Serena had understood that, despite believing that she had blocked them out, the memory of the giant attack on their caravan still sat in the back of her mind. Those horrible feelings, sending chills down her spine, had immediately risen to the surface upon seeing the next contestant crushed to death.

Everything before that had felt like a blur – Cruck’aa had finished his uninspiring fight completely unharmed, much to the disappointment of the crowd. He’d stalked off the sands with a chorus of boos trailing after him like a bad stench. And while a part of Serena agreed with the jeering spectators – the fight had been the most boring one so far – Cruck’aa remained the only contestant to walk away unharmed from his bout. A feat that none of the other contestants could claim, including the charred remains of the Hellhounds, their smoking corpses quickly dragged off field after Cruck’aa.

When the Masked Lord announced the next fight, they sounded furious, a stark contrast to how they had sounded before. And while Serena thought it was due to Cruck’aa’s fight, she was quickly corrected, when the next contestant stepped out.

With everything going on that day, it had completely slipped Serena’s mind that Harshnag had entered the tournament.

He had stepped out from the contestant’s side, looking shockingly smaller than he was last time. Despite this, Harshnag looked just as wild as the day they’d met, though he now wore a set of plate armor over his usual patchwork of furs and skins. The skull of a young dragon – Serena had recognized it instantly – was placed over his grey head, his white beard and icy blue eyes looking monstrous under it. A one-handed axe, somewhat short with a long and narrow head, was clutched in one hand, looking oddly small. The moment Harshnag had stepped out onto the sands, however, he had raised it above his head, pointed towards the sky.

And then he grew.

As Serena watched stupefied, it occurred to her that every time she’d seen the Frost Giant, he’d appeared to be somewhat smaller than the Hill Giants that had attacked their caravan. And upon seeing the giant now grow, she realized that she was now seeing Harshnag’s actual size. He grew to a dizzying height, much taller than any of the hill giants she’d previously seen – tall enough that his head poked cleanly over the first tier of seating. Many of the spectators that stood directly across from his head cringed back as his breath blew over them.

Surprisingly, or perhaps unsurprisingly, the entire coliseum had erupted into frenzied cheers at the sight. Perhaps they sensed that the next fight would be far more exciting than whatever the previous one was.

Feeding off that energy, Harshnag laughed – a sound that Serena swore caused the coliseum to rumble – and waved at everyone, stepping away from contestant section and towards the middle of the sands. It took him four footsteps to get there.

At that point, the cutout for the healer’s section had grown packed as news quickly spread that a giant was fighting in the tournament. Serena was almost shoved backwards out of the cutout, Sosem with her, as a crowd formed, everyone fighting for a view. Despite that, Sosem had somehow managed to push his way back through, and Serena followed on his coattails. Though she quickly wished she hadn’t.

The attendant and Harshnag’s opponent – both who barely came up to the giant’s shins – were already out on the sands. The attendant, clearly scared out of her mind, had quickly explained the rules to an uninterested Harshnag and the equally terrified man who would be his opponent. A short moment later, she scurried off the field, and the fight begun.

Urged on by the cheering of the crowd, the poor plate armored man tried desperately to slash at Harshnag’s legs, his sword completely ineffective. It had taken Harshnag a moment to notice the futile actions, and when he did, he simply brough the flat of his axe down on top of the poor man.

And like that, the fight was over.

Everyone around Serena, including Sosem, exploded out of the cutout, shoving Serena out onto the sands, as they all ran towards the carnage. Harshnag didn’t seem to notice as they dragged the flattened contestant back towards the healer’s section. He was too busy laughing and waving at his new roaring fans.

Serena stood to the side of the cutout and watched in horrified silence as the group of them dragged the ruined body through the cutout, leaving a trail of crimson sand in their wake. She followed them, stopping just inside of the hallway, as the group unceremoniously dropped the body to the ground. Her stomach churned, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

The sight was grizzly, a replica of the ruined bodies she’d seen Pavel try to bury some time ago.

