The haunting horn sounds again in the distance. I suspect that it is some new danger, dreamed up by the compositores to amaze the crowd. I break into a jog, following a stone path that was not there before.

It seems that by defeating the hoplite, I have unlocked some sort of guidance to my next task. I race along, deciding to trust that the designers of this maze will be guiding me toward something interesting. It may not be for my benefit, but it is better than wasting time lost among the maze.

Judging by Sol above, I am heading toward the east corner of the ring. Abruptly, the row of hedges stops, and I emerge into another clearing. A giant stone door is set in the wall of the arena, sealed with three locks.

The first is made of a black metal that my Iron Symbol cannot sense, like the key that was inside the hoplite’s chest. The second is made of ruby, and the third is the green of an emerald. I nod my head, understanding what they are showing me.

If I wish to escape, I will need to find two more keys.

I turn and follow the stone pathway as it continues back into another row of hedges. For a moment, my mind flashes back to the maze in the Sententia. It feels like I am still a boy, unable to escape the same games. This arena is more dangerous than the one I competed in to try to earn my Cor Heart, but despite the drama, it is much the same.

The flagstones lead me back toward the center, and I lean into my speed, hoping to gain time on Bruttia. I do not know if she encountered any traps before she found her first furia, but the time I spent fighting the vine krakenus may lead to my defeat.

I’m so focused on finding the next challenge that I almost don’t notice the danger until it’s too late. My gladii and lorica are worth their weight, giving me easy access to Iron to refill the reserves that I almost completely decimated trying to break through the stone hoplite’s shield.

While I am cultivating, the range of my animus shrinks, limited by my divided focus. I only sense the iron lurking in the bushes right as I step into striking range. The hedges to my right ripple, pulling back like water to allow Bruttia to leap through them unhindered.

The flowers along her armor flicker, changing back to their bright colors, banishing the camouflage that hid her from my eyesight. She lunges toward me, shield extended to knock me backward as she readies her blade to stab. It had not occurred to me until this moment how much more suited to this arena she is than me.

If I were not what I am, her surprise attack would have killed me. It still nearly does. I drop to my knees, letting my shin guards absorb most of the painful landing as I slide under her attack.

Calling on my Silver speed, I leap back to my feet to face the Grus gladiator. My left hand pulls my second gladius from its sheath as I lunge forward, matching her aggression with my own. I batter her shield with my right blade, relying on brute force to keep Bruttia on her back foot.

The round buckler is made of oak reinforced with an iron band around the center. It is a simple matter for me to carve through the ring, but the wood stymies me, resisting my sword’s edge with a hint of a foreign willpower. It is not overwhelming, but enough to keep my own Symbol from shearing through her shield. I wrench my blade free of the wood before she can twist her shield and rip my weapon out of my grasp.

Bruttia is a tall woman, her hair cut Legion-short. She eyes me with distrust, apparently as confused as I am. For a moment, we are still, until everything clicks for us at once.

Oak is a congruency of her plant Symbol! I realize. That was her will rebuffing my attempt to sunder her shield. Her eyes go wide as they track from my gladius to me. I didn’t think that she would be able to interact with her shield like that, so I used Iron brazenly. I might as well have shouted my secret to her with my attack.

Which means that I have to kill her.

She must see some of my dark intent in my eyes, because she withdraws a step as I lunge forward, hammering at her with both swords. Panic flares in her eyes as pieces of wood begin to fly off her shield from the power of my assault. I can feel her resistance fading. It cannot be a strong congruency for her, just enough to get an edge over most, but the essence conversion is costing her, even if we are standing in the middle of a garden.

Her shield shatters, and I stalk forward, eager to end this. I am not excited to add another soul to my balance, but to protect this secret, I would do far worse. She parries my first strike wide, twisting into it with her hips, thrusting her upper body toward me. I almost shake my head to see such poor form. The lanista of Domus Grus must not be cut from the same cloth as Contessa⁠—

The blossoms that cling to the surface of her armor turn bright yellow as they cough forth a cloud of pollen the same toxic color. I try to stop, but it is too late. I sweep through the storm holding my breath, but not before it gets into my mouth, nose, and eyes.

