The orientation hall was nothing short of excessive. Picture a room where wealth and drama had an all-out brawl and decided to compromise by making everything shine. Got it? Now multiply it by tenfold. Chandeliers dripped with crystals, tossing rainbows across polished marble floors. The seats were more like thrones, each one screaming "look at me" in the most obnoxious way possible.

I sank into my assigned seat, wedged between Mr. Severed Head, the guy who proudly carried the decapitated head of a Sacrifice, and his blood-splattered girlfriend. My body screamed in protest, but I ignored it. Around me, the so-called "Heroes" settled into their chairs, some looking as battered as I felt, while others appeared frustratingly untouched. My eyes met Roran’s across the room. He gave a subtle nod, and I returned it.

“Welcome, esteemed competitors, to your new home,” a voice oozing charm but with a razor edge, announced. A short man stepped into the center of the stage. He was all sharp angles and rough lines, from his razor-sharp jawline to the decorative wings fluttering behind his back. His brown eyes seemed to glow with an inner light that was both alluring and unsettling.

"My name is Sir Quajar, along with Madame Celeste," he said, gesturing to the sharp-cheeked woman beside him, "will be your hosts for this... grand event."

Madame Celeste’s smile was as sharp as her wings, which gave a dainty flutter as she took the spotlight. "Now, dear Heroes, let me tell you about the real competition you’ve all signed up for." Her voice was like silk stretched thin, each word carefully chosen to make our skin crawl.

A hologram flickered to life behind her, showcasing a room straight out of a luxury magazine. "Your accommodations, for starters," she purred, "will be fitting of your new status. Each of you will be assigned a private suite in the third wing of the palace."

I sat up a little, curiosity battling my exhaustion. This was starting to sound like less of a death sentence and more of a vacation—until the hologram shifted to show an obstacle course that looked like something from a sadistic theme park.

"The second challenge," Celeste continued, voice dropping just enough to pull us in, "will be a team race. You’ll be paired with other competitors to navigate a course designed to test not just your skill, but your ability to work together." She paused, letting the word hang in the air as if it were a foreign concept to a room full of killers.

"And lastly," her voice dipped even lower, "the final trial: Gladiators. The remaining Heroes will fight each other. Only the best will survive."

A shiver ran through the room. The tension was thick enough to cut with a dull knife. "Now, we're not complete monsters," Madame Celeste said with a laugh that suggested otherwise. "You'll have five days of rest between each challenge. Use this time wisely. Your private rooms will be equipped with everything you need."

I almost relaxed until her smile widened, showing too many sharp teeth. "And of course, there will be mandatory social events. These will be just as important as the trials themselves. Impress the right people, and you might find unexpected... advantages."

The hologram shifted to an opulent dining hall. “And the jewel of these gatherings,” Celeste said, voice dripping with excitement, “is a weekly dinner with the Royal Family. They will be watching your every move. Don't squander the opportunity."

My stomach twisted. So, not only did we have to survive deadly challenges, we had to impress the very people orchestrating them. Fantastic.

"Any questions?" Madame Celeste asked sweetly, but the room stayed silent. She smiled as if she expected no less. "Good. May the best Hero win, and may Aurion have mercy on the rest."

As her words sank in, Sir Quajar stepped forward again, this time holding a tray lined with velvet. On it were gleaming pins bearing the Royal Crest. "Before you retire, each of you will receive two items. First, the Royal Crest."

He held up a pin, its crown insignia gleaming under the chandelier light, each of its three stars represented by a different gemstone, sapphire, amber, and black opal, no doubt representing the Three Gods.

It marks you as an honored guest and competitor in the Summer Festival. Wear it with pride, but more importantly, wear it at all times. It will grant you access to areas of the palace reserved for competitors."

Quajar made his way around, personally pinning the crests onto each of us. When he reached me, I couldn’t help but notice how cool his fingers felt against my skin as he fastened the pin. I stared at the gemstones for a second, wondering how something so small could carry so much weight.

