《Ashes of an Empire》


 Chapter I - The Coliseum of Shadows

    In the history books, it is told that in ancient times, when the sky burned with fire and the earth trembled under the weight of colossal creatures, Molten was the stage for a war that forever changed its face. Dragons, wings outstretched, darkened the sun as they descended onto the battlefield, clashing with humans and elves who fought desperately for survival. Dwarves and fairies formed a fragile alliance, while demons and creatures of the shadows sought to subjugate everything in their path.


    But what decided the fate of the war was neither sword nor brutality. It was the Eterna.


    Magic in Molten was not a mere gift nor an arcane art. It was the essence of the world, flowing through every living being, every rock, every star.


    The thirteen Constellations, each ruled by a god, dictated the fate of the Bearers. Some were born with fierce command over the Eterna, while others could barely sense its flow. But regardless of lineage or willpower, the Eterna was not infinite. Those who abused it, those consumed by it, were eventually devoured by their own power.


    Time had blurred the details, but the scars of the Great War remained. The ruins surrounding Perseo as he was dragged against his will were silent witnesses to an age of chaos and glory. The ancient city walls, scarred by battle, echoed faintly with the legends his father once told.


    "The majestic dragons, demons, and shadow-creatures battled noble elves, brave humans, dwarves, and fairies¡­ Dragons breathing fire upon elven armies, demons shrouding the skies in smoke," he remembered, his father¡¯s voice and image resurfacing. "Now, all that remains are empty legends, like the rubble that decorates the land."


    The causes of the conflict were as varied as the races that fought in it. The elves defended their ancestral lands, dragons claimed dominion over the skies, and demons, consumed by their hatred of mortals, brought chaos. Magic, bestowed by the thirteen great constellations and dormant for eons in the less fortunate beings, awakened in their moment of greatest desperation, becoming the decisive weapon. Those who mastered this ancient force led their armies to victory; those who didn¡¯t were doomed to fall.


    The stories Perseo heard as a child were now ashes. What once were heroic tales in his mind were now just ruins and dust.


    In the depths of the darkness, where shadows danced in a macabre ballet, fate was forged in a crucible of desolation. The air was thick with despair; every corner of the place screamed with the tragedies of those who had fallen before him. His heart pounded like a war drum, marking the rhythm of his impending doom.


    Perseo, who once knew the opulence of Ophendosia, was now just a man in rags, pushed by the icy wind of fate.


    The rhythmic sound of hooves echoed like war drums against worn stone, each strike reverberating in his chest like an echo of fear.


    Will this be the last time I feel the wind on my face? he wondered as despair began to consume him.


    The carriage, old and rusted, slid toward a vile destination. Inside, every heartbeat was a warning he could not ignore. His kingdom, once radiant with splendor, was now a distant echo, a shadow of what it once was. How long has it been since I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin? he asked himself, torn apart by longing. The betrayals that led him here weighed like invisible chains, dragging him into a grim fate he had not chosen.


    The carriage stopped. The Dizaurian guards¡ªa reptilian race born of legend¡ªdragged him through damp corridors into his new home, where the walls oozed with moisture and each step echoed like the lament of lost souls. Flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the walls. Perseo, the exiled noble and last of his lineage, walked with his head bowed, his dignity stripped by misfortune.


    The shackles, worn by time and imbued with a spell that suppressed his magic, bit painfully into his wrists. Every step deeper into the dungeon was a step closer to the abyss.


    The voices of the crowd filtered through the stone walls. First a murmur. Then a roar. And finally, the announcer¡¯s voice rang across the arena.


    ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, people of Mornnosk! Today, the Coliseum of Shadows brings you a new spectacle of blood! A human! A fallen noble! How long before he becomes carrion?¡±


    He was shoved into the center of the amphitheater, where the rough sand stretched out like a macabre canvas, waiting for new tragedies to add to its collection of corpses...