The poison burns as it digs into me. My Symbols panic as they sense a foreign presence sweeping into me, but they are torn out of my grasp. I stumble to my knees as the strength flows out of me. Weakly, I lift my head, staring at Bruttia with horrified eyes.

The gladiator cocks her head, studying me like I am a dangerous animal, before reaching out with her empty left palm and placing it on my forehead. I try to swing at her with my gladius, but she disarms me easily. My sword drops onto the stone pathway beneath our feet.

Bruttia smiles a cruel smile, throwing her head back as she pours her will into me, exacerbating the poison that runs through my veins. I can feel its fire spreading. Like lightning striking a dry forest, it takes only a moment for it to go from a spark to an inferno. Lifting her hand, she bends down further to pluck the black key from my belt. I groan, spotting a red one dangling from hers.

“Die in pain, immundus,” she whispers as she pulls back from me.

I try to mumble a threat, but the only thing that comes out of my mouth is a low groan. She snorts in derision.

“I think I’ll keep these,” Bruttia remarks, picking up my swords from the ground to admire them. “A memento from the match that gave me my name.” I can only watch in dim horror as she turns her back on me and breaks into a brisk jog, content to leave me to suffer alone in front of the thirty thousand souls that watch from the stands.

I can’t breathe.

A burning sickness fills me, seeping into my bones. I am lying on the ground. When did I collapse? I remember being on my knees, but nothing after. The coolness of the stone is a relief against my cheek. My eyes are blurry; the world is a smear of green and gray.

I can’t breathe.

The pain burns inside me, devouring my will. With what little thought I possess, I reach for my Ancient Frost and Iron Symbols, but they are distant—on the other side of the heat that consumes me. My cold attunements are chased away by the fire of this infection, barring me from them. The end will come soon, I know. I will see what waits for me on the shores of the River Styx.

I cannot tell if the gods watch me. The poison is so overwhelming that I do not feel my skin tingle with their attention. Perhaps they know that I am meant to die, and they have no time to waste on my story any longer. If any of the others live, they will have to fulfill Nemesis’s votum without me. I let out one last, shaky breath as the darkness comes.

I hope my mother and father are waiting there.

I hope they will recognize me.

With that last bit of acceptance, I stop struggling, letting go of the last of my resistance, clearing the way for the poison to sweep through my body and finish me off.

But instead, a different kind of flame fills the void. The Symbol of Unrelenting Fire leaps free, essence pouring out of its Cor like a flood. A second warmth fills me, spreading through my limbs with delightful relief.

It is not the heat of an inferno, but the comfort of hot cider on a winter’s night. My breath comes back to me as the pain within me flees, driven out by the purifying fire that chases it through my body. Slowly, I manage to push myself up off the ground, hacking up dark-colored phlegm as the poison is purged from me.

The wall of fiery pain that separates me from Ancient Frost and Iron fades and burns out as Unrelenting Fire casts out the weaker flame. Gasping for breath, I sit on my knees and stare at the world around me with wonder.

I am alive.

My missing strength flows back into my limbs as my Silver Symbols succor me. I channel their essences through my veins, soothing my seared insides with their cooler touch. After a few long, painful moments, I finally feel human. My eyes snap open, and I rise to my feet.

Unpoisoned.

Unbroken.

Unbeaten.

The crowd outside the arena is roaring their approval so loudly, it threatens to overwhelm the invisible barrier between us. I do not look up at my audience as I begin to walk. My eyes are glued to the stone pathway that rearranges itself before me, guiding my steps.

In truth, I do not need the compositores’ direction. I know where I need to be. There are only two ways to win this match: killing your opponent or escaping. The announcer hinted that doing both would earn the gladiator a bonus, which is why Bruttia didn’t finish me off immediately. She needed time to complete the last challenge.

It also meant that I knew where she was going to end up—I’ve been there once before. I try not to let my fear show as I race toward the gate with the locks. If I am too late, it will not matter that I survived her poison. Her knowledge will kill me as easily as her plants could have.

I emerge from the hedge maze and let out a long sigh of relief at the sight of the three locks that are still sealed tight. I scan the area with my animus, looking for any hidden traps or the hidden gladiator, but I sense nothing.

All I can do is wait for my quarry to come to me. I can feel the eyes that watch me, hungrily waiting for the rematch. Boldly, I stride to stand before the gate, waiting out in the open for Bruttia’s return.