The man’s armor had been popped, as though someone had stepped onto a tin can. His head had been shoved into his neck, only his eyes visible, blood pouring from the ruined remains. The rest of his torso looking strangely flattened, and upon closer inspection, it seemed as though everything in the man’s chest had broken. It seemed as though he’d arched backwards as he’d been smashed into the sands, allowing much of his ribs to now protrude out of his chest, broken, pouring more blood onto –

Serena looked away, hand over her mouth. She inhaled sharply, a vein effort to calm the nausea that thrashed within her. The stench of iron wasn’t helping.

She hadn’t a clue as to why they had dragged the man back with such urgency. There was clearly nothing they could do for him save a quick and proper burial.

Despite the horrific scene, Serena glanced back, hoping that someone was carrying the body away. Instead, she couldn’t help but stare as Sosem bent over the dead man, hands clasped before him, head bowed, eyes closed, muttering something. Around him, other clerics stood watching.

A light flashed in Sosem’s palms, illuminating him and the ruined body for a moment. Serena turned fully to face them, confused as to what spell Sosem had cast, when the dead man came back to life.

He groaned, blinked his eyes, and sat up, ruined armor falling to bits around him. Sosem leaned back on his knees as some of the clerics around him began to help the previously dead man up. His entire body had been fixed – a process that Serena had somehow missed – and it was as though he’d never died at all.

Her mouth had fallen open. Despite the apparent miracle that had just occurred, Serena seemed to be the only one who’d reacted correctly. Everyone else had simply turned away, going about their business, as the now alive contestant was helped over to a bench, looking as healthy as any man his age. Only Sosem remained, still kneeing on the floor, a small but tired smile upon his lips.

He glanced up at Serena as she ran over, a hundred questions upon her fingertips.

“You look surprised.” Sosem simply said, struggling to his feet.

“That man was dead!” Serena signed; Sosem grimaced, and Serena lowered her voice as she continued. “I saw it! He was completely…dead! And you brought him back to life?! How?!”

“Simple process actually. Nothing complex. You just need a diamond before you can do it.” He spread a palm towards her. A small circle had been pressed into his skin. “It’s what that flash was if you saw it. The diamond was consumed by the spell.”

“What?!” Serena gaped. “That’s simple?! You brought –”

“First, please don’t yell.” Sosem massaged his temples. Heat flooded into Serena’s cheeks. “And yes, it really is simple. It’s called revivification. So long as the person’s soul is willing, you can guide them back into their body, provided you do it quick enough. The window is very small for a spell such as this. While casting the spell is easy, the way it truly works is rather complex.” He crossed his arms. “You’re essentially using the diamond to project a kind of light into the Astral Plane, specifically to the Fugue Plane, in order to guide the deceased back to their body. A spell like revivify must be attempted quickly, however, as souls that enter the Fugue Plane are quickly pushed towards the City of Judgement, wherein only stronger spells could potentially free them. Some theorize that this kind of magic could anger the gods that reside within the City, but nothing has become of anyone who has used the spell. And considering that the spell has been around since…well, forever, many speculate that nothing truly happens if a soul is called back early.” Sosem shrugged. “Well, even if there is a consequence, I’ll answer for my crimes honestly. I’d rather be condemned when my life is done, rather than knowingly remain passive when there is something I could do to help those around me.”

“Ah…” Serena blinked. She hadn’t expected the lecture, and much of what Sosem had said barely made sense to her.

Evidently, he understood the blank look on her face.

“My apologies,” he chuckled. “didn’t mean to bombard you with all that. You could probably learn the spell yourself, by the way. You don’t need to know all that extra stuff, just the hand gestures and words, honestly. And the words can be tailored to how you wish. There isn’t a set mantra.”

Serena frowned, unconvinced. Sosem smiled warmly.

