Only speak of the devil to be ready to murder them when they appear.

- VISAVAN PROVERB, ORIGIN UNKNOWN

The Cage door closes, the slam’s echo lingers with the sound of finality. The filaments making up the gargantuan lid of the Cage are wide and the gaps between them reinforced with magic shields, and I realize that on a better day I would’ve stopped to observe the magic machinery behind it.

The Third Isle is a piece of land the size of the Infinite City, but dense with lush jungle and the faint roars of monsters. Monsters. Living monsters. The tropical smell of humidity taints the air, the feeling warm, lingering, and oppressive, as the twelve people on the flat platform all look at each other in careful consideration.

The Duke Marksman used to bring back live prey from his hunting games. One time, it was a pair of wildcats. In the cage, they circled each other with suspicion, just like us.

Only, the two tore each other apart before long.

One of them, a red haired girl, speaks first, “Let’s not kill each other just yet. A bloodbath would be counterproductive. Introductions?” She seems open enough, her face candid and honest. She seems confident, too. A natural leader.

Appearances are deceiving, I remind myself. My Ability tells me that she’s much less keen than she leads on. Her tone remains steady, but hides much.

“Truce? Not a chance,” snorts an older boy. His face is pinched and resembles a shrew, but his eyes glitter. “We’re all here to kill each other, plain and simple.”

I watch as a beautiful, dark-haired girl darts into the bushes, ignoring the exchange, and she is followed by four more Chosen as they slip into the underbrush. I curse internally that they hadn’t shown their Abilities before leaving - I missed out on a chance.

Eight remain, and we are all paranoid. All of our eyes flicker to each other in suspicion, and our hands are tightly clenched over our weapons. I, too, have a strong grip on my dagger, my other hand resting on the hilt of a hidden gun.

“I’m Vivianna Bloodthorn, Chosen of Hera,” the girl offers.

A dark-skinned older girl balls her free hands into a fist - the other holds a spear - but follows with a tight smile. “Maia Kareen, Chosen of Ares.”

Kareen. A name of a merchant family, but the older girl’s calluses hint at much more.

The others are hesitant, but an innocent-looking young boy with porcelain skin speaks up. “Jonas, Chosen of Hephaestus.” He doesn’t offer his last name.

Smart.

Suspicious.

The older boy spits on the platform, but doesn’t attack anyone as he leaves. Seven left. A pity, really - he should’ve learned their names and Abilities before. I only stick around to gather information, and I recognize a couple others who do the same.

My Ability is somewhat foreign, but I’ve experimented and I recognize that the red-haired girl isn’t confident at all, the Chosen of Ares is hesitant to fight, and the young Jonas is much smarter than he looks.

“Iason Angelo, Chosen of Apollo,” another says, this one an archer.

“Halkyone, Chosen of Artemis,” a slender girl adds - also an archer.

I open my lips at last. There was a one in five chance, or around that specific number, that my ploy would work. “Seraphina Marksman, Chosen of Poseidon.” Halkyone seems to recognize the name, and I recognize the slender girl’s features to be of the Second Isle.

My Ability offers more, that Halkyone has bad ties with the duchy. Oh, well. Jonas seems to place the surname, as well. One in five. Would I regret this decision?

Maybe but it was a fun choice.

“Caspian Nameless, Chosen of Athena,” the last one, a boy with sparkling eyes, says. He meets my eyes with a smile, just long enough so it isn't suspicious, and I feel amusement bloom. He played along, I say to myself, like I would do. He’s dangerous. And similar to me.

And so my Ability returns the question, ‘so what would you do if you were him?’

I’m half-expecting it as Caspian’s eyelashes flutter, and barely a second after his introduction, I watch as he puts his hands on Jonas and flips him over in a brutal takedown.

The sickly boy falls to the ground with a sickening crack of bone, and Caspian aims his knife at the boy’s pale throat. I see Maia’s hold on her spear tighten, but she’s confused, hesitant. Slow. She has quick reflexes, but doesn’t seem to have as large of a protest to the killing as Iason and Vivianna, who immediately lunge at him.