    From the opposite gate, his opponent emerged: a colossal warrior, wrapped in heavy brown robes. His face, gaunt and skeletal, hid any trace of humanity, but his dull yellow eyes burned with a remnant of ancient fierceness.


    "Look what they brought today," the beast murmured in a hoarse and dry voice, tinged with bitterness. "Another dog of the gods, chained like all the others."


    The crowd roared with bestial fervor as the two fighters locked eyes. Perseo felt the tension in his muscles. His magic, sealed by the enchanted shackles, barely allowed him to sense the flow of the Eterna within him. He knew that, without his connection to the Astrion Constellation, his speed and perception were limited.


    "Who are you?" Perseo asked, analyzing his opponent¡¯s slow yet firm movements.


    "A shadow of what I once was," the colossus growled, his gaze both empty and heavy with sorrow. "I once had a name, a home¡­ a father. But the Coliseum leaves no room for such things."


    Perseo frowned. The warrior¡¯s words carried an echo of tragedy, a story he did not yet understand.


    The first blow was not a mere attack. It was a hammer strike of pure brutality. The colossus moved with impossible speed for his size. His fist crashed into Perseo with the force of an avalanche.


    A sharp crack. A flash of pain.


    The world spun. The sand scraped his skin as he was hurled through the air. For a moment, he didn¡¯t know where the ground ended or the sky began.


    The echo of battle awakened his restrained fury. His heart pounded like a war drum. And for a moment, the world slowed.


    The Eterna flowed through him, slipping between the shackles when his enemy, blinded by rage, struck them by mistake, breaking them.


    A shiver ran down his spine. Something was changing. The bracelets crackled, vibrating with an unfamiliar energy. And then, like a river bursting through a dam, the Eterna engulfed him. It was not just a flicker. It was a roar of power that surged through every fiber of his being. His eyes burned with the golden light of Astrion. For the first time in days, he felt like himself again.


    The Eterna was not merely a source of power; it was a living entity that responded to the fate of each Bearer. His abilities were tied to the stars that had watched over his birth, and the stronger his bond with them, the greater his control. But its use came at a cost. The abuse of the Eterna could weaken his body, unhinge his thoughts, or even steal his very soul.


    The crowd fell silent for a moment.


    The arena trembled at the manifestation of power. The bloodthirsty mob hesitated in their frenzy.


    That human, guided by an ancestral force, picked up a broken sword from among the corpses and, with a renewed look of defiance, challenged his enemy.


    The colossus, however, did not retreat. He licked his cracked lips and smiled with the confidence of a man who had known battle for more than a lifetime.


    "So the gods have not yet abandoned their favorites," he whispered, tilting his head like a wolf stalking its prey. "But tell me, boy, what will you do when the Eterna no longer sustains you? What will you do when you are alone, as I was?"


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    The giant lunged at him. But the fallen noble, now channeling his power and seeing what others could not, dodged the strikes with supernatural grace. His enemy¡¯s fists slashed through the air with divine brilliance, tracing a deadly dance.


    Each movement was faster, more precise. Magic pulsed around him, setting the rhythm of their combat. His senses sharpened. He could predict the colossus¡¯s next strike before it happened, he could feel the energy pulsing in every corner of the coliseum.


    With a precise twist of his sword, Perseo slashed the colossus¡¯s flesh, making him stagger.


    The crowd roared.


    The colossus let out a guttural growl, stumbling. Blood stained the sand, and for the first time, his eyes reflected doubt. But Perseo did not waver. The sword descended with lethal precision, striking its mark with a golden flash of light. The giant fell to his knees, and the crowd went wild, divided between jubilation and disbelief.


    The fallen noble took a deep breath, his body vibrating with the energy of the Eterna. Magic, fate, and blood intertwined in that cursed coliseum. And Perseo, the last of his lineage, was beginning to remember who he was.


    But the surprise was not over.