“Ah, you wear the look that everyone else does when I explain this to them. I will be honest; you’re essentially begging for a chance for the soul to come back. But that doesn’t sound very…proper when you put it like that.” Sosem clasped his hands together. “A prostration method tends to work the best. Here…”

Though Serena still had her doubts, she didn’t stop Sosem as he walked her through the steps of the spell, clasping her hands along with him. While the hand motions were simple – holding one’s hands together with a bowed head – much of the language used was rather specific, even though it was, as Sosem had said, begging. Instead of begging someone specifically, as Serena had assumed, the spell required the caster to beg the plane that the deceased went to. She had to stop Sosem multiple times as he tried to explain the concept to her, and even then, it still seemed like Dwarvish to her. As though she was begging the universe itself for assistance, something that didn’t normally hear prayers.

“I suppose if you aren’t used to it, the wording does seem a tad odd.” Sosem said, hands still clasped. “Especially for someone like yourself.”

Serena cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh, I mean with how you use your magic. It’s very clear you’re a sorcerer. At least, that’s my guess from what I’ve seen. Am I wrong?”

She blinked and made to unclasp her hands. Before she could however, a familiar voice rocked the coliseum.

“Well!” The Masked Lord’s voice rumbled. Serena plugged her ears. “That was…something! I hope none of you were squeamish!” The crowd roared a response. “Right, right, you all came to see blood. Well, that does conclude the first leg of our tournament! And with fewer fights, we should be moving along quite quickly!” They cleared their throat. “We will jump into our next few fights, and break for a bit until the next. That being said, our first fight of the second round! Faces you’ve seen before, Pavel Smith against Simon Cain!”

“Oh!” Sosem said; he trailed after Serena as she turned on her heel and made for the cutout. “Simon is fighting again already? Did he get healed? And isn’t he up against one of your friends?”

Serena waved away his questions and poked her head out the cutout, Sosem following suit. They watched as Pavel and Simon stepped out from the contestant side and stopped a few paces out onto the sands.

She squinted. She couldn’t make out whether Simon had been healed, though Pavel appeared to be fine. He hadn’t come over to them after his first fight.

“I can’t tell from here.” Serena signed.

“Nor can I.” Sosem leaned back into the hallway. “Well, regardless, this should be interesting. Your friend seemed like quite the contestant earlier.”

Serena nodded, though she kept her thoughts to herself. Pavel could be quite fierce at times, but part of her wondered if this fight would end up being anything like his last.

Only one way to find out.

…

“Did they not heal you?” Pavel yelled over the roar of the crowd.

The man that strode out with him wore a similar garb to Jo – leather over a matching pair of black tunic and pants. Much of it, however, was still stained and ripped from his last fight, and when Pavel turned to fully face him, the man’s narrow face showed signs of fatigue. He shaded his eyes, narrowed somewhat, as he looked at Pavel.

“Unfortunately, no!” He shouted. “Got caught up in some things, no time!”

“I can wait!” Pavel replied. He’d wait for as long as necessary – it wouldn’t be a fair fight if his opponent was still hurt from his last match up.

“I’ll be fine!” The man said, shaking his head. “I’ve dealt with worse! Besides, it’ll make things more interesting!” He stuck out his hand before Pavel could protest. “Simon, by the way!”

“Ah…Pavel!” Pavel shook Simon’s hand. “Most people I fight don’t introduce themselves like this!”

“Call it a special occasion.” Simon laughed; the crowd had begun to quiet down, enough that they no longer had to shout. “I’ve said it before, just because we’re to kill one another doesn’t mean we have to hate each other while doing it.”

Pavel laughed. “Sure, I can get behind that. And you’re sure you don’t want to see if they can heal you first?”

“Positive. I appreciate the concern, but I’ll be alright. Nothing too serious.”

“Alright. Well…” Pavel trailed off as his gaze flicked to the side. “Wait, who the hell left their cloak out here?!”

Simon followed his look. He blinked.

“Oh, that’s where I left it, I was wondering –”

“That’s yours?!” Pavel stared at him. “Why’d you leave it on the ground?”

“Well, you never fight with one, and it looks damn ugly on me. That’s more of the reason than the first.”

