Ada rested a hand on her hip, looking unimpressed. “Thats the guy you’re worried about? The one your friend is fighting?”

  Leonotis nodded quickly. “He has void and corruption powers. He can absorb à??—any elemental attack—and throw it back at the user. Low can’t overpower him. We just need to stall him long enough for me to get Gethii out.”

  Ada clicked her tongue. “Tch. Void users. Even a hundred years ago they were always so dramatic.” She tilted her head lashes lowering. “Listen carefully, kid. Silas’s power has limits.”

  “Limits?” Leonotis leaned forward.

  “Absorbing à?? isn’t free,” Ada said. “Every time he takes in an attack, he’s forcing his body to swallow something it wasn’t meant to hold. That creates instability—a cooling period.” She jabbed a finger into Leonotis’s forehead. “Meaning: he can’t chain it forever.”

  Leonotis’s eyes brightened. “So he has openings!”

  “Exactly. Don’t hit him with big attacks. That’s what he wants.” Ada smirked. “Tell your friend to use light pressure—fast, annoying strikes that don’t rely on à??. Make him burn energy for nothing. Every void-user hates dealing with things they can’t absorb.”

  Leonotis nodded slowly. “Physical feints… low-level magic… nothing he can convert. Low doesn't use à??, I mean not really.”

  “Well, that's convenient boy. Now second thing.” Ada pointed at him, dead serious.

  “Silas can only copy what he understands. Throw unpredictability at him. Keep patterns broken, movements messy. The second he sees a rhythm, you’re dead.”

  Leonotis swallowed. “So Low needs to fight like… like chaos?”

  Ada grinned. “Exactly. Void hates chaos.”

  She stepped back. “Stall him by making him waste energy, break his predictions, and force him to switch between absorbing and attacking. He’ll crack.”

  Leonotis exhaled in awe. “That… that might actually work.”

  Ada rolled her eyes like it was obvious. “Of course it’ll work. I’m Ada Ogun.”

  Then her expression softened, just for a moment.

  “Now hurry. Because Gethii might not have any lifeforce left.”

  Leonotis’s fists tightened. “Then I’ll save him before that happens.”

  Ada smiled faintly, proud. “Good. Now wake up, kid.”

  Leonotis jolted awake with a sharp inhale.

  The dream still clung to him—Ada Ogun’s voice, clear as a temple bell, echoing through his skull.

  “Stall him with chaos… Save Gethii quickly… His lifeforce is slipping…”

  He felt her worry like a hand around his ribs. The scent of the Dark Forest lingered, cold and damp, and for a moment he still saw her long black hair swaying in the moonlit clearing.

  Then reality rushed in.

  His bed. The stone ceiling. The chill of the palace night.

  His heartbeat had not slowed since the moment Ada ordered him awake.

  Gethii is running out of time.

  Leonotis pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to steady his breath. The dream had felt too vivid to be just a dream—more like a summons. Ada Ogun’s voice had been urgent, desperate even. And deep down, he knew she was right.

  That’s when he heard it.

  “...they’re putting him in the cage.”

  A guard’s muffled voice drifted through the wall.

  Leonotis stilled.

  “Tomorrow?” another guard asked, steps pausing.

  “Aye. At dawn. The King wants a show. A real test. That beast against the sword master. Should be a crowd-pleaser.”

  Their boots clacked away, leaving silence thick enough to choke on.

  Leonotis’s stomach twisted.

  Sword master.

  Gethii.

  He pushed upright so fast the bed groaned under him. Sweat dampened his neck despite the cold. For a breath, he could only sit there, fists clenched, Ada’s warning pulsing through him.

  His lifeforce is draining… you don’t have long…

  Gethii—who trained him, fed him, protected him.

  Gethii—who never once treated him as a burden.

  Now King Rega wanted to parade his death like a carnival game.

  “No,” Leonotis whispered, voice shaking with anger. “No, I won’t let that happen.”

  He looked toward the adjoining wall. Low’s deep rumbling snores vibrated faintly. She had the finals tomorrow. She needed every ounce of strength, especially now that he knew Silas’s weaknesses.

  And Jacqueline—her magic always left her drained and they might need her tomorrow.

  He couldn’t wake either of them.

