Natasha watched in awe as the King ascended down from the sky to his private box of the Auric Arena, his magical aura filed the area. Gathered by countless nobles who would sell their souls to get a glance at the holy ruler, the King greeted them with arrogance.

"Let the match begin already!" He announced with impatience. The nobles scurried off like sewer rats to the courtesy of the great monarch as he sat pridefully onto his velvet seat. The servants came over from the side, holding up trays of refreshments as the King sighed with satisfaction.

Being in the lower classes meant Natasha has to sit in the bottom rows of the arena. The many citizens of the island filled the pit, the sandy ground smelled of blood and iron.

Natasha knew of the cruel games she has been attending since she was a child, and she was not a big fan. Every two months, the King selects young men from the island to participate in the match, the bloody match filled with sanguine. The men fight each other to death, the one who wins receives glory and even the privilege to magic, the one who loses gets forever buried in this sand pit of cruelty.

Horns blow, and the audience settled down. The arena was quiet, and everyone anticipated the contestants. On the two sides of the pit, giant wooden door pivoted to reveal the two competitors. On one end, a handsome, confident blond man walked in, flexing his muscles as the ladies on the sides gasped. The door on the other end revealed a skinny figure, a dark haired boy with olive skin fearfully gazed at his opponent.

Natasha could have recognized that stance from anywhere, the familiar boy was no other than Kaelan, her childhood best friend.

As Natasha’s gaze locked onto Kaelan, her heart sank, and the world around her seemed to blur into nothingness. He hadn’t seen her yet, but she could read his face like an open book. Fear and confusion twisted in his eyes, his body stiff as he tried to steady himself in the unforgiving glare of the arena. She had to do something before it was too late.

But what could she do from this distance? She, a mere commoner, with no voice in this blood-soaked spectacle?

The horns blared again, signaling the start of the match, and the crowd’s anticipation seemed to rise to a fever pitch. The blond man, who looked like a vengeful god of war, cracked his knuckles and paced in front of Kaelan, clearly sizing him up. Natasha knew, deep in her gut, that this time, it wasn’t just about who would leave the arena alive. This match was the culmination of a centuries-old conspiracy, one that had been set in motion long before she was even born.

Her thoughts flashed back to the whispered stories of her childhood. The games had started long ago, before the King had been crowned.

- - - - -

It had all started with Queen Vermora, the beloved monarch of the island, who ruled with wisdom and kindness. She had two sons. The first, the eldest son, was a powerful and charismatic prince, destined to inherit the throne. But the second… the second prince was different.

He was small, delicate, and weak. He was born with a sickness that no healer could cure, and rumors had it that he was incapable of inheriting the throne.

But Vermora loved her second son dearly, and in a time when courtesan distrust ran rampant, a weakened prince could lead to a disastrous civil war if ever discovered. To protect him, and to maintain peace, the Queen made the painful decision to hide him away.

No one, not even the her husband, King Consort Camelio, knew that the second prince had survived. He was raised in secrecy, far from the royal court, in a small village nestled in the valleys of the island, with Natasha herself. He lived a simple life as a commoner, his royal blood a secret even to him. And as the years passed, the Queen’s decision became a forgotten myth.

But not for long.

The eldest son, now King Harlan of the island, had long suspected the existence of a hidden heir. His suspicions grew as whispers from the underworld began to surface, speaking of a child who looked too much like the second prince of Vermora.

The King, in his paranoia, did everything in his power to hunt down the boy. If anyone found out the truth, if word spread that the true heir to the throne still lived, it would spark rebellion.

And so, the King devised the games.

It was a simple yet brutal plan: every two months, young men from across the island would be forced into the arena, where they would fight until only one remained alive. But not just anyone could be chosen. The King’s secret agents scoured the villages, looking for those with unusual features, those who resembled the lost prince.

- - - - -

Natasha’s thoughts returned to the present moment as the loud clang of swords drew her attention back to the arena. The match had begun, and Kaelan’s opponent, muscles rippling, lunged forward. Kaelan stumbled backward, barely dodging the blow, his face pale with fear. Natasha’s heart clenched. She couldn’t let him die. She couldn’t let the King win.

