Prologue
Fear…Pain…Screams…Anger…and death. All of it, carried by the roaring excitement of the crowd in the massive arena, built toward a single final moment. The moment when only two figures remained alive. One trembling, looking around in terror at the pools of blood spreading beneath fallen bodies. The other was watching him calmly, his last remaining opponent.
The man with the shaking hands, clutching a blood‑stained knife, stared at the only obstacle left between him and the fragile promise of survival. Without thinking, he lunged at the youth, no older than seventeen, never noticing the blade aimed at him until it was too late. In an instant, he collapsed beside the others, eyes wide, mouth filling with blood, a foreign knife buried in his chest. The victor of today’s tournament stood over him.
“Wipe that blood off before you enter,” an older Azron warned him.
It was strange how every one of them could watch the earlier bloody spectacle with excitement, yet now, in private, the same blood on his hands was considered unacceptable. However, Rik knew very well what would happen if he dared to voice that thought aloud.
It had been nearly 180 years since Earth became the target of an attack by the Azrons, a species from the now‑dead star Xania. Humans still didn’t know the true reason they chose Earth, but one thing was certain. The moment they made that decision, humanity had already lost.
Their species was differed from humans by only a few traits, , yet even those few were enough. One of those visible differences was the color of their hair. Light blue, deep blue, sea‑blue…always blue.
But that wasn’t what made them powerful. Their strength came from a unique ability, an array of telepathic powers, which allowed them to enter a human mind and do whatever they pleased to their target.
Illusions, forced emotions, unbearable pain, and even control over consciousness were what secured their victory over a defenseless human race.
From that moment on, Earth had a new owner, and the former ones were forced to submit…becoming property. The Azrons quickly learned most human languages, though they never intended to use them. Eventually, they introduced a universal one.
Realizing how much slower humans were compared to them, they took drastic measures. Every human was assigned a number and underwent a procedure directly into the center of their mind. It allowed even humans to speak the new language without learning it.
The purpose was simple: to avoid causing trouble for their new masters. Masters, because that’s what the Azrons became.
Organizations were established to allow Azrons to acquire humans as servants, pets, or as other inferior positions. Each person was given a value based on their talents, the only thing the Azrons respected in humans.
Musical skill, entertainment, or violence. In this new world, no human was anything more than an animal without rights.
They could live, but only under the care of their owner. They could attend school, but only the one chosen by their owner, to prepare them for the role they were meant to serve. And those without an owner were either assigned one upon reaching a certain age or captured from the uncontrolled parts of Earth and given one anyway.
And that second fate had now reached Rik.
Surviving day by day in the ruined streets ended the moment he was captured and forced into a brutal tournament of death.
He knew the rules well. It was always either‑or. Either you kill, or you die. Nothing in between. That was his life for seventeen years. That was his life for today. And nothing was ever meant to change.
The first thing he noticed when he stepped into the room was the smell.
Or rather the stench. A heavy mix of floral fragrances so overpowering it barely deserved to be called a scent. From that alone, he could already picture the kind of person who lived here.
“Name?” asked the man lounging on a black leather sofa, absentmindedly sipping from a cup.
“Rik,” he answered, fully aware the Azron didn’t need to ask. Reading human thoughts was probably as routine to them as breathing.
“I meant your number.” The man finally looked up.
“I don’t have one,” Rik replied in the same flat tone that revealed nothing.
“So you’re one of the Rebels?” The Azron studied him with a strange expression.
“I’m not,” Rik clarified.
The Rebels were a group of unmarked people who refused to submit. Publicly, they were portrayed as a powerful resistance faction, but in truth, they mostly hid in long‑abandoned cities, clinging to false hopes of reclaiming Earth. Most Azrons assumed anyone from “the streets” belonged to them.
“Then?” the man pressed. “You attended a training school, you have a master?”
“No.”
His patience was thinning. The man kept asking questions he could easily answer without Rik’s help.
“So what were you doing on the street without a number?”
“I lived there,” Rik said calmly.
“You know that’s illegal. Every person is required to live in their assigned zone,” the Azron reminded him.
“I didn’t escape. I was born outside,” Rik said, still monotone.
“So your parents are Rebels,” the man concluded. “Either you tell me where they are, or you’ll face the consequences.”
“Eastern side of Uninhabited Area Nine,” Rik said simply.
The Azron raised his head, doubtful. “That’s a cemetery.”
“Exactly.” Rik nodded. “And for the record, not everyone from the street belongs to the Rebels.”
