Aaron shook his head. What just happened?

  The tang of blood hit him again—sharp, metallic. His stomach clenched. Had he acclimatized already? He should have noticed sooner.

  His fists tightened around the spear. The others stared—silent.

  “What. The. Hell.” The words scraped out.

  Erai looked confused, stepping back. The others remained expressionless. Rhea’s posture shifted—relaxed but ready.

  “He tried to hurt me. What’s your problem? He’s just a slave. If he revives, proper justice will be done.” She shrugged. “If not, it wasn’t the Weaver’s will.”

  She killed him because she could. And she thinks I’m mad about justice. No—she’s just like them. If she had power, what would stop her?

  He glanced at the dead headhunters. And the beheaded children. What’s wrong with these people? If she’s typical, I might have to flee the evil empire—classic bullshit scenario.

  His gaze drifted to the sky. But where would I go? I need to study the sky. Ask Theon. And why does the second revival even matter?

  Rhea cleared her throat. Venom sparked between her, Aria, and Theon. I need to figure out what’s behind all this. And honestly—getting a pet psychopath ex-girlfriend? Terrible life choices, Aaron.

  “Let us continue to the trial of strength,” Rhea said, voice stiff.

  “You ought to be good at it,” Erai shot back.

  Rhea didn’t punch her. Yet.

  They moved on in brittle silence. Rhea led with rigid purpose, her jaw tight. Theon trailed behind, scanning the woods. Aaron walked beside Erai, but not with her. His thoughts still swam in the blood they left behind.

  Her hand brushed his. Once. Then again. Deliberate. Really?

  It felt wrong—a cloying presence pressing at the edge of his space. He sidestepped.

  Erai hesitated. Hurt flickered in her eyes, then wariness. Maybe Rhea had the right idea after all.

  The silence dragged—awkward and heavy.

  The forest loomed with wide oaks, their branches interlocking into a dense canopy. Taller trees—straight as bamboo—pierced through, vanishing into the sky. As the ground rose, they came across a steep hill. Still not tired. My old body wouldn’t have lasted this long.

  Rhea scanned the incline. An opportunity. “We’ll split up. Cover both sides. If we don’t meet at the far end, we regroup here.”

  Silence followed. Rhea and Theon exchanged glances—no objections. Right. I’m the divine champion. In charge. Great.

  Rhea met his gaze with a wolfish smirk. “Great tactical thinking, Anax.”

  “I’ll go with Xandros!” Erai practically threw herself at him. This is not going according to plan.

  Aaron brushed her hand off his shoulder, stepping back. “Better if we had some boy-and-girl bonding time. For, you know, understanding.”

  Erai stared, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. Rhea and Theon’s amused glances didn’t help. Seriously? Innuendo? Or did I hit some cultural landmine again?

  “Let’s meet on the other side. All of us.” Theon’s tone carried a warning glance toward Rhea. She shrugged, unconcerned.

  The girls walked off, maintaining a spear’s throw between them. Aaron caught Theon’s eye. Mirth sparkled there. This is ridiculous.

  They set off. The forest swallowed their footsteps. Branches sighed overhead. Fifty steps in, Theon pressed a hand to his face. His shoulders shook—barely containing laughter.

  Aaron sighed. “Spill it.”

  Theon looked up, confused. “What should I spill?” Translation error? Or are they just expecting my foreign curses?

  “Tell me what’s so funny,” Aaron said, his tone flat.

  Theon drew a deep breath, calming himself. “You two used to be inseparable,” he said, glancing sideways. “Like sun and sea.”

  Aaron frowned. “And now?”

  Theon smirked. “She’s a bastard of Clan Erostes. Unacknowledged. Your mother disapproved. And she…” He rolled his shoulders. “She learned to survive.”

  Aaron paused. Birds sang. Leaves whispered. The forest breathed—calm, indifferent.

  “She wields the Fist Chains. Treats commonborn like dirt. Manipulative as hell. After she became a woman? Worse. She’d incite others to throw rocks—at me, at weaker young adults. Always from the shadows.”

  Aaron nodded, offering noncommittal sympathy. “Rough.” So, a real piece of work. And she thinks we can just patch things up? Too young. Too dangerous. Why does this crap always find me?

