Chapter 1
(Quick authors note this book is on wattpad to read originally under the same name please go check that out if you are intrested the-version in wattpad has photos and more sneak peaks into whats to come i wont be updating this book after i hit chapter 10 on this site and app)
The heavy, sickening stench of blood, sweat, and churned sand hung thick in the air, seeping through the stone windows of the royal dressing chambers. Princess Aurelia stood rigid as she prepared to step out by her father's side.
Outside, the world was split.
The arena was a man's favourite entertainment, but a woman's deepest terror. Beyond the glass, the deafening roars of the crowd shook the very walls as the common folk screamed for violence, anticipating their favourite sport in their favourite place: The War Arena.
Now seventeen, Aurelia had spent fifteen long years forced to watch this grand tournament. Every year brought a new wave of fighters slaughtering one another, all for the fleeting glory of sitting by the King's side as a lord or a knight. And every single year, countless bodies were tossed aside to burn, treated as if they had no faces, no souls, and no reason to live. The arena ignored the broken-hearted wives, the crying children, and the mourning mothers left in the ashes of the games.
It was a place where the weak were crushed—a place this princess utterly despised. But for the sake of her father, she would endure.
"Everything okay, princess?"
The soft voice broke her trance. Maiden Lola stood behind her, carefully pulling the laces tight to fasten her corset. Aurelia tilted her head slightly, staring out at the blood-stained sands below. Aurelia looked at her reflection in the glass and gave a quiet, heavy nod. "I'm okay."
Lola offered a small, reassuring smile, trying to ease the tension in the room. "You know, you shouldn't worry too much over your father today, Princess. It's his birthday. The King is always greatly appreciative every year when his people fund his favourite events." Lola smiled weakly as she spoke, but behind her eyes lay a deeper, unspoken sorrow for the very actions she was trying to normalise. Everyone in the palace knew the price of the King's joy.
Aurelia let out a soft sigh, turning her gaze away from the mirror and looking back out the window toward the roaring arena.
Gently, Lola lifted the heavy golden robe and draped it over Aurelia's shoulders. The garment was breathtaking—woven with intricate white lace patterns and a string of brilliant diamonds glittering along the seams. The fabric was rich, royal, and staggeringly beautiful. Yet, as it settled onto her frame, it felt weighted down and over-exaggerated.
It was a perfect fit for the princess's heart: a gilded cage, heavy with the misery of a kingdom, disguised as absolute luxury.
The heavy gold robe settled over her chest, anchoring her to the floor. Aurelia didn't move. She simply watched the diamonds on her sleeve catch the flickering torchlight, flashing like cold, miniature stars.
Lola stepped back, her hands smoothing down the rich fabric one last time before she folded them neatly in front of her apron. The chamber fell into a tense, ringing silence, punctuated only by the distant, muffled thuds of the crowd's stomping feet below.
"The King will be expecting you on the dais shortly, Your Highness," Lola murmured softly, her voice carrying that same quiet melancholy from before. "The opening horns are about to sound."
Aurelia closed her eyes for a brief moment, inhaling the scent of lavender oil Lola had used in her hair, trying desperately to block out the metallic tang of blood waiting for her outside. She couldn't let her father see the disgust on her face. To survive in this palace, she had to wear her own kind of armour—a mask of cold, flawless royalty.
"Thank you, Lola," Aurelia said, her voice steadying as she forced her posture to straighten. "Let him wait a moment longer. I need a breath of air before the theatre begins."
She walked slowly toward the heavy oak doors leading to her private balcony inside the grand palace of the citadel the highest castle of the land the golden fabric rustling loudly against the stone floor, sounding like a warning.
Stepping onto her private balcony, Aurelia looked down past the heavy castle walls. Down below in the bustling village square able to see the market muck, her eyes caught two ragged children weaving through the market stalls. One of them suddenly dashed up to a busy shopkeeper, frantically pointing a random finger at an innocent villager and shouting that he was a thief.
The trick worked perfectly. The furious shopkeeper abandoned his stall to chase the falsely accused man. The moment his back was turned, the two children lunged forward, snatching up whatever food and trinkets they could grab with their small hands. But their luck ran out. A pair of armoured city guards perked up, spotting the theft, and screamed out commands as they gave chase.
Aurelia watched silently, her heart squeezing for the desperate kids.
The children dashed down the muddy, uneven roads, narrowly avoiding trampling horses and startled commoners. Desperate to hide, they sprinted straight towards the massive entryway of the war arena.
They didn't see what was waiting in the shadows.
The kids slammed directly into the flank of a massive, black warhorse. The beast was terrifying, its coat meticulously painted over with beautiful, stark white skeleton markings. Sitting astride the creature was a silent monolith clad in pure, obsidian-black armour, the rider's face completely swallowed by a dark, faceless visor.
Aurelia gasped softly from her balcony. She had never seen this knight before. A new challenger, trying out for the tournament, undoubtedly.
The heavy thud of boots echoed as the guards caught up, roughly grabbing the children by their collars. The guards turned to the intimidating rider, bowing their heads and apologising profusely for the disruption.