    Without the strength to continue, his opponent closed his eyes and deactivated his magic. The energy of Fangrel, the God of the Hunt¡¯s constellation, dissipated into the air, and his body began to shrink. His muscles withered, his skin tightened over frail bones, and what had once been an unstoppable force became a thin, hunched man, consumed by years of torment in that wretched place.


    "What the hell¡­" Perseo muttered under his breath as he took in the sight.


    The creature that had inspired terror mere moments ago no longer existed.


    The crowd, which had been roaring in excitement a second earlier, fell into an expectant silence. It lasted only a moment, just long enough for the echo of their own fury to remind them of what they truly wanted. And then, like an unstoppable wave, the chant erupted again.


    "Execute him! Finish him!"


    The air was heavy as lead. It was an insatiable clamor, a hunger for violence that lingered over the spectators like a thick mist.


    Perseo looked down at his frail, skeletal opponent. Before, he could have sworn those eyes burned with fury; now, only exhaustion remained¡­ and something else. A kind of quiet surrender, a purity in acceptance that was almost inhuman. A small, trembling smile appeared on the man¡¯s lips. It was not mockery nor defiance. It was something simpler.


    It was relief.


    A shiver ran down Perseo¡¯s spine. His fingers tightened around the sword¡¯s hilt. He knew what he was supposed to do. He knew what they expected of him.


    The coliseum roared. ¡°Execute him! Execute him!¡± The cries hammered in his head. The demons in the stands demanded more blood.


    He raised the sword.


    One strike. Just one. And it would all be over.


    But then, he felt the true weight of his own soul. It wasn¡¯t his arm that hesitated. It was something deeper. Something that, if he crossed that line, he would never return from.


    The sword trembled in his grip. And it never fell.


    His hand stopped.


    He couldn¡¯t do it.


    The crowd erupted in fury. The Coliseum trembled under the wave of screams, demands, and pure hatred. Their faces, twisted by frustration, by their thirst for blood, were no different from the demons and shadow-creatures.


    The sword fell from his hands. It struck the sand with a hollow sound and shattered into pieces, as if reflecting the fracture within him. His magic, the force that had sustained him until that moment, began to dissipate, leaving his body heavy, empty.


    Slowly, he lifted his head.


    He looked at those who had dragged him there, his judges, his executioners.


    "I won¡¯t give you the ending you want."


    His voice, though tired, carried firm resolve.


    "I will not become the monster you crave. You can beat me, you can break my bones, you can take everything from me¡­"


    His breath hitched.


    "But my soul will always be mine. And I will die as a man."


    The silence that followed was worse than any scream.


    And then, a soft sound broke through.


    A laugh.


    Weak, broken, almost inaudible amidst the crowd.


    Perseo lowered his gaze.


    His defeated opponent was smiling. Not with mockery, not with defiance. It was a small, trembling smile. The smile of someone who, at last, saw the end of their road.


    "Thank you," he whispered.


    His hand moved slowly to his side, where a sliver of metal barely peeked from the folds of his tattered robes.


    Perseo frowned. His instincts screamed before his mind could process what he was seeing.


    "Wait¡­!"


    The warrior gripped the hilt of the hidden knife.


    "I won¡¯t let them keep me here again."


    The blade flashed as he raised it, his arm trembling from the effort. His gaze lifted to Perseo with a silent plea. Not for mercy, but for understanding.


    And Perseo understood.


    This man¡­ this warrior¡­ did not fear the fate that awaited him.


    He longed for it.


    Here, in this place of blood and screams, that fate was not a tragedy.


    It was the only escape.


    "No¡ªwait!" Perseo lunged toward him.


    But it was already too late.


    The warrior exhaled a final breath, and his body collapsed. Perseo caught him before he hit the ground.


    The roar of the crowd erupted once more, but this time it sounded different. It wasn¡¯t anger. It wasn¡¯t disappointment.


    It was jubilation.


    The fallen noble felt a burning sensation in his throat. He couldn¡¯t breathe, he couldn¡¯t move. His hands, stained with another¡¯s blood, clenched into trembling fists.


