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The distant roars of the crowd, the dizzying array of colors and shapes in the pits below, and the faint aroma of exotic flowers masking the less savory scents of the prison.
Everything seemed amplified, making it even harder for me to think clearly.
I felt like I was in a trance, the weight of not knowing where Ashale was pressing down on me.
The sour tang of worry on my tongue, the rough texture of the stone walls I brushed against, the distant hum of chatter — all of it swirled around in a dizzying tempest.
A chilling thought crossed my mind.
What if something had happened to Ashale?
What if he’d been injured, or worse?
The idea gripped my heart, causing it to race uncontrollably.
I tried to shake off the thought, but it clung to me, persistent and unyielding.
Taking deep breaths, I attempted to ground myself.
The feel of the floor beneath my feet, the rhythmic sound of my own breathing, the faint scent of the flowers I wore in my hair — I focused on these simple sensations, pushing away the rising panic.
But no matter how hard I tried, the truth remained.
Ashale was missing.
And I had no idea where he was or what had happened to him.
The last rays of the sun were disappearing beyond the horizon, casting the Prize Pool in shades of twilight.
As the lights of the prison started to glow brighter, casting eerie shadows on the walls, I stood alone, surrounded by a world of uncertainty.
Confused and lost, my heart heavy with dread, I faced an unsettling night ahead, haunted by the whereabouts and fate of Ashale.
* * *
My usual alertness on the platform, primed for any possible danger, was muddled.
The gleaming lights, the hustle and bustle, and the usual sensory overload of the arena were background noise compared to the heavy weight of concern gnawing at me.
The past few hours had been a whirlwind of anxiety, and the suspense of Ashale’s unexplained absence loomed large.
The collective anticipation of countless beings hung in the air.
It should’ve been intoxicating — the raw iron of sweat, the sweetness of perfumed Prizes, the tantalizing aroma of exotic delicacies from food vendors.
But all I could discern was an acrid undertone of worry, and I wondered if it emanated from my own pores.
Beneath my feet, the platform vibrated ever so slightly, a constant hum that normally soothed my restless energy.
Today, however, it was a harsh reminder of the reality I was ensnared in.
Every so often, a gust of wind would ruffle my hair and clothing, carrying whispers of conversations, but Ashale’s name was absent in the murmurs.
Then, my ears picked up the familiar announcement, the Champion’s turn to choose.
In my heart, I knew Ashale wouldn’t be there, but hope — irrational and stubborn — had my eyes darting around, looking for him.
Instead, my gaze settled on the imposing figure of another Champion as he walked, almost glided, with calculated grace, toward the Prize Pool.
