive the enthusiasm.

  I waited nearly a minute, watching shadows and feeling the tension coil, until I saw him approach the closet. The moment he came close I sent the signal. There was a sharp crash as something shattered through a hallway window, followed by a piercing screech that made half the corridor jump. The man in front of my hiding spot glanced toward the noise, frowned, and that was the exact moment my tentacles struck.

  They lashed out with precision, wrapping around his mouth before he could muster a sound. He didn’t even register the grab; one heartbeat later he was being hauled toward the darkness, face-to-face with me. The last thing he saw was my grin before my poison-laced appendages eased him into sleep.

  It was potent. He was a Red Core, stronger than common grunts, so the venom wouldn’t put him down for long, maybe less than an hour. Perfect. Plenty of time to work.

  I could hear commotion in the hall and Vyra’s act playing out like a practiced mess.

  “SWEET ANCESTORS! There’s glass in my hand! Stars above, a shard’s in my ass-cheek! I’M SITTING ON A FUCKING SPIKE! OH, GODS, THAT’S BAD! THAT’S SO BAD! My hand’s gone numb! HELP! FUCKING HELL, SOMEBODY HELP!”

  She was wailing like a trainee Iron Pact rider who’d ‘accidentally’ lost control of her hoversword and tumbled through a window. The act was loud, convincing, and exactly what we needed.

  Now it was my turn. I dragged the unconscious man into the shadow dimension, wings beating once to blur our passage, then dropped him into the nearby sewers. I took a few drops of his blood, mixed them into the potion I’d pulled from my storage ring, and watched the liquid shift from crimson to colorless. A small, satisfying sign of success.

  Without a second thought I gulped the foul-smelling brew. The change was immediate as I felt my bones sliding, skin bubbling and tightening, but it didn’t hurt the way it looked. Within a minute the transformation finished. I looked down at myself: a bit taller, broader, and undeniably a man… for the most part. There were limits to these potions and nobody was going to be inspecting too closely down there, but they were good enough for a surface disguise.

  The next stretch of time was all fumbling leather and clanking plates. Stripping him and stepping into his armor was fiddly and unnecessarily complicated, but my tentacles and quick fingers made light work of it. Soon enough I slipped the last strap into place and returned to the closet.

  I stepped out and filled my chest. “WHAT’S WITH THE COMMOTION?!?” I bellowed in a deliberately deep, husky voice.

  Striding forward with practiced arrogance, I saw Vyra playing her part flawlessly—cradling her arm with a convincing wince. A little theater and the right tone worked wonders.

  “Uh, nothing, my lord,” the guard stammered. “This young trainee’s hoversword failed. She crashed through the window there. She’s a bit injured, I think her hand might be…“

  I channeled the pettiest noble I could imagine. My lip curled into a sneer. “Do you have any idea what day it is?”

  “The day you… participate in the Spirit Hunt, my lord?”

  “No. It’s the day I wipe the floor with every other piece of trash in that arena. So get her out of my sight. The Iron Pact can clean up their own mess. She is not my problem.”

  “But my lord, she’s really hurt— " My glare cut the guard’s protest short.

  I was bad at this charade, so I needed to end it quickly. Vyra gave me a subtle thumbs-up from her position on the floor. I simply tsked and turned back toward my new room. Well, at least my entrance was now secured. I allowed myself a grin.

  The plan was simple: knock one rival out, steal his face, and enter as him. He’d be waking up with a headache either way, so I’d only spared him the future humiliation by taking his place now.

  ***

  The carriage wheels rattled steadily beneath us as I stared out the window. We’d entered an underground passage some time ago, and the rhythmic clatter of iron against stone hadn’t stopped since. Blue flames lined the walls, flickering in even intervals to light our path, a neat little touch of enchantment that lent the tunnel an eerie kind of majesty.

  The Colosseum possessed two entrances. One was for the common spectators, the other for participants, the privileged gate where nobility and wealth gained entry. That’s the one I was taking, draped in my borrowed skin. Security was still tight, but my disguise did the heavy lifting. They bowed and stepped aside, checking every carriage with zeal… while the very person they were hunting stood right under their noses. I had to bite my tongue not to laugh.

  I uncorked a potion bottle and took another careful sip. The transformation potion usually lasted hours, but my biology made it unravel in mere minutes. Too damn efficient for its own good. The only reason it hadn’t neutralized entirely was because the brew wasn’t technically a poison. Still, resistance had its downsides.

  Ah, the joys of superior physiology.

  At least I’d accounted for this. I’d just need to keep sipping until I was safely under the Colosseum’s protection. After that, even if my disguise failed, no one could touch me.

  The carriage rolled to a stop. I stepped out to find the father of this borrowed body, pompous, well-dressed, and brimming with pride, staring at me.

  “I trust in you, son. Bring glory to our family.”

  I forced a sneer, the kind I’d seen the real brat wear. “Of course I will. Have you seen the rest of the participants? They’ll be on the floor before they even realize what hit them.”

  He laughed, clapped my shoulder, and after a few meaningless pleasantries, finally left. I exhaled in relief.

  We were in what looked like a luxurious underground carriage depot, each coach gleaming with wealth, some gilded, others crystal-paneled. Only a couple looked remotely modest. My attention drifted to the walls.

  Etchings ran along the smooth stone, sprawling in intricate detail. Beasts of every kind adorned them, though dragons were the clear centerpiece. Each panel seemed to depict a different scene: towering mountains crowned with primordial creatures, fierce battles between titans, peaceful valleys where predators and prey coexisted, forests thick with ancient sigils, rivers winding through realms unknown. No two carvings were alike, yet every single one revolved around beasts, with some locked in struggle, others basking in harmony.

  Fascinating, but not what I was here for.

  I took another small sip of potion and proceeded through the massive archway ahead, the chamber reserved for participants. A side tunnel led straight into the Colosseum proper, humming faintly with mana.

  There was another checkpoint, of course. They scanned, questioned, scrutinized, then waved me through. I had to suppress a grin again. What could they do, really?

  The instant I stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted. Eyes snapped toward me, a few dozens of them. Some predatory, some curious and some assessing. Beastkin of every shape and color watched with open suspicion. Some measured me, some looked ready to tear me apart. One particular Drakkari woman in the corner wasn’t even pretending, her aura burned with the naked desire to kill.

  And I felt my own heart beat faster.

  …This was exactly the kind of environment a dragon might learn to love.

  Jade (the professional identity thief): Currently disguised as a pompous Drakkari noble. One heartbeat away from bursting out laughing. Absolutely thriving in enemy territory.

  Vyra (method actress): Still nursing her “wounded ass-cheek,” milking the drama for all it’s worth.

  Lysska (the professional worrier): In the spectator seats. Watching everything unfold with amusement.

  Alice (the doll): Is scheming something.

  Belle (the badgermaid): Currently hiding Jade’s potion stash from Alder. Prevented a catastrophe by milliseconds.

  Alder (the floof): Sleeping on Jade’s desk. Dreaming of food, glory and a luxurious perch.

  Disguised Noble (the temporary meat suit): Currently unconscious in a sewer.

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