“We plead that you attempt to escape.”

The speaker possessed an accent Perseus couldn’t place, and it felt like he was speaking inside his head.

“We also plead that you cling to the delusion of returning to your former lives,” the man continued.

Former lives.

Perseus wiggled his toes in the mud. The rain wouldn’t relent. They had led him off the ship several horai ago with his hands and feet manacled, head covered with a sack, and speech still impossible.

“Make this interesting for us.” There was a sneer in those words. “Try to resist your new station, revered blood carriers.”

They transported him and other captives from the shore in a horse-drawn wagon, one that bumped and bounced from how madly they drove the animals. All through the jostling ride, Perseus could think of nothing but that terrifying encounter. The things the mysterious goddess had suggested about his life and her offer which he promptly refused.

“A bold but ignorant choice. I shall await your pitiable return.”

The sack covering Perseus’ head was snatched away. Light flooded his vision as rain pelted his now-exposed face. He dragged in a lungful of cool air, catching nothing but the smell of rain and damp earth.

They were in the arena of a colosseum. Tall poles lined its high round edge, and the attached flags hung limply, their colour muted by the rain.

When Perseus shivered, it wasn’t from the biting cold. Another colosseum came to mind, this one much larger. The excited roar of wild spectators. The scent of blood in the air, how the hot sand turned red, and the clicking sounds the beasts made as they rushed at his father.

Blinking away the memory, Perseus' gaze roved over the gathering. The females were significantly fewer than the boys and all were young and stone-faced. The absolute silence of the spectators was somewhat unnerving. That air of wild merriment one would expect in a colosseum was missing. Instead, there was a tension in the air and for some reason, Perseus felt like cattle. The watchers were the butchers.

A glance to his left and right and Perseus confirmed he wasn’t the only one who received a beating upon his capture.

The large boy at Perseus’ side stared blankly ahead, his face a map of bruises and cuts. And to Perseus’ right was a girl with a body more fitting for a brothel than a fighting arena. Her face had also not escaped a beating, and her clothes—whatever remained of it—were stained with blood and dirt. Another quick glance around and he found there were at least twelve others. And if he was to go by what the man had said earlier, they must be blood carriers as well.

“You shall give a performance,” the voice carried on. “A fight for your station according to your abilities.”

Perseus sought out the speaker.

Ahead, a tall slender man stood with hands held at his back, and next to him was an occupied canopied dais. Perseus counted eight of them. Servants carrying jugs and large trays bearing delicacies attended to the guests with fluid efficiency and reverence. The guests’ fine clothes and stiff posture showed some noble background.

Mood souring, Perseus immediately marked them as the enemy. Crushing the rise of bitter emotions, he returned his attention to the speaker.

Judging from how the rain formed an outline around his body instead of wetting him, it was either he was a topmost blood carrier or a low deity.

As for Perseus’ kidnap, he came to a conclusion. News of him carrying Zeus’ blood must have reached the ears of some royal or wealthy family. His kidnapping may have been years in the making.

The dark goddess' words returned, reminding Perseus of a possibility he was unwilling to confront or accept.

“You are a tool to the gods. Your kidnap and the trials in your future. None is a coincidence.”

A hand suddenly grabbed Perseus by the back of the neck and squeezed.

Kneel. The command was a blast in his head.

His body obeyed, knees bending and sinking to the wet ground as a small hunched figure hobbled forward.

Useless rage and shame formed a twisted mass in Perseus. He would make them pay. Whoever these people were, he would learn everything about his power and go beyond that. None of them—none will escape destruction by his hand.

The hunched girl stopped before Perseus and he glimpsed her face. Ordinary brown eyes—eyes that appeared terrified for some reason—and stringy black hair that hung over thin shoulders.

Open.

Perseus’ mouth fell open without any direction on his part.

The girl lifted a vial with a shaky hand, a look of conflicted suffering on her face. Was she also forced to do this?

In the vial was a purplish liquid that tasted like nothing at first, and then Perseus’ throat was on fire.

Suddenly freed from the force that held him still, Perseus collapsed to his side as scalding pain spread from his midsection to the rest of his body in slow, burning pulses. It converged at the spot on his back where he bore his marking before spreading again to his navel. His insides were boiling.