She will not die to the third challenge, I am sure. Briannus and his compositores want to play out this drama all the way to the end. This is what the people pay to see.

Glancing up, I see a part of the crowd on the far side of the ring cheering in reaction to something I cannot see. The Grus gladiator must be close to completing the third challenge. I feel the corner of my lip quirk up as I imagine the expression on Contessa’s face right now as I wait for Bruttia without a weapon.

I will teach her fear.

The dim roar of the audience punches through the barrier, telling me that the time will be soon. I roll my shoulders and, on a whim, tap into Unrelenting Fire. Ancient Frost squirms in my grasp, as if suddenly uncomfortable. A sharp pain stings in the front of my head, causing me to squint and stagger back a step.

I release the Winter Symbol, separating it from its opposite element. Immediately, my head clears, and I frown, beginning to understand just how difficult it will be for me to manage these two opposite Symbols inside of me. Iron, on the other hand, seems less irritated by the heat’s presence. It comes to my call, but reluctantly, as if distrustful of the fire that burns inside of me.

Pushing that thought aside, I sweep Unrelenting Fire’s animus through my body once more, searching for any remnants of poison that still lurk within. I find a dark spot in one of my legs that I burn away and another in one of my teeth, but nothing else remains of the toxin that she dosed me with.

Shaking my head in wonder, I release Unrelenting Fire, welcoming back Ancient Frost. I roll my shoulders and set myself, ready to face my enemy once more. The crowd above is still, watching intently. I take that to mean that she is drawing close. I sweep out with my Silver animus, pushing it beyond my comfortable range. Ancient Frost and Iron spark at the same time as they sense my stolen swords heading toward me.

It is only a moment before she bursts into the garden, moving quickly. All three precious keys dangle from her belt, and she holds my blades in her hands. The brilliant smile dies on her face as she sees me waiting between her and the gate. Stunned, she slows to a stop a dozen paces away from me.

“How?” My smile widens, growing large for the crowd that watches us.

“I am Frigus Ventus,” I say as condescendingly as possible.

In the distance, the haunting horn sounds once more.

“I—” she begins but cannot seem to finish her thought. After a moment of silence, she shakes her head to clear it, brandishing my cold blades in warning as she begins to march toward me.

“You should have let the poison finish you, Frigus Ventus.” Her tone makes a mockery of my name. After all, only one of us is armed. Why should she fear me? “It would have been quick. Now all the other deaths left to you are far worse.”

She breaks into a jog, eating up the distance between us in seconds. Her right hand swings in a heavy slash, aiming to cut me in half. I smile brightly, raising my empty left for her to see as I call upon the Glacialis Falx, and a gladius made of ice grows out of my palm before her very eyes.

I catch her blow easily, twisting and knocking it aside with a contemptuous flick. It would be a simple matter for me to destroy her sword thanks to its communion with both Iron and Ancient Frost, but they are mine. I want them back.

Her eyes are wide with fear as she stares at the icy blade that I have manifested. I do not need to look at the crowd to know that they are beside themselves in delight. I can feel their ecstasy shaking the ground of the arena. I will give them something they will never forget. They will tell stories about this for the rest of their lives.

I incline my head at Bruttia, inviting her to attack once more. She hesitates but decides it is her only choice, following up her attack with the sword in her left hand. I repeat the process, summoning a second Glacialis Falx to block her attack.

For a moment, we stand frozen as if we are the ice instead of my blades. The tips of our swords touch like lovers holding hands at the beginning of a dance. Then she remembers my will eating into her oaken shield, and she snatches them free, breaking our connection.

I only shake my head slightly, following after her like a predator. She falls back before my advance in terror. There is no fight left in her now. Bruttia is a trickster, an assassin. She cannot stand against me in the open, and we both know it. The same way we both know that she has to die to keep my secret.

“Please,” she whispers, but I only shake my head, following her doggedly. I feel no pity for her after her threats and her poisons. I know that if our roles were reversed, she would never spare me.

Ice rings against iron as I press the attack, forcing her to parry my aggressive blows. She falls back, leading me around in a circle in the garden clearing. I am not an idiot; I can feel her trying to maneuver me so she can make a break for the door. I can only smile in amusement at the thought of her somehow being able to turn three locks before I kill her.

