The road to the Colosseum smelled of dust and frying oil and the faint, metallic tang of anticipation. Sam walked with his shoulders loose and his head clear, the city's pulse thrumming under his boots. Vlad moved at his side like a shadow in red armor, Helios rode the thermals above them and scattered gold across the crowd, and Dionysus rode Sam's shoulder in a small, contented knot. Indra padded at his heels, a warm, heavy presence that made the world feel steadier.
They greeted people as they passed—builders with soot on their faces, mothers with children clinging to their skirts, soldiers polishing shields. The city returned the greeting with a kind of reverence that still made Sam's chest ache in a good way. He had not asked for this; he had only tried to make a place where people could live. The gratitude that met him now felt like a fragile, precious thing.
A scout team came running up the avenue, dust in their hair and urgency in their eyes. One of them broke from the group and bowed, breathless.
"My Lord," the scout said, voice tight. "Lux sent word. He found a group—goblins moving deep into the forest with prisoners. Four hundred souls, taken from villages. Lux followed and sent a runner back. He's waiting for orders."
Sam's steps slowed. The world narrowed to the scout's words and the way the sun caught on the scout's sweat. Four hundred. The number landed like a stone.
"Where is Lux now?" Sam asked.
"Deep in the Forest of Tribulation," the scout said. "He's shadowing them, trying to keep distance. He sent word that he'll wait for a Shade Assassin to arrive so he can give a full update."
Sam's mind moved in quick, practical arcs. The Colosseum would be full in an hour. The people would be gathered, hungry for spectacle and for the small, human miracle of a city that could still make room for joy. But four hundred prisoners—men, women, children—taken by goblins and dragged toward who knew what fate—could not be ignored.
He looked at One, who stood in the doorway of the nearest shop like a shadow that had learned to wait. One's face was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp.
"Send a Shade Assassin and a Phoenix Guard with the scouts," Sam said. "Find Lux and confirm his position. Bring him back if you can. Move quickly."
One inclined his head. "By your command," he said, and melted into motion, slipping between the crowd and vanishing like a thought.
Sam added one more thing, because he always added one more thing. "Tell Two to ready the Colosseum medics and to keep the gates open for an emergency extraction. If we need to move people, we'll need space."
"One will carry the order," One said, already gone.
Sam kept walking. He did not want to stop the city's momentum. He would not let fear steal the night's joy. But the news sat at the back of his mind like a second heartbeat—urgent, insistent.
The Colosseum rose ahead like a promise. Vendors clustered at the gates, handing out steaming bowls and cups of spiced broth, skewers of grilled meat, and small pastries. Children darted between legs, faces bright with the kind of excitement that made Sam smile despite the weight in his chest. The entrance opened into a massive circular hall that ran the entire circumference of the arena. Multiple arched passages led into the stands; a few led to the beast and gladiator holding areas. One passage led to the only viewing box in the Colosseum, a raised, private balcony that could hold twenty people. That was where Sam and his group were headed.
The crowd parted as they approached. Citizens and troops bowed, a ripple of respect that made Sam straighten. Vlad watched the scene with a small, proud smile. Helios landed on the colosseum wall above their booth and spread his wings, scattering a shower of ember‑light that made the people below gasp and point.
They settled into the viewing box. The booth was high enough to see the whole arena and the faces of the crowd. Sam felt the city's eyes on him and let the weight of it settle into something steady. He stood and looked out over the sea of faces—tired, hopeful, hungry—and felt the truth of what he had built.
He spoke briefly, and his voice carried across the stone like a bell. "We have all lost people and homes," he said. "No person lost can be replaced. But the Twilight Domain will give every lost soul a home. Tonight we celebrate what we have built together. Thank you for believing."
A cheer rose, warm and human. Sam let it wash over him and then stepped back as fifty mages stationed around the Colosseum lifted their hands. Spells arced into the air—soft ribbons of light, shimmering sigils, a curtain of color that made the arena glow like a living jewel. The crowd's roar swelled into a single, hungry sound.
The first gate opened.
Three Shock Lizards burst into the arena, bodies low and sleek, scales crackling with stored lightning. They hissed and spat arcs of blue energy that licked the air. The crowd leaned forward, breath held.
A Moon Mage stepped through the opposite gate. He bowed to Sam with a flourish, then turned to face the lizards. He raised his hands and the gravity around the beasts increased, slowing their movements until they seemed to move through syrup. The mage intoned a soft chant and a white magic circle bloomed at his feet, too fast for the lizards to avoid. Chains of lunar energy shot from the ground and wrapped around the beasts, binding them in place.
The lizards arced lightning wildly, desperate and dangerous. The mage snorted, then cut his palm with a quick, practiced motion. Blood fell to the stone and a white‑red sigil flared into being. From the sigil a Giant Spectral Wolf burst forth, its form made of moonlight and teeth. It opened its maw and released a concentrated moon beam that struck the Shock Lizards. The beasts convulsed and then were gone in a flash of light and heat. The crowd erupted into cheers that shook the rafters.
The Moon Mage bowed again and waved, the showmanship as much a part of the performance as the magic. He left the arena to thunderous applause.