Pavel laughed. Simon grinned and gestured towards the middle of the arena. They walked with one another in comfortable silence, and when they neared the center of the sands, Simon halted. Pavel continued to walk forward, and when he was a few paces off center, he stopped and turned on his heel, facing Simon.

He grinned and shot Pavel a thumbs up. Pavel couldn’t help but return the gesture

He paid no heed to the attendant as he stepped onto the sands and strolled over to them. By now, the crowd had grown sufficiently quiet, giving him a chance to think.

Simon looked to be nothing like the youth, or whatever it was, that Pavel had faced earlier. Simon stood with an air of ease about him, hand resting on the pommel of his short sword, utterly unbothered by the noise around him. Though his body still bore the marks from the last fight, along with the blood that stained his clothes and armor, he looked as bright as ever.

With a frown, Pavel unsheathed his weapons. Simon followed suit.

This would be a much different fight than the first. Simon appeared to be Pavel’s equal, and that fact alone put him on edge. There wasn’t any time to worry though. He’d simply have to test the waters, just as he always did.

Pavel bent his knees slightly, sword gripped tight, flail hovering just above the sand. Simon flipped his short sword once, then held it loosely at his side.

The attendant, now finished, raised his hand. Just as before, the crowd gradually grew quiet.

Pavel narrowed his eyes.

Simon smiled.

The attendant dropped his hand.

Simon closed the distance before the crowd could roar.

Pavel jerked his hand up at the last minute. A shock ran up his arm as he blocked Simon’s sword, the roar of the crowd smashing into his chest. With a grunt, Pavel shoved forward, only for Simon to jump back. When Pavel moved to follow, Simon leapt back again, then again, making ample room between them.

He grinned and lowered his sword, guard nonexistent.

Pavel scowled.

So that’s how it was going to be.

Pavel hefted the flail – weightless in his hand – and began to twirl it, a whirling circle of grey close to his side. He stepped forward, and Simon stepped back, eyeing the flail, the smile gone from his face. His eyes darted between the blurring flail head and Pavel’s feet.

With a flick, Pavel sent the flail whistling for Simon’s side. He jumped back, dodging by inches.

He stepped forward, only to curse, as Pavel brought the flail back around, aimed towards his head. Simon stepped back again – and again and again as Pavel slowly advanced, keeping him at bay.

Sweat began to bead on Simon’s forehead, his eyes wild, as he tracked the flail, unable to push forward.

The crowd began to scream, almost begging for blood.

His back almost to the edge of the sands, Simon’s eyes lit up; upon the next swing, he ducked under the ball, and dashed towards Pavel.

Pavel jerked his knee up. It connected in the middle of Simon’s face.

Simon flew backwards and smashed into the sand, nose broken, blood already streaming down his face.

In the same instant, Pavel yanked the flail back, grabbed it by the chain, and brought his plated foot down onto Simon’s chest.

With a single hand, Simon caught it.

Pavel thought his ears would explode, so loud did the crowd roar.

Simon smashed the pommel of his sword against the side of Pavel’s shin, sending a brilliant flare of pain up his leg.

Pavel bellowed in shock. He flicked his hand, catching the spiked ball, and flung it towards Simon’s head.

Sand exploded as Simon jerked his head out of the way, eyes wide.

He yelled, shoved up, and flung Pavel backwards, throwing him back. The sky filled his vision as Pavel smashed into the sand. He rolled to the side and leapt up, sword ready, though Simon, already on his feet, did not advance on him.

Blood drained over Simon’s mouth as he glared at Pavel. No longer was his sword held loosely at his waist but gripped tight in front of him.

Pavel narrowed his eyes. He knew Simon would fall for the trick – anyone who’d never been against a flail would – thought he hadn’t expected Simon to get off the ground so –

He yelled and flung his arm up, Simon’s sword scrapping off the armor. Gods he was fast.

Simon twisted and flung a fist towards Pavel’s face. It connected, snapping his head to the side.

Pavel turned his head back instantly. Simon flinched.

