Day and night no longer existed. The sun never rose, so it could never set. A stuffy and putrid miasma, thick with the scent of piss and death, replaced the wind and fresh breeze. Shadows consumed everything, save the ominous invasion of torchlight carried by the guards as they breached the safe veil of darkness to steal someone away.

As their body slowly disintegrated back into the ambient mana, Alo’aharu found that tormenting themselves was the most entertaining activity they could indulge in. They couldn’t even think about starving, not that Alo’aharu envied the Nightborn who were.

“All is lost to the maw of the serpent…All is as the mountain speaks…”

Alo’aharu glanced to their right. Through the wall of rusted iron bars sat a young nymph, her pristinely porcelain skin dirtied in…well, Alo’aharu didn’t want to think about the filth’s origins. The scent pegged it as more than dirt. The young Nightborn woman rocked back and forth, cradling herself. Her black eyes remained fixed in front of her, as though she feared something from the cell across from her.

To Alo’aharu’s left lay a bulky, seven foot tall minotaur with a missing eye and arm. Were it not for the occasional huff from his snout, they would’ve believed him dead.

Alo’aharu wrapped their arms around their knees. Lord Callione kept most of these Nightborn here because they had little use to the house aside from serving in cheap-really, really cheap-underground brothels.

Alo’aharu shied away from the savagery to either side of them.

The two on their sides were mere slaves. But Alo’aharu…Alo’aharu should have been something more. The Calliones needed them.

However long Alo’aharu had to be here, their Lord would have to free them in time. In order to get the Ouroboros, the Calliones had to rely on them. Alo’aharu wasn’t just chained meat. They were more. They were a loyal servant…

“How was the world above, Aharu?” the voice of a woman croaked.

Alo’aharu’s gaze snapped up at the cell across from them.

The shifting of chains and rustling of feathers preceded the harpy that dragged herself out from the shadow. A rush of nostalgia and guilt coursed through every inch of Alo’aharu.

Her matted feathers surrounded the same weathered complexion and sunken eyes.

“Tell me you at least remember me, Aharu.” Her natural bird-like physiology combined with her old age strangled her voice.

“Za…Zakiti…” Alo’aharu muttered. “You’re all the way out here?”

“Moved me here a few years back…” Zakiti sighed. “What was it like, Aharu? Being above?”

“I…” Alo’aharu found themselves lost for words. Years ago, Zakiti had been the default caretaker for the younger slaves, including Alo’aharu, a few years after they had been created. “It’s…nice.”

“Nice?” Zakiti scoffed. “All those years away and all you have is ‘nice’?”

“I haven’t exactly been spending all my time up there gathering notes for you!” Alo’aharu snapped.

Zakiti grunted in response.

“Don’t judge me, you old crone. I did what I had to do to get out of here and you’re a fool for staying. Growing, living, dying, covered in your own shit and blood.”

“I’m not here to call one better than the other.”

“What else would you have me do, Zakiti? I served Lord Callione faithfully, and he allowed me the luxuries I have. Do not direct your disappointment in your own service at me.”

Zakiti coughed, though it sounded like she was trying to laugh. “And was that really worth it? To end up here again?”

“I failed. My time here results from that. But I’ll be out before long.”

The minotaur snorted. “So you can continue to pretend to be ignorant of us?”

“Am I to be lectured by three quarters of a bull man who gave up on life? My apologies for having some sense of ambition.” Alo’aharu fired back.

“At least I’ve not given my heart to them.” the minotaur replied.

“Give them a break, Ukhaua,” Zakiti muttered. “But I wish to know. Was it everything you hoped for?”

Alo’aharu hesitated. They thought they were going to be treated like humans. A low class human, but still a human.

“I admit it.” Alo’aharu drew their knees in. “The people out on the street, even here in Veyshtar, they see an unleashed Nightborn and think ‘Nightdweller’.”

“You cannot force yourself to be a sorcerer when you aren’t one.” Zakiti said.

“You only said that because you’ve never tried. I just…I just need another chance to prove myself. The Lord and Lady know how loyal I am. They just need reminding.”

Alo’aharu jumped as the minotaur kicked the bars dividing them.

“Pipe down, elemental.” Ukhaua grunted. “Leave the mental delusions to the nymph.”

Alo’aharu quieted, casting a scornful look the minotaur’s way and curled up against the back wall of their cell.

The elemental glanced down at the singular golden bracer on their right arm.

