The sun's first rays cut through the thick mist clinging to the castle grounds as Cassian walked briskly toward the facility, his boots leaving barely a sound on the cobblestone path. The air was cool and sharp, carrying the earthy scent of dew-soaked grass. His coat, dark and tailored, flowed behind him with each stride, giving him an imposing silhouette against the dawn.
Through the iron-barred window, he spotted Alitzel sitting in the corner of the room, a solitary figure against the dull gray walls. She was hunched over a modest meal of bread and fruit, absently picking at the food as if the effort to eat was more a matter of routine than hunger. Her long, dark hair hung loose around her shoulders, catching the early light.
Cassian's gaze lingered on her for a moment before he pushed open the door and stepped inside. She glanced up, eyes wary but devoid of surprise—she'd long grown accustomed to his unexpected visits. He offered a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Up so early, even for you," he murmured, watching her closely.
"Is there ever rest in a place like this?" she replied, tone flat. Her fork scraped against the plate, a sound that echoed unnervingly in the quiet room.
Cassian folded his arms, leaning casually against the wall, his expression unreadable. "Enjoy the meal while you can. You'll need your strength."
Alitzel froze, fork halfway to her mouth. She set it down slowly, eyes narrowing as she peered up at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Blackthorn has made his choice," Cassian said softly, his voice carrying a note of finality. "You'll be representing the pack in the Games."
Silence settled between them, heavy and suffocating. Alitzel's face hardened, but there was a flicker of fear beneath the surface. "No," she breathed. "I'm not fighting because I am not a Blackthorn."
"You don't have a choice," Cassian replied, a dark edge creeping into his voice. "But I'll be honest with you, Alitzel. This could be an opportunity."
Her lips twisted into a bitter smile. "Opportunity? More like a death sentence."
Cassian's gaze remained steady. "Do you know of Duncan Marlowe?" he asked abruptly.
Alitzel blinked, thrown off by the sudden change of topic. "The sage? Of course, everyone's heard of him."
"Before he became a sage, Duncan was a Bellaxir," Cassian continued calmly. "He was thrown into the arena just like you, expected to die for someone else's amusement. But he survived, won every match, and eventually, he won his freedom. This—" he gestured around them, indicating the cold, suffocating walls of the facility "—could be your way out."
She shook her head slowly, disbelieving. "You think I'll become some kind of legend?"
"I think you'll live," he corrected sharply. "And that's more than most can hope for here."
Alitzel stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deceit. Cassian's expression didn't waver; he wasn't trying to convince her with flattery or false promises. There was only a hard, unyielding truth in his eyes, the reality of their situation laid bare.
"Why do you care?" she whispered, almost to herself. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I'd rather see you alive than another broken body dragged out of the arena," he said simply. "Think about it, Alitzel. You can be more than just a pawn in Blackthorn's game."
She clenched her jaw, the muscles in her neck tightening. It was clear she wanted to refuse, to spit in his face and storm out. But deep down, she knew he was right. If she backed out now, there would be no escaping whatever punishment Blackthorn had in store. And if she fought... maybe, just maybe, she could claw her way out of this nightmare.
Alitzel closed her eyes, breathing deeply. "Fine," she said finally, voice barely more than a whisper. "I'll do it."
Cassian inclined his head slightly, his expression softening just a fraction. "Good. You'll start training immediately."
As if on cue, two guards stepped into the room, their presence a silent reminder of how little control she had over her own fate. They didn't speak, merely gesturing for her to follow.
Alitzel stood slowly, squaring her shoulders as she turned to face Cassian one last time. "If I die out there, I'm haunting you," she muttered, a spark of dark humor lighting her eyes.
Cassian smirked. "Then I'll make sure you have no reason to."
Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched out of the room, the guards flanking her closely. Cassian watched her go, a strange mixture of admiration and apprehension tightening in his chest. He had done what he could—now it was up to her.
The door clanged shut behind them, and Cassian was left alone in the empty room, the fading scent of breakfast lingering in the air. He stood there for a moment longer, then pushed himself off the wall, the soft echo of his footsteps the only sound as he made his way out of the facility.
****************
The castle grounds were sprawling, an expanse of manicured gardens and hidden pathways that wound through towering trees and thick, moss-covered walls. It was a deceptive beauty—beyond the splendor lay the heart of Blackthorn's domain, where only the strongest emerged victorious.
Alitzel was led through a narrow archway, her steps faltering as the space opened into a massive training field. The lush, green expanse seemed almost serene, but the bloodstains on the sparring mats and the weapons strewn about told a different story. Waiting for her in the center was a man clad in dark armor, his face shadowed beneath a helmet etched with the sigils of the Bellaxir.
"Welcome to the real game, Alitzel," the man called out, his voice echoing across the field.
Alitzel stood her ground, her eyes locked on the man before her. The training field seemed to shrink around them, the air thickening with anticipation. He shifted slightly, muscles rippling beneath the dark armor, and then, in a flash of movement, he reached up and pulled off his helmet, tossing it aside.
His face was lean and scarred, the kind of face that had seen countless battles and come out the other side still thirsting for more. But it wasn't his face that caught Alitzel's attention—it was the change that began the moment his helmet hit the ground. His skin rippled, bones cracking audibly as his form twisted and swelled, growing larger and more beastly. Coarse black fur sprouted along his neck and shoulders, his mouth elongating into a snarling snout, teeth glinting razor-sharp in the morning light.