As the burning sensation worsened, Perseus found himself screaming until his throat grew raw and he tasted blood. Curling into himself, he twitched as steam poured from his eyes, nose and mouth. Soon a violent shaking began, and he vaguely registered similar shouts of agony around him.

I will survive this and slaughter you all even if it's the last thing I do—even if I must reach the end of the world to find you. I will slaughter you all.

“Today,” the speaker said with cheer, “you shall defend the blood you carry.”

Stand.

The pain ebbed away as Perseus’ limbs obeyed, pushing him off the muddy earth and forcing him to his feet.

A burly bearded man with a rank smell lumbered forward and unlocked Perseus’ manacles.

Sweat mixed with the rain slid down Perseus’ brow. Though the pain vanished, the memory remained like a phantom presence, pulsing around his frame.

Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled.

There was a subtle tingling sensation at the base of Perseus’ spine.

“If you look behind you, you will see your contender.”

Perseus turned to look.

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A short distance ahead was a curved line of shrivelled miniature trees with gnarled branches. Red cords held each branch, tethering them to the earth as black sap leaked from a line of rune markings down their grey trunk.

Those are restrained dryads, Perseus realised with a start.

A mormo nearly killed him and now he was expected to face a dryad?

“Weapons have been provided.”

The same burly man dumped a sword on the muddy ground at Perseus’ feet.

“Use your weapon however you please. What? You may even attempt to free yourselves from your chains.”

Perseus retrieved the sword, noting with satisfaction that his hand did not tremble.

Lightning struck again. The tingling sensation in his spine returned, this time uncomfortable enough to make him shift on his feet.

And there was an odd hum in the air. A gut feeling told Perseus that it was coming from the dryads. His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword as he turned to glare at the speaker.

Just then, the speaker raised a hand in a graceful arch. “Release them.”

The dryads flashed larger as the red cords burned away with a hiss.

Cool mud splattered across Perseus’ face and chest as a cacophony of enraged shrieks pierced his ears. And the dryads… their branches madly whipped about but did not attack, which was odd.

“Your task is simple,” the speaker said. “Kill the dryad marked as your opponent.”

Eyes wide, Perseus craned his neck as he took in the beast before him. The towering dryad had a head shaped like a mantis’, its eyes were shut and it stood still save for the twitching rooted limbs, restless arms and whipping branches for hair.

They expected him to kill that? Surely, this was a joke?

It was common knowledge that the only way to slash a dryad was to enhance one’s weapon with aether, something Perseus had never learned to do.

“One horai. Ten horai. A day. A week.” There was laughter in the voice. “You will get no meal or sleep if your dryad remains alive.”

Astonished, Perseus looked around and noticed a sobering detail. His dryad was the tallest and fiercest looking. It had to be at least three times his height.

How? Just how was he expected to kill that?

“Give a great performance. Make your struggle interesting.”

Another look around and Perseus spotted the smallest dryad, but the beast still towered over the blood carrier who appeared no older than ten. The boy held his too large sword with both hands, the weapon shaking as hard as his knees.

One blink and Perseus pictured Linos in his place, face wet with tears and sword trembling. Never. That would never be Linos.

Begin.

This time Perseus was not forced to act, instead the command worked on the dryads.

The beast shot at him so quickly that Perseus had no room to save himself. Two branches stabbed through his right arm, and a third punctured his lower thigh. He barely had the presence of mind to hold on to his weapon before he was flipped through the air and slammed down.

Stars dotted Perseus’ vision as his teeth ripped through the skin of his inner lip. “Ugh…” His eyes watered as his grip tightened around his weapon.

I must survive. I cannot die here. Teeth gritted, he pushed to his arms and knees.

A flash of lightning, and this time it felt unnaturally closer. Perseus blinked, his spine tingling as his focus shifted to the wound on his thigh. The blood appeared redder than red. More tingling in his spine.

Those words whispered in Perseus’ ears.

No waste.

It felt like a part of Perseus he could not control had to do something about the blood. And around him too. The other blood carriers were getting wounded, though some more than most. A solution teased his mind.

The word in Theos tongue had just registered and Perseus was about to speak it when he was snatched by the ankle and dragged. More sharpened branches came for his arms and torso. Perseus swung his weapon, and for the first time, he noticed his wounds were healing. The cuts in his mouth no longer stung.