Their fingers brushed against its metallic surface, with reverence one might have for the Ouroboros itself, before they started trying to scrub the dirt off it.

It was the one thing that remained from their life out of this Kings forsaken dungeon.

When they got out, Alo’aharu swore to themselves. They would never take this for granted again. They would never be so flagrantly casual with their Lord and Lady.

If they just had the chance to prove it…they could show how valuable an asset they were.

The Lord and Lady would see. If Alo’aharu could just prove it…

***

Mattiew was one of two. One of two in Tiamat’s Gullet.

He was among the top eight in the Bellirex. The first non-sorcerer to make it this far in history.

Maera Diamedes was his last competitor in this tunnel, one of many contestants who made competing in this tournament a career.

The raven haired necromancer cast him a mere glance as he entered. She sat with who Mattiew assumed to be her general, as he was absolutely a reanimated corpse.

The organizers had asked each contestant to pre-select a partner for this challenge. When he asked, the house staff had mentioned Alo’aharu couldn’t accompany him due to some personal business, whatever that meant.

So Kalai followed him into the tunnel, though she was uncharacteristically quiet. Not a morning person, he supposed.

Diamedes furrowed her brow. “Not only are you the sole non-sorcerer in this tournament, but you’ve also been fighting alongside the weakest Champion? I’m impressed, Vagabond Prince.”

“You’ll be even more impressed when I win that crown.” Mattiew took a seat on a stone bench across from her.

“I suppose I wouldn’t have my opponents thinking any other way. Even if they are wildly presumptuous.” Diamedes cast her gaze towards the entrance to the sandpit.

“Say…was anything stolen from your family’s estate the night of the banquet?” Mattiew asked.

Diamedes paused for a moment before looking at him with a new expression full of suspicion.

“How would you know anything about that?” she asked.

“My wife and I have kept a close eye on Andar Callione. We believe he’s the one to blame. If you would have us, proving it was him would let us topple his empire.”

Diamedes scoffed. “That makes a little too much sense. Yet is completely absurd. But… if you can find any proof of such a thing, my house is not above showing gratitude.”

Mattiew let himself grin.

“Do you know how they decide who goes in what tunnel?” Diamedes asked.

“I didn’t know there was a significance to it.” Mattiew said.

“As the numbers dwindle, a pattern reveals itself.” Diamedes muttered. “Those of us put in Tiamat’s Gullet are characters, portrayed to the audience as people with a far-off dream, damn near impossible to reach. In accordance with the virtue of Idealism. The virtue Tiamat stood against.”

“Huh. That’s fitting.” Mattiew said. “What’s your pipe dream if you don’t mind me asking?”

“To escape death. Completely and utterly.”

“That’s about as far off as it gets.”

“As someone with an equally impossible ambition, I respect you, Nikoliades.” Maera said. “But…I will destroy you.”

The Keeper of Shai’tar cued the competitors to emerge.

“We’ll see who destroys who.” Mattiew challenged as Kalai approached his side.

The gates to the sandpit opened as the Keeper announced Diamedes’ nickname and introduced her, much to the delight of her roaring fans.

Families and fans had taken the sides of the remaining contestants when their initial favorites got eliminated. A ton of people were cheering Maera on.

And while most followed the bets they placed, there were quite a few who wanted to root for an underdog.

“Introducing the dark horse in this race! Champion of the Masses! The unexpected hero of the humble! And an unforeseen claimant to his spot in this Trial! Mattiew Nikoliades! THE VAGABOND PRIIINCE!”

Mattiew and Kalai stepped onto the sand to masses of applause. Though they were fewer, Mattiew’s fans roared with passion, unrivaled by any other competitor.

They waved flags of the Sea Scourgers, a mass of black and red that would strike fear into any sailor.

Mattiew acknowledged with a singular, tight fist pump towards the air and lion-like roar of confidence. Kalai was the one who caught the crowd’s fire and kept it going, screaming like a wild animal with a giant grin plastered on her face.

The cheers quickly shifted as the Keeper called out the next competitor.

Mattiew’s eyes laid on Semiramis across the sandpit. Her eyes narrowed at him. That was probably the closest thing to a sneer her stone face could make.

He shouldn’t have made it this far, and yet he defied the odds. That probably pissed the Sunkiller off a good deal.

“It’s about time we paid her some attention.” Kalai said. “She’s felt off this entire tournament.”

“She’s also the favorite to win by the established nobles.” Mattiew said. “And there aren’t any brackets anymore. So if we’re gonna have a shot at beating her, it’s now when sorcerous power doesn’t determine victory.”