Oh, well. I rush to help my partner-in-crime, even though my Ability blares in my ears not to, it isn’t Wise.

Brandishing my dagger, I tackle Iason to the ground before he gets a chance to reach for the arrows on his back. I use him as a human shield in case a long-ranger throws a projectile at me, but both Maia and Halkyone don’t seem to be particularly obliged to come to Jonas’ rescue.

I can’t handle two at the same time, and I see Vivianna at the corner of my eye summon a - is that a Godsbroken peacock? - creature to her rescue, and they shimmer with power, which means that they’re a part of her Ability.

The peacocks are surprisingly fierce, with their myriad of pretty green-and-blue feathers brimming with power, and they attack Caspian before the fatal injury is made on Jonas.

Iason struggles in my grip, but his mouth is open and he says, “Heal.” I can feel the Ability flow towards the direction of Jonas, and I curse as I scowl at my hostage. He's the stubborn, righteous type that I can't turn, my Ability says.

“Does your ability rely on your vocal cords?” I ask him, coldly. It’s one of the options, since Apollo is a patron of music.

He stiffens, and I don’t need Hints to tell me that I’m right.

“Knife it is, then,” I decide, and aim my blade in the other hand towards his vocal cords, and I feel blood splatter out as the knife sinks its way past skin. I aim at the direction of the voice-box, the place marked in the anatomy drawings I’ve studied, and slice it with practiced precision.

The practice did pay off, I think to myself. The dagger encounters sinewy obstacles, but I’m lucky it’s sharp. I feel Iason gurgle, crimson bubbling up from his neck, as I let him go.

Maia and Halkyone’s gazes turn to me. I can feel Iason’s neck bleeding out, then move to his arrows and snap them in half just in case. They gape.

“You…” Maia’s voice is barely a whisper. “You did that?”

I ignore them, as I approach Caspian, who seems to be neck-deep in trouble. The peacocks interfere with his sight, as Vivianna ruthlessly swings at him with dual blades. Jonas is using his Ability, a strange one - summoning metal golems the size of small trees from left and right, the sickly Chosen’s hand occasionally going to his bleeding throat.

The wound runs deep, but isn’t fatal. Unfortunate. I dodge a golem - it’s made of complicated machinery and metal, cogs and bits of pieces worthy of a Chosen of the Forge, and I think to myself that I would've liked to study it, in better hours - and I see its eyes glow.

Tumbling out of its line of sight, flames are shot at the place I was a second before. Fire breath? Caspian seems to be struggling, but why isn’t he using his Ability? I dispatch a peacock, the green-feathered animal falling to the ground, as I move closer.

“Why did you do that?” Vivianna is demanding, as she continues lunging. Caspian is dodging, but he can’t keep it up as more golems appear.

“He’s dangerous,” says the boy, shrugging. His eyes flicker to me, and then flicker to Vivianna in a manner that means that we’re splitting the enemies up. But then I narrowly dodge an arrow, which means that Halkyone’s finally decided where she stands.

Retreat, I mouth to Caspian, and the dark-haired boy nods slightly in agreement. We’re outnumbered, outmatched, but we’ve taken a player out of the game.

I still don’t know when exactly we decided to team up, but then Caspian moves in the direction that the others didn’t head, the way with the most monster growls, but I don’t challenge him.

My Ability’s still screaming for me, screaming that it’s a bad decision, don’t follow him, it’s isn’t Wise, but I ignore it and so we disappear into the jungle.

~

“So," Caspian says. We ran for a while, through the jungle, until we both there formed an unspoken agreement that we were far enough.

I look at Caspian. “So,” I reply in return, raising an eyebrow.

“I think the most important agenda would be our short term survival,” says the boy, “then we can discuss why we switched Gods and what we plan to do with the premise going forward.”

He says this with a playful smile, and I observe his nose is crooked. It isn’t a childhood injury. Based on what I know of him, he wouldn’t let other people hit him. Sensitive past, whispers my Ability. He-

I cut it off, shove it into a corner of my head.

