Mars, who had spent his entire life inside these walls, had never once set foot beyond them. Stone and sand, blood and steel -- this was the only world he knew. He had seen countless scenarios play out beneath the Colosseum lights: champions torn apart by creatures twice their size, cowards who dropped their weapons and begged the crowd for mercy, madmen who laughed through their own disembowelment. He'd seen men burn, drown, be crushed alive under siege-beasts summoned from the pits.
But this?
This he hadn't experienced.
Even the crowd above -- thousands of them -- seemed strangely silenced. Their cheers thinned into murmurs, then into a tense, uncertain hush, like the entire Colosseum was holding its breath.
From the shadowed tunnels beneath the stone tiers, dark-uniformed personnel emerged. Officials. Their movements were tidy and trained. He knew them well.
Usually, Mars only saw them when a victorious Profane lost control of themselves -- when bloodlust overflowed, when the body of a beast was not enough to sate their frenzy. In such cases, the officials struck fast and without hesitation: either locking the abomination back into their cage or neutralizing them on the spot, silencing the madness before it spread.
But tonight, no Profane had been released.
The arena floor was empty.
Empty -- save for the lone man still standing there, the same victor who had lit the flare.
To Mars's surprise, the officials were not waiting for some beast to appear. They were moving into formation. Closing in. Surrounding said man.
Confusion immediately struck him. Something about all of this was… wrong.
The officials raised their weapons in unison, voices sharp and commanding.
"Stand down!"
Before the man could respond, a sudden explosion tore through a section of the stands above. Mars flinched, almost thrown backward by the thunderous force. Dust and fire rained down, crushing stone and bodies alike. Screams erupted, mingling with the roar of collapsing structure. Panic erupted in an instant -- chaos flooding through the crowd. Every man for himself.
Mars' gaze snapped back to the arena floor. And his mind went cold instantly.
All the officials were flat on the sand. Dead. Not a scratch on the victor himself. How? It didn't make sense. Not even a minute had passed since he averted his gaze from them.
And then, another explosion -- somewhere else in the Colosseum.
Without hesitation, Mars shoved himself away from his alcove. The boy sprinted toward the tunnels, toward safety, with his mind racing.
***
The scene below the colosseum was no better.
The moment Mars burst into the servant tunnels, he was met with a storm of sound: shouts, steel clattering against stone, footsteps pounding in every direction. Overseers yelled orders that vanished into the frenzy. Officials in black uniforms rushed past, their discipline cracking under the pressure of disaster. Servants -- people like Mars, born to the Colosseum's shadow -- scrambled like rats, arms full of supplies or nothing at all, colliding in blind panic.
Another rumble thundered through the earth, shaking dust loose from the vaulted ceilings. Cracks groaned in the pillars. Torches rattled in their places.
Mars slowed only long enough to press a hand against the trembling wall. His lips tightened.
"That… doesn't sound good."
He immediately pushed forward, deeper into the veins of the Colosseum.
***
The underground of the Colosseum itself was a world of its own, no less immense than the arena above. Tunnels spread wider than the fighting floor. Chambers opened up from every corridor: beast stables reeking of blood and panic where caged monstrosities slammed against their bars, forges creating smoke and flame as smiths shouted over one another. Even the servants' quarters, narrow and windowless. Mars had slept in those bunks all his life, rocked to sleep by the muffled cries of men dying in the sand above. Now they were emptying like nests on fire.
Unlike the frenzied crowds rushing for exits, Mars had his own objective. His destination lay deeper: the armory. Not for a sword or spear -- he had no delusions of standing his ground against whatever force was shaking the Colosseum apart. His reason was different. Unknown to anyone else.
The chamber greeted him with the gleam of steel and shardlight, rows of swords, bows, and shields stacked with precise order. Mars moved past them without a glance, his steps carrying him to a small cabinet at the far wall. Planting his palms against its side, he pushed it. Dust grated against stone as his muscles strained. With one last push, the cabinet moved aside, revealing a hole in the wall behind it -- small and crude, just wide enough for a boy, or a man desperate enough to crawl.
He had stumbled upon this thing years ago, when he was younger and braver, sneaking into the armory to steal a whetstone that he was curious about. The stone had slipped from his grasp and rolled beneath the cabinet. When he tried to retrieve it, his fingers had found the wall uneven. Curiosity had pried it open further, and what he uncovered… he had never shared with another soul.
Now, standing before it again, Mars pressed his hand against the edge of the hole and leaned in, peeking past the rough stone. Darkness swallowed everything beyond. No flicker of torchlight, no faint glow of shardglass veins -- nothing to suggest whether the passage stretched deeper into the unknown or ended abruptly in stone.
His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard. Then, forcing his hand steady, he reached for the nearest lantern hanging in the armory. The small flame quivered inside its glass as he lifted it, its glow spilling against the edges of the hole.
Mars tightened his grip. Drew a breath. Then prepared himself to crawl into the dark.
And stepped forward.