She had never seen death be so... cruel.
The manner of it dragged her back to the day Madelyn was killed; cold-blooded, rciless, without a flicker of remorse. Terror gripped her, freezing her in place as her breath ca shallow and sharp, unable to look away.
For a long, suspended mont, her gaze remained locked on the arena, until at last it slid updward, drawn toward the dais. She did not know why she looked, perhaps instinct older than reason, pulled her attention to where the Naless King reclined among the other Sins. The shift in him was subtle, so subtle she wondered if she imagined it at first.
His posture remained languid, his crown unmoved, and his presence as immovable as death itself.
But the expression on his face, which she noticed for the first ti, was no longer amused. The earlier glint of entertainnt, the indulgent curiosity with which he had watched Vaeron bleed, had vanished entirely replaced with sothing colder and unreadable towards the arena, sending a chill racing through her veins.
There was one thing she could never understand; they functioned as family but the animosity between them was stronger than that of an enemy.
Lucrezia swallowed, her throat dry, and tore her gaze away. Whatever displeased a god was not sothing she wanted to understand too closely.
The arena demanded her attention again with the three challengers that remained. They stood in a loose crescent around Vaeron’s position, weapons still in hand, chests rising and falling as they recovered from the shock of watching one of their own die so abruptly.
Blood streaked the obsidian floor between them, reflecting the overhead light like spilled ink, and Lucrezia leaned forward instinctively, bracing herself for the next inevitable attack.
Vaeron was still on his feet, but only just. His shoulders trembled with every breath, and the way he held himself, slightly hunched, and favoring one side, made her chest tighten painfully.
For a long while, she waited uncomfortably for the surge that never ca, and at that mont, realized that the arena didn’t. The spectators all seed to have so kind of conclusion streaked on their faces that made her confused.
Finally, there was a movent below, and instead, the three n stepped back, moving in unison. They lowered their weapon, deliberately angling it away, leaving the space around him widened. The invisible pressure of imminent violence was suddenly released by that withdrawal, sending a crushing wave of sothing close to relief in her chest.
Although, her confusion still rippled through the stands and she couldn’t stop herself from frowning, her heart stuttered when she asked. "What’s happening?"
Why were they withdrawing? Did sothing happen?
"It’s finished,"
She broke off, glancing sideways at the woman seated beside her. "Finished? But there are still three of them," Which was more than obvious not just to her but to the observers. How then can it be finished when he hadn’t fulfilled the final point?
"Aye," The woman folded her hands neatly in her lap and slowly raised her chin. "And one of the four has fallen,"
That doesn’t make sense to her. Was it a matter of killing one before the point was already made?
Sensing her confusion, "Hesitation and rcy are the trusts of mortals," She said softly. "The gods do not share either."
A tremor ran through Lucrezia’s spine when she concluded. "But the rules..."
"Phase one was never about survival, Lady Anastasia. It was about proof,"
Proof, she thought and her gaze snapped back to the arena. Vaeron stood alone now, the challengers retreating toward the edges, their presence receding like a tide pulling back from shore. The crowd’s roar had dulled into a confused murmur and the bloodlust montarily starved of direction.
"It’s proof that his body could endure without his essence, and once one falls, the point is proven."
Lucrezia’s fingers curled into the fabric of her cloak. That was... unexpected, and she exhaled slowly, the breath leaving her lungs in a thin, unsteady stream.
She had witnessed sothing extraordinary, watching a creature fight at the absolute limit of his strength and endurance, and erge victorious not by raw power, but by intelligence and timing. Every scar, every bead of sweat, every visible strain on his body had been a testant to his perseverance.
To her, this wasn’t proof nor rcy, or even survival in a way mortals understood it. Because to them, endurance was enough.
She watched Vaeron sway where he stood, blood still dripping from his fingertips, staining the floor beneath him in uneven patterns. Her heart clenched at the sight of him in that manner, and even more when no healer rushed forward to attend to him.
He was clearly bleeding, and she knew if he bled too much, that would be more fatal. However, the gods did not reward pain endured; they rely acknowledged it. And in that acknowledgnt, the trial ended.
The realization settled heavily in her chest. Mortals fought to live, to win, to protect, and to return ho. She’d seen them, witnessed them almost her whole life. Gods, however, did not concern themselves with outcos so small. They tested limits, stripped beings down to their most breakable state, and observed what remained.
She felt it small, painfully small, the assessnt that ran through their faces. They call this family yet there was no warmth in the way they watched one another; only hierarchy, expectation, and punishnt disguised as tradition.
Mortals bled and called it sacrifice.
anwhile, the Gods watched and called it necessary, and sowhere between those two truths, Vaeron still stood, breathing, terribly broken, yet ascertained.
Lucrezia did not know which frightened her more that he had survived... or that survival had never been the point at all.
The challengers reached the periter of the arena and ca to a halt. Without ceremony, they turned and exited, leaving behind weapons, blood, and a single man standing amid the wreckage, obviously dead.
He remained where he was, still panting, blood-streaked and alone, but the silence that followed... it was wrong.
It wasn’t the expectant hush of a crowd waiting for the next strike, but a deeper absence, as though sound itself had been muted.
At first, it wasn’t imdiately obvious until even the usual undercurrent of murmured voices faded, replaced by sothing hollow and heavy that pressed against her ears.
She knew sothing was happening, and it was far too obvious that the trial had resud.
"There’s no... pause?" She asked quietly, almost afraid to break whatever fragile stillness had taken hold. "No ti for him to recover?" This is absurd, she thought. She could never understand what was ant to be a trial but the cruelest of cruelty. And worse, this was a tradition!
"There is no intermission between trials," The woman corrected calmly. "Only transitions,"
Lucrezia turned to her sharply. "But he can barely stand," She hissed, unable to keep the tremor from her voice. "He’s bleeding. Exhausted. How is he ant to survive another phase like that?"
Lucrezia had not realized her voice traded beyond a whisper, causing the eyes seated beside her to turn. She noticed that of Vaeloria and the silver-haired, including the Sins who looked at her in a way that made her feel the cold rush of regret.
Oh gods... She hadn’t ant to say that out loud and most especially, drag the attention of the people she least expected. And she realized from what she had done, she’d brought attention to herself in a very bad way.
Her heart dropped into her stomach.
At last, the woman glanced at her also. There was no cruelty in her eyes, only certainty that should’ve cald her. But it made her nervous. Terribly so.
"He isn’t," She replied.
Her chest tightened painfully. She knew she should stop talking, but couldn’t help the question. "Then what is the point?"
The woman’s lips curved into a warm smile, far different from the ones she’d received ever since her arrival. "Phase Two was never ant to be survived in the way you understand survival,"
Lucrezia didn’t know whether to feel insulted, or inford, and she forced a nod.
A low, resonant sound rippled through the arena then like stone grinding against stone when her eyes drifted back to the arena.
Symbols ignited along the periter, glowing faintly beneath the bloodstained obsidian. Lucrezia felt it before she fully understood it: the rules had shifted during the trial.
Her gaze snapped back to Vaeron just as he straightened, forcing his battered body upright through sheer will alone. His head lifted slowly, as if he too sensed what was coming, and for the briefest mont, she wondered if the gods were watching not to see if he would win, but to see what he would surrender next.
And at that terrifying mont, Lucrezia feared he might not survive this one.
***
A/N; Dear readers,
I’m so sorry for the missed updates these past few days. I ran out of my stockpile and only realized it yesterday, plus I’ve also been busy preparing for my exams. Thank you for your patience, and please bear with . I’ll be back on track soon!
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