Pavel slashed his sword across Simon’s chest; the tip bit into the exposed skin near his shoulder, before snagging against his armor. He stumbled and tripped into the sand as Pavel finished the slice.

As he began to scramble up, Pavel swung the flail low, smashing the head into Simon’s chest.

He screamed as he was flung backwards, sword flying from his grip. He scrambled up, clutching at the now punctured, and smashed, section of his leather.

Pavel grinned despite himself and waited as Simon yanked off the ruined armor, struggling to suck the air back into his lungs. The moment the leather hit the sand, Pavel closed the distance, slashing with an upwards strike.

Simon barely threw his arms up in time. His sleeves and skin split, angry red cuts sprouting with blood. He ignored them and pulled back, away from the follow up strike. As Pavel readied a third, Simon jumped forward, and unleashed a flurry of blows, faster than Pavel could see. He pulled his weapons in and moved on instinct alone.

Yet it was impossible to dodge them all. He jerked backwards, sideways, blocked, but every other punch connected with his chest or head, sending explosions of pain ripping through him. Stars began to sprout in his vision as two hits connected – back-to-back – shoving him away, only for Simon to follow, keeping up the assault.

At some point, Pavel’s nose broke. At another, his eyebrow split, blood pouring down his face. At another, his teeth scrapped together, and he bit his tongue, mouth filling with warm blood.

It took every fiber of his being not to yield.

And with each strike that smashed against him, Simon grew more intense, bellowing along with the crowd as he forced Pavel back across the sands. At some point, they crossed the over the middle, past the horrified looking attendant.

Yet Pavel refused to falter. His vision swam, his head burst with pain, his breathing ragged, yet he took every other jab without flinching.

He had to.

Another blow connected with Pavel’s eye, bruising the socket instantly. Simon pulled back for another, only to falter, gasping for air.

Pavel planted his feet, turned, and smashed his shoulder into Simon, throwing him to the sand.

And as he was gasping for air, eyes wide, Simon failed to catch Pavel’s boot as it came crashing down.

The crowd roared.

Simon’s screams were drowned out by the crowd, along with the cracking of his ribs. His hands grasped at empty air as his chest threatened to cave in.

Pavel, huffing, raised his sword and pressed the tip into Simon’s cheek, just enough to draw a trickle of blood.

“Yield!” Blood flew from his mouth as he somehow shouted over the crowd.

Simon glared back. He shoved his hands under Pavel’s foot.

Pavel pushed the tip further in, widening the trickle.

Simon held his gaze.

Pavel grimaced. A genuine hate seemed to flare in Simon’s eyes.

They continued to stare at one another, unmoving, long enough for the attendant to hesitantly step towards them.

“G-gentleman,” He stammered; neither of them looked at him. “in a s-situation like this – “

“I yield.” Simon said, a look of irritated acceptance etched across his face.

“Ah, I – Pavel Smith is the victor!” The attendant yelled.

Relief swept through Pavel as the crowd went wild. He took his foot off Simon and sheathed his sword, wobbling as he did.

He could barely stand.

Despite his look, Pavel reached down and offered a hand to Simon. He glanced at it, the fire in his eyes dying down. He accepted the help, and almost fell back over as Pavel heaved him up.

With a labored breath, Simon half collapsed against Pavel, wrapping an arm about his shoulders.

“Okay!” Simon yelled, grimacing. “I think I’m dying!”

“’ame!” Pavel said. Blood flew from his mouth; he could barely speak.

Simon burst out laughing.

“Ah, why am I mad!? That was a brilliant show! Really had me beat there, have to say!”

“You too!” More blood flew out. “Tho’e hand’ hurt!”

“As does your flail!” Simon glanced towards where his armor lay in the sand. “Now, why –” he groaned and clutched at his chest. “Why don’t we…finish this conversation once we’re,” Simon sucked in a breath. “better?”

Pavel nodded, and began to drag Simon towards the healer’s section, ignoring the crowd as they cheered for them.