“Right,” I respond, with as friendly of a lip twitch I can muster. “Food, shelter, water. Water’s probably most important first. Since you’re a Chosen of Poseidon, I’m hoping you have a water-detecting Ability. If not, then we’re fucked.”

Caspian doesn’t seem to be fazed at my coarseness. Someone who grew up used to coarse language.

“Yeah, my Ability’s related to water. I do hope you understand that I’m not going to share any details, but I think I detect a small stream nearby. We’re in the direction of the monsters, but as long as we don’t hear any sounds we should be fine...I think.”

“Lead the way,” I say. “Caspian, right?”

“Yeah. You can call me Cas.” My Ability’s back - it never goes away for long. He’s trying to build trust. Trying to get you to trust him. Emotion.

“Right. Call me Sera. After we find water, the next best step would be building a shelter, finding firewood for fire, and then finding a source of food to eat. Good enough plan so far?”

I follow Cas, my Ability reading him for any sign that he might be leading me into a trap. He isn’t dumb, I know that for sure. Adaptable. Powerful. But I would be a fool to trust him easily.

“Good enough,” he agrees, his back still facing towards me. I still have my knife - I could easily backstab him. But I don’t know his Ability, he seems to be a good fighter, and he seems useful so far.

A long silence, as we trudge on.

“Wanna form a partnership?” I ask, as I observe the terrain. Dark, leafy greens but I don’t see any threatening wildlife so far. There’s not even any bugs or snakes, a surprising observation. Based on what I’ve read - or at least according to the Explorers fool enough to visit the Union’s rainforests under the name of ‘research’ - rainforests are home to a variety of animals.

The monsters probably ate them all, I reason, and after all, the Third Isle’s a magic spooky island. I’ve also delved deep into studies about said magic, and there’ve been a few interesting conclusions people’ve made that give way to a lot of options.

But the serene emeralds of the island unnerve me.

“Depends-”

At least, until the roar of a monster breaks through the peace.

It startles me, but not in the way that I flinch. I blink.

“Hey, Cas,” I say, calmly, “is the stream closer to the monsters, or further away from them?”

~

The stream turns out to be less than a stream. More of a clear, very tiny line of water. But at least it’s drinkable, I think, as Cas arrives back at our designated campsite.

We call it a campsite, but it’s a sorry excuse for one, I suppose. I’ve read survival tomes, and I manage to construct them based on the words that echo in my head and the ink sketches that flare in my memory.

It’s triangular, and barely big enough for two people, but it’s well-hidden in the underbrush and it keeps the rain out. The wood is kept together through smaller ties that I make with - you guessed it - smaller wood. And leaves.

I observe a lack of description in my thoughts.

Cas arrives with firewood.

“Do you know how to light a fire?” I ask him.

He nods. “I’ll do it.”

A silence, as he grips two branches and rubs them together. Maybe it’s his Ability, but the absurd idea somehow works. Flames crackle to life on the campfire we’ve made. Moisture?

“As I was saying before,” I say, “would you be willing to enter a partnership with me?”

“Before I was interrupted, I was going to say it depends on the terms.” Cas sits, cross-legged, on the moist floor next to me.

“Keep each other from dying while continuing with the Ability-swap schtick?” I propose.

“About that,” says the boy. I look at him. Fairly good-looking, with that wild look in his eyes that promises that there’s more to it than his playful exterior.

I shut out my Ability’s whispers, and try to gain an impression without it. Something unique, to distinguish him in case we’re put in a scenario where we have to tell each other apart in this vast island.

He’s the best option, for a partner.

I acted on impulse, back then - Vivianna’s powerful, and she obviously has an insecurity that would’ve made her easier to use. But now she’s against me.

Halkyone’s way too indecisive, and that rules her out. Iason I crippled, but even before then his righteousness would’ve struck him out of the list immediately.

Maia’s the next probable candidate, but my Ability practically screams that she’s turbulent, which means that turning her would take time, and effort.

The others that disappeared into the bush? I barely know any of them, which means that finding out more about them would take time, and effort.

Time I don’t have.

My Ability says that I’m lazy, that I can’t afford to be.

