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.