The next trial had begun before the sun even rose.
A harsh knock sounded at the door, and I was instantly out of bed, leaving Oliver to lie there a moment longer.
From the other side of the door, a guard’s voice came. “The second trial will be held in the arena below the temple. You are to meet us there at once.”
Oliver stirred and sat up in the bed. “We will be there in a moment,” he responded.
I stepped into the hall so he could change into his ritual clothes. Castor was already there, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword like it could stop the next trial.
Once Oliver joined us, we began to walk. Gart, the guard who had been assigned to us, led us to the arena—though I could sense through the bond that Oliver already knew where to go.
We stepped into the same ritual chamber as before, but the center of the room now held stairs leading deep into the darkness below.
We walked down the steps, the low candlelight guiding our way. As we descended, Oliver pulled on the bond.
I knew what trial this was. I had seen it done once when I was younger. A man stole from a local merchant and was made to fight a beast.
Through the bond, I could feel his fear creeping in. I will have to face this one on my own.
What kind of beast? I asked.
A hungry one. One that’s been down here since before I was born. My father used to tell me they saved the village from it once, then trapped it here to use it.
Panic rose in his chest. They heal its wounds just enough that it won’t die. When I wouldn’t listen to my father, he would threaten to feed me to it. I guess he is now.
Maybe I’ll feed him to it, I sent back. Through the bond, I felt Oliver’s inward chuckle. What is this beast called? I asked, pulling on the bond for more answers.
The Hollowfang.
As the staircase ended, a long hallway stretched out in front of us.
As we walked, the smell of dirt and stone grounded me.
We stepped into a large, round room with seating that curved around the entire arena. Every seat was full.
Of priests.
Of priestesses.
Of villagers from Gyra.
All of them wore eager faces.
An eagerness I knew all too well.
An eagerness that had shaped me.
The eagerness for bloodshed.
The same faces from the first trial stared down at us, hungry, expectant.
In the center of the room stood a large circle surrounded by a stone barrier etched with symbols. None of them meant anything to me.
Oliver tugged gently on the bond. Those symbols are sigils. They’ll lock anything inside the circle until the trial is over.
What he didn’t say was that they also locked people out of it. He didn’t need to.
Suddenly, Gart grabbed Oliver by the arm and pulled him away from Castor and me. I stepped forward, ready for a fight.
Let him take me. I’ll be okay. Oliver’s voice filled my mind.
What? No. I can help. You don’t have to do this alone, I pushed back.
I felt his hesitation before his response. I do. Don’t cross those symbols. No matter what happens.
I watched as Gart dragged him away, wishing for nothing more than to bury my fist in Gart’s face.
Castor stepped up beside me. “He will make it. We just need to wait.”
I walked to the outer edge of the stone barrier. Power hummed beneath my bare feet. The stone was warmer than it should have been, heat radiating from the sigils. Castor followed and stood beside me.
“I don’t like waiting,” I said, crossing my arms.
He sighed. “I know. Neither do I.”
Oliver walked into the circle.
No weapon in his hand.
Nothing to protect him from the beast.
My heartbeat thrummed so loudly in my chest I could barely hear the crowd.
They were setting him up to fail.
I looked around the arena. A raised stand jutted out from the seats, and in it sat Oliver’s father.
He stood and addressed the room. “You stand accused of endangering Gyra.”
Shouts erupted from the stands.
A few villagers hurled rotten food toward Oliver.
My blood boiled.
I had to stop this.
Just as the thought formed, I felt the bond.
Oliver was not afraid.
He wasn’t angry.
He was waiting.
I stilled and listened.
“You will defeat the beast known as the Hollowfang to prove you will protect Gyra,” his father continued.
“Nobody is to interfere until the beast is defeated.”
I felt his gaze settle on me.
“If this ritual is interfered with, the consequence is death by fire.”
Oliver lifted his chin and met my eyes.
Don’t. I can handle this.
My breath came ragged. How can I just stand here and watch them do this?
The smell of death filled the air, rust and blood, heavy on my chest.
From the other side of the arena, a massive creature emerged, hunched on all fours. Its claws gouged the stone as it moved. Its muzzle was long and scarred, ears pointed sharply upward as if listening to the world itself. A yellow spiral brand glowed on its front leg. A heavy chain dragged from the collar around its neck. Bright yellow eyes fixed on Oliver. Saliva dripped from its mouth.
I moved forward instinctively.
The barrier’s heat surged through my feet, pain flaring as I recoiled.
“Let the trial begin,” Oliver’s father boomed.
The Hollowfang circled Oliver, its chain clanking and throwing sparks.
Oliver moved slowly, as if each inch of movement might calm the beast.
It lunged.
He dodged, but not fast enough. A claw caught his side, and his white ritual clothes bloomed red.
Through the bond, pain slammed into me, white-hot, stinging. Every survival instinct screamed for me to end it.
I couldn’t.
Instead, I waited at the barrier, breath held, watching.
The crowd cheered.
I looked up at his father. A smile played on his lips.
Oliver seized the dragging chain.
One well-placed blow, I sent. End it.
He didn’t respond.
Instead, he pulled on the chain until the beast buckled.
Then, impossibly, he approached it.
The Hollowfang struck again, raking his leg. Blood soaked his trousers.
He didn’t flinch.
Oliver lowered himself before the creature and touched the glowing spiral. The Hollowfang bared its teeth but didn’t bite.
The arena fell silent.
Golden light spilled from Oliver’s hands, his healing light.
My breath rushed. Why isn’t he ending it?
“I know what it feels like to be caged,” Oliver said, not to the crowd, but to the beast. “To be forced into obedience in order to be controlled.”
The Hollowfang watched him.
Oliver hovered his hand near its muzzle. “You have no reason to trust me. But this is not the life you will continue to live.”
The beast leaned into his touch.
Oliver rose and removed the metal ring from its neck, revealing raw, bleeding skin beneath. He dropped the collar to the stone with a heavy thud.
“You are free, my friend,” he said, stepping back.
The Hollowfang shook its head, testing movement it had never known. Then it charged.
Castor and I leapt aside as the beast vaulted the barrier. The stench of seared flesh and burned hair filled the air as guards chased after it.
The hum beneath my feet faltered, then began to fade.
I jumped the barrier, heat burning as I cleared it, and ran to Oliver just as he began to sway.
I caught him before he fell.
“That was stupid,” I hissed. “Why did you do that?”
“Because every creature deserves a life,” he said, eyes searching the crowd.
I lifted his shirt. The wounds were deep. “I can’t heal you.”
“I know,” he said, breathless. “I can heal myself once we get back. They aren’t… that bad.”
“Liar,” I muttered, helping him walk.
“You are not yet free to go,” his father’s voice rang out.
We turned.
Oliver straightened and walked to stand beneath his father’s seat. “To protect Gyra,” he said, swaying, “we must understand what life is not. Life is not harming a beast for sport.”
His father glared down. “You speak of mercy, not of life.”
“Life is understanding that mercy is a choice,” Oliver said, lifting his chin. “A choice I will continue to make.”
“You are dismissed,” his father said, waving a hand.
Oliver returned to me, draped an arm over my shoulders, and we left the arena with Castor close behind.
Whispers crawled through the stands.
“She’s changed him,” one murmured.
Another voice, even quieter, replied, “Maybe he is right.”