“And second,” Quajar continued, holding up a small golden key, “this is your room key. Guard it well. Only you and the staff will have access to your quarters. Consider it your sanctuary.”

He began another round of the room, handing out keys to each of us. When he reached me, I noticed that the key had a number engraved on it – likely corresponding to my room. I tucked it into my belt, already planning to lock myself in for as long as possible.

Once all the keys were distributed, Quajar stepped back to his spot beside Madame Celeste. "You are dismissed," she said smoothly. "The staff will escort you to your rooms. And remember, your first social gathering is tomorrow evening. Be there... and shine."

Both swept off the stage, leaving behind a trail of tension and dread. I couldn’t help but feel like I’d just accidentally signed up for a beautifully packaged nightmare. The other competitors began to shuffle out, each lost in their own thoughts.

A young woman with black eyes and an air of unsettling calm approached me. "This way," she said quietly. Her movements were eerily fluid, like she was gliding across the floor.

We filed out into the grand corridor, which was just as over-the-top as the hall we’d come from—tapestries, chandeliers, and all. I barely noticed. My mind was spinning with everything we’d just been told. Social events, challenges, gladiators. All while trying to keep up the pretense that I was just another one of the heroes. Another man.

No pressure, right?

As we filed out of the orientation hall and into the grand corridor, the opulence didn’t stop. Nope, it just kept screaming, "Look how rich I am!" Ornate tapestries hung from the walls, depicting heroic battles and mythical beasts in what had to be the most extra embroidery I’d ever seen. The carpet was so thick it felt like walking on clouds, and the air was filled with the scent of exotic flowers I couldn’t even begin to name. Fancy perfume, for people with way too much time on their hands.

My escort led me through a dizzying labyrinth of hallways. Seriously, this palace had more twists and turns than a bad romance novel. We passed fountains that defied gravity (because of course they did), statues that shifted just enough to make you think they were alive, and windows showing impossible landscapes like something out of a fever dream. It was as if whoever designed this place had a checklist titled, "How to be obnoxiously magical."

"Your room is in the east wing," my guide finally said as we started climbing a grand staircase that looked like it had never seen a speck of dust in its life. "It overlooks the Gardens."

“Lovely,” I muttered, mostly to myself, too tired to care anymore. My body ached from every angle, and the weight of the Royal Crest pin on my collar felt like a thousand pounds. I’d ask her to carry me the rest of the way, but I didn’t think she had it in her.

As we trudged through what felt like a never-ending maze of marble and gold, I spotted other competitors being herded off to their own rooms. Some looked just as wrecked as I felt, while others strutted around like they were born for this. I wondered how many of them were secretly terrified and just putting on a brave face.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of hallways, staircases, and "How much gold is too much gold?" moments, we stopped at a door. It was rich mahogany, intricately carved with swirls and shapes I didn’t have the energy to decipher. A small plaque with a number on it matched the one engraved on my key. My key to the luxury jail cell.

"This is your room. If you need anything, simply ring the bell inside. Breakfast is served in the Sunburst Dining Hall at 9 AM sharp. Any questions?" I blinked at her. Did I have questions? Absolutely. Did I have the energy to form a coherent sentence? Absolutely not. I shook my head.

“Very well.” She gave a slight bow, because this place wasn’t already weird enough. “Rest well, and good luck in the competition.”

She turned to leave, and I thought that was the end of it, but then a question bubbled up from my exhausted brain. "Wait," I called after her. She paused, half-turning. "What’s your name?"

For a second, surprise flickered across her face, but she quickly smoothed it over with that professional servant mask. "Aria," she said softly. "My name is Aria."

And with that, she disappeared down the corridor, leaving me alone in front of my fancy door. I stared at the golden key in my hand, cool and heavy, before shoving it into the lock. With a twist and a click, the door swung open, and I stepped into what would be my new home, or gilded cage, for however long I survived this nightmare.