Perhaps I am relying too much on my personal feelings, but I like him well enough.

Cas is unpredictable, but he’s competent and flexible. My Ability says that it would be better to find someone compatible with my combat methods - a vague term, for my self-taught stabbing - and go on from there. Long-rangers-

“If we’re going to switch Abilities,” Cas says, “we have to know each other’s. And I’m not sure I trust you that much just yet.” The grin still stays on his face, and I stamp out the test fire.

“Right. Didn’t think so, you’re not that stupid,” I agree. “But if we’re going to be partners, we have to set boundaries. The act can follow later, if you’re willing.” He’s obviously not, My Ability says.

“Okay.” Cas looks back at me. “Don’t mention my parents, but sister’s okay. I come from the East Quarter, but my family used to be rich before I was born. I can steal things, hide things, and I’m mostly good at taking people by surprise. I have nightmares, sometimes. I don’t care about winning, or becoming the Victor, which means that I’m not very hung up on dying.”

I absorb the information. “Right.” I pause. “I have family, but they’re not really family, so it’s not a touchy subject. I know things, since I’ve read a lot of books. I can make predictions, make some vague impression of strategies. I’m alright with becoming the Victor, but right now I just want to survive.” I look at him. “Do you want to survive?”

He obviously knows that I’m trying to find common ground.

“Not particularly,” he replies. “My liege told me to come here, so I did.” His tone suggests there’s more to it - ‘My liege’ doesn’t vibrate with the capitalized courtesy. “Just running on impulse at the moment.”

“As long as you don’t have an impulse to kill me in my sleep, I think we’re all good. Truce?” I offer.

My Ability comes back, and it blares, Stray eye twitch. Unsurity. Distrust.

Cas chuckles. “A little too late for that, don’t you think? But yeah, truce.”

A pause, as I voice my next thought aloud, casually.

“Ya think monsters are edible?”

~

“This is a bad idea,” Cas remarks.

“Right,” I agree as we both huddle behind a viridian fern. After my world-shattering question, we marked stones and branches in enigmatic trials so we didn’t lose the way to our site, headed out towards the direction of least amount of sounds, and arrived at an empty grove.

I scan the sight.

In the middle of the empty grove sits a lone creature. I say creature, but it is what it is - a monster.

I recognize it as a harpy, from the illustrations the more artistically-inclined Victors have made. It has the face of a woman, but its cheeks are sallow and its eyes shrunken, hunger in its gaze - the visage of skin stretched too tight. Feathery wings sprout from its back, resembling that of a crow’s. It’s the size of a human, probably an adolescent. Claws stretch out from its talons, and I mark the claws off as the first thing to attack.

First the wings so it can’t escape, then the claws so it can’t fight back. And then it would be time to see whether it was edible.

Would it be rash, to see if other harpies would flock? Would the death of one monster attract the others? All possibilities exist, I tell myself. The Hints tell me that the talons are poisonous, but nothing other than that.

I’m still suspicious, but I say, “I’ll go for the claws, you go for the wings.”

“Right. On a count of three...two...one…”

And then we lunge, tackling the harpy to the ground.

I find myself gripping the talons - they feel like chicken feet, belonging to an avian bird’s - and plunge my knife into them, lopping the hands off. Blood spurts out, and I’m slightly surprised to find that it’s a dark, coal-colored liquid. It feels cold.

My blade severs the limbs easily enough, but it squawks in pain, guttural bird noises erupting from its human lips. The talons are lacerated, and I scooch to help Cas with the wings.

Its avian bottom half is almost unnerving, like a chicken or a crow.

Cas is smart, and he quickly tightens a hold on its mouth - so the cries don’t draw attention - as he uses the other hand to saw away at its feathers. Crimson wisps flutter to the ground, and dark liquid is everywhere. His knife is efficient, and sharp, and the now-detached wings fall to the ground.

It doesn’t stand a chance.

It writhes, now wingless and talonless, with no way to fight back or flee, as I deliver the killing blow, slitting its throat and so it stops. We look at each other, and then the body.

