The grand coliseum of Vordania stood bathed in firelight, its towering stone walls enclosing an audience of thousands. The people cheered, their voices merging into a single, deafening roar. Tonight, they would witness blood.
In the center of the arena, Cassian Voss knelt in the dirt, his body battered, his breath ragged. His once-proud armor was shattered, his blood mixing with the sand beneath him. He had fought with everything he had—but it was not enough.
Across from him, the emperor's champion stood tall—General Darius Kaelor, the Iron Fang of Vordania. A man forged in war, clad in blackened steel, his sword dripping with Cassian's blood.
From the imperial balcony above, Emperor Aurelian Voss watched in silence, his golden robes flowing around him like a mantle of the gods. His face was unreadable, but his words had already sealed Cassian's fate.
"Defeat my general, and your family shall live."
Cassian had fought. He had bled. He had failed.
The emperor rose from his seat, and the crowd hushed. His voice was like a hammer striking an anvil.
"Cassian Voss. You have lost. As per our sacred law, your family shall be executed."
Cassian's heart stopped. His vision blurred. No. No, no, no.
His father, Lucan Voss, knelt beside his mother and siblings at the edge of the arena, their hands bound, their eyes filled with quiet terror. Lucan, noble and kind, met Cassian's gaze one last time and whispered something only Cassian could hear.
"Live."
Then the blades fell.
Screams filled the night. Blood splashed across the sand.
Cassian's soul shattered.
A moment later, he felt cold steel against his own throat.
"Die with them," a voice sneered behind him.
Pain erupted in his chest as the executioner's blade pierced him, plunging deep. The world tilted, the sky above twisting into an endless void. He fell forward, darkness claiming him.
His body was thrown into the Pit of the Forgotten, where the unworthy and dishonored were left to rot.
As he lay among the corpses, his lifeblood seeping into the ground, something ancient stirred.
A voice—low, whispering, and hungry—crawled into his mind.
"Rise, Veilborn."
Then, silence.