  Theon snorted, barely suppressing a laugh. “And now? She’s confused. I’ve never seen her flustered. Might be a first.” His eyes gleamed. “But the best part?”

  His laughter burst out—sharp, uncontrolled. “She doesn’t know it was your spear. She’d lose her mind. I’d owe you a favor if I get to see that moment.”

  Theon doubled over, shoulders shaking. Aaron couldn’t help but grin, the tension cracking for a moment.

  But then he froze. Wait. Rhea waited before the ambush—until the slave was distracted by Erai. Was that a tactical distraction? Or revenge?

  Neither answer sat well. But the first? That would be exactly her style. And honestly? I’m glad it wasn’t a fair fight. I’d be dead.

  They pushed through the underbrush in silence for a while. Aaron forced a deep breath. Would I wait if it were my worst enemy? Survival first. Moral philosophy later. Right?

  Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

  “It’s a mess.” He shook his head. “My mess now.” His thoughts flicked from Erai’s violence to Rhea’s cold precision—to death, and what came after.

  His eyes found Theon. “What’s up with the second revival? Why does it matter?”

  “For mortals, the rules differ from your unlimited revivals as a champion.”

  Aaron stopped mid-step. “--It’s known I have infinite revivals?” The thought hit like a slap. So much for blending in.

  “Yes,” Theon said. “Prophets get three guaranteed revivals. Champions—like you—only die when their purpose ends.” Fantastic. Divine suicide watch. No easy exits. Figures.

  Theon continued, voice quieter. “Mortals get one revival. If we survive twenty-five years, it resets. But if we die again before that…” He hesitated. “First two times? Half come back. Next two? One in five. After that—one in ten.”

  The air grew heavier. Aaron pursed his lips. A gamble. Death as probability. Explains the trial. But… Did I risk Rhea’s life just for a chat? A cold shiver ran down his spine.

  “How many times have you and Rhea—” He stopped.

  Theon’s sharp look said everything. “Don’t ask that. Only the closest allies would know.”

  Theon glanced upward, eyes thoughtful. Aaron held his breath. Did I just blow this? No—makes sense. It’s strategic gold.

  Theon finally shrugged. “Neither of us has died. Few do in the Argo.” He gestured at the forest. So this really is their version of an SAT. With javelins instead of pencils.

  But something gnawed at Aaron. Thrown into a trial. With them. My awakening… was this planned?

  “I appreciate the clarity.” Aaron nodded. A grin tugged at his lips. “And I get infinite revivals.”

  Theon returned the smile. A tension Aaron hadn’t noticed melted away. They walked on in easy silence for a few hundred steps.

  Suddenly, there was a rustle. Aaron’s spear snapped up. His heart hammered. Another fight? Already?

  Theon whistled—a bird call. A different bird answered. Aaron ducked behind a tree. Javelins. We’re not the only ones who know how to use them.

  Theon whistled again. Another reply. Oh, verfication calls. Clever. Aaron exhaled.

  Moments later, two familiar figures stepped from the underbrush—annoyed but alive. Only a few strides apart. Maybe they worked it out?

  Judging by their expressions? Not a chance.

  Theon nodded at Rhea. She smirked. “Done discussing your noble matters, Xandros?” Erai’s voice dripped with ice. Her chin lifted, gaze sharp and unrelenting.

  Aaron suppressed a sigh. Ah, the ice queen routine. Better than her trying to get handsy.

  Rhea broke the stare. “We’re close to the Trial of Strength. Let us move.”

  Erai huffed and turned away, following Rhea without a word. Relationship drama during a survival trial? Classic. Didn’t think anyone would be that stupid.

  Aaron and Theon followed, silent.

  —

  The forest ended without warning. One more step, and the trees fell away into open sky. They dropped to their knees. Ahead: a meadow, vast and bare, a wooden arena at its heart—too quiet. Too still. Basic training all over again.

  The clearing stretched wide—six hundred steps at least. At its center stood a circular wooden structure, gray and weathered like ancient hardwood. An arena. Fits the theme.

  Rhea’s brow furrowed. “I hear fighting.”

  Erai tilted her head. “Beasts.” Her voice was sure.