The Black Knight didn't move an inch. They simply looked down at the trembling children, then at the guards. Then, without a single word, they reached into their cloak, pulled out a heavy leather pouch, and threw a bag of coins directly at the guards' feet. It landed in the mud with a dense, heavy thud. Down in the mud, the guards instantly dropped their hold on the children. They scrambled to the ground, hands clawing at the dirt to pick up the scattered coins. Greed, after all, was the favourite emotion of this kingdom—a sickness that trickled all the way down from the throne to the gutter.
Aurelia watched from her balcony, leaning over the stone railing, her breath catching in her throat. She expected the transaction to end there. She expected the dark knight to simply ride away, indifferent.
Instead, the Black Knight gave a subtle, sharp tap to their warhorse's flank.
The massive, skeleton-painted beast responded with terrifying precision. With a swift, powerful lash of its hind legs, the horse swept the guards right off their feet, knocking them both completely unconscious into the muck before they could even pocket the coins.
The market crowd gasped, but the knight remained entirely unfazed. Slowly, they leaned down from their saddle, reaching out to the stunned children. The faceless knight didn't leave the money for the guards; instead, they scooped up the heavy pouch and handed the coins directly to the small, trembling hands of the eldest child. With a gentle nudge of their armoured gauntlet, they guided them off, signalling for them to run before more guards arrived.
The children let out a mixed scream of shock and pure joy, their faces lighting up with wide smiles. Clutching the fortune tightly to their chests, they turned and bolted into the crowded alleys, eager to run home and tell their parents about the incredible good deeds of the mysterious Black Knight.
Up on the high balcony, Aurelia stood frozen. Her gaze remained locked on the faceless black helmet below. For the first time in fifteen years, a knight entering her father's arena didn't look like a monster, at least not completely.
Aurelia gripped the cold stone of the balcony rail, watching the knight with intense intrigue.
Down in the mud, the Black Knight clambered firmly back into the saddle. The figure leaned forward, gently petting the warhorse's neck to praise the beast for its good behaviour. But mid-stroke, the knight froze. A sudden shift in the air seemed to signal that eyes were locked on them.
Slowly, the dark helmet tilted upward, turning toward the towering stone walls of the castle. The faceless, T-shaped visor travelled higher and higher, landing right onto the private balcony where the princess stood.
Aurelia didn't shrink back into the shadows. Instead, she looked right back down at the warrior, tilting her head slightly, her golden robes catching the midday sun.
Beneath the heavy iron chestplate, the knight's breathing grew shallow. Looking up at the breathtaking girl on the balcony, the rider paused, entirely motionless. Whatever dark purpose had brought this stranger to stand in line for the bloody tournament seemed to slip away, replaced by a sudden, intense trance.
The knight remained completely captivated, frozen in place by the sight of the girl high above. The spell was suddenly broken when the warhorse let out a sharp, impatient neigh, shifting its weight as if urging its rider to continue their journey.
Shaking out of the fog, the Black Knight finally looked away.
A gloved hand snapped the reins, guiding the horse forward into the dark, yawning archway of the arena gates. But right before the shadows swallowed them whole, the knight couldn't resist glancing back one final time at the princess, who still stood tall and radiant on the high castle balcony.
Aurelia kept her eyes fixed on the dark, yawning archway, watching them disappear completely into the shadows of the arena.
The sudden, soft clearing of a throat shattered the heavy trance. Lola stepped back onto the balcony, her hands neatly clasped over her apron, an anxious look tightening her features.
"Your Highness," Lola murmured, her voice laced with quiet urgency. "The King is waiting alongside your brother and sister... impatiently."
The mention of her family pulled Aurelia completely back to her harsh reality. Her brother and sister would already be taking their places, her father and brother eager for the bloodsport, while her father grew more furious with every passing second she delayed.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," Aurelia sighed softly.
She turned away from the railing, giving Lola a reassuring nod to show she wasn't truly angry at the interruption. Forcing her features into a mask of cold, regal calm, Aurelia gathered the heavy folds of her golden robe and walked side-by-side with her maiden back into the quiet shade of the palace.
\\\AT THE WAR ARENAS ROYAL ENTRANCE HALL//
Aurelia moved down the grand, echoing corridor of the palace, the heavy fabric of her golden robe sweeping over the cold marble. Beside her, Lola kept pace, a silent, comforting presence in the shadow of the towering stone arches.
The pressure of being the middle child weighed heavily on Aurelia's shoulders as she neared the royal box. Ahead of her would be the eldest brother—a man who was turning out to be the exact, terrifying copy of their father. He possessed the same cold eyes, the same ruthless appetite for violence, and the same absolute disregard for the common folk. He was already being groomed to inherit a throne...
built on blood.
Then there was her little sister, the youngest. She was still so sweet, so entirely pure, her heart untouched by the malice of the court. Aurelia spent every waking hour trying to shield the child from the harsh realities of their father's reign.
Their family had truly broken the day their mother passed. She had died giving birth to the youngest , leaving a gaping wound in the castle that had never truly healed.
Without her mother's gentle guidance, the King's cruelty had grown unchecked, and the palace had morphed into a cage of fear.
As the distant, thunderous roar of the colosseum crowd began to vibrate through the floorboards, Aurelia braced herself. She couldn't let her brother see her weakness, and she couldn't let her sister see her fear.