The man gave him an amused smile. “Do you hate us, boy?”
“Of course,” Rik answered plainly, without a flicker of emotion.
“I saw you in the arena. You didn’t seem to struggle with killing your own kind.” The Azron leaned his elbow on the table beside a bouquet.
“It’s better to kill them quickly than force them to live here,” Rik said.
The Azron burst into laughter. “Are you sure you want to speak to your potential future master like that?” he asked, lifting one blue eyebrow.
“I haven’t said anything I didn’t mean.”
“For your disrespect, I could kill you right now,” there was a strangely satisfied, mocking look on the man’s face
“Go ahead.” Rik didn’t move.
“You’re really too sure of yourself, aren’t you?” The Azron laughed again. “Is it because you think you know how much I paid for you? Or do you naively believe your skills are irreplaceable?”
“No. Neither.”
“Oh? Truly?” The man stood and approached him. “Then why are you so convinced I won’t punish you?”
“Because I’m not for you,” Rik said, meeting his gaze directly.
As the Azron stared into Rik’s unnervingly blue eyes, he caught fragments of what he wanted to know. Eye contact wasn’t necessary for mind‑reading, yet this time he felt an odd urge to look deeper.
Male, seventeen, black hair, blue eyes, parents deceased, no remaining family. Those were things he could see with his own eyes. But there was more he wanted, something he could only take from the boy’s mind.
Yet something was wrong. He couldn’t reach the most important part of this human, his memories. His experiences were buried far too deep, hidden behind layers he couldn’t break through with a simple read.
“Correct. You’re not for me,” the man finally admitted. “You´re simply a birthday gift to my son. His requirements were simple. Human boy skilled in combat, plus something exceptional to keep him entertained.”
“Exceptional?” Rik asked.
“Something like board‑game strategy ability, musical ability, anything of that sort,” the man explained. “As you know, we value certain talents.” His smile twisted into something unpleasant.
“So you want to know if I can do anything besides killing,” Rik realized.
“Exactly.” The man nodded and gestured behind him. “Use whatever you like for the demonstration.”
Rik glanced at the chaotic pile of objects scattered across the floor. Balls, pins, chess pieces, flowers, musical instruments, and countless other items.
“I’m guessing I’m not the first one here,” he said.
“You’re not. I’ve already tested fourteen winners from today’s tournaments,” the man confirmed, watching Rik’s reaction. To his surprise, Rik’s expression didn’t change at all. Not even curiosity about the others’ fate.
“So? Will you show me something original, or will you start tying bouquets like the rest?” Azron laughed. “I suppose I can’t expect much from someone who’s never set foot in an education zone.”
Instead of answering, Rik walked past him and knelt by the pile. “I don’t know how to tie bouquets, but you can learn other things on the street,” he said, lifting an old, cracked violin.
“You know how to play that?” the man asked, genuinely surprised. “Where did you learn?”
In a world divided into thirty‑seven zones, seventeen of them dedicated to human training, violins could only be learned in Zone Twelve. For someone from the outside, with no access to inhabited areas, it should have been impossible.
“If you didn’t expect the ones from the surface to know anything, why did you choose us?” Rik asked, already knowing the answer.
He knew the fourteen before him had likely been sentenced to death through auction, where the worst of the Azron world gathered to buy a human to break.
It wasn’t unusual. Nearly two centuries had passed since humans had rights. A peaceful life was nothing more than a myth to them.
“My son wanted combat skills first. And no one has a stronger fighting spirit than someone from the streets,” the man said. “But so far, everyone has failed the second requirement.”
Rik knew he was right. People born outside the zones weren’t suited for servitude. They hated the Azrons just as much as everyone else, but unlike the bred ones, they didn’t accept submission as their fate. They resisted more fiercely. And none of them possessed the musical talent the Azrons valued so highly, not that they ever had the chance to learn.
Rik’s violin skills were a rare coincidence. One that might save his life.
And he intended to play one of the most enchanting violin pieces an Azron had ever heard. Just to see his shocked expression.
Hi everyone! I’m a 26‑year‑old girl from Slovakia, and I’ve been writing stories for the past ten years. I mainly focus on gay romance and fantasy, though I’ve explored a few other genres as well. Gay romance is still my personal favourite. I’ve written several stories in my native language that did well online, and even though writing in English is still new for me, I decided to give it a try with this story. I hope my stories will resonate with you. I’ll be grateful for any feedback. Have a wonderful day.
