Far above the mortal world, two gods sat upon a silver cloud, their voices carrying like distant thunder.
"They forget balance," Lyron said bitterly, watching the torches of the Panther Slayer Arena flare against the night sky. "Humans grow cruel, humanimals grow restless, and beasts starve in the wilds. Father forbids us to interfere, yet his children drown in blood."
His sister, Seraphine, folded her hands and kept her silver eyes fixed on the horizon. "We gave them the Gorots, the lightning swords. We gave them the Gorobs, the chains that see what mortal eyes cannot. That is all we may give. Their choices are theirs."
Lyron's jaw tightened. Below them, thousands of humans pressed into the stands of the arena, their cheers rising like waves. At the gates, thirteen knights stood waiting for the tournament to begin, their armor catching the torchlight, their faces hard with pride and fear.
Among them stood a boy with dark hair and steady eyes — Valix Enpo, son of Mojola Enpo. His armor was plain, less polished than the others, but his gaze burned with quiet fire. He clenched his fists as if already holding victory.
Lyron leaned forward, studying him. "That one," he murmured. "Do you see him, sister?"
Seraphine followed his gaze. "Valix," she said softly. "Mojola's son."
"Too young," Lyron growled. "And yet… he carries something."
Neither spoke further, but both gods watched him with an intensity no mortal could feel.
Down below, Valix could not hear their voices. He only felt the weight of the crowd pressing against him, the roar of their hunger for blood. His heart pounded, but he kept his chin high. To him, this was only another trial of men. Another game of knights. He did not know — could not know — what slept inside his blood.
High above the arena, unnoticed by all but the gods, three shadows buzzed against the torches. Wasps. Ordinary to human eyes, but not ordinary at all. Their wings beat with unnatural rhythm, their small eyes glowing faintly red. These were no insects — they were humanimal spies, spirits bound into fragile forms.
The three circled in silence, watching the knights with patient hatred.
There… whispered one in a voice too sharp for mortals to hear. The sons of men gather for their games. But which among them will hold the last Gorot?
Another answered, its stinger quivering like a blade. We must know. The gods arm their favorites. If the ninety-ninth is chosen, the balance shifts.
The third wasp fixed its burning gaze on Valix. That one. He smells… wrong.
"Wrong?" hissed the first.
Not only human, the third whispered. His blood hums. The others cannot hear it, but I can. He does not know yet, but he is one of us.
The three fell into silence, circling ever lower, their shadows lost in the torchlight. Below, Valix shifted uneasily, as if a chill had touched his neck. He pressed his palm to his chest, steadying himself.
The gates to the Panther Slayer Arena groaned open. The crowd thundered. And still, above and below, watchers stirred: gods, spies, and something unknown in Valix himself.