\\INSIDE THE WAR ARENA//
As Aurelia stepped through the grand doors to the royal box, the brilliant sunlight hit her with a brief, fleeting warmth. But the comfort vanished instantly, replaced by a sound she loathed entirely—the sick, roaring pleasure of thousands of citizens hungry for entertainment. Why did it always have to be to the death? Why couldn't the fighters simply submit, yield, and move on with their lives? But no. In this stadium, it was always death.
Her father enjoyed seeing the blood spill for him. No cause or reason was ever needed; the King simply wanted chaos to roam.
High above the crowd, the royal box was a sprawling display of gold and velvet. There sat her father, the King, laughing boisterously with a cup of spiced wine. To his left sat Andrew, leaning forward over the stone balustrade, his eyes scanning the sands below with a hungry intensity.
"Surprised you finally decided to grace us with your presence," Andrew sneered, his voice cutting through the arena's loud roars without him ever turning his head. "Always cooped up with those books of yours and your useless attempts at having a man's knowledge. You almost missed the opening. Father was getting rather unruly. I suggest you don't make that mistake again."
He spoke with the harsh, grating authority of someone used to being obeyed.
As the armed general in second command, Andrew didn't treat her like a sibling—he commanded his sister as if she were just another one of his common soldiers.
Aurelia kept her jaw tight, refusing to let his insults pierce her regal armor. As she moved toward her seat, she caught the eye of the man standing just off to the side of the royal chairs.
General Micheal, the armed general in chief command of the entire imperial military, quietly shifted his stance. Moving his armored form to the side, he gave her ample room to pass through the tight dais. As she walked past, the hardened veteran looked down and offered her a soft, welcoming smile—a rare, genuine flash of kindness in a sea of bloodthirsty monsters.
Aurelia returned a small, genuine smile to General Micheal, offering him a grateful nod as she slipped past his armored frame. She stepped gracefully toward the royal chairs and took her seat right next to seven-year-old Adelaide her dear little sister.
But she refused to let Andrew's arrogant commands hang in the air unanswered once comfortable adjusting her tiara, leaning in close, her voice a razor-sharp whisper that barely carried over the thunderous roar of the crowd, she spoke directly into her brother's ear.
"Don't command me like that again I'm not one of your men. If you want to command someone let it be the fools who wash the blood of your back considering not even a man like you can do such a simple thing," Aurelia hissed.
Her words were quiet, but laced with a cold fury that matched the dignity of her title. Andrew's jaw tightened. For a fraction of a second, his focus fractured from the arena below, a dark look crossing his features at his sister's sudden defiance. Before he could turn his head to snap back a cruel retort, the stadium's atmosphere shifted entirely.
Aurelia was immediately pulled away from her brother by a slight tug as she looked down at her little sister who softly tugged at her shoulder.
Adelaide looked up at her, clutching tightly onto a little wooden doll resting in her lap, her small shoulders tense from all the roaring noise around them. Aurelia's expression instantly softened.
The rigid, cold mask she wore for her father and Andrew melted away. She leaned down, giving her sister a soft, gentle smile.
"Hello, sister," Aurelia murmured, leaning over to press a warm kiss to the little girl's cheek.
Adelaide smiled softly, her anxiety easing the moment Aurelia was near.
"I'm right here. I'm not gonna leave, okay?" Aurelia promised, her voice a comforting shield against the stadium's Loud uproars.
Adelaide giggled, nodding happily, and suddenly shoved the wooden doll right into Aurelia's face with childlike excitement. "Do you like my new dolly? Her name's Freyna. Micheal gave her to me!"
Aurelia looked at the toy, her heart swelling with gratitude for the old general standing guard nearby. She looked past the doll and smiled warmly at the little girl. "I love it, Addie. It's so beautiful."
Adelaide's eyes lit up. "Apparently she's a..."
The seven-year-old stopped mid-sentence, casting a quick, secretive glance over at General Micheal, who remained standing tall and stoic near the edge of the dais. Satisfied that no one else was paying attention, Adelaide climbed up onto her knees in her chair, leaning in close to press her lips against Aurelia's ear.
"...she's a strong warrior princess who takes care of the children in the ash shallows," Adelaide whispered frantically, her voice full of pure wonder. "But don't tell anyone! It's our secret."
The little girl giggled happily, pulling back and plumping herself back down onto the plush velvet seat.
Aurelia's breath caught slightly at the words. A warrior princess. A strange, sudden warmth bloomed in her chest as her mind instantly flashed back to the faceless, black-armored knight she had just witnessed defending the ragged street children down in the village muck.
Off to the side, the subtle rustle of armor signaled that they weren't entirely unheard.
General Micheal, having caught the quiet whisper over the low hum of the stadium, glanced down at Adelaide. The battle-hardened veteran didn't scold them; instead, a soft crinkle formed around his eyes as he gave the youngest princess a subtle, knowing wink.
Aurelia let out a quiet giggle, her shoulders relaxing as she nodded in agreement with her sister.
"It's our secret," Aurelia whispered back playfully, tapping the nose of the wooden doll.
Adelaide giggled happily at that, a wide, radiant smile breaking across her face as she clutched Freyna tightly to her chest.
Down on the sand, the heavy iron portcullis gates finished their slow, grinding ascent. Stepping out into the blinding midday sun was a figure that made the crowd erupt into absolute pandemonium.
