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RYNETH

The drums started before the doors opened, a deep rhythm rolling through the corridor and straight into Ryneth’s chest. By the time the gates split apart, his pulse was already trying to keep time with them.

It would have been easier if Daven had been by his side.

But this part had to be done alone. That was the Aureate.

Daven had told him twice in the corridor that he would be waiting the second it was done. That he would be the first thing Ryneth saw when Helion finished looking at him. It hadn’t helped as much as Daven had wanted it to.

Still, Ryneth didn’t know what to do. Not really. Milanov had been wrong. He wasn’t made for violence. He wasn’t cruel. The only time he’d truly lost control had been with that prisoner. And that death had been justified. Hadn’t it?

Then the sound hit him.

A living roar that slammed into him so hard he nearly stopped walking. Thousands of voices folding into one hungry sound. Cheers. Whistles. Shouted names. The kind of noise people made when they’d come for blood and were already having the time of their lives.

For one strange, suspended second, all Ryneth could do was stare.

The arena opened around him under the glass dome, all floodlights and packed bodies. Sand stretched beneath it, bright under the lights, raked smooth except for the black-and-gold line of Luminary guards at the edge.

Beyond them, row after row of seats climbed upward, already overflowing. Merchants still in their city coats. Families with children lifted high on their shoulders. Couples leaning over the rails. People laughing. Pointing. Waiting.

Waiting for him.

Ryneth’s stomach tightened so hard it almost hurt. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. But he’d been naive, that much was certain.

This wasn’t a private rite hidden behind walls. This wasn’t some controlled display of power. This was for Helion.

For every citizen who had come out to watch. And there were thousands of them.

How was he supposed to kill a man here? In front of all of them?

He couldn’t do this.

His boots sank into the sand as a Luminary guard walked him forward. The grit shifted under each step.

He felt too open. Too exposed.

Here, there was no cover. Just him inside the pit and all those eyes.

Light, he could feel them on him.

For a flickering second, Ryneth thought back to those eyes on the screens that night on the ship. He had never known who had bought him. Or who had truly been behind it. Maybe this had always been a game.

The kind Concordant loved to play.

“Follow me, please,” the guard in front of him said.

Ryneth obeyed absently.

It wasn’t until they reached the heart of the arena that Ryneth blinked like he was waking up. He shook himself out of the dark spiral just in time.

“Wait. I can’t do this. I can’t⁠—”

He turned toward the great double doors, already stepping back. Suddenly his chest felt too tight. His pulse was out of control. He couldn’t do this. Not here. Not like this.

He opened his mouth, ready to say whatever he had to say to make them stop⁠—

And then he froze.