Semiramis was Mattiew’s prime target, but his eyes flickered towards Cyrus a few times. He still needed to repay the prince in full for doing what he did to Dakkar.

“Welcome, contestants, to the Trial of Evolution! You are our final eight! Congratulate yourselves for this monumental achievement!” The Keeper announced.

The crowd applauded, but the contestants had their focus on their opponents.

“Starting from this point forward,” The Keeper began, “There will be no tournament brackets. No more one-on-one duels. If you don’t make it into the top half during the Trial, you will be eliminated! And we start with the Trial of Evolution. Both on and off the dueling grounds, a leader must be able to adapt to their surroundings. A leader must be able to see their aim and the obstacles before them while having enough wit to outmaneuver or enough patience to out-learn your opponents. Today, there are four platinum rings in the sandpit.”

Four small platinum rings, each bearing a different colored gemstone, broke through the sand and floated above it at Mattiew’s shoulder height.

“Your objective is to grab one of these rings before the other contestants can. However, it will be more than just a free for all. The sandpit is under an enchantment. Every use of sorcery has the potential to alter the field. Every time you draw on mana, the sandpit’s geography will shift into anything from a tundra to a pool of lava where your only salvation is mere floating rocks. You can never know. The trial will continue until all four rings have been claimed. With all that being said, contestants! Begin!”

Immediately, the sandpit rumbled.

Mattiew and the other contestants had to regain their lost footing as floating rocks carried the rings off and the rest of the ground became a swampy marshland.

Semiramis’s Kingmaker, Shamura, didn’t hesitate to fly after one ring. Only to be struck out of the air by a bolt of lightning from an Alazarite contestant the Keeper referred to as the Lord of Storms.

The spell caused the arena to shift again, with the force of a minor earthquake. The rings dropped with their floating pedestals into the water beneath them. The water cleared up and became an ocean. Coral marked where the ground was. And where the rings were.

“Not quite what I was hoping for. But I’ll make do.” Mattiew muttered to himself. He sucked in a massive breath and dived towards the rings, along with the others.

However, Maera’s general simply sank to the bottom like a weight. The reanimated corpse grabbed a ring with a violet amethyst from the sandy ocean floor.

Mattiew watched as another contestant telekinetically disassembled a metal filigree bracer on her arm into a small metallic creature. However, upon doing so, the floor rushed upwards, knocking the wind out of everyone.

Mattiew landed painfully on jagged rocks as the land formed into tiny mountains, the rings each at their peaks.

“Alright, everyone quit it with the sorcery!” Cyrus commanded. “Unless you all want to be pummeled to death by the arena rather than each other.”

“I would think a man whose only ability was reading minds would be smarter than to think he could take on the rest of us without the shifting arena.” Semiramis said. She raised her hand and unleashed a beam of white light, as solid as any blade and hot as the sun.

Mattiew had forgotten about how strong her ability was.

“Okay, maybe we should focus on ourselves.” Mattiew said, as the mountains shifted to a pleasant meadow.

“That would be a great idea.” Kalai nodded.

Mattiew glance to his right and saw a ring with a sapphire on it open for the taking. Or at least, he thought it was open as he went for it.

But a streak of azure flame ensured his fingers never touched it.

Shamura roared at them like a Nightdweller, trickles of blue flame dissipating from her jaw.

“You face me, commoner.” Shamura growled. “Not to suggest that I am an equal match for you and your brute.”

Shamura dived towards them, though Mattiew kept her away with a quick volley of arrows. This was the best his archery’s ever been, and yet the dragon could still maneuver around his shots.

The dragon swooped back around, but the arena blocked her way as the ground reshaped into a field full of rocky pillars. She swung herself around them and launched a beam of bright blue flames at Mattiew.

Kalai shoved him aside and used one of her massive cleaver swords to block the attack.

Mattiew attempted to shoot her as she was coming out of cover from behind the pillars, but one swipe from her wing splintered the arrow. Kalai attempted to use herself as a barrier between the dragon and Mattiew, but was shoved aside like a small child by a charging bull.

He grabbed Shamura by the wrist before she could flay him with her claws, slammed the edge of his shield into her head, and shanked her in the side with a small dagger.

The Nightborn stumbled as she backed away from Mattiew, panting. She yanked the dagger out from her torso and cast it aside.

“The Omniscient Overlord, Prince Cyrus, has captured the second ring!” The Keeper shouted.