    Then, realization struck him like a hammer.


    His opponent¡­ was just a boy.


    A young man nearly his age, whose years in this place had twisted his body into something much older than it was.


    So young¡­ and yet, Perseo had defeated him.


    He had led him to this.


    A thunderous sound shook the arena.


    Perseo barely had time to look up before the demonic guards swarmed him.


    The first blow dazed him. The second knocked the air from his lungs.


    Clawed hands grabbed him with brutal force, dragging him away from the still-warm corpse. His feet barely touched the ground as they hauled him through the stone corridors, damp and dark, where the roar of the Coliseum faded into a distant echo.


    The descent was endless. Stone staircases led into suffocating darkness, dimly illuminated by the torches carried by the Dizaurios.


    The air reeked of stale blood, of despair.


    A gate creaked open, its rusted hinges screaming as if they had been forgotten for a thousand years.


    They threw him inside.


    The impact knocked the breath out of him. He felt the cold, rough floor against his skin. His ribs protested, and his face burned from the beatings.


    The door slammed shut behind him with a deafening clang, and without the torchlight, he could barely make out his surroundings.


    Darkness.


    Silence.


    Slowly, his eyes began to adjust to the gloom. At first, everything was dense, impenetrable shadows. But as seconds passed, he started to discern shapes in the blackness.


    He was not alone.


    First, he saw a pair of eyes reflecting the faint light. Then, more. An old man with scars crisscrossing his face. A boy who couldn¡¯t have been older than fifteen, with eyes as empty as a corpse¡¯s. A hunched woman, whispering prayers to the constellations.


    All of them trapped in a fate worse than death.


    A whisper cut through the stillness.


    "Another one¡­"


    The voice was barely a breath, dry and cracked.


    "He won¡¯t last," another voice replied, deeper, devoid of emotion.


    Perseo swallowed hard.


    The air smelled of iron, of desperation, of something rotten that clung to the skin. He had seen prisons before, had known them from stories, but this¡­


    This was not just a cell.


    It was a tomb for the living.


    A faint sound caught his attention. A rustling. A figure closer to him shifted, stepping forward just slightly.


    "Are you¡­ like us?"


    The question lingered in the air.


    He didn¡¯t answer. He wasn¡¯t sure what the answer was.


    Because deep down, he feared that he was.


    Then, the warrior¡¯s voice echoed once more in his mind.


    "I won¡¯t let them keep me here again."


    Perseo closed his eyes, his lips pressing into a thin line.


    Now, he understood what it meant to be trapped in this place.


    This was not a dungeon. This was not a prison.


    His gaze dropped to his hands, still stained with the blood of the fallen.


    This place was Mornnosk.


    The Abyss.


    A place where hope came to die.

 Chapter 0 - Introduction, The Forgotten Prophecy

    Molten ¡ª a world forged in war.


    There was a time when the entire land was consumed by the flames of conflict.


    Humans, elves, dwarves, fairies, centaurs, gnomes, sylvans, caelusians, undarii, valkarions, and draumari raised their blades against demons, shadow-born creatures, and beasts beyond imagination.


    The Great War raged for centuries, carved by ambition, fear, and despair.


    The battlefield became a ravenous beast.


    Dwarves built underground strongholds that became their graves.


    Elves cast spells that twisted the very skies.


    Gnomes crafted weapons that defied logic.


    The caelusians, lords of the skies, descended from their floating isles to join the war.


    Centaurs galloped without rest.


    The draumari endured the frozen tundras.


    The sylvans fought alongside the will of the forest itself, defending the ancient wilds of their homeland.


    But no tactic, no alliance, not even the gods themselves were enough.


    It was not sword nor arrow that decided the fate of the world.


    It was the Eterna.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Those who understood its power rose above all others.


    The most gifted mages turned the tide, bending the very fabric of existence to their will.