  This burden—this promise—was his.

  He rose slowly, forcing steady breaths, though his blood buzzed like a swarm of hornets. He tied his toga, fingers trembling only once before he forced them still.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The wooden replica Ada Ogun—now quiet and heavy on his hip—felt like a heartbeat against his spine. Ada herself, waiting, watching. Maybe even listening.

  “I’m going,” he whispered to his sword. “Tonight.”

  Leonotis opened the door with careful hands. The hinges gave only the faintest sigh. The corridor beyond was washed in dim torchlight, empty and quiet.

  He stepped into it, heart pounding, resolve solidifying with every breath.

  Tomorrow, the palace wanted entertainment.

  But tonight?

  Tonight he would steal back a life.

  The palace shifted as one went lower. The marble brilliance of the upper halls gave way to rough stone, iron gates, and the sour stench of blood and beasts. Few nobles ever wandered here. This was the territory of handlers, guards, and the King’s darker pleasures.

  Leonotis kept his head low, walking with the slow shuffle of a servant. The men he passed carried buckets dripping red, their arms spattered with gore. Some pushed wheeled cages filled with squawking birds or squealing goats. None spared him a second glance, seeing only a modest, disguised girl.

  But the deeper he walked, the more the sound reached him.

  A roar.

  Not human—an animal bellow that shook the walls, followed by the clang of iron bars. Then another roar, and another, until the tunnel vibrated with a symphony of violence.

  The Beast Cage.

  Leonotis pressed himself into a shadowed alcove as two handlers strode past, dragging a length of chain. One spat.

  “Can you believe it? Throwing the sword master in there.”

  The other snorted. “He’s supposed to be legendary, isn’t he? Let’s see how legendary he looks when the Gorgon-lion is tearing him apart.”

  Both laughed and disappeared into the chamber ahead.

  Leonotis’s nails bit his palms. Rage burned hot in his throat, but he swallowed it down. Charging in now would save nothing. He needed to know more.

  The tunnel widened into a cavernous hall, lit by sputtering braziers.

  At its heart stood the cage. Iron bars as thick as tree trunks rose into a dome, containing nightmares that paced and lunged in the gloom. A boar with tusks longer than pikes slammed its head against the bars. A scaled hound dripped acid from its jaws. Something with too many eyes hissed as it coiled around the bars like a serpent. The noise was relentless—snarls, roars, and the scrape of claws desperate for blood.

  Leonotis pressed on anyway, each footstep echoing in the hollow belly of the palace’s undercrypts.

  The sound of chains clinking ahead froze him mid-step.

  There—through the bars of a narrow, individual cell, away from the chaos. A man slumped against the far wall, his wrists bound above him by heavy iron shackles. His hair, locs that went to his shoulders, the sides of his head usually a skin fade had out grown into a matted mess. Even battered, even reduced to this pitiful state, Leonotis knew his silhouette at once.

  “Master…” His voice cracked with the weight of weeks of fear and longing.

  Gethii stirred. Slowly, the man lifted his head. His features were drawn and his face drained, but his eyes—yes, those eyes. Sharp as a whetted blade. The eyes of the man who had taught him to strike, to endure, to never let despair take root.

  Relief tore through Leonotis so powerfully his knees weakened. He gripped the iron bars, pressing his forehead against the cold metal.

  “You’re alive,” he whispered. “Thank the Orisha… you’re alive.”

  For the first time since they first entered the tournament, hope swelled in him like a tide. The King hadn’t broken him. Before tomorrow, when the Beast Cage opened, Leonotis would find a way. He would not let Gethii die before monsters—not while breath remained in his body.

  Leonotis pressed closer, hands wrapping around the iron bars. “I knew you’d survive. Hold on, I’ll find a way to get you out—”

  The man laughed, but it wasn’t Gethii’s laugh. It was too smooth, too mocking, dripping with malice. His face shimmered, shifted like ripples on water, and the guise of Gethii melted away. In its place sat a stranger: lean, sharp-faced, with eyes too bright and teeth showing in a grin that was too wide.

  “Aww, look at you,” the shapeshifter crooned, rattling his chains for emphasis. “Did you really think they’d let your precious sword master rot down here? No, no. They keep me for sport.” His grin widened. “Tomorrow, I get the honor of entertaining in the King’s arena. Guess who’s the bait for the Gorgon-lion?”

