Tonight’s combat was different. The Emperor had promised Asteria a final prize: survive the Night of the Shattered Moon, and her sisters would be granted a return to the Amazonian plains.
"Because," Orión replied, stepping into the red dust, "I am the only god who wants to die. And you are the only mortal who can kill what is immortal."
"I can give you the head of the Emperor," he whispered, his voice a golden hum against the roar of the crowd. "But first, you must help me break the world."
Together, they turned away from the crowd and toward the Labyrinth's throat. It was the beginning of a vengeance that would stain the heavens gold and the earth red—a story of two slaves who decided that if they could not have peace, they would at least have justice.
As the gates groaned open, a shadow fell across the sand. Orión descended, not as a savior, but as a ghost.
Asteria tightened her grip on her spear, the wood slick with sweat. "I have spent my life killing for men who call themselves masters. Why should a god be any different?"
But Orión had his own desperate plan. He knew that his mother, Eris, the goddess of Chaos, lay frozen in stone deep within the Labyrinth. He didn't need a hero; he needed a monster. He needed the one gladiator who had never known fear.
The arena smelled of copper and ozone. For Asteria, the "Red" was not just the blood of her fallen opponents in the Eladian Empire—it was the weight of every sunrise she was forced to survive. Above, the "Gold" shimmered in the private box of the gods, where Orión sat, a prisoner of Hera’s whims, watching the carnage with eyes that had seen too much immortality.