Dark stains the grassy ground, but we say nothing as we heave the dead body, careful not to let bloodstains leave a trail. We follow the laid stones and leaves back to the camp, where Cas lights a fire again.

“You skin it, or should I?” I ask. “I know how to, in theory, but-”

“I skin, you cook.” Cas looks up at me.

It’s now late in the afternoon, approaching evening. Around eight hours have passed since we’ve been shoved into the cage.

I have to kill him, someday. I know that. My Ability knows that.

It would be nice, being crowned Victor.

But I like Caspian well enough so far.

“Right. Is there any way to store some meat?” I ask, curiously. “Dry it in the sun? For rations? Jerky?”

Cas considers it. “If it’s edible, in this heat, it should, hypothetically, be possible.” He snorts. “Eating harpy meat. Who would’ve thought?”

I don’t answer, although I look, amused.

While Cas butchers the harpy almost methodically - I take note of the harpy’s organs placements - I pick up a large branch and start to cleave it into a spit. The smell shouldn’t attract many monsters, but I’m still very, very paranoid.

“You think the blood or meat will smell?” I voice. The wood gives way as I carefully hack at the branch. “Maybe it’ll attract monsters. We’re right at the cusp of their den.”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Cas replies, hands now stained with jet-black monster blood. “But we can use the skins for something. Reinforcing the tent?”

Paper. Records.

“I’ve studied monsters, before,” I say, calmly. “Some Victors have written records about what’s on the island. They say it resembles what’s in Tartarus, and there’s a similar ‘Source’ here. Harpies, Minotaurs, centaurs, there’s even Hydras. Analysts from the Republic’s border have studied the anatomy, but there’s nothing much on whether there’s a deviation from the Forsaken monsters or the ones here.”

“And? What are you trying to get at?” Cas doesn’t sound hostile.

“I think that one of our best bets to survive in this particular site is to study the patterns of the monsters,” I say. “Their anatomy, their weapons, their habits. Write them down, keep records using the harpy skins and their blood for ink. I can memorize anything I’ve written down once.”

Cas sounds willing enough. “So I hunt the monsters, bring them back, and you take them apart?”

I shrug, as I keep my eyes on the branch. “If you don’t want to reveal your Ability, you can hunt them alone. But if you don’t come back within a couple hours, I’ll continue on assuming you’re dead.”

Cas continues to hack at the harpy, and I tear my gaze from the woodcarving and to the organs that he’s collecting. Is that a gizzard? Harpies have gizzards?

“What will you do?” he asks. “How do I know you won’t just rob me and leave me to die?” His tone is casual, the question anything but.

“You don’t. If you’re going to give someone trust, you should receive it in turn,” I say, glancing closely at the gizzards. Is that a harpy heart? I make a mental note to observe it later.

My Ability whispers, He’s going to be beneficial. You should be careful-

“Want to swear an Oath?” I interrupt it, my voice a bit bright.

The dark-haired thief turns, and his tan skin shifts under the light of the citrus-turning sky. His eyes glitter bright blue, still with that mischievous, dangerous glint in his eyes. He’s wearing the breeches and tattered shirt that most in the Empire wear, but Cas’ movements are quick and sleek, like an otter. Or an assassin.

“I swear by the Gods, to Lady Seraphina Marksman, to be by her side as her partner through glory and ruin, until death do us part,” he says.

His irises almost glow, and I decide to ignore my Ability yet again - a habit that I’ve become used to in his presence. A dangerous habit.

Swearing that deep an Oath, by the Gods?

Unpredictable.

He has an angle, a motive, and I can’t do anything until I discern it.

Cas smiles, almost roguishly, but it sends a shiver down my spine - this moment is important, my Ability insists. “Isn’t it quite contrary, swearing an Oath inside a Cage?”

“You may rise,” I feel my lips say, amused.

Amused? Confusion was never a good look on me, making me revert back to my actual emotions.

“It is contrary,” I say, almost on reflex. “But then gain…”

The stranger smiles.

“The Queen’s Cage is nothing if not contrary, isn’t it...Sera?”

_