Shamura’s eyes zeroed in on Mattiew, but as she launched herself off the ground, Kalai barreled into her.

“Go get the ring!” Kalai grunted as she deflected another one of Shamura’s flame bolts. “I’ll keep her occupied!”

Mattiew would not wait around for her to insist. As the arena shifted into a twisting wood, he scoured the area for the ring. It was in one of the rising trees, cradled between a branch and the trunk.

He ran for the ring, scrambling up the tree as fast as his muscles could take him.

Only to be knocked back to the ground. By a clump of sand.

Mattiew staggered to his feet.

His eyes locked on Khemti Sett.

His friend and ally raised his Alazarite axe at Mattiew.

“Sorry. But that ring is mine.”

***

Adriana’s hands were getting clammy as she watch Mattiew be thrown about by the rapidly changing and shifting arena.

She always got nervous, spectating, as she couldn’t help but assume the worst would happen.

When Lagopis tapped her on the shoulder, part of her was relieved.

Though, as Adriana glanced up at him, that relief vanished. Lagopis’s face, under his obscuring hood, had been beaten and burned.

“Ancient Kings, Lagopis.”

“Lady Nikoliades,” Lagopis muttered, “Please come with me. We must speak unbothered.”

Adriana followed Lagopis from her seat through the winding labyrinth of tunnels and halls of the Gridiron.

Once they were out of earshot of any public areas, Adriana spoke.

“What happened last night? Who did you see at the Diamedes Estate?”

Lagopis shook his head with a sigh. “Someone ambushed us with a smokescreen. We held off the attackers, but when we got to the estate, we saw agents from House Khergit fleeing the area.”

“That must be their decoy.” Adriana muttered. “I’m sure it was a false flag operation. Khergit has close trade ties to Diamedes. They’d never pull something like this.”

“We captured one of our attackers.” Lagopis said. “He was Saryngol, not Acernic. They were real Khergit. And think about it. Khergit has never gotten on well with Tammuz. To have your biggest ally suddenly ally with one of your enemies would be a cause to cut ties.”

“If you captured him, didn’t you question him?” Adriana asked. “Was that the story he gave?”

“Our Truthsensor got no signal that he was lying.” Lagopis said. “I’m sorry, Lady Nikoliades. But this path is going nowhere. I believe we should refocus our efforts on earning the guard’s allegiance.”

Adriana shook her head. “No. We’re too close. I know my father set the operation up. My cousin Phygius confirmed it.”

“Then why do we not make a court appeal?” Lagopis asked.

“Because Phygius’s word isn’t worth more than my father’s testimony.” Adriana gritted her teeth.

“Then in what way are we close?”

Adriana sighed.

“You know, it is within the realm of mind magic to alter memories.” Abil emerged. Less from the shadows this time. It seemed he actually walked to their location.

Lagopis huffed.

Adriana gasped. “Mind magic. That dragon woman. The Sunkiller’s Kingmaker. She can use mind magic!”

Abil took hold of one of his rings. “Yes. Her name is Shamura. She could’ve altered your perception, Lagopis, to remember Callione agents as Khergit ones. If you’ll let me, I can erase her influence from your mind.”

Abil pulled off a thumb ring, releasing a gigantic amount of mana around himself. Adriana shuddered as the wave passed over her, like lightning travelling through her gut.

Lagopis slapped Abil’s hand away as the spymaster attempted to reach for him.

“You won’t be touching my mind.” Lagopis growled. “Adriana, this is ridiculous! Abil is the spymaster of an enemy! An enemy! And you just go with whatever insane theories he posits! He shows up out of nowhere and you aren’t even bothered! Please, see reason.”

Adriana stared at him. “Lagopis, what is this?”

“This? This is me questioning your leadership!” Lagopis hissed.

“You will show your proper dues to your liege.” Abil commanded as he slipped his ring back on.

“Shut up!” Lagopis snapped. “I’ve been here at your side every moment since you showed up at the Callione estate. Because I was tired of your parents and their endless thirst for meaningless power. I thought you were going to offer us a better leader. A new path to follow.”

“And I will deliver if you fall. In. Line.” Adriana glared at her companion.

“Really? Because all I see is a girl so obsessed with finding a way out that she refuses to wait for a door to unlock itself before moving to the next! To me it looks like you’re desperate to get away as fast as possible, rather than stay back and deliver on your promises.”

“If you don’t like the way I do things, then leave, Lagopis. No one’s stopping you. I can get on by myself.”

