The golden mark still burned faintly on Shayne's hand as he trudged back toward the village with Elira. She walked a step behind him, her silence heavier than words.
At the edge of the village, lanterns flickered to life, painting the streets with warm light. The people had heard the sea's roar; they knew what it meant. Whispers followed Shayne as he passed.
Chosen.
Another lamb to the slaughter.
Just like Kael.
Shayne ignored them, but the weight of their stares pressed down on him. He pushed open the door to his small home, Elira following reluctantly.
Inside, the air smelled of dust and old wood. On the wall hung Kael's cloak, faded with age, a relic Shayne could never bring himself to wear. He sat at the table, laying his dagger down with a dull clink.
Elira leaned against the doorway. "They'll try to stop you."
"Let them try," Shayne muttered.
"You don't understand." Her voice sharpened. "The village council forbids anyone from leaving once they're chosen. They'll keep you locked up until the Tournament takes you."
Shayne finally looked at her. "Then I'll break the lock."
She exhaled sharply, frustration clear. "You think you're the only one who's ever tried? Do you know how many fools fought to escape? All gone. Every single one. This thing isn't just a tournament, Shayne—it's a curse."
"Then I'll be the one to break it," he shot back.
Elira's eyes softened for a moment, and she stepped closer. "Kael said the same thing."
The name hit him like a blade. He clenched his fists, staring at the cloak on the wall.
"What do you remember about that day?" Elira asked quietly.
Shayne's jaw tightened. "I remember watching him leave. Everyone cheered when the invitation marked him. They thought our family would be remembered forever. Mother cried, but Father… he was proud. Said Kael would come back as a legend."
His voice broke. "But he didn't come back. Not even his name did. It's like he never existed."
Elira lowered her gaze. "And you're afraid the same will happen to you."
"I'm not afraid," Shayne said, though his voice trembled. "I'm furious. If Kael died fighting, I'd accept it. But to erase him? To erase his name? That's worse than death."
They stood in silence until the door creaked open. An older man shuffled in, leaning on a cane—Elder Ryn, head of the council. His sharp eyes flicked between Shayne and Elira before settling on the golden mark glowing on Shayne's hand.
"So it is true," Ryn muttered. "The Tournament has chosen another of your bloodline."
Shayne's glare hardened. "You knew what happened to Kael."
Ryn sighed, lowering himself into a chair. "What happened to Kael is what happens to all victors. He was claimed by the arena. That is the truth."
"That's a lie," Shayne snapped. "If he won, why is his name gone from the records?"
The old man didn't answer right away. Instead, he rubbed his temples, as if the weight of years pressed on him. Finally, he said, "Because the Tournament does not crown champions. It consumes them."
Elira flinched. "Consumes…?"
Ryn nodded. "Each victor's soul fuels the prison that keeps the Tournament alive. Without sacrifice, the arena would collapse. That is why no victor returns. Their existence is… absorbed."
Shayne's stomach twisted. "So you knew. All this time, you knew."
The elder's gaze was heavy. "Knowing changes nothing. The cycle cannot be broken."
Shayne stood, slamming his fist on the table. "Then I'll break it myself. If Kael's trapped, I'll free him. If the arena erases names, I'll carve his back into the world with my own hands."
Ryn's lips curled in a sad smile. "You sound just like him."
For a moment, Shayne faltered. Hearing Kael's fire in his own voice… it felt like a curse repeating itself.
But he shook the thought away. "Tell me how to get there."
The elder studied him. "The arena rises three days from now. All chosen will be drawn to its gates. You will not need directions. It will call you when the time comes."
Shayne's mark pulsed, as if agreeing.
Elira stepped forward, anger flashing in her eyes. "And you're just letting him go? Just like you let Kael go?"
Ryn closed his eyes. "I don't let anyone go. The Tournament does. It is not my hand guiding him."
Shayne grabbed his dagger and Kael's cloak from the wall, slinging it across his shoulders. The fabric was too long, too heavy, but it carried the weight of purpose.
He looked at Elira, then at the elder. "Three days. That's all I need. When I come back, I'll bring Kael's name with me."
The room fell silent.
Outside, the sea roared again, as though mocking his promise.