The dark blurred. A warmth pressed against his chest—delicate hands, golden strands of hair like trailing sunlight. A presence. Gentle. Distant. Unseen.
Then, nothing.
Caelvir's eyes shot open.
The room was quiet. Empty.
No golden-haired woman. No hands on his chest. Only the echo of something long gone. He tried to rise, but the softness beneath him resisted like waves of water. Not sand. Not the chill of stone or the sting of bloodied gravel. No, this... this was different.
Silk. Satin. He recognized it.
He had felt it once before, when he'd awakened after his first victory under Lady Venara's care. The same silken sheets, the same delicate scent in the air, like crushed petals and cold perfume. It unsettled him then, and now again. Strange, how twice he found himself in comfort when he had grown up with pain. He was more used to the sting of dirt in wounds than this softness.
There was a knock. Then a voice.
"My lord," a soft voice called.
He turned. A maid stood in the doorway, flanked by two guards in crimson-laced armor.
"Lady Venara requests your presence," the maid said, bowing. "She awaits you for dinner. In the same place."
Caelvir nodded, wordless. He followed them.
The halls were wide and glistening. Marble floors underfoot, the scent of incense trailing through the corridors like ghosts. He glanced around, watching the people they passed. Their eyes turned to him.
They still stared.
But the contempt, the disgust he'd once seen there had dulled. They didn't look at him with fear now. Rather... unease. As one might regard an unwelcome guest at a noble's banquet. He was not one of them. That much hadn't changed.
The feeling was mutual.
They entered the grand hall.
The long table awaited, draped in pristine ivory cloth, silverware catching the light like unsheathed blades. He walked to his seat, the same one as before—far from Venara, both seated at opposite ends. Equal, by placement. Not by reality.
Steam rose from the roasted pork before him. Rich. Tender. Hot.
Just like last time.
Just like before the fight with Brusk... when the food meant for him had been snatched away and devoured, leaving him empty and humiliated. It all rushed back.
Venara entered in her usual grace, Elowen shadowing her like a distant moon to a sun. She sat, smiling.
"Welcome back, Caelvir," she said warmly. "You've won quite a few fights now. Praise is due."
Elowen's face tightened, just slightly.
Caelvir noticed.
He lowered his gaze. "I'm unworthy of such praise, my lady. If not for your grace... I would still be nothing more than a forgotten slave beneath the Colosseum."
"Stop with the humility," Venara said with a scoff. "And I have no need for flattery here."
He looked at the meat before him again. It stared back like a cruel reminder.
She paused.
A strange silence followed. Venara exchanged a look with Elowen. Then she asked, careful, yet inquisitive:
"Tell me, Caelvir... did anything strange happen before or during your fight?"
He considered.
"Brusk fell ill mid-battle," he said. "Or perhaps... I became stronger. I don't recall it well. I was nearly dead when it happened. Anyone watching should've seen it."
He hesitated.
"There was one thing, before the match. In the cells... we were served food. Two meals. Before the fight."
Then he blinked. "But forgive me. That likely isn't worth your time."
Venara and Elowen exchanged a stare—eyes wide. Blink. Stillness.
"Two meals?" Venara asked. "Interesting. Meals are served the day before battles, never minutes before. A full stomach ruins the spectacle. It's standard."
Elowen nodded. "Are you sure about the timing?"
Caelvir bowed his head. "Yes. And... Brusk took mine. As usual. He always bullied others. Took what he wanted."
But something in the air changed.
Venara and Elowen had frozen.
Both women exchanged a long, slow glance.
Then—
Laughter.
Venara burst into it, hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with mirth. Elowen chuckled too—quietly, turning away as if to hide it.
Venara leaned back, eyes gleaming. "Oh, that's rich. Of all the ironies…"
"That meal," Venara said, "was probably poisoned."
Caelvir blinked. "What?"
"Yes," she continued, almost gleeful. "By that pig Masquien of House Hollowmere. He arranged for the food to reach you just before the match. A subtle poison—meant to slow your blood, dim your mind. But your little friend Brusk swallowed it instead."
"And those one-armed fools," Elowen added. "They were misled. That same pig arranged for one of them to stab you."
Venara leaned back, amused. "He went to such lengths, so confident in his plan... and in the end, it all crumbled. Hilariously."
Elowen, while more reserved, couldn't hide her amusement.
Caelvir sat in stunned silence.
He remembered—Brusk's blood. Coughing, but no visible wounds. Internal. No marks. It all made sense now.