…

It was as though two corpses walked across the sands, and Serena couldn’t help but stare at the absurdity of it. Pavel and Simon, having almost killed one another, now staggered towards her, arms draped over the other’s shoulders, like two friends coming back from a long night of drinking.

Simon seemed to have suffered the worst of it. Though Pavel had only scored a few hits, each of them looked severe. Blood covered his mouth, his nose crunched sickeningly to the side, and though she couldn’t see the damage, Serena knew that his ribs were a mess. Blood still dripped from his arms, and from how Simon staggered along, he looked to be on the verge of passing out.

Pavel, on the other hand, had been punched so many times that it was a miracle he was still standing. His entire face was purple and bruised already, his nose equally broken. Blood trickled down the left side of his face and over his mouth, combining with the dribbles of blood that fell from it. Thought he seemed fine everywhere else – Simon had almost entirely attacked his face – Serena was stunned he could even see straight.

Though with how off kilter the pair was…

“No, no,” Simon sputtered as Pavel began to veer away from the cutout. “Pavel, straight! Straight, Pavel!”

“Can ‘ee!” Pavel yelled, spitting blood. “Here?”

“Straight!”

Somehow, Pavel corrected himself and continued towards Serena, who couldn’t help but grin at the two. Like peas in a pod, or whatever Ned used to say.

Before she could meet them, Sosem pushed passed Serena, not unkindly, and grabbed the pair by their shoulders. He looked between the two of them, and despite not being able to see it, Serena could hear his expression.

“Good gods!” Sosem shook his head. “I’m surprised you two didn’t kill each other, what with how fierce that was!”

“Wanted to win!” Pavel exclaimed. Blood sprayed from his mouth, causing Sosem to jerk back.

“Ah Pavel,” Simon wheezed. “you stained the good cleric’s robes! Don’t…talk until you have to.”

“’orry!” Pavel said.

Sosem jerked back again, then shook his head. He stood off to the side – annoyed look across his face – and gestured towards the cutout. Without a word, the pair stumbled into the healer’s section.

“I’ll see if I can fix up Simon.” Sosem said, glancing at Serena. “Will you see to Pavel?”

Serena gave him a thumbs up, then pointed towards the new attendant that strode onto the sand, the crowd beginning to roar as he did. Sosem nodded, and together, they followed the bloody pair.

Serena and Sosem’s numbers had already been called, thus no one accosted Pavel and Simon as they staggered their way through the crowd. Many of the wounded contestants had already been sent off, thus the bustle that normally filled the hallway had died down as many finally found a moment to relax. They all seemed to stare at Pavel and Simon, however, as the pair interrupted that quiet. They plopped down on a bench a few paces in, and already had begun a good-natured argument about which of them had hit the hardest. And though Serena couldn’t make out their words, Pavel seemed to be winning, perhaps only because Simon was about to pass out.

“I can’t believe they smashed themselves that hard.” Serena signed as she and Sosem began to make their way over to them.

“I can.” Sosem shrugged. “I mean, we brought in a dead man just a round ago. I’m just glad Pavel didn’t take of Simon’s head with that flail.”

“Yeah, but the last guy was fighting Harshnag. Pavel and Simon are just…normal.”

“Eh, I wouldn’t say that. Simon has a lot of years under his belt, and Pavel seems –”

“Serena Lash!”

Every single person jumped as Serena’s name was bellowed through the hallway. Serena herself had jerked hard enough that she almost fell off her feet, Sosem reflexively grabbing her. She slapped a hand against her chest, heart threatening to explode, as the source of the voice came bursting through the crowd, parting the sea of clerics and doctors with ease.

Serena started, as Sosem, still holding her, gaped at the mountain of a man that stood some paces away, mirroring the expressions of everyone in the crowd.

To say the man was imposing would have been a lie. He was downright terrifying.

He stood a head taller than everyone in the room and seemed to be built thicker than one of the pillars that supported the ceiling. His gold plate armor gleamed in the magical light, while his white and gold trimmed cape, looking impossibly clean, settled behind him. His left hand rested on the pommel of a long golden sword, which gleamed just as bright.