I froze in the doorway, completely overwhelmed by the sheer luxury of the room. It was enormous. Soft golden light spilled from ornate sconces, casting a warm glow over everything, like the room had been designed by a team of gods whose only goal was to make you feel both pampered and out of place at the same time.

In the center of the room was a massive four-poster bed, draped with shimmering curtains that shifted color as they swayed. The bedding looked so soft and inviting, I was tempted to dive headfirst into it and disappear forever. Embroidered across the duvet was a scene from the legends of Aurion, just in case I forgot where I was. Off to the right was a sitting area. Plush white velvet chairs surrounded a low table with a crystal decanter filled with something amber and fancy, no doubt. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with leather-bound books that looked old enough to have witnessed the dawn of time.The far wall was one giant window, offering a breathtaking view of what must have been the Gardens. Even in the twilight, I could see the silhouettes of topiaries and the glint of otherworldly flowers. The whole scene felt too perfect to be real.

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A massive wardrobe stood to the left, its doors slightly ajar, revealing an array of clothes in every color of the rainbow, and a few I didn’t even know existed. Beside it, a vanity sparkled with an obscene amount of jewelry and beauty products, like someone expected me to show up to battle looking like a queen. And the bathroom? Visible through an open archway, it looked like something out of a royal spa. Marble and gold everywhere, with a sunken tub big enough to host a small party. Oils and bath salts were artfully arranged like some kind of ritual offering to the gods of luxury.

As I took it all in, something moved in the center of the room. My breath hitched. Slowly, I turned toward the movement, and my heart nearly stopped. Leaning casually against the wall, dressed in a maid’s uniform of all things, was a figure I knew all too well.

Ellowen. Smiling like the cat who caught the canary.

“Welcome home, Hero,” Ellowen practically purred, letting the last word drip with so much sarcasm it could drown a dragon. “Shall I draw you a bath, or are you more the ‘I’ll save the world with my hair wet’ type now?”

For a second, I was paralyzed, staring at her like I’d seen a ghost. Part of me thought maybe I had—because Ellowen, alive and smirking in a maid's uniform? Impossible. The maze should’ve swallowed her whole. My brain couldn’t catch up, but the flood of relief hit me first, stronger than the disbelief.

“Ellowen,” I gasped, the name tumbling out of my mouth. “You’re alive!”

Before I could stop myself, I crossed the room in a few quick steps and wrapped her in a fierce hug. She was solid. Warm. Real. The sheer physical presence of her dispelled the doubt lingering in my head. This wasn’t a dream or some illusion conjured up by this freaky, magic-infused palace.

“Still breathing, somehow,” she replied, her voice muffled against my shoulder but full of that familiar nonchalance.

I pulled back, my hands gripping her shoulders, eyes scanning her face. Something had changed, the glint in her eyes was sharper, her smile more cynical. Yet, she was still undeniably Ellowen. Still the same girl I met in a cellar and thought I’d lost forever.

“How.. how did you survive?” The questions poured out faster than I could stop them. “And this?” I gestured at her maid’s uniform, as if that explained anything. “Are you a servant now? How did you find me? How–"

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, hero boy,” Ellowen laughed, stepping back from me. She smoothed out her dress with the casual grace of someone completely unbothered by the madness we’d both been through. “Let’s start with the maze, yeah? Believe it or not, I managed to find a gap in one of the walls. Dumb luck, really. Squeezed through, ended up in the cellars.”

She twirled around, showing off the maid's uniform with a dramatic flourish. “This? First thing I could find before anyone saw me. Didn’t exactly have time for a wardrobe change.”

I blinked at her, incredulous. “You became a maid? Just like that?”

Ellowen grinned. “Well, not on purpose, obviously. I was going to slip away, but some girl rushed me out into the halls. Then, as fate would have it, I saw you. Up on the Hero platform, no less.”

