Prologue
A shriek of metal against metal shattered the distant noise of the crowd. Andrew's legs shook as the iron gate lifted before him—his cue to enter the arena. His heart pounded. He stepped into the sunlight; nausea rose as the heat bore down. The match hadn't started yet, and his T‑shirt was already soaked with sweat.
Sand stretched to distant walls. The roar of the crowd faded to a hum as he walked. His stomach tightened as he took in the spectacle. The sand spanned a hundred meters on each side, enclosed by a five‑meter‑high cobblestone wall. Above it, thousands of eyes fixed on him.
The stands rose higher than he expected; he could barely make out the faces at the top. Every move drew their gaze. A drone glided by, its lens fixed on him. He forced a smile and waved, hoping to win some sympathy for what he was about to do.
His face filled the screens overhead. Spotlights burned. Another wave of nausea hit him. Dread coiled as he grasped what lay ahead. One mistake, and it would be over. The dream would end.
Across the arena, a figure stood in the sand: his opponent. Just another person like himself.
The announcer's voice boomed: “Ladies and gentlemen, today's third match: Andrew Williams versus Brian Harris!”
Andrew shuddered at the sound of his name—the name his parents had given him twenty‑one years ago, believing he'd have a long and happy life. How wrong they had been.
He tightened his grip on the sword and tested its weight. Wielding a weapon felt surreal. Using it against another person was unimaginable.
He took a breath and stepped forward, his bare feet brushing the hot sand. Behind him, the iron gate screeched as it slammed back down—no way back now. There hadn't been a way back for a while anyway; he was too deep into it.
Andrew trudged toward Brian. As he closed in, he could see the sweat on Brian's forehead, his muscles tensed, and fear in his eyes.
They stopped a few meters apart. There was only one question on Andrew's mind: How had it come to this?