It was Sir Grayson.
He rode a magnificent white charger, his armor a dazzling display of polished silver and filigreed gold that practically radiated luxury.
Unlike the faceless wanderers who fought for basic survival, Grayson carried himself with the supreme, effortless grace of true royal blood. He was the prince of a powerful kingdom across the country, sent to this court as a boy to grow up alongside Andrew. They had trained together, hunted together, and become inseparable best friends—two halves of the same ruthless coin.
Grayson reined in his stallion directly beneath the royal box. Dropping his golden lance in a flawless, courtly salute, he looked up and locked his eyes directly onto Aurelia, flashing an arrogant, possessive smile.
Beside her, Andrew leaned over the stone railing, his eyes gleaming with pride. "Look at him, Father. The pride of our vanguard. A true Lord-in-the-making."
Across the arena, the second gate groaned open. Out stepped his opponent—a random, desperate challenger clad in mismatched leather and rusted chainmail. The poor man was shaking, his knuckles white around his shield. He was fighting for coin to feed a family; Grayson was simply fighting for sport and a title.
The secondary horn blasted, and the match began.
It wasn't a battle; it was a execution. Grayson didn't even bother to dismount. He spurred his stallion forward, the heavy thud of hooves vibrating through the stadium. The random challenger tried to raise his shield, but with a terrifying, precise strike, Grayson's golden lance shattered the wood to splinters.
The man crashed violently into the dirt. Instead of yielding, Grayson circled back, drawing his glittering broadsword. With brutal, fluid grace, he dismounted and systematically toyed with the wounded man, parrying his desperate swings with laughing ease before delivering a final, lethal thrust straight through the challenger's chestplate.
The crowd roared, a sick wave of pleasure echoing across the stone walls. The King stood up, clapping his heavy hands in booming approval a slow clap of deep satisfaction his eyes glistening with entertainment , while Andrew smirked triumphantly at his sister.
Down in the blood-stained sand, Grayson wiped his crimson blade, looked back up at the royal box, and gave Aurelia a slow, deliberate wink. He had won. The title of Lord was officially his, and the golden cage surrounding Aurelia had just grown terrifyingly smaller.
Aurelia immediately looked away, her stomach turning with a deep, visceral revulsion.
It wasn't just the casual slaughter that sickened her; it was the man himself. Grayson was a notorious, shameless ladies' man. He spoiled himself with far too many women across the capital, treating the daughters of nobles and commoners alike as fleeting amusements to be bought with his endless wealth or his twisted mind with no reason to ever fear law consent was just an option for few either way they'd be discarded when he grew bored a replacement for them was already prepared by the time he even thought of discarding them. He was a man utterly bloated on his own royal privilege, and the thought of being forced into his bed made her skin crawl.
Andrew noticed her sharp turn of the head. He leaned back in his velvet chair, letting out a dark, mocking chuckle.
"Oh, come now, sister," Andrew murmured, leaning closer so his tone dripped with venomous amusement. "Don't look so entirely repulsed. A man of his high royal blood is allowed his little... distractions. After all, that is your meant-to-be future husband down there. Once you are married, he will surely return to your chambers. Eventually."
Andrew's smirk widened, clearly taking a twisted pleasure in watching his sister's freedom vanish piece by piece. To Andrew, a woman's worth was determined solely by the alliances she could secure for the family, and his best friend was the ultimate prize it wasn't the life Aurelia wanted she refused and kept fighting on marrying this monster. Grayson wasn't her type personality wise or gender and that was no one else's business but hers, why should her family use her for alliance's?.
Aurelia kept her eyes fixed firmly on the wooden doll, Freyna, in Adelaide's lap, refusing to give her brother the satisfaction of seeing her break. She tightened her grip on her little sister's hand. The answer to her own question was clear, to protect her little sister the one girl in this world Aurelia would put her whole life on the line for, she would rather take the fall then let dear Addie be expected of those same conditions.
But it still hurt to agree with the facts by a few months time a marriage proposal would be at her door.
Down in her seat, Addie whimpered softly, sensing the heavy toxicity rolling off her older siblings. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her doll tighter to her chest, trying to hide away from the cruelty of the dais.
Aurelia turned her head slowly, her gaze cutting through the space between them like a blade it hurt too much for her to stay quiet. She looked at him with an unyielding, burning defiance.
"He is a pig, brother nothing but a disgusting pig" Aurelia said, her voice dripping with an absolute, icy disgust that left no room for interpretation she would not let her brother have the last word.
Andrew's laughing facade instantly vanished. His features darkened, and he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh, aggressive hiss.
"Don't be so rude," Andrew snapped, glaring at her with a fierce intensity. "Do you know how many fights he's won for us, sister? Do you know how many times he has brought home victory, and feasts, and riches that lasted us your whole life? You know nothing."
He paused, letting the weight of the empire's greed hang heavily over her head, before a cruel, snarky grin curled right back onto his lips.
"And so what if he loves his women?" Andrew sneered, his eyes scanning her golden robe with a look of pure, unadulterated malice. "I wouldn't blame him doing it more after he's married to the sight of you."
The insult hung in the thick air of the royal box, sharp and deeply personal. Aurelia felt the blood rush to her ears, her jaw clenching so hard it ached.