Venara's eyes twinkled as she tilted her head. "And you. You risked your life for those men. Brave. Or reckless."
She softened her tone. "It was a noble act, even if unwise. Kindness can be... dangerous. But what Brusk did? That was evil. And strangely, it turned out more lethal."
She hesitated. "Though... I don't mean to call your kindness stupid. I take that back."
"No, you're right," Caelvir said. "It was stupid. I acted on instinct. They were allies, and I… I reacted."
Again, the two women froze. Elowen stifled a laugh, but Venara shot her a glare sharp enough to draw blood. Elowen went still.
Venara looked back at Caelvir, a smile curling on her lips. "Then... you're a very reliable comrade."
He looked down. "...Probably not."
This time, it wasn't humility. And she saw that.
An awkward pause followed.
"I meant no offense," Caelvir said suddenly. "Forgive me if I sounded ungrateful. I'm thankful for everything you've done, truly."
Venara waved a hand. "Don't worry yourself. Let's eat."
He stared at his plate.
He hesitated.
What if he had eaten that meal in the cells? Would he even be here now?
Venara tilted her head, playful. "Go on. Don't tell me... you think it's poisoned?"
Elowen's expression snapped into fury. "My lady—!"
Caelvir jolted. "No—no! Of course not. I would never—"
Venara stood.
Elowen stepped forward, confused. "Lady Venara?"
Venara walked toward him, her expression light. "I suppose... I made you uneasy. That was cruel of me."
She sat. Right beside him.
Elowen hurried, mouth tight, and stood just behind her.
Caelvir froze. Improper. This implied status. Rank. Nobility would sneer.
He moved to stand, to switch his seat—but her hand caught his.
He blinked. "My lady?!"
Venara smiled. "No need for formalities. Let's just eat."
She reached out, took a piece of the meat on his plate, and bit.
She swallowed. "See? No poison."
Elowen muttered, "Why do we even have food tasters..." and sighed.
Venara winked. "It sounds like a fun job. Delicious, even."
"Lady Venara, please," Elowen whispered, exasperated.
Caelvir didn't speak. He watched her.
Venara had lowered her mask again. No titles. No pomp. She treated him like an equal—or something dangerously close.
Could it be a tactic? A trap cloaked in kindness?
He shook his head. No. He couldn't afford to be swayed.
"My lady," he said, steady. "I fear I've grown too comfortable. Please, take my seat. I will move aside."
Venara blinked, feigning a pout. "What? Did you not like that I ate from your plate? I'd be upset too."
Caelvir bowed. "Everything here is yours, lady Venara. I am but a servant of the Colosseum. Undeserving of your favors."
Venara sighed. "Well, if that's how you feel, then be as you wish. I won't pressure you."
She returned to her seat.
They ate in silence for a time. Sipped wine. Chewed slowly.
When the last of the wine was poured and the remnants of the meal had grown cold, Venara placed her goblet down with a soft clink and glanced toward Caelvir.
"You may stay here for the night," she said casually, almost like an afterthought. "Make yourself comfortable."
Caelvir straightened, uneasy. "My lady… that would be far too rude of me. To rest in a place such as this... for someone like me..."
Venara's smile vanished.
Her eyes met his, cold and commanding.
"I was not asking," she said, voice sharp as steel. "Those were orders."
He froze. The air thinned around him.
"I'm sorry, Lady Venara," he said quickly, bowing his head low. "I was too crude."
Her smile returned, warm and light once more, as if the command had never happened.
"Please don't mind it," she said gently. "But next time I give you something… don't flatter me with words. Please me with obedience."
He nodded. "Yes, my lady. I understand. Thank you."
She rose then, her figure gliding around the table, Elowen following in tow. Just before passing the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder.
"The maids will take you to your bed," she said. "Tomorrow morning, you'll return to the Colosseum."
Caelvir remained quiet, listening.
"You've come this far," she continued. "Go and finish it. Reach your hundred."
He opened his mouth to respond, but her voice cut through again—one final line, lingering with strange weight.
"And when the time comes… you'll have to make a choice. One among many."
Caelvir furrowed his brow. "My lady… what do you mean?"
But she was already gone. Her silhouette vanished down the corridor, Elowen's figure trailing behind like a quiet shadow.
He stood in silence until a maid came to collect him. She guided him through more corridors, past quiet walls and velvet-curtained windows, until they reached a room—familiar, and yet not.
Silk sheets. Satin cushions. Perfume in the air like whispered memories.
And yet, despite the softness, sleep came slow.
In the silence of the mansion, the words echoed still:
A choice... one among many.