I stared at her, still trying to process. “You recognized me?” My hand unconsciously went to my newly chopped hair. “But I’m supposed to look like… this.”

“You’ve still got those pretty purple eyes, genius,” she replied with a wink. “Hard to miss. Plus, the whole ‘Undetermined’ thing on the room list? Dead giveaway. Well, because you were never meant to be a Hero”

The weight of her words hit me. I wasn't supposed to be here, wasn't supposed to be a competitor. I was an anomaly in a game I didn't fully understand, thrown into this deadly competition by mistake.

“And you’re not supposed to be a maid,” I shot back, raising an eyebrow. “Looks like we’re both gate-crashing this little murder party.”

Ellowen chuckled, but there was a flicker of something softer in her gaze. “Blithe, seriously… What does this mean for us? You being a Hero, me being… whatever this is.”

I leaned back against the bedpost, running a hand through my short hair. The question had been gnawing at me since the second I saw her. Neither of us belonged here, and yet… here we were. “It means the game’s more complicated than we thought. And we’re both playing it now, whether we like it or not.”

Her smile faded, replaced by a more somber expression. “And we can’t trust anyone, right? Not the other Heroes, not the staff, and definitely not the people running this circus.”

I nodded grimly. “We need to be smart. Gather information, find allies, figure out what happens to the winners… and the losers.”

Ellowen’s eyes sparkled with the kind of mischief that used to get us both in trouble back in the cellars. “Good thing I’m excellent at eavesdropping. Maids are invisible, you know. I’ve already overheard some juicy tidbits.”

“Just be careful,” I warned, gripping her arm tighter than I intended. “If they catch you snooping…”

Ellowen gave me a playful nudge. “Relax, Blithe. I’ve got this.” Her smile turned serious again. “But what about you? You’re front and center now, wearing that ridiculous Hero pin.”

I glanced down at the Royal Crest pinned to my collar, the weight of it suddenly suffocating. “I’ll play their game. Be the perfect little Hero. And while I’m doing that, I’ll be watching, learning. We’ll use whatever information we can get.”

“Survival mode, huh?” She nodded, her fingers twirling a sharp needle-like object. Something about the way she handled it so casually made me wonder what else she had up her sleeve.

“Ellowen,” I said, my voice suddenly urgent, “the other Sacrifices – do you know what happened to them? Are there others like us, caught between roles?”

Her brow furrowed. “I don’t know. But if there are, we’ll find them. We need all the allies we can get.”

I nodded, feeling a strange flicker of hope despite the madness around us. “So, we gather information, find allies, and watch each other’s backs. Agreed?”

Ellowen grinned, extending her hand. “And we survive. No matter what.”

“No matter what,” I echoed, shaking her hand firmly.

Ellowen straightened, smoothing out her uniform again. “I should go before someone gets suspicious.”

“Will I see you again?” I asked, hating how desperate the question sounded.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find some excuse to come ‘clean your room’ soon,” she teased. “Just act natural. No one can know we’re working together.”

I rolled my eyes. “Right, because I’m so good at ‘acting natural.’”

Ellowen laughed, but before she left, her expression softened. “Be careful, Blithe.”

“It’s Elijah now, remember?” I winked. “Gotta commit to the role.”

“May the Gods help us, Brother Elijah.” She smirked, then slipped out of the room, leaving me alone with a head full of questions and a gnawing sense of dread.

I stared at the door she had just closed behind her. Ellowen’s presence was a blessing I didn’t expect, but it only complicated things further. If I was going to survive this, I needed more than just a sharp tongue and a friend in disguise. I needed power, and since I didn’t have any fancy abilities, I had to rely on the next best thing: knowledge.

My eyes fell on the ornate bell pull near the bed. If I wanted to survive and thrive in this game, I needed to start playing now. Without hesitation, I tugged on the bell. Moments later, a soft knock came at the door. To my surprise, it was the same servant who had escorted me to the room earlier.