Andrew sneered, waiting for the words to break her, waiting for the tears or the silence that would signal his total victory over her spirit.
Instead, Aurelia turned her head and looked him dead in the eye.
She let out a sudden laugh and scoffs, a sound of pure, unadulterated amusement that caught Andrew completely off guard. The mockery in her eyes was blinding as she leaned forward, her voice a razor-sharp blade that sliced right through his fragile arrogance.
"A man who cannot conquer his own basic desires will never truly conquer a kingdom, brother. it'd probably fall the second he sat on the throne," Aurelia whispered.
Her delivery was flawless—calm, biting, and dripping with an intellectual superiority that completely dismantled his crude insults. She was throwing his own military logic right back in his face, reminding him that a true prince requires discipline, not just a violent appetite and a collection of disposable women.
Andrew's smug grin instantly vanished. The skin around his knuckles turned stark white as he gripped the stone balustrade, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He looked as if he wanted nothing more than to strike her down right there on the dais, utterly humiliated that his younger sister had gotten the last word a giggle following her comeback.
Before the silence between them could fracture into outright violence, a massive, thunderous roar erupted from the lower levels of the stadium.
Down on the sand, the primary gates were screeching open once more. The heavy iron gates on the far western side of the arena began to grind open with a slow, agonizing screech.
Andrew kept his furious glare locked on Aurelia for one lingering, dangerous second before finally snapping his head back toward the sand. He was eager for a distraction to bury the humiliation of her words.
Down below, the stadium announcers didn't use the celebratory brass horns that had welcomed Sir Grayson. Instead, a single, deep war drum began to beat a slow, rhythmic thud that echoed heavily against the stone walls.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Beside Aurelia, little Adelaide flinched at the dark, ominous sound. She held her doll Freyna tightly against her collarbone, burying her face into the folds of Aurelia's heavy golden sleeve. "Sister, I don't like the drum," the little girl whimpered softly
Aurelia looks at her, her expression instantly softening with maternal protection. "Close your eyes and focus on Freyna, Addie, it's going to be alright " she murmured gently.
Addie hugs her sideways and nods, burying her face securely into the warm, gold-embroidered fabric of her sister's sleeve. She hugs Freyna tight, squeezing the wooden warrior princess doll against her small chest to shield herself from the world.
Out into the blinding sun steps out a man—no, a monster. He was her father's greatest pride and joy: his personal executioner. Towering in a rusted iron plate covered in jagged spikes, he dragged a colossal battleaxe through the dirt.
High on the center throne, the King leans forward, grinning, loving this. The sight of his favorite weapon always brought a twisted, ecstatic light to the old tyrant's eyes leaning back knowing whatever fight was going to commence his monster was sure to win it was his birthday after all the best gifts for the best king.
Aurelia gently Hugs Addie and watches, her heart sinking heavily into her stomach, a cold dread freezing her in her seat.
Across the arena, the doors open to show his opponent—no, opponents. Four terrified rebel prisoners stumbled out onto the hot sand. They had been captured during one of Andrew's recent border raids, the boys barely older than Aurelia themselves. They stood shivering in the blinding glare, dressed in rags, and only armed with a wooden flimsy shield and dull shortswords.
This wasn't a tournament match. It was a public execution disguised as a birthday game, a cruel reminder to everyone in the crowd of what happened to those who dared question the King's rule.
Aurelia sighs, the heavy, exhausting weight of her reality pressing down on her chest as she held her little sister close.
Right beside her, Andrew sits up, his anger from their earlier argument completely forgotten, now replaced by a sick hunger for this massacre. He leaned far over the stone balustrade, his eyes wide with a cold, predatory light as he looked down at the four terrified boys.
"Watch this, Father," Andrew shouted eagerly, completely oblivious to his sister's disgust. "The scumbags thought they could steal imperial grain. Let's see how well they handle the axe."
To Aurelia, Andrew was just a stuck up for his father, parroting the old man's twisted mindset , and god, was he getting annoying by the second. He didn't see the tragedy unfolding on the sand; he only saw an opportunity to demonstrate raw, unchecked imperial power.
Down below, the four prisoners stood shivering in the bright glare of the sun. They were incredibly weak and starved, their bodies so emaciated that anyone in the stadium was able to see their rib cages and bones as they looked around at the arena. They clutched their flimsy wooden shields with trembling hands, staring up at the giant monster holding the massive battleaxe.
High in the stands, a vast majority of the mob was screaming and cheering for the executioner, swept up in the bloodsport. However, Aurelia's sharp eyes caught a few faces in the crowd filled with worry and terror. There were common mothers hiding their children's faces against their shirts, and quiet fathers staring down in absolute horror, realizing those boys could have easily been their own sons. The tension in the stadium was a brittle, fragile thing.
The secondary drumbeat suddenly stopped, leaving a ringing, breathless silence hanging over the hot sand.
High on the velvet-lined throne, the King leaned forward, his weathered face twisting into a malicious, ecstatic grin. He raised his heavy golden chalice, and her father yells out, his booming voice echoing around the arena with absolute, chilling authority:
"BEGINNN!"
Down on the sand, the slaughter began in a flash of blinding light and flying blood.