    And so, when the last of the demons fell, the survivors carved their triumph into the annals of history:


    The demons were defeated.


    They were banished to the Isle of Shadows.


    Mornnosk became their eternal prison.


    But before the Demon King took his final breath, he uttered a prophecy:


    ¡°When the world forgets our name,


    when shadows become no more than whispers in history,


    when the arrogance of the victors blinds them...


    one of ours shall rise again.


    Clad in blackened armor,


    with eyes that gleam like starlight,


    the mark of the king shall burn upon his flesh.


    And when the day comes that prophecy awakens¡­


    no wall, no army, will be able to stop him.¡±


    The Demon King was executed.


    With his death, peace fell over the world like a quiet shroud.


    The victorious races buried their weapons and forged uneasy alliances.


    Humans rebuilt their kingdoms.


    Elves sought to restore the magic of the land.


    Gnomes returned to invention, and dwarves sealed their gates.


    For years, Molten thrived, slowly forgetting the horrors of the Great War.


    But fate does not forget.


    And soon, the prophecy¡­ will be put to the test.

 Chapter II - Chains of Blood

    <div>


    The darkness was more than a mere absence of light¡ªit was a suffocating weight, a presence that clung to his skin, his mind, his soul, sinking him into an abyss from which there seemed to be no escape.


    That coffin disguised as a dungeon was infected with the lost hopes of the captured, and it filled his body with an energy heavier than lead.


    At first, he thought he would get used to it easily. The dampness of the walls, the stale air that seemed to steal every breath, the constant pain in his hands, legs, and back.


    But he hadn¡¯t accounted for how sentimental the mind could get when given too much time to itself.


    The days stretched endlessly, and the darkness no longer just surrounded him¡ªit seeped into his skin, his bones, his will.


    The clinking of shackles broke the stillness like an echo of his sentence. Each step, a cruel reminder of his imprisonment. There was no escape, not even in thought.


    With every step, the sound echoed like a sentence. It was the constant reminder that he was no longer the prince he once was. He was no longer Perseo Tigerhearth, the young man who bore a legacy on his shoulders and dreamed of glory and fame. Now, he was just a slave¡ªone among many who filled the depths of the Coliseum.


    And those memories haunted him whenever they could. In the silence, they transported him back home, walking through the Edorian forest¡ªhis homeland of ancient trees that seemed to touch the sky, where the sunlight filtered through the leaves, painting golden canvases. He had heard of magical creatures living there but had never seen one¡ªuntil a few years ago.


    He remembered walking and spotting, among the branches, a herd of white deer¡ªmajestic creatures whose antlers shimmered in the sunlight as if made of pure emeralds.


    ¡°They¡¯re sacred,¡± his older brother had whispered. ¡°If you see them, it means the gods still protect this kingdom.¡±


    He had seen them for the first¡ªand last¡ªtime at age eight. Now, his kingdom was only ruins, screams, and the smell of burning flesh.


    When the guards dragged him from the dungeons for the first time, Perseo struggled with the ferocity of a cornered animal. The burn in his muscles, the anxiety in his chest, made him fear that life here would be more than he could endure. But he had no choice. The harsh hand of the guards descended on him, and any attempt at rebellion was swiftly silenced. The whip whistled through the air before striking his back. A searing pain bent him over himself; his skin, now torn open, burned as if branded with hot iron.


    It was barely dawn when they pushed him, along with the other slaves, toward the first work site: a cemetery of stone, ruins piled like the bones of a fallen giant¡ªremnants of a glorious past reduced to rubble. His task was simple in theory: clear the debris, separate the larger stones to be reused in future construction. But the labor was relentless. The sun had barely risen, and he could already feel the fatigue creeping into his bones. There were no breaks.