His head was on a swivel, blue eyes piercing through the crowd. Despite his imposing presence, his face was smooth, giving him the appearance of someone in their mid-twenties.

“I’m looking for a woman!” The man’s voice, startlingly deep, boomed through the hallway, causing those closest to cringe. “Half-elf! Goes by the name of Serena Lash! Identify yourself if you’re here!”

Anxiety flooded through Serena’s chest, and she instinctively shied away. Though the man or guard or whatever he was seemed important, from the furrow in his brows, he didn’t look happy. And Serena wanted nothing to do with someone whose head nearly brushed the ceiling.

She inched behind Sosem, hoping the mountain of a man wouldn’t notice her. Pavel, however, immediately pointed to her, as the man glanced at him.

“’he’s over there.” He said, mouth still full of blood.

“Pavel!” Serena yelled, only to flinch back as the man swept his gaze over her. A shiver ripped through her spine as he approached, plated boots thumping loudly on the ground. Sosem, despite his own shiver, stood his ground with her.

“You fit the description.” The man mumbled, voice like thunder. “But no choker. They said you’d have a choker.

“Uhm, sir…” Sosem’s voice sounded like a squeak compared to his. “may I ask what this is about?”

“Business of the city.” The man replied.

“Ah…” Sosem’s eyes went wide.

“Uhm…I don’t know what I did, but I have –” Serena caught herself and stuck her hand into her pocket, pulling out the still cold choker. No sense in hiding now. “I – took – it – off.”

“Hmm.” The man leaned down and squinted at the choker. After a moment, he straightened up. “Moon with arrows, that does check. Well, Ms. Lash…”

The man smashed a fist against his chest, sending a resounding CLANG through the hallway, and sending Serena to the ceiling.

“The Masked Lord of this Tournament wishes your presence at once. If you would so kindly follow me, I will take you to them.” He nodded. “Know that this is no request – it is an order. Failure to follow this order can result in consequences if the Masked Lord wishes to press them.” The man turned sideways and gestured the way he came. “Follow me please.”

Serena could only stare, still clutching the choker in her hand, heart still smashing in her chest.

The entire hallway had grown eerily silent, all eyes, all wide, on her and the man. As though time had come to a halt.

The golden man cleared his throat.

“I’d rather escort you then drag you.”

Her chest tightened. Next to her, Sosem leaned in and whispered in her ear.

“Best listen to the man, I’m sure everything will be fine. Not much else you can do anyhow.”

Serena closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. After a moment, she nodded, then stuffed the choker back into her pocket. When she did, the hallway sprang back to life as everyone turned and went back to their duties. As if nothing had happened in the first place.

“R-right, lead the way!” She signed. The man nodded, and began walking the way he came, the thud of his boots still audible over the clamor of the hallway.

As Serena moved to follow, she stopped in front of Pavel, who still sat on the bench with a now passed out Simon, leaning against his shoulder. Anger replaced her anxiety as she rounded on him.

“Why did you give me away?!” Serena hissed, signs barely coming out.

“He a’ked!” Pavel said. Blood flew at Serena, though it disappeared with a snap of her fingers. “Look, he mean’ bu’ine’!”

“What?!”

“I think he said business.” Simon mumbled. Serena blinked, then shook her head.

“I – that’s why I didn’t want to go!” She glanced at the man’s retreating figure. “What does a Masked Lord want with me?! I didn’t do anything! Why am –”

“Go!” Pavel yelled, gesturing at the man, who threatened to disappear in the crowd. Serena cursed, frustration boiling in her chest, but followed his advice as she ran after the giant man.

She caught up quickly, her heart still pounding. The crowd parted easily for them, not a soul looking in their direction. In fact, many now seemed to advert their gaze, as though what was unfolding was now none of their business. And for whatever reason, that seemed to frustrate her more than Pavel’s words.

Serena sucked in another breath and shook her head.

Nothing she could do about it now.