Blood Trials

Caius stepped into the shadow of the colossal arena, its towering walls whispering of ancient violence. The high gates loomed before him like the mouth of some forgotten god, wide and imposing. The air here was thick with the smell of damp stone, sweat, and dust—remnants of a thousand battles fought and lost. The sun was dim, filtered through a haze of smoke that always seemed to hover over the capital, a city that had forgotten how to breathe fresh air.

Behind him, the sounds of the crowd grew louder, but they were distant, muffled by the high walls and the sense of foreboding that seemed to grip the place. This wasn't a place for celebration—it was a place for death.

The recruiters had ushered the contestants into a staging area deep beneath the arena. The space was cold and sterile, lit by harsh, flickering lights that did little to soothe the discomfort clawing at his chest. Caius had seen the faces of other Unmarked like himself—young men and women, all worn with the same fear, the same hunger for something greater than this existence. Most were quiet, lost in their thoughts, or avoiding eye contact with the others, as if they feared showing any sign of weakness.

A few, though, didn't look afraid. They looked resigned, like they'd already accepted their fate, whatever it might be.Among them, Caius caught sight of a few who stood out. One was a tall woman with striking features. Her gaze was sharp, calculating, as if she had lived through a thousand battles and wasn't about to be fooled by any of this. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, her expression unreadable, but there was a certain calm about her, a steadiness that suggested she wasn't shaken by anything this place could throw at her.

"Vera Nyx," Caius overheard a whisper from a nearby contestant, but the name barely registered. It didn't matter. What mattered was how she stood, how she observed everything around her with a knowing look, almost like she was waiting for something to happen.

A boy, not much older than Caius, stood to the side. His eyes flicked nervously over the others, but there was something about the way he carried himself—an unspoken anxiety, but also a fire beneath it, as if he knew the odds were stacked against him and yet still felt the burning need to prove himself. His jaw was clenched, but his body language betrayed an uncertainty that only those familiar with desperation could recognize.

He heard a low muttering beside him. "Luca Hale. He doesn't look like much, but don't be fooled. He has a fire in him."

Caius gave him a sideways glance, but Luca didn't seem to notice. He was too busy staring at the ground, his fists clenched as if he were preparing himself for something. There was also another man, tall and broad-shouldered, standing off to the far side. He was silent, but his presence was undeniable. His frame seemed to stretch the limits of the room, and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes, as if he was already sizing up the competition, weighing them like prey.

Caius held their gazes for a moment longer than necessary, but the others did not react. They were strangers, but something in the air told him that they were all here for the same reason: survival.

The door to the staging area creaked open, and a figure in black entered. The recruiter. His presence seemed to pull the air tighter, to make the room hold its breath. His movements were deliberate, measured, as though he were calculating the worth of every contestant in the room with a single glance.

Alistair.

The name was unspoken, but Caius recognized him immediately. The recruiter who had brought him here. The one who'd found him in the underground pits. And now, he was here, standing before them with the weight of a thousand lifetimes in his eyes.

"You're the one who fought in the pits," Alistair said, his voice cutting through the silence. His gaze landed on Caius, and there was something like an unspoken challenge in the way he looked at him. "I heard you had a good show. But this isn't the streets. This is the Project."

Caius didn't flinch. "I know the difference."Alistair didn't respond immediately, his lips curling into a tight smile that held no humor. His eyes, sharp and calculating, ran over the room. "We'll see. If you survive the first trial, I'll be impressed. But surviving isn't the goal. Winning is."

The recruiter turned to address the room as a whole. "The trials will begin tomorrow. Get some rest while you can."

As he left, the room seemed to exhale collectively, the air suddenly thick with the weight of his words. Some contestants fidgeted nervously, others remained still, eyes fixed on the floor. The tension between them was palpable, each one trying to gauge who would break first, who would rise above the rest.

In the corner, Vera Nyx spoke again, her voice low and rough. "You'll find out soon enough. The trials, they'll push you to your limit. But it's not your body that will break you—it's your mind."

The boy, Luca, looked from her to Caius, as if trying to figure out if her words held any truth. He swallowed, his nervous energy barely contained. "What do you mean? How does it break you?"

Vera didn't answer immediately, her eyes flicking to the side where the silent man stood, almost like an island amidst the rest of them. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "The trials are not just about fighting. They'll make you question everything. Everyone. Even yourself." Caius's gaze lingered on her for a moment, then moved to the boy, Luca, who was clearly still processing what had just been said. They were all here for one reason—survival. But that was easier said than done.

Vera's voice broke through again. "Don't trust anyone here, boy. Especially not the ones who pretend to know the rules. They'll try to break you."

Caius didn't know what to make of her words. He only knew that he couldn't afford to hesitate. The trials would begin tomorrow, and he would face them like he faced everything else: head-on, no hesitation. He wasn't here to die.

But tonight, he would prepare.