Aurelia looks away and hides her face in her sister's hair, her eyes squeezed tightly shut. She can't bear to see this senseless cruelty, shielding herself within the only pocket of innocence left on the dais.
Right beside her, Adelaide hugs onto Freyna, wishing for it to end as soon as it starts, her small body trembling against Aurelia's chest.
Down in the pit, the chaos was deafening. The crowd's roars mixed with the sound of galloping horses running around frantically as distractions a new premium activity just for the kings birthday, kicking up thick clouds of choking dust. The four prisoners were running away from the executioner, scared for their lives. But they were trapped in a fatal design— horses everywhere they turned and still all chained together by the bones on their ankles, no matter how much they drag each other and try to go in the same direction their bodies would not agree...they fall.
The giant executioner lunged forward with a monstrous swing. His massive blade sliced through the air, cutting a nearby innocent horse's insides out and missing the fleeing boys by a mere inch the guts spilling all over the hot sand and along his axe. But he didn't miss his next strike. With a sickening crunch, the axe came down, grabbing one of the prisoners and axing his head clean off with precision.
A horrific scream tore through the arena as the other three scrambled backwards crawling in sheer terror they force each other up, now running and dragging the body around because of the heavy iron links binding them to their dead companion, who they promised before this war started they'd survive.
High on the royal throne, their father laughs, booming and proud of his executioner, raising his chalice to toast the grotesque display. Right beside him, Andrew sips his wine in great satisfaction, a cold, pleased smirk resting on his lips as he watches the brutal efficiency of the empire's might.
Down on the hot sand, the tragedy was absolute. There was no one stepping in to help the three boys as they drag the dead one's body along the arena sand, completely abandoned by the world.
The executioner raised his bloody weapon to finish the remaining three.
But the weight of his momentum and the slippery, blood-soaked sand worked against him. The heavy man trips up and drops his axe, crashing heavily into the dirt.
In a desperate, split-second burst of survival instinct, one of the starved boys lunges forward. His skeletal fingers wrap around the massive wooden handle, and grab it, hoisting the colossal weapon with a strength born of pure desperation.
The entire colosseum went dead silent, the crowd gasping in a singular, unified breath of absolute shock.
High on the grand dais, the triumphant laughter abruptly cut off. Father pauses. The King's hand froze mid-air, his smug grin hardening into a look of sheer, unadulterated disbelief as a starving peasant suddenly held the weapon of his greatest champion
Aurelia looks up now, her eyes snapping open as the sudden gasp of the crowd pulls her back to the horrific reality of the sands.
Down below, the starved rebel didn't try to kill the fallen giant. Instead, the boy slams the axe down with all his might onto his own chains tears falling and apologising to his companions he takes it as his chance to run. The heavy steel blade sparked violently against the iron links, shattering the bindings and freeing him from the dead weight of his fallen companion and those who expected him to save them all. He bolted for the exit gates, a desperate spark of hope pushing his emaciated legs forward closer and closer to the gates his heart slamming out his chest his breath rapid and his body moving before his mind can even catch up.
But the giant was already recovering. Roaring in a blind, humiliated fury, the executioner lunged from the dirt. He didn't even reach for his weapon. He chases him and grabs him by the head the guards at the gate smiling as his massive, scarred hands clamp around the boy's skull like a vice, and squeezes it until there's nothing left.
High on the dais, the tension vanished from the tyrant's posture. The King leaned back, slamming his chalice down in a sick, triumphant euphoria.
"NOW THAT'S MORE LIKE IT!" Father shouted, his booming voice echoing with absolute, bloodthirsty approval.
Aurelia Clenches her jaw and holds Addie closer to her, a suffocating mix of rage and raw grief tightening her throat. She tried to completely shield her sister from the nightmare, but the sudden, horrific roar of the crowd was too much to ignore. Adelaide peeked out from behind her teddy, her innocent eyes widening only to see the boy's face squished like a basketball, his blood running and eyes rolling back, brains oozed onto the hot sand as his body went limp.
Before the graphic horror could fully burn into the child's mind, a heavy, armored glove gently swept into her field of vision. Michael covers her eyes, his hardened, veteran face softening with a deep, paternal sorrow.
"That's enough, sweet child," General Micheal murmured softly, his low voice providing a calm anchor amidst the madness.
Below them, the remaining crowd scream out in horror watching the boy's body drop to the floor. Even the bloodthirsty mob found itself sickened by the raw, stomach-turning brutality of the executioner's bare hands.
Aurelia Looks down at Addie and runs fingers through her hair, her hands trembling slightly as she tries to soothe her little sister's racing heart. Shifting her gaze, she looks up and smiles at Micheal, a silent, deeply grateful thank-you passing between the princess and the old general for protecting the last piece of innocence left in this family.
Down on the hot, blood-slicked sand, the giant executioner grabs the axe with a sick booming chuckle. He slowly hoists the massive weapon back onto his shoulder, his eyes locking onto the other two prisoners who are desperately trying to crawl out of the arena. They claw at the dirt, their broken starved bodies dragging heavily along the sand as they search for any possible escape.
High on the dais, General Micheal gently keeps his gloved hand over little Adelaide's eyes. He looks over at Aurelia and gives a soft smile in return to her, a quiet, unspoken reassurance that he will help her protect the child from the horrors below.