Lagopis blinked.

“What? What did you think was going to come of this insubordination?” Adriana asked. “You’re relieved of your duties.”

Lagopis stumbled as he backed away, his brow furrowed with shock and confusion. Adriana refused to look away until he turned and walked out of sight.

Adriana shook her head.

“Now that interference is gone, did you get any evidence of your father’s involvement?” Abil asked.

Adriana sighed. “Only my cousin’s testimony. It isn’t enough.”

Abil cupped his chin. “Then I shall investigate. In the meantime, reassert your control over your assets. We cannot have them falling apart on us.”

Adriana nodded. “Thank you.”

Abil turned to vanish back into the shadows.

“Abil.” Adriana got his attention before he could disappear. “I can trust you, right?”

“No.” Abil said. “We have something better. We have a common interest. That is more secure than trust will ever be.”

Adriana grimaced. “I…suppose that’s fair.”

Abil sank into the darkness, leaving Adriana alone in a quiet stone hallway.

***

Mattiew’s eyes trembled in their sockets as he stared at Khemti Sett.

“You’re serious?” Mattiew asked.

“In a perfect world, we would both win.” Khemti said. “But they have claimed two. And neither of us is going to knock Semiramis out of the competition. I respect you, Mattiew. But ultimately, I give myself the best chance against her. I’m sorry.”

“Spare me your apologies, Sett.” Mattiew drew his sickle sword and lowered into a fighting stance. “You aren’t sorry enough to turn on your people.”

“That, I am not.” Khemti nimbly handled his white and gold two-handed axe like it was a twig he found.

Unwilling to use his magic, the sorcerer readied himself.

Both of them hesitated in their stances, neither wanting to be the one to attack first.

Mattiew had acted as though he was going to do what had to be done, but…the weight in his chest as he tried to figure out his first move was too much to bear. He suspected it was the same for Khemti.

But…no matter how much he valued his friend—No matter how much it would hurt to lunge, intending to kill, Mattiew had to do it. He’d come this far. He would not give up on Adriana or his crew for one man.

“At the end of this,” Mattiew said. “Promise there’ll be no hard feelings?”

“As long as you fight with conviction and honor, I’ll have no room to be upset if you win.”

There was nothing left to hesitate on. Mattiew closed the distance between them and launched into a flurry of blows with his blade.

Khemti used the range of his weapon to counteract Mattiew’s speed, turning the momentum and putting Mattiew on the backfoot.

The two of them traded blows, their weapons sparking and clanging off each other like tolling bells.

Mattiew blocked an overhead swing of Khemti’s axe, but the hooked blade snagged the edge of his shield and forced his main line of defense down. He pulled Khemti off balance and kicked him away. The arena shifted to a pool of strong rapids that reached Mattiew’s chest.

Mattiew spied the ring sink beneath the surface and dove underneath, letting himself be carried by the currents. Pushing off the floor, he gave himself enough of a boost to reach the ring lying on the dirt floor.

Until Khemti used the rapids to crash into him. But before he could grab it, the arena shifted again. The basin of rapids quickly became a frozen waste, the wetness adding an extra bite to the cold.

Mattiew drew on some old Rajgarh breathing techniques to get his body warm enough to move. But again, the ring moved just beyond his reach. Another competitor crashed into the ground, causing the ring to skid across the ice.

The arena shifted back to its natural state as a sandpit.

“From now on, the arena will only shift every three minutes. But the more you use magic, the more it’ll shift before it sticks to the next form!” The Keeper shouted.

Neither Mattiew nor Khemti needed to speak to know the other intended to get this done before the three-minute mark.

Mattiew rushed in with a knee strike. He wouldn’t give Khemti the space to wield his axe. His knee swung up towards Khemti’s chin, but the sorcerer put the haft of his weapon between Mattiew and himself. The polearm snapped in half as Mattiew distanced himself before Khemti could strike back.

The sand slithered up Khemti’s legs and down his arms as he cast his broken axe away. The sand formed solid blades on his hands and armor all over his body.

Mattiew had never really thought much about Khemti’s sorcery, but if he had to come up with a theory right this instant, he’d bet Khemti’s sand manipulation only worked when he was touching what he wanted to manipulate.

Which begged the question of why he didn’t first trap or restrain Mattiew by pinning him to the ground.

Either Khemti’s ability only had a certain range, or Khemti was just being honorable. Neither one made him much less deadly.