How?

A stab through his lower belly forced Perseus’s attention to the present. Hissing, he swung his weapon again and managed to hit a branch, but the strike bounced off.

Perseus released a frustrated cry.

It was one thing to know a fact and another for it to stare you in the face and mock you. Without aether, this fight was useless.

What should I do?

Fist clutching the earth as he was dragged once more, Perseus pressured his mind, thinking and pleading for it to come up with a solution. Nothing. But he could almost swear a solution had—

More stabs. Through his torso and into the ground. Ripping flesh on their way out. Burning pain. The smell of his blood.

How do I access aether?

Perseus was clueless. What he gleaned from the book had been like learning the basics of a language’s alphabet. Even the book—his only connection to how to teach himself—was gone.

Pathetic. Useless. Weak.

A branch curled around Perseus’ torso and began squeezing. Wheezing, he hacked at it. Once. Twice. At the third strike, its grip loosened. Drawing in a ragged breath, he turned to his belly and attempted to crawl away.

From what Perseus could see of the fight around him, the large boy was absent. What remained of his dryad was a lifeless smoking stump. The harlot girl was in top form, her blade cleanly slicing through branches.

Pathetic. Useless. Weak.

Again the branches came for Perseus, this time snatching him by the calf, whipping him through the air and slamming him to the earth once more. Groaning, he spat out blood and mud as he rolled to his chest.

In a world of agony, Perseus blinked rainwater from his eyes and looked to his right. The boy with the smallest dryad was also lying on his chest. His eyes, though open, appeared dead. The branches stabbed away, the only signs of life displayed were slow blinks and occasional twitching of his fingers.

For a brief moment, Perseus imagined the training to represent Athena in the games. What if it was as brutal as this? If he dies, that would be Linos in the mud, lying in a pool of blood, weak and at the mercy of beasts. What if Linos was forced to take his place because Perseus was missing? It would be better if Linos had died. Yes, the mormo should have killed Linos instead.

Bitter tears stung Perseus’ eyes as he clutched the muddy earth.

I must…I must do something. I must gain power and escape this place.

No sooner had Perseus formed the thought when he sensed it. Lightning was about to strike. This time the tingling sensation came first. A sharp instinct followed after and he seized the thought before it eluded him.

Drawing from what remained of his strength, Perseus sprung to his feet and stabbed the sky with his sword.

Lightning answered. Zig-zagging through the sky in a downward journey, white light blinded his vision before power rushed into his weapon and ripped through his body. It burned so terribly at the spot on his back that Perseus fell to a knee.

But this power…

The word in Theos tongue returned to Perseus. Holding the hilt of his sword with both hands, he pierced the earth.

“Drain.”

Perseus sensed the earth drink the blood spilt across the arena before it sped for his weapon.

When he unsheathed his sword from the earth, everything slowed down.

I am untethered to time.

Following the thought was a heady feeling of invincibility. Strength, more than Perseus had felt in his life, coursed through his body, and it was with that strength that he shot for the dryad.

The wild branches, now slow in Perseus’ sight, were sliced out of the way. A thrill spread through his system with each slash of his sword.

So this was aether? This sudden enabling that boosted his body, slowed time and sharpened his blade. The corner of Perseus’ lips kicked up. This power… he would see the end of it.

My captors, please wait for me.

Smile slipping and jaw clenching, Perseus aimed for the beast’s core where its wooden heart beat. Leaping through the air, thin lines of lightning arched from Perseus’ sword and propelled him even higher.

“DIE.” With a roar, he gave a downward swing.

A thin blue line formed from the right shoulder, across the dryad’s heart, down its torso and out its waist. Its shriek died on its lips.

Slide.

Drop.

Perseus stared at the dead eyes of his kill. Elation, pride and a rising feeling of invincibility flooded his senses.

He flexed his fingers before his face and murmured, “So, this is power?”

Scornful laughter. I see why they want you.

That voice. Scowling, he looked around. It was impossible to forget that tone of bleeding rage and the scratchy note in her voice. The strange goddess was about.

I should let you be. Some lessons must be learned through suffering.

“Get out of my head,” Perseus gritted out before spitting on the dryad and strolling to join the victors.