"You called, sir?" she asked, her tone polite but impassive. I noted the shift—no fear, no hesitation. The staff here were well-trained, unshakable.

I straightened, letting a lazy confidence seep into my posture, mimicking the Heroes I’d seen lording over others. “Yes, I’d like a bath drawn,” I replied smoothly, adopting the air of someone who was used to giving orders. My voice, sharp with control, sounded foreign even to me.

The servant blinked, just a flicker of surprise, before she bowed her head. “Of course, sir. I'd be happy to assist.”

I watched her carefully, gauging her reactions as she moved with mechanical precision. She began filling the ornate tub with steaming water, adding lavender oil with practiced grace. My fingers brushed the handle of the kitchen knife I'd carefully set on the table, alongside the pearl necklace. She didn’t notice, not yet. But she would.

She moved swiftly, expertly, the scent of lavender and sandalwood filling the air. I inhaled, allowing myself a moment of calm even as my mind raced through possibilities. She turned, a polite smile fixed on her lips. “The bath is ready, sir. Would you like assistance disrobing?”

The question caught me off guard. I forced myself to remain calm. “That won’t be necessary,” I said coolly, waving her off. “I prefer to bathe alone.”

Her expression didn’t change. She bowed slightly. “As you wish. I’ll return in an hour to clean up, sir.” She hesitated. “Is there anything else?”

I shook my head, already looking past her. “That will be all.”

As she made her way toward the door, I kept my eyes on her, watching carefully. Just as she passed the table, her hand darted out, quick as a snake, snagging the pearl necklace and tucking it into her apron. I didn’t flinch, didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, I turned away, as though my mind had wandered, as though she was nothing more than another piece of furniture.

The door clicked shut, and only then did I let out the breath I’d been holding. That had been too close. Far too close. But it had worked. I’d set the bait, and she’d taken it. I now had leverage, and in this place, leverage was everything. The pearl necklace was worthless, just a trinket, but for her, it could mean punishment, maybe even death. And I intended to exploit every ounce of that fear.

I moved toward the bath, pausing when I caught sight of myself in the mirror. My reflection felt alien, like I was looking at someone else entirely. The short curls framed my face in an unfamiliar, boyish way, the once soft lines of my cheeks now sharp, accentuated by the roughness of blood. My eyes—those cursed, striking purple eyes—still shone through, even as grime and exhaustion darkened my features. I’d have to hide them, maybe find some eye drops, or even dull them with dirt.

My chest tightened at the sight of my body. I was thinner now, leaner, my muscles hardened by years in the Ilyan desert and honed to perfection by survival. My fingers ghosted over my ribs, where the bruises spread like ink beneath my skin. Each breath was a reminder of the latest fight, the most recent betrayal.

But the scars, those were the real problem. I hated them. Each white line etched into my skin was a memory I didn’t want to carry, a story that someone could read. They didn’t just mark my body; they marked my failures. And I wasn’t sure I could bear to explain them.

I stripped off the ragged shirt, glancing down at my chest. I’d need to bind it tightly, hide any trace of femininity. The thought made me sick, but there wasn’t a choice. Not if I wanted to survive.

As I sank into the hot water, my wounds stinging as the lavender seeped into them, I tried to shake off the weight that pressed down on me. The room was luxurious, grand, but it felt cold. Empty. Like I didn’t belong. I wasn’t in Ilyan anymore. No more Ajlar teasing me about my muscles, no more fights over scraps of food or water. Back then, even in the hunger and the heat, I could laugh.

But here? Here, I had nothing but my fear and the knowledge that I was trapped. I hugged myself, sinking deeper into the water wishing I could disappear beneath its surface. What right did I have to feel this way? I was a Hero now, people would kill to be where I was. But as I closed my eyes, the memories of the dead flooded back. People I’d left behind. Sacrifices made, lives traded for mine.

Somewhere, surviving, I’d lost something. Something I couldn’t even name.

And I wasn’t sure I’d ever get it back.