She tried to call out, but her voice was lost in the sea of jeering spectators, drowned out by their lust for blood. Kaelan was just a boy—her boy—raised in the village, unaware of his true heritage. He didn’t deserve this.

But Natasha had her own secret. One that she had kept hidden, even from Kaelan.

If Kaelan survived this match, if he killed the opponent standing before him, the King would have no choice but to claim him as the heir. He would have to confront the truth, and the island’s legacy would change forever.

“Kaelan…” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “Don’t fight like a boy. Fight like a prince.”

Her words were lost in the roar of the crowd, but she knew Kaelan would hear them. The arena had now become the crucible of a kingdom’s fate, and Kaelan had to survive.

Kaelan faced his opponent nervously, holding up his fists in front of his body. The blond man, who the announcer called Reyson, raised his own fists in a taunting gesture. "Come at me, runt," he whispered, too low for the chanting crowd to hear.

The word "runt" sounded all too familiar. Back in his quiet village, tucked into the misty valleys of northern Vermora, he knew better than to pick a fight with the other boys. They were all bigger than him, and stronger, and he barely had the stamina to run, let alone throw a punch. He'd lived his whole life in dread of this exact scenario: being chosen for the Auric Arena. No amount of joking or compromising was going to stop his blood from joining that of hundreds of other boys who had died here.

For a moment, Kaelan considered giving up. Surely if he accepted his fate, it would go quickly? But his downcast eyes caught a glimpse of a blond girl in the very lowest row, wearing a colorful cloak with diamond-shaped patterns of blue and orange. Natasha. He remembered how long her weaver mother had worked on that cloak, insisting she had to have something pretty to wear to the blood games.

He imagined what she would say to him now. Don't let it bring you down, Kaelan. Fight like the brave boy I know you are.

"Got you, Nat," he said to himself.

Reyson decided he'd had enough of posing for the crowd and charged. He moved terrifyingly fast for someone so tall, hands outstretched to grab the neck and choke him out quickly. Kaelan dodged straight down, rolling to the side. He felt the hot sand scorch the side of his face.

As his opponent turned, he shot his leg out and kicked him in the shin. Reyson let out a yelp of pain, but it didn't stop him from grabbing Kaelan's other leg and grappling him, holding him upside down by the foot. Kaelan shouted and scratched at the blond man, but he was about as effective as a frog struggling in a heron's beak as his assailant punched him several times.

Reyson dropped him, and his head hit the ground with a dull thud. If it had been solid rock instead of sand, his skull would have cracked right there. Instead, his whole body crumpled in a ball, limbs sticking out in different directions. It hurt so much that he could barely make out the sound of the crowd cheering, chanting his opponent's name and saying to finish the job.

By all accounts, it should have ended there. But as blood dripped from the grazes on his side, mixing with the crystalline grains of sand, he felt something pulsing inside his feet. The next few moments blurred together.

A wall of sand rising up, bringing Kaelan back to his feet. The earth reaching up to envelop the other youth. Too busy showing off for the audience, Reyson didn't even have time to react before the sand pulled him under. Within seconds, no trace of him remained.

Kaelan collapsed again, groggily, on the ground. What had just happened? Why wasn't he dead? The crowd screamed, some in excitement, some in fury. As his eyes focused, he saw only one face in the audience that wasn't cheering.

King Harlan looked down at him with a blank expression, a cold fire glowing in his eyes.

A familiar scream came from the lowest row of the arena, cutting through the noise: Natasha. "Run, Kaelan! Meet me outside!"

There were several problems with that. First, Kaelan wasn't any good at running on the best of days. Second, he had just taken a beating from a seriously skilled fighter. And most importantly, he was still in the middle of the Auric Arena. There would be no escape until the guards decided to open the gates.

Judging from the flood of guards now drawing their swords and rushing toward him, that moment might be coming sooner than he'd expected.