The dark blurred. A warmth pressed against his chest, delicate hands resting there, golden strands of hair trailing like sunlight. A gentle presence lingered around.
Then nothing.
Caelvir's eyes shot open.
The room was quiet and empty.
There was no golden-haired woman. No hands on his chest. Only the echo of something long departed. He tried to rise, but the softness beneath him resisted, yielding like waves of water. It wasn't sand, nor the chill of stone or the sting of bloodied gravel.
Silk and satin. He recognized it.
He had felt it once before, after his first victory under Lady Venara's care. The same silken sheets surrounded him, the same delicate scent lingered in the air like crushed petals mixed with cold perfume. It had unsettled him then, and it unsettled him now. It was strange how comfort found him only in moments following violence, when pain had been the norm throughout his life. He was far more familiar with dirt pressed into open wounds than with any of this softness.
A knock came. Then a voice.
"Sir," someone called softly.
He turned toward it. A maid stood in the doorway, flanked on either side by guards dressed in crimson-laced armor.
"Lady Venara requests your presence," the maid said with a bow. "She awaits you for dinner. In the same place."
Caelvir nodded without speaking and followed them.
The halls stretched wide and glistened beneath his feet. Marble floors reflected dim light, and the scent of incense trailed along the corridors like fading ghosts. He glanced around as they walked, observing the people they passed. Their gazes followed him.
They still stared.
The contempt and disgust that had once filled their eyes had lessened. They no longer looked at him with fear. Instead, unease marked their expressions, as though he were an unwelcome guest seated too close at a noble's banquet. He still did not belong among them. That much remained unchanged.
And he felt the same about them.
They entered the grand hall.
The long table awaited, covered in pristine ivory cloth, with silverware positioned perfectly, catching the light like polished blades. He moved to his seat, the same one as before, far from Venara, each seated at opposing ends. They were equal only by placement not by status or truth.
Steam rose from the roasted pork placed before him, rich and tender and hot.
Just as it had been last time.
He remembered too clearly. Before the fight with Brusk, when the food meant for him had been stolen and devoured, leaving him empty and humiliated. The memory returned in full force.
Venara entered, walking with her usual grace, and Elowen followed behind her, distant and quiet like a moon shadowing a sun. Venara sat and offered him a smile.
"Welcome back, Caelvir," she said warmly. "You've won quite a few fights now. Praise is due."
Elowen's expression tightened, almost imperceptibly.
Caelvir noticed.
He lowered his gaze. "I am unworthy of such praise, my lady. Without your grace, I would still be a forgotten slave beneath the Colosseum."
"Enough with the humility," Venara said, scoffing. "I have no use for flattery here."
He looked again at the meat placed before him. It stared back at him, mocking, a cruel reminder.
She paused.
A strange silence followed. Venara glanced at Elowen, then asked him with measured curiosity:
"Tell me, Caelvir... did anything unusual happen before or during your fight?"
He thought for a moment.
"Brusk collapsed mid-battle," he replied. "Or perhaps... I grew stronger. My memory is unclear. I was nearly dead by then. Someone in the crowd must have noticed it."
He hesitated, then added, "There was something else, before the match. In the cells, we were served food. Two meals. Right before the fight."
He blinked. "But forgive me, that detail probably isn't worth your time."
Venara and Elowen exchanged glances, eyes wide. Silence lingered for a moment longer.
"Two meals?" Venara asked. "Interesting. Meals are never served minutes before battle. They're provided the day before. A full stomach ruins the spectacle. That's standard practice."
Elowen nodded in agreement. "Are you certain about the timing?"
Caelvir bowed his head slightly. "Yes. And Brusk took mine. As always. He bullied others and took what he wanted."
The air shifted.
Venara and Elowen froze where they sat.
Another long look passed between them.
Then, laughter.
Venara burst into laughter, her hand covering her mouth as her shoulders shook. Elowen chuckled softly, turning her face away as if to suppress it.
Venara leaned back, her eyes gleaming. "Oh, that's rich. Of all the ironies..."
"That meal," she said, "was probably poisoned."
Caelvir blinked in shock. "What?"
"Yes," she continued, almost gleeful. "Masquien of House Hollowmere arranged it. The food was meant to reach you just before the match. A subtle poison, one that would slow your blood and dim your mind. But Brusk ate it instead."
"And those one-armed fools," Elowen added, "they were manipulated. The same man arranged for one of them to stab you."
Venara leaned back further, clearly amused. "He put so much effort into his little plan, confident it would succeed. And in the end, it collapsed. Hilariously so."
Elowen remained composed, but the mirth in her eyes was unmistakable.
Caelvir sat frozen, the weight of it all sinking in.