Drawn by the shifting, thunderous pulse of the crowd, Aurelia looks back towards what's going on. She forces her eyes down to the pit, her stomach twisting as she watches the nightmare reach its peak.
The giant executioner starts to swing his axe around and spin it, showing his skills with a terrifying, effortless ease that displays his raw power wanting to impress the king once more.
The heavy beat of the war drums starts getting louder and faster, vibrating right through the stone floorboards of the royal box. Swept up in the rhythmic performance, the bloodthirsty crowd begins to cheer in sync with the drumbeats, their voices rising in a unified, chilling chant.
The executioner slowly advances, his massive shadow looming large over the sand as he approaches the two boys who are now half off the edge of the arena banister. They are practically clawing at the stone wall separating the pit from the lower stands.
One boy is desperately reaching out near the villagers in the front row, crying out for a mercy that will never come the villagers moving back like he's a plague.The other boy is trapped entirely in place—his leg chain stuck tight in the heavy iron grating of the drainage gates, pinning him to the floor like an animal caught in a trap squirming about.
High on the grand throne, Father watches, his eyes fixed on his executioner with a cold, expectant smirk. Beside him, Andrew watches, leaning over the stone railing with a hungry intensity, eager to see the final two boys split in half or maybe four. Below them, the whole arena is watching, the crowd's unified chants reaching a breathless, bloodthirsty peak as the massive battleaxe is raised for the final blow.
The executioner brought his arms back, preparing to swing.
But right before the steel could fall, a thunderous explosion of splintering wood and iron groaned through the stadium.
The secondary gate doors break open with a smash, the heavy oak reinforcement blowing inward as if hit by a battering ram. Out of the cloud of dust and flying splinters surges a terrifying specter—a black horse charging right towards the executioner.
It was the massive warhorse from the village market, its stark white skeleton markings painted across its dark coat like a herald of death. Sitting flawlessly astride the beast was the mysterious figure in the soot-stained, pure obsidian-black armor, their heavy dark capes billowing like storm clouds behind them.
The knight didn't wait for an introduction. They didn't care about the rules of the King's tournament. Spurring the warhorse into a dead sprint across the sand, the Black Knight rode directly into the fray, a lethal force rushing to collide with the empire's favorite monster.
High on the balcony, Aurelia's eyes widened, her heart hammering violently against her ribs. It was them. The silent phantom who had saved the starving children had just broken into her father's slaughterhouse.
Aurelia perks up and watches, interested, and sits up straight in her plush velvet chair. The crushing dread that had weighed on her chest for the last hour vanished in an instant, replaced by a sudden, electric jolt of absolute fascination.
Down on the sand, the massive warhorse charges directly into the center of the ring.
With a thunderous pull of the reins, the horse neighs and stands on its hind back legs, its skeleton-painted chest flaring out as it halts the executioner's deadly swing.
The Black Knight in obsidian black armour sat flawlessly astride the bucking beast, not waiting for an introduction. In a flash of fluid movement, the rider drew a long sharp black sword with a silver handle. Holding a raised posture and armour glistening in the sun, the knight looked like an avatar of pure vengeance. The horse was huge, towering over the executioner and casting a massive shadow over the giant brute.
The whole stadium went completely dead silent, the crowd holding its breath together as the drums stopped entirely. No one had ever dared to challenge the King's executioner like this.
High on the dais, Micheal pauses, moving hand away from Adelaide's face, his armored fingers freezing in mid-air. The battle-hardened veteran stood completely rigid, not even expecting this either. His sharp, tactical eyes locked onto the black sword and the flawless posture of the rider.
Aurelia smiles, a genuine, radiant wave of hope washing over her features.
Leaning down securely into their protective bubble, she whispers to Addie, "This warrior knight helps the people."
Adelaide peeked out from behind her sister's arm, staring down at the magnificent skeleton horse with wide, glittering eyes. Addie smiles. "I wanna be a warrior knight," she giggles happily, clutching her doll Freyna tighter to her chest, her fear completely forgotten trusting her sisters words.
Hearing the sweet whisper, Micheal smiles at them both, a rare, soft warmth softening his scarred face. But as he looks back towards the knight, his expression shifts into something much deeper, his brow furrowing slightly—almost like he recognises it too. He stares at the silver-handled blade and the soot-black plate, a ghost from his past seemingly walking right onto the blood-soaked sand.
The breathless silence of the colosseum didn't last for long.
With a sharp, commanding yank of the reins, the Black knight slams their horse down on the executioner. The colossal weight of the skeleton-painted warhorse crashed directly into the giant brute's chestplate, sending him staggering backward into the dirt.
Before the executioner could even raise his battleaxe, the black-armored warrior moved with a blinding, terrifying speed. A single, fluid arc of the long black blade sliced through the air, and cuts the executioners head right off.
The giant's headless torso collapsed into the sand with a heavy thud. Without missing a beat, the rider effortlessly catches the severed head, keeps his head on the tip of the sword, and circles around the arena. The horse trotted deliberately past the roaring sections of the mob, the knight holding the grim trophy high aloft, almost to show if this is what they have come too. It was a silent, biting mockery of the stadium's bloodlust.