Mattiew ducked as a clearly lethal strike from Khemti’s blades nearly took off his head. He fought back with sword and shield.

Though, on one of his blocks, Mattiew was helpless as sand added itself to Khemti’s blade length, letting him stab Mattiew in the shoulder over the shield.

Mattiew staggered back before the wound could grow too deep, but he couldn’t get his shield arm up again.

“What in…what in Irkalla did you do?” Mattiew growled.

“My husband’s a physician. I have some insights to the human body others lack.” Khemti said. “I’m sure the healer will repair that tendon for you later.”

He shifted his stance to the side so his sword could cover his body in full. He tried to ignore the pain as Khemti attacked again.

Parrying like his life depended on it, Mattiew deflected all the incoming strikes from Khemti’s two weapons before pushing back, putting the Alazarite on the backfoot.

He eventually slashed Khemti’s thigh through a chink in his sand armor.

Khemti limped back, staring at his wound. Mattiew had avoided cutting an artery there, but a leg wound hampered someone far more than an arm wound.

Well, it would hamper someone if they weren’t a sorcerer.

Khemti’s brow furrowed, foretelling a spike of sand that rose from the ground, almost puncturing Mattiew’s leg, had he not dove into a roll.

“I have thousands counting on me, Mattiew.” Khemti said, as another sand spike followed Mattiew.

“And that makes your cause worthier than mine?” Mattiew grunted, rolling away from yet another ranged attack.

“No. Just that when given the choice between letting down hundreds or thousands, I would rather let down hundreds. I suggest you do the same.”

Khemti clenched one of his armored fists, sending the sand out in a spread of fast-moving pellets. Mattiew flattened himself on the ground as they flew overhead.

“I can’t do that, Khemti. You know that.” Mattiew stood and surveyed the distance between himself and Khemti. Twenty yards, just about. Khemti used the pellets because he’d left his range for stabbing.

Mattiew’s quiver and bow were…somewhere. Without them, there wasn’t much he could do from this distance.

And there was still that little part of him that was abhorred at the thought of hurting his friend.

But he had no choice.

Mattiew sidestepped the trajectory of another armor plate turned sand volley before breaking into a sprint towards the ring. He ducked and dodged around more of Khemti’s attacks. The ring was his for the taking. Khemti’s limp was too slow to get him within range to stop him. He was sorry, but he was also-

Mattiew’s skeleton shifted a little in his flesh as something wrenched him up and away from the ring.

Something had stuck on the back of his shirt and was holding him above the ground. He reached his hands back and felt….solid sand.

“I know you well enough, Mattiew.” Khemti said, as he started limping towards the ring. “You assume everyone does something for a reason. You forget that deceiving you is sometimes the reason. I have no maximum range. I just have maximum focus.”

“You…you set me up with false information?” Mattiew asked. “How is that honorable?”

“The reed that never bends to the wind is the reed that snaps off at the stalk.” Khemti muttered.

“Let me down and fight me!” Mattiew demanded.

“I will not hurt you any further, Mattiew.” Khemti limped over to the ring and placed his good foot on it. “The fight’s over.”

Mattiew’s furious hyperventilating soon diminished and calmed when it came to him that there was truly nothing he could do from here.

“The…the fight’s over.” Mattiew admitted defeat.

He should’ve been angry, hysterical even. He should’ve kept his brothers in arms and his newfound resolve in mind.

But it wouldn’t do him any good.

“Thank you for understanding.”

Then Khemti let Mattiew down.

And everything changed.

Khemti. Khemti, you poor fool. Mattiew felt an ounce of pity for the man, but his surging resolve eclipsed it.

There were too many people counting on him to abide by Khemti’s naivete.

Adriana was so close. She was so close to freeing them. If he could buy her just a few more days…

Mattiew drew a knife from his boot and threw it as fast as he could. His feet immediately left the ground as he launched himself towards the ring.

Khemti cried out in pain, accompanied with a gasp from the audience, as the knife sank into the Alazarite’s side.

Khemti clutched his wound and fell over in the sand.

Mattiew let the ring tumble into his finger before grasping them shut like a vise.

It was his. The ring was his.

Victory was his.

Mattiew opened his hand to confirm the truth. Indeed, the little ring of silver and topaz laid in his hand and no one else’s.

But as his gaze was drawn back to Khemti, lying in the sand, the Alazarite’s betrayed eyes sinking into Mattiew’s flesh like searing daggers, he couldn’t bring himself to raise his fist in triumph.