    Hunger was a constant companion. A few crumbs of hard bread, a piece of dried meat¡ªnever enough to quiet the gnawing in his gut. Water was always painfully far away. Perseo glanced around at the other slaves¡ªtheir faces weary, devoid of hope. Some, with empty eyes, simply worked on, as if their minds had already abandoned their bodies or as if they had no other choice but to follow the Coliseum¡¯s rhythm. All of them had the same look as the person he had fought upon arrival¡ªdefeated eyes.


    It didn¡¯t matter if their bodies were broken or their spirits shattered. The work went on.


    A guard approached Perseo as he lifted a stone larger than his strength could bear. The man looked at him with a mix of disdain and amusement, as if his suffering were nothing more than entertainment. Without a word, he struck him with the whip¡ªa dull, dry sound that sent him to his knees.


    ¡°Move faster,¡± the guard said with a harsh, serpentine voice, glaring at him.


    Perseo inhaled through clenched teeth, stifling the burning pain on his back. He couldn¡¯t fall. Not now. Not while a spark of hope still burned inside him. Not while something within him still resisted. Despite the pain, despite the humiliation, he knew he had to endure at all costs.


    With effort, he rose and continued his task without complaint. The slaves around him said nothing. Some kept working. Others simply stared at the ground. But all, in one way or another, were lost in their own thoughts¡ªin their own demons.


    When the day ended, the sun had set, and he could barely stand. His body was covered in sweat, dirt, and wounds. Fatigue piled in his chest like an invisible weight. But for one more day, he had endured.


    The man sat beside him, his movements unhurried, almost deliberate¡ªlike someone who had learned to exist in suffering.


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    "I saw you today. Working like the rest of us, but with the pride of a king." His voice turned graver. "At first, everyone thinks it¡¯s just about endurance. But endurance alone isn¡¯t enough here."


    He leaned in slightly.


    "Here, the greatest battle is keeping something worth fighting for."


    Perseo frowned. "And what do you have left to fight for?"


    The man¡¯s gaze was heavy.


    "Not everyone has something. Some lose it quickly."


    He exhaled slowly.


    "But sometimes, the goal isn¡¯t to escape. Sometimes, it¡¯s just to stay human."


    Back in the dark dungeon, he lay on the floor, feeling the cold stone soaked in dampness. Darkness enveloped him, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, listening only to the sound of his ragged breathing. He knew this was only the beginning. He knew the battle to keep his word would not be won in a single day. The darkness in this place wasn¡¯t only in the air or in the endless labor. It was in each of them¡ªin their hearts. And only those who held on to something worth fighting for could resist it.


    The nights dragged on longer than he had imagined.


    His body, worn from the brutal labor, ached in every corner. The meager food served its purpose: it kept him weak, exhausted, and angry¡ªbut most importantly, it kept him alive. And though that was a small comfort, its very existence crumbled under the weight of his own mind.


    Because it was that same mind that forced him to relive the deaths of those he cared about, again and again. His brain had taken on a life of its own, beyond his control, tormenting him night after night¡ªreminding him why he was still alive.


    He lay on the floor, struggling not to be consumed by his thoughts, clinging to the single goal that still burned in his mind: to escape, and to carry out his revenge.


    At one point, he heard footsteps approaching. It wasn¡¯t the sound of guards or the crack of whips. These were soft steps, almost cautious. Even with his vision clouded by exhaustion, Perseo went on alert. In the world of demons, he couldn¡¯t afford to lower his guard¡ªnot even hidden in shadows.


    A figure materialized before him, its silhouette barely visible in the dim light that seeped through the cracks in the wall. The man was of average build, his face weathered by years, with a thick beard covering most of it. Despite his tired eyes, a spark of awareness remained¡ªsomething more than mere survival.


    ¡°Taking a break, huh?¡± the man¡¯s voice was deep, raspy¡ªlike each word fought its way out.


    Perseo watched him in silence for a moment. Encounters like this rarely ended well, but something in the man¡¯s tone told him he might have something urgent to say. Something he needed to know. Finally, Perseo spoke¡ªhis voice firm, though worn by fatigue.


