[The Trials are now over.]
[Candidates are allowed to exit the arena.]
The announcement was loud. Clear, distant and strangely unclear. The sound lingered longer than it should have, bouncing off the stone walls before fading away.
I couldn't tell if the voice belonged to a man or a woman.
Just… a voice.
All the candidates gathered where everything had begun.
The colosseum.
Clusters of people stood across the arena floor, speaking and whispering. Some leaned against broken pillars, others sat on the warm sand.
A pungent scent lingered in the air, mixed with dry heat and dust.
No hostility.
At least, not openly.
But that didn't mean it was safe.
Not after everything that had happened.
Heat came out from the sand beneath my feet, seeping through the soles of my leather shoes. Each step pressed slightly into the ground, sand shifting with a quiet crunch.
"This arena… you've been here before, right?" I walked slowly, eyes tracing the curved stone walls.
The place felt familiar in a way I couldn't fully explain. The arches above were chipped and uneven, sections collapsed entirely, letting thin streams of light fall through at odd angles.
Faint carvings ran along the walls—symbols worn down by time, their meanings lost.
"Yeah…" Layla replied quietly.
"A long time ago. With… Renold."
Her voice almost disappeared at the end, swallowed by the open space above us where wind slipped through the broken structure, producing a low, hollow whistle.
Renold.
Her late husband.
"…I'm sorry." The words came out before I could stop them.
She paused for a fraction of a second, then nodded faintly.
"Oh—no worries."
But the way her voice steadied—it felt forced.
Her hand tightened slightly around her spear before relaxing again, like the movement had been unconscious.
She still couldn't forget him.
Sounds… familiar.
"YOU ASSHOLE!"
The shout tore through the air, sharp and sudden.
A man lunged forward and slammed his fist into a boy—someone about my age.
The impact landed with a dull, heavy thud that echoed louder than expected, followed by the scrape of shoes dragging across sand.
A few people glanced over. Most didn't.
I stepped forward without thinking—Then stopped.
It's not worth it. The thought came fast.
The alley.
I had moved back then—even though I knew how it would end.
The memory flashed for just a moment—the smell of damp stone,
Me, collapsing in the dark...
But I'm stronger now.
So why—
Why doesn't it feel the same?
"I'll handle this." Layla moved before I could.
Her movement cut cleanly through the still air. She leapt forward. A spear formed in her hands. A cold and unnatural hum followed.
She threw it.
CRASH
The spear struck the wall beside the man, piercing into the stone. The impact shattered part of the structure, sending bricks scattering across the sand.
Dust rose in a thick cloud, catching the light as it hung in the air.
Silence dropped instantly.
Even the low murmurs disappeared, as if something had pressed down on the entire arena.
Layla stepped forward, her boots crunching softly over broken stone.
"What's going on?" Her voice was flat. Empty.
The man collapsed to his knees, hands trembling against the sand.
"D-don't kill me!" he stammered, sweat dripping down his face. "The boy—he stole bread from my bag!"
The boy didn't respond. He held his side, breathing unevenly, eyes lowered.
Layla didn't react immediately.
Instead, she reached into her pouch and tossed something forward.
An apple.
"Here."
It rolled across the sand, its surface quickly collecting dust before stopping just short of the man's knees.
He stared at it. Then at her. Puzzled
Then she raised her hand slightly.
A sharp hum cut through the air again.
The spear tore itself free from the wall with a grinding crack, bits of stone falling as it shot back into her grip. It vibrated faintly in her hand, as if resisting stillness.
"Well," Dan muttered, staring at the spear, his eyes reflecting its faint glow,
"If I die, I'm haunting that thing."
"Right," Layla replied.
Then she turned towards everyone.
"I—" She stopped. For a moment, it looked like the words wouldn't come. As if her voice didn't belong to her anymore.
Her grip tightened around the spear.
Then she exhaled slowly.
"I am Layla Viremont." Her voice wasn't loud.
The arena seemed to hold onto it, stretching the sound just enough that no one could ignore it.
For a moment, she said nothing else.
"I've killed people who didn't deserve it," she continued, her tone steady but low. "Not because I had to… but because it was easier than thinking about it."
The crowd shifted.
Some stopped talking entirely.
"I've seen people die over things that didn't even matter. Fear. Hunger. Pride." Her gaze moved briefly toward the man still kneeling in the sand. "…Just now, over bread."
A faint tension spread through the arena.
"This place changes you," she said. "At first, you hesitate. You question it. But after a while… you stop asking whether something is right or wrong."
Her voice sharpened.
"You just do what you need to survive."
She paused.
"I lost someone because of that."
"And after that… I stopped caring about the difference." A brief silence followed.
"I lost control." No one spoke now.
Even the wind seemed quieter.
"I don't want to live like that anymore."
Her voice steadied—not softer, but more certain.
"I don't think any of us should."
A few people scoffed.
But no one interrupted.
"We've all been given the same power," she continued, glancing around the colosseum. "The ability to judge others. To decide where they belong."
She let that sit.
"So instead of turning on each other like animals…"
Her grip tightened around the spear.
"…we use it properly."
The murmurs returned—quieter, uncertain.
"By forming an alliance."
"A Council of Judges."
That got a reaction. Some laughed. Others frowned.
"And what—play heroes?" someone called out.
"That's naive."
"That's suicide."
Layla didn't look at them.
"If we're going to be forced into this role," she said calmly, "then we should at least choose how we use it."
"That's the least we could do."
The murmurs grew.
Doubt.
Mockery.
Fear.
But this time—I didn't hesitate.
The sound of my footsteps cut through the noise. Each step felt heavier than the last, the sand shifting beneath me as if trying to pull me back.
The alley.
The blood.
The screams.
The memories that wouldn't leave—
I stopped beside her.
"I'll join."
The words cut through the arena like a blade. The crowd went quiet.
"Y—you can't be serious…?" someone muttered.
It sounded ridiculous. Childish, even. Maybe it was.
But something—something made sense.
For the first time since all of this began something felt… Possible.
"Welllll…" Dan stretched his arms lazily.
"I ain't got anywhere better to be.".He grinned. "Guess I'm in too."
"To the greater good!" He raised his hand.
And for the first time—
That felt like a new start.