  Rhea’s expression darkened. After a few tense heartbeats, she nodded.

  “Should we wait?” Aaron asked, glancing between them.

  “Could be a trap,” Theon whispered. “Let us see if it quiets down.”

  Aaron settled into the dirt. With our luck? The fight’s just out of earshot.

  Time dragged. The sounds faded. The girls exchanged glances—grim, silent. Aaron nodded too, more for show than agreement. Let’s see what fresh hell this trial holds.

  They crept toward the arena, spears raised, eyes sweeping every shadow. The trees loomed behind—ancient sentinels watching in silent judgment. Aaron kept his breathing steady, though his pulse thundered in his ears.

  The arena rose before them—grey wood, weathered and worn.

  Too perfect. Too quiet. Then the earth trembled. A low groan echoed beneath their feet.

  Rhea froze. “Something’s moving.”

  They halted. Two wooden warriors stood at the entrance, halberds crossed in a silent salute.

  The door creaked open. They tensed, forming a battle line—quick and efficient. Mostly because they’re building it around me.

  A man in yellow robes strolled out—boredom etched on his face.

  An amulet swung from his neck: three glowing yellow rings encircling a gem. His glasses flashed in the dim light. Braided iron and copper wire wrapped around his arms, and small metal spheres rolled over his gloved fingers, following the patterns of embedded wires. Three scrolls were tucked under his arm.

  “The third group today. What joy,” he said, voice flat and nasal. “Follow me.” Finally, someone who’s just as thrilled to be here as I am.

  They followed without a word.

  —

  A short wooden tunnel stretched ahead. The air inside was cool—unnaturally so. Sand crunched beneath their boots. The arena’s portal came into view, bathed in the harsh glare of early noon.

  They stepped onto the sand—smooth, flawless. Impressive. There was fighting here just moments ago. Magic, probably. Geomancy. Like Magus Glittergem’s specialty.

  Aaron’s gaze lingered on the untouched arena floor. What kind of trial leaves no scars?

  They reached the center. The sun hung overhead, casting no shadow—no advantage. Good. Gladiators always loose when the sun picks a side. I think.

  “Amazing. Do wait here. I shall fetch the magus.” The yellow-robed man slipped through a door in the arena wall—ornate and polished. Too polished. No scars. No battle marks. Suspicious.

  “I think this is—” The door creaked open.

  A figure stepped through—draped in verdant robes stained with ink, weighed down by an obscene number of glinting trinkets. Aaron’s gaze narrowed. Looks like a jewel thief who never learned restraint.

  The air beside the man shimmered—cold distortion, unnatural. Protection magic? Energy projection? Or just a walking inferiority complex? In one hand he held a wand and a scroll. In the other a plain wooden staff.

  His voice boomed—thick and resonant, as if the arena itself vibrated with each word.

  “Greetings. Welcome to the Trial of Strength. Prove yourselves… yada yada yada.” He waved his wand lazily. The volume didn’t drop. “Hold on to your weapons.”

  The yellow-robed man vanished through the door without another word.

  The verdant mage tapped his staff against the ground— Thunk.

  —and followed.

  Silence. Then the ground shuddered. Ripples disturbed the sand—soft at first, then violent. Magic? Dramatic effect?

  But the sand didn’t just shift. It flowed like water down a drain.

  Erai gasped, grabbing her leg. Theon cursed under his breath. Rhea crouched low, spear steady Aaron took a step back. The ground seemed to breathe.

  Then came the sound—a deep, hollow groan. No.

  The sand split. Canyons spiderwebbed toward the center. A breath. A heartbeat. The floor gave way.

  Aaron had one moment—just one—to register the endless dark yawning beneath him. Then gravity hit. Erai screamed. The air roared past his ears. From the pit below—manic barking.

  Darkness swallowed them whole.

  +++ Shout-Out Time +++

  As always, this chapter was edited using the mighty Infomancy Analyst Spell called ChatGPT.

  Upload schedule: Mon/Tue/Wed/Thu/Fri 4:47 PM EST / 10:47 PM CET → Each chapter is 1500 +/- 500 words long.

  What do you think of Aaron's decisions? Would you have done the same?

  Comment below, Like, Favorite or Recommend. It really helps. Thank you :)