  Leonotis’s breath caught. He stumbled backward, the initial shock turning to cold, sick disappointment. Rega didn’t see the shapeshifter as a resource; he saw him as fodder, using his skill to perpetuate the illusion of Gethii’s legendary status.

  The prisoner leaned forward, voice dripping with false bravado. “So, little mouse, did you bring a key? Or maybe you just came to gawk? Hah! Run back upstairs, tell your king his beast will have a fine meal.”

  Leonotis didn’t move. His hands tightened on the bars. His voice was low but steady. “Do you… want help escaping?”

  The shapeshifter blinked. His grin faltered for the first time. “What? Trying to trick me now?” His tone hardened, suspicion flaring. “You’ll run off to Rega the moment I answer, won’t you? Whisper that I begged you to escape? You’ll tell the guards the second…””

  “No.” Leonotis met his eyes without flinching. “Look at me. I’m not here to mock you and I don't work for the King. I mean it. You want to live don't you? I’ll get you out.”

  Something in his voice broke through the shapeshifter’s fa?ade. The mocking sneer wavered, then slowly dissolved. His shoulders sagged, the bravado peeling away like old paint. His eyes, once sharp and cruel, turned weary.

  “You don’t get it,” he muttered. “I can’t just run. I’m chained here not because I’m a beast… but because I chose to be.” He gave a bitter laugh, hollow as the stones around them. “I was caught stealing from the royal food stores brought to my village. Not for myself—my family. My little ones were starving. They found out. The King offered me a deal: I fight and die in his cage, and in return he feeds them. Two years of food. More than I could ever give them.”

  Leonotis’s stomach twisted. This was the true terror of the King: using the very desperation of his people as a commodity. “But if you stay, you will die. And then what? Your family grows up without you. Don’t you want to see them again?”

  The shapeshifter stared at the ground. “Don’t you understand? I was already dead. What was offered was a bargain. This farce in exchange for their bellies full.”

  Silence pressed heavy between them.

  Finally, the shapeshifter lifted his head, his eyes softer now, stripped of false swagger. “Still… thank you. Thank you for at least showing me respect. For not laughing. It’s been a long time since anyone’s treated me like a man, not a monster.”

  Footsteps echoed down the corridor. Guards.

  The shapeshifter’s head snapped toward the sound. His expression hardened again, though Leonotis saw the cracks underneath. “Go. Now. If they catch you here, you’ll share my fate.”

  Leonotis hesitated, torn between staying and fleeing. “If I ever see your family,” he said quickly, urgently, “I’ll give them a message.”

  The shapeshifter’s voice dropped to a whisper, raw with emotion. “My family lives in Kamareno village. My wife's name is Kiria and Mianja is my daughter. Tell them… I’m sorry. And I love them.”

  Leonotis’s heart clenched. He nodded once and melted back into the shadows just as the dungeon door scraped open.

  One of King Rega’s elite guards stepped inside. Her face was covered by a wooden mask. Her presence filled the corridor like a blade drawn from its sheath. Her eyes were sharp, her armor gleaming faintly in the torchlight.

  "You were not permitted to drop the Gethii form," she said. She stalked up to the bars, her gaze like lion hunting prey. “Has anyone been here?”

  The shapeshifter smirked, pulling his mask of arrogance back on like a ragged cloak. “No one yet. Just me and the rats.”

  The guard searched his face for lies. Her silence stretched, heavy and dangerous.

  Then the shapeshifter gave her a wide, taunting smile, the kind that oozed insolence. The guard's head tilted slightly in disgust. "Turn back into Gethii now before I give the order to behead your family."

  The shapeshifter begrudgingly transformed back into the Gethii form.

  With a scoff, she turned on her heel and left, her armor clanking against the silence.

  Only when the echoes of her steps faded did the shapeshifter sag back against the wall, the grin sliding away like a discarded mask. He whispered to the dark, voice trembling.

  “…I’m sorry.”

  And above, Leonotis slipped unseen through the winding halls, his heart burdened not just by his own mission, but by the weight of another man’s sacrifice.