He remembered Brusk's blood, the coughing with no visible injuries, the internal signs. No marks on the body. It all fell into place.
Venara tilted her head, eyes glinting. "And you... you risked your life for those men. That was either brave or reckless."
Her tone softened. "It was a noble act, even if unwise. Kindness is a dangerous trait. But what Brusk did was evil. And ironically, it proved more lethal."
She hesitated, then corrected herself. "Though I don't mean to call your kindness foolish. I retract that."
"No, you're right," Caelvir said quietly. "It was foolish. I acted without thinking. They were allies, and I simply reacted."
Again, the women froze. Elowen stifled a laugh, but Venara turned and gave her a glare sharp enough to wound. Elowen fell silent.
Venara turned back to Caelvir, her smile curling at the edges. "Then... you're a reliable comrade."
He lowered his eyes. "...Probably not."
This time, it wasn't humility. And Venara noticed.
An awkward pause followed.
"I meant no offense," Caelvir said quickly. "Forgive me if I sounded ungrateful. I truly appreciate all you've done."
Venara waved a hand casually. "Don't worry about it. Let's eat."
He stared at his plate.
And hesitated.
What if he had eaten that meal in the cells? Would he be alive now?
Venara tilted her head, teasing. "Go on. Don't tell me you think it's poisoned?"
Elowen's expression twisted in anger. "My lady—!"
Caelvir jolted. "No—no! Of course not. I would never suggest that—"
Venara stood.
Elowen stepped forward, visibly confused. "Lady Venara?"
Venara walked toward him, her expression light and untroubled. "I suppose I made you uneasy. That was unkind of me."
She sat down. Right beside him.
Elowen followed closely, her mouth tight, and stood just behind her.
Caelvir froze. This was improper. The closeness implied status, rank, privilege. Nobility would mock him for it.
He moved to rise, to shift away, but Venara's hand caught his.
He blinked. "My lady?!"
Venara smiled gently. "No need for formalities. Let's just eat."
She reached over, took a piece of meat from his plate, and bit into it.
She swallowed. "See? No poison."
Elowen muttered under her breath, "Why do we even have food tasters..." then sighed.
Venara winked. "It sounds like a fun, delicious job."
"Lady Venara, please," Elowen whispered, clearly exasperated.
Caelvir said nothing. He simply watched her.
Venara had lowered her mask again. There were no titles or pomp now. She treated him like an equal or something dangerously close to it.
Could this be strategy? A trap disguised as kindness?
He shook his head. He could not allow himself to be swayed.
"My lady," he said firmly, "I fear I've grown too comfortable. Please, take my seat. I will move aside."
Venara blinked and feigned a pout. "What? You didn't enjoy me eating from your plate? I'd be upset too."
Caelvir bowed his head. "Everything here is yours, Lady Venara. I remain a servant of the Colosseum. I am undeserving of your favors."
Venara sighed. "Well, if that's how you feel, then be it so. I won't press you further."
She returned to her seat.
They ate in silence. They sipped wine and chewed slowly.
When the last of the wine had been poured and the meal had gone cold, Venara set her goblet down with a soft clink and glanced at Caelvir.
"You may stay here tonight," she said in an offhand tone. "Make yourself comfortable."
Caelvir sat straighter, unsettled. "My lady… that would be far too bold of me. To rest in a place such as this... for someone like me..."
Venara's smile vanished.
Her eyes locked onto his, cold and unyielding.
"I was not asking," she said, her voice sharp as steel. "That was an order."
He froze. The air around him turned thin.
"I'm sorry, Lady Venara," he said quickly, bowing low. "I was crude."
Her smile returned, warm and gentle, as if the command had never been spoken.
"Please don't worry about it," she said kindly. "But next time I offer something, don't flatter me with words. Please me by obeying."
He nodded. "Yes, my lady. I understand. Thank you."
She stood and glided around the table, Elowen trailing behind her. Just before leaving the room, Venara turned and looked over her shoulder.
"The maids will take you to your bed," she said. "Tomorrow morning, you'll return to the Colosseum."
Caelvir remained silent and listened.
"You've come this far," she added. "Go and finish it. Reach your hundred."
He opened his mouth to respond, but her voice came again—one final sentence that lingered 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 figure vanished into the corridor, with Elowen trailing behind like a silent shadow.
He stood in silence until a maid arrived to escort him. She led him through more corridors, past velvet-draped windows and quiet stone until they arrived at a room.
Silk sheets welcomed him. Satin cushions surrounded him. The air smelled of perfume and something older, something like whispered memories.
And yet, despite all the softness, sleep came slowly.
In the silence of the mansion, her words still echoed:
A choice... one among many.