    ¡°Just a little.¡± His reply was brief.


    The man sat down beside him, slowly, with the grace of someone long accustomed to misery. There was no threat in his posture¡ªjust the quiet of one who had spent years awaiting death and learned to respect life with the smallest of gestures.


    ¡°I saw you today, working like the rest of us¡ªbut with the honor of a king. At first, everyone thinks it¡¯s about enduring. But endurance alone isn¡¯t enough here.¡± His tone darkened. ¡°It¡¯s easy to lose yourself in the sweat, the pain, the hunger, and the shame. Those are tricks¡ªof the mind, and of the demons¡ªto turn you into a soulless body. Here, the greatest battle is keeping something worth fighting for.¡±


    Perseo frowned, puzzled. ¡°And what do you have to fight for?¡± he asked, not wanting to sound defiant, but curiosity got the best of him.


    The man gave him a look that, for a moment, seemed heavier than the silence of the entire cell. ¡°Not all of us have something. Some lose it quickly. But sometimes, the goal isn¡¯t escaping. Sometimes it¡¯s simply staying human¡ªeven in this place.¡±


    Perseo¡¯s frown deepened. ¡°Staying human? What do you mean by that?¡±


    The man gave a bitter smile.


    ¡°You see, kids like you¡ªyoung, full of rage, revenge, and energy¡ªare often the most dangerous. Because when revenge is your only drive, it pulls you down. It keeps you from seeing who you are now. The Coliseum takes everything from you¡ªeven your memories¡ªif you let it. It forces you to be just another slave. And the worst enemy is when you don¡¯t even remember why you¡¯re still breathing. When you become part of the machine, and your mind is more broken than your body.¡±


    Perseo, eyes narrowed, absorbed every word. Was that what would happen to him too? Would he lose his purpose¡ªhis reason to fight? He considered it for a moment¡ªbut immediately shook the thought. No. His revenge was his reason. He would not be stripped of that.


    ¡°How... how did you get here?¡± Perseo asked, determined to know more¡ªto find the root of the man¡¯s words.


    The man let out a long sigh, as if the answer was a burden he had carried for years. ¡°I came from a faraway place¡ªfrom a home that was destroyed, probably like yours, by the same demonic creatures that brought us here. They took me and my family to this place. Some adapted quickly. Others didn¡¯t. Those who didn¡¯t¡­ were lost. Some began working with such frenzy that they became almost inhuman. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s worse¡ªthe creatures who brought us here, or what we¡¯ve become.¡±


    ¡°And you? What did you do?¡± Perseo asked, still incredulous. How could someone get lost?


    ¡°What did I do? The same as you, I guess. Fought for something¡­ though in the end, it¡¯s all about surviving. The Coliseum transforms you little by little. It pulls you into the void. Not immediately. At first, the memories keep you afloat. But when those memories fade, when you¡¯re left with only what you are now¡­ the only thing you have left is what you choose to remain. And I chose to stay human.¡±


    The silence between them grew heavy until the man slowly stood.


    ¡°There¡¯s no easy way. No quick answers here. Only one thing is clear: if you don¡¯t have something truly worth fighting for, this place will make you forget it. It will let you fall. And maybe¡­ maybe the worst thing isn¡¯t dying here. Maybe it¡¯s being alive but not living anymore.¡±


    Perseo watched the man as he walked away, reflecting on his words. Something stirred in his gut. He wouldn¡¯t lose himself. His revenge¡ªthe justice for his kingdom, for his people¡ªwould remain his guide, his reason to endure. But what that man had said¡­ it was a clear warning.


    The Coliseum didn¡¯t just break bodies.


    It devoured souls.


    And after that conversation, the routine continued¡ªmore exhausting than ever. With each passing day, something inside Perseo felt heavier, as if the air of the Coliseum were seeping into his soul, draining what little strength he had left.


    But he still wasn¡¯t ready to surrender.


    <div>