The next act was a test of speed and precision. Five Burst Birds were released—sleek, feathered predators that shot orbs of flame from their beaks. A Moonlight Cavalry soldier rode in on a wolf mount, spear in hand. He dodged and weaved, the wolf's agility matching the birds' grace. The soldier coated his spear in lunar energy and struck with a purple flash. One by one the birds fell, their flames sputtering out. The crowd cheered again, children on their parents' shoulders shouting with delight.
More demonstrations followed. Three Solar Warriors took the field against ten Shock Lizards, showing coordinated tactics and disciplined formations. Two Moon Mages worked together to corral ten Burst Birds into a net of light and then gently subdue them without lethal force. The finale was a five‑on‑five spar: two mages and three Solar Warriors against the same setup. Swords rang, shields clanged, and spells flew in a choreographed ballet that ended with both sides bowing and the crowd on its feet.
The night was a success. Food and drink flowed, laughter rose, and for a few hours the city forgot the ash and the raids and the long, hard work of rebuilding. Children left the arena with small wooden swords and painted wands, eyes wide with the kind of wonder that made Sam's chest ache with something like pride.
When the last torch had guttered and the crowd had thinned, Sam and his group walked back through the city under a sky freckled with stars. Vlad made a dry joke about Sam's cooking earlier that day; Helios preened and made a small, proud noise. Dionysus chattered about the size of the spectral wolf and the taste of the Shock Lizard meat. Indra, full and content, slept in Sam's arms like a heavy, warm stone.
Sam lay down and did not make it to the second hour of the night. Exhaustion took him like a tide and he passed into sleep with the city's hum in his ears.
Far from the torches and the laughter, the forest moved in a different rhythm. A silver blur cut through the trees—an enormous Phoenix Guard Golem, its metal feathers catching moonlight and throwing it back in a bright, relentless streak. Two scouts clung to its arms like sacks of potatoes, faces flushed and breathless. They tried to give directions as best they could without passing out.
Five rode in the golem's shadow, a field agent who moved like a grin. He laughed at the scouts' plight and kept his voice low as the golem slowed and picked up the trail of movement. The speed at which the Phoenix Guard moved was the kind of thing only a Champion or a Demigod could surpass. It was a speed that made the trees blur and the air sing.
They found Lux and his small band of scouts crouched in a hollow, watching a long column of goblins and prisoners move along a beaten path. Lux's face was hard with the strain of tracking and the quiet fury of someone who had seen too much cruelty.
Five approached and got the details. Lux's voice was low. "Over four hundred prisoners," he said. "Villagers from multiple settlements—humans, elves, a few dwarves and beastkin. They're being driven by a force of roughly one hundred goblin riders. The goblins are at Tier 5. They're moving fast and they're well‑armed."
Five snorted. "Tier 5 goblins," he said. "Greedy little dogs with too much bite. Let the Phoenix Guard handle the approach. The lord will be pleased to have so many refugees."
Lux's jaw tightened. He wanted to do more than watch. He wanted to strike and free them. But the numbers were brutal: four hundred prisoners and a hundred mounted goblins. A frontal assault would be a slaughter. They needed a plan that minimized casualties and maximized extraction.
Five called the Phoenix Guard over and spoke in quick, clipped orders. The golem moved into position, its metal joints whispering. Five outlined a plan: the Phoenix Guard would approach the column and create chaos—flaring light and a controlled, terrifying display of power that would draw the goblins' attention. Lux and his scouts would use the distraction to slip in and cut the prisoners' bonds, guiding them to hidden paths and rendezvous points. If the goblins reacted with overwhelming force, Five would let the golem rampage through the goblin forces.
Lux nodded, hope and fear braided together. "If we can get them out, the Twilight Domain will have four hundred souls to shelter," he said. "It will be a miracle."
Five grinned. "Miracles are what you make of them," he said. "We'll make one tonight."
The Phoenix Guard moved like a living comet into position. Lux and his scouts melted into the trees, ready to slip in when the moment came. The plan was dangerous and precise. It required timing and nerves of steel.
Back in the city, Sam slept and dreamed of stone and light. He did not know, yet, that the forest had become a stage for a different kind of performance—one where the stakes were not applause but life.
The Colosseum's success had been a balm. The city had come together, fed and entertained, and for a night the ghosts of the past seemed to recede. But the news from the forest had planted a seed of urgency that would not be ignored. Four hundred prisoners and a hundred goblin riders were not a rumor to be filed away. They were a problem that would demand resources, courage, and the kind of careful cruelty that war required.
Sam would wake to a new day with choices to make. He would have to decide whether to divert more forces from the city's defenses, whether to risk a direct assault, or whether to trust the Phoenix Guard and Lux to carry out a delicate extraction. The rescue would test the city's new muscles—its watchtowers, its golems, its champions—and it would reveal whether Twilight's soft power could stand beside its hard steel.
For now, The city slept under a sky that had seen both triumph and cruelty. Dawn would bring decisions, and decisions would bring consequences. Sam's hands were still warm from Indra's fur and the Void Blade lay quiet at his side. He would not be idle. The world had given him a gift and a debt in the same breath.
He would answer both.