"Surprised?" he growled, voice distorted and deeper. The transformation was swift, and within seconds, where a man had stood now loomed a massive werewolf, towering over Alitzel. He stretched, claws scraping against the ground, and his crimson eyes glinted with malice.
Alitzel's heart hammered, but she didn't flinch. If anything, the sight of his monstrous form only fueled the dark, violent energy coiling inside her. She let it rise, surrendering to the familiar, savage pull that had been gnawing at her ever since Cassian had announced her participation in the Games.
"Let's see what you've got, then," she muttered.
And with that, she let go.
Her transformation was more gradual, more agonizing. Her bones seemed to shudder and grind against each other, flesh thickening and warping. Her skin darkened, hardening into a dense, almost stone-like hide, while her hands elongated into massive claws. Her body expanded, muscles bulging grotesquely as she grew to match the werewolf's size. A deep, guttural snarl tore from her throat as her face shifted, taking on the brutish, almost reptilian features of the behemoth she truly was.
The guards watching from the edges of the field tensed, their hands inching toward the weapons at their sides. Cassian's gaze was sharp, assessing, as if weighing every move, every twitch of muscle. He didn't flinch as the two monsters faced off in the middle of the field, but his jaw tightened imperceptibly.
For a moment, there was silence, save for the ragged breathing of the transformed warriors. Then, the werewolf lunged.
He came at her with a speed that belied his size, claws flashing toward her throat. But Alitzel was ready. She ducked low, her own claws sweeping upward in a vicious arc. The force of the blow sent him staggering back, blood spraying from the deep gashes torn through the fur of his chest. He growled, shaking his head, and then charged again.
The clash was brutal. They moved like twin storms, crashing into each other again and again with bone-crushing force. Alitzel swung her fists in savage, bone-breaking strikes, each impact reverberating through the ground. But the werewolf was no mere beast—he was fast, agile, ducking and weaving around her blows, his own claws raking across her hardened hide.
Blood stained the grass beneath them, both their forms slicked with crimson. The werewolf managed to land a heavy strike to her side, claws piercing through her defenses and drawing a roar of pain. But Alitzel only snarled, grabbing his arm before he could pull away and twisting savagely. There was a sickening snap, and the werewolf howled in agony, his limb hanging limp and broken.
The sight of his pain seemed to push Alitzel over the edge. Her vision blurred, narrowing to a single, blood-red focus. She roared, flinging him to the ground and pouncing on him before he could recover. Her claws dug into his chest, tearing through fur and flesh, the force of the blow crumpling his armor like tin. She raised one massive fist, intending to crush his skull.
"Enough!" Cassian's voice rang out, sharp and commanding.
But she didn't hear him. All she knew was the smell of blood, the feel of bones shattering beneath her grip. The behemoth inside her screamed for release, for destruction. She bared her fangs, her fist descending—
A net flew through the air, thick and weighted. It wrapped around her shoulders, the steel cords digging into her skin, and she roared in fury, twisting violently. But more nets followed, each one dragging her down, pinning her limbs. The werewolf scrambled away, gasping and clutching at his mangled chest, blood bubbling between his teeth.
"Hold her down!" one of the sentries barked, and a dozen guards rushed forward, chains and poles in hand. Alitzel thrashed, snapping at them with her fangs, but they were relentless, driving the poles into her sides, tightening the chains until she was forced to the ground.
The werewolf struggled to his feet, his breathing ragged. His eyes met hers for a brief moment, and she saw the raw hatred there, the promise of retribution. But he didn't approach. Instead, he staggered back, one hand pressed against his shattered ribs.
"Get back!" one of the guards shouted as Alitzel let out a furious bellow, straining against the chains. The nets tightened, cutting deeper, but she was still too strong. She twisted, and one of the poles snapped like a twig, sending the guard holding it flying.
"Damn it!" Cassian cursed under his breath. He glanced over his shoulder. "Duncan! Now!"
Duncan Marlowe stepped forward from the shadows, his expression calm and unreadable. He held a small vial of murky liquid, the same one he had used before, and without hesitation, he approached the struggling behemoth.
"Easy, girl," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. Alitzel's eyes, wild and unseeing, snapped toward him, but she was too tangled in chains to move. Duncan knelt beside her, careful to avoid her snapping jaws, and deftly uncorked the vial.
"This won't hurt," he whispered. And then he pressed the vial to her lips.
The liquid burned down her throat, sharp and bitter. Alitzel convulsed, a choked growl escaping her as the sedative took hold. The fury ebbed, the strength draining from her limbs. She tried to fight it, tried to hold on to the rage, but it was no use. Her body sagged, the behemoth's power receding, leaving only a hollow emptiness in its wake.
"Take her to the secure facility," Duncan ordered quietly.
The guards moved quickly, binding her limbs with thick chains. She was dimly aware of being lifted, of the clang of metal and the distant murmur of voices. Cassian's face swam into view, his expression tense, but she couldn't focus. Darkness closed in around her, and the world faded into nothing.
The last thing she heard was the echo of Duncan's voice, soft and somber. "She'll be ready for the Games. We have to find a way to control her.'