Reining the horse in right before the two cowering rebel prisoners, the knight flawlessly reaches into their sheath and uses its 2nd sword to break the chains of the boys. With one heavy, precise strike of the secondary blade, the iron links shattered, freeing the starved survivors from their dead weight.
Turning the massive stallion to face the royal dais, the rider raises the silver-handled blade, and points the sword with the executioners head towards the king. The message was unmistakable—a blood-soaked threat delivered right to the crown.
Aurelia watches the knight, her jaw slightly parted, her heart hammering wildly against her ribs. She was entirely spellbound by the sheer, unyielding bravery of this faceless savior.
High on the velvet throne, the King stares down at the knight mixed with very many emotions. Shock, rage, and disbelief flickered across his weathered face in a fraction of a second. But then, to the absolute horror of everyone on the dais, the tyrant's face splits into a wide grin, and then laughs a booming laugh.
Andrew looks at his father even confused himself, his smug demeanor completely shattering as his jaw drops. "Father?" Andrew asks, his hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of his sword, entirely unnerved by his father's bizarre reaction.
Aurelia looks over in confusion, her brow furrowing deeply as she looks between her brother and her laughing father.
The King laughs even more, bending over to breathe as his raucous amusement echoes right through the stadium speakers. He wipes a tear from his eye, slamming his heavy golden chalice onto the table, completely thrilled by the sheer audacity of the intruder.
"NOW YOU SIR KNOW HOW TO MAKE AN INTRODUCTION!" the King roared over the balcony, his voice booming across the stunned arena sands. "KILLING MY EXECUTIONER LIKE THAT? I LOVE IT!"
The moment the King's booming approval echoed over the loudspeakers, the mood of the colosseum flipped on a knife's edge. Like mindless puppets following their master's strings, the whole crowd immediately compliments her father's words and cheers and claps. The initial horror melted away into deafening applause, the mob eagerly celebrating the savage display they had just witnessed.
High on the velvet-lined dais, Aurelia looks at the knight, her chest heaving with a mixture of awe and bated anticipation.
Down on the blood-slicked sand, the Knight responds to the King's praise with a cold, slow indifference. The rider lowers sword, effortlessly throwing the head onto the sand, letting the gruesome trophy roll away into the dirt like common refuse.
Intrigued beyond measure, the King gets up and goes down the arena towards this knight, his heavy robes trailing behind him. His personal guards move instantly by his sides to form a protective wall. Behind them, Micheal pausing for a fraction of a second, his sharp eyes locked onto the black armor with a lingering, unreadable look, before Andrew following close behind, his hand tight on his pommel.
Aurelia stands and looks down at them, stepping right up to the stone balustrade, entirely unable to tear her eyes away from the brewing confrontation.
The King stops right at the edge of the pit, looking up at the towering skeleton-painted warhorse and the faceless, silent warrior astride it.
"You have shown me today I need more than just an executioner," the King proclaims, his booming voice echoing with absolute authority across the silent stands. "I need a beast. And you, sir, are going to be my beast. My knight, my knight of the dark... you are awarded lordship."
The declaration hits the royal box like a thunderclap. Andrew stares in disbelief at his father's words, his mouth parting slightly in sheer shock. To Andrew, this stranger was a dangerous, unpredictable threat who had just butchered a loyal imperial asset—and his father was welcoming the phantom directly into their inner circle.
Up on the balcony, Aurelia smiles at that, a rare, secret flash of genuine satisfaction lighting up her features.
Down in the blood-stained sand, the crowd's roars faded into a tense hum as all eyes locked onto the newly crowned warrior.
Accepting the decree, the Knight swings a leg over the saddle and dismounts the massive warhorse with a heavy, fluid grace. The dark plate armor clanked softly as the figure steps right up to the edge of the royal dais, bows their head, and goes down on one knee. Silent, not a word spoken, the phantom remains completely motionless in the dirt, a terrifyingly compliant statue of black steel.
The King grinned down at the display, thoroughly satisfied by the absolute submission of his new asset.
"Congratulations, Lord Knight of the Dark! You are now my new executioner," the King boomed, his voice echoing across the stadium as he raised his heavy golden chalice high into the air. "WE SHALL CELEBRATE IN 3 DAYS TIME!"
Turning his back on the silent warrior, the tyrant looks back to the crowd, spreading his arms wide to soak in the adulation of his people. "FOR NOW, LETS CELEBRATE!" he laughs, a raucous, booming chuckle that signals the resumption of his decadent birthday festivities.
The stadium erupted into chaotic music and drunken cheering once more, the guards instantly moving to clear the mutilated bodies from the sand to make room for the dancers and performers.
High in the royal box, the festive noise felt suffocated and hollow to the middle princess.
Aurelia takes Addie's hand, her fingers wrapping securely around her little sister's small, trembling palm. She gently guides the seven-year-old away from the stone balustrade, turning their backs on the unhinged laughter of her father and the furious, silent glaring of her brother Andrew.
As they walked back toward the quiet shade of the palace corridors, Aurelia looked back over her shoulder one final time. Down on the sand, the Black Knight was rising slowly to their feet.
A three-day countdown had just begun, and Aurelia knew this lordship was different, no reason onto why but when that lordship ceremony finally arrived, the kingdom would never be the same again.