The horn sounds again, closer this time. Its notes are low and haunting, reverberating in my chest with an almost primal power. It’s a warning, a promise that if we do not make things interesting, the designers of this garden horror have their own ways to up the ante.

Taking their threat to heart, I leap forward, increasing my attacks to catch her before she can flee. Bruttia blocks, eyes roving with fear as she continues to try to figure out how to escape me. But this is the end of the road—there is nowhere to go.

At last, she seems to realize that I will not let her past me to the gate. Desperate for a chance to save herself, she turns and races back toward the hedge maze in the rest of the ring. Cursing Flora, the dead God of Flowers, I chase after Bruttia, trying to catch her before she can disappear into her element.

But I am not the only one frustrated by her lack of courage.

As she reaches the entrance, that horrible horn sounds once more. It is no longer a distant warning, but clear and present. Whatever danger the compositores have planned is here. Bruttia looks over her shoulder at me, eyes full of panic. She does not know that she is already dead.

Dark forms leap from the entrance, low and lean. The poisoner goes down with a scream as the first lupus slams into her, knocking her legs out from under her. Three more are on her in a flash, jaws ripping. Silver veins run through their fur, marking them as mythi. Of all the animals to be given the strength of a Cor, I think these must be the most terrifying. Bruttia screams as they tear her to shreds. It is so sudden and brutal that I freeze, rooted in place by the horrible sight.

A fifth wolf pads into the clearing, ignoring the woman that his pack ravages. A head taller than the rest, he watches me, his yellow eyes glowing. He cocks his head at me, staring with far too much intelligence. A chill runs down my spine as I remember the last time I stared into the eyes of one of these creatures. It was in a dream a lifetime ago.

Heat flares in the purple scar that runs around my wrist from the bite that he gave me during the Sententia. This is not the same wolf; that one was not real, despite the mark he left around my wrist. But as we stare at each other, I am haunted by the sense of intelligence behind its eyes.

Slowly, the massive mythus begins to walk toward me. His head is low, but his teeth are not bared. He does not cower, merely investigates an oddity. It seems to me that he knows me too. I dare not move as he stops just short of me, slowly extending his snout to sniff at my right wrist, where I still carry his kin’s bite marks in my flesh. Apparently satisfied, he withdraws, glancing over his shoulder at his pack.

Bruttia is no longer screaming, a mercy for her and me. The other four wolves worry at her corpse, ignoring me. Abruptly, the leader drops to his haunches, opening his toothed mouth wide in a bored yawn.

As one, the rest of his pack obeys, dropping into rigid copies of their leader. Five mythi wolves stare at me intently, waiting for something. If they wanted to, they could tear me to shreds as easily as they did Bruttia. They carry no iron or ice to give me an advantage. I cannot hear the crowd. I cannot hear anything above the blood rushing through my ears.

They say that when he lived, Mars kept a pack of lupi like faithful hounds. It seems that the compositores have decided to restore this tradition. But no matter what their plans are, I can feel the hand of those dead gods resting heavily on the scale. This moment has been planned. It is not for me, but an agent of something bigger than this place and the thirty thousand people in it.

I did not kill Bruttia myself, which will be reflected in the marcae earned for Domus Pelias after the match. In order to maximize my score, I must complete the keys and escape. The wolves watch me with infinite patience, waiting to see what I will do.

Not breaking eye contact with the leader, I take a tentative step toward Bruttia’s body. None of them even twitch, sitting still as stone. Inch by inch, I make my way to the ruined corpse of the Grus gladiator. Even in the depths of Ancient Frost, I feel my insides roil at the sight of what they have done to her. She should have let me kill her; I would have given her a much cleaner death.

The three keys are still tied to her belt. Reluctantly, I look away from the alpha to rip them free, cutting the thong that holds them with one of my frozen blades. Tucking them in my belt, I check once more to see if any of the wolves have moved. They watch me like immobile sentinels, waiting.

Trusting the peace that they offer, I drop my icy sword from my left hand, scooping my Frost Iron gladius up from the ground. Casting around, I sigh when I see the second one rests at the feet of the leader. Has it always been there? I am not sure.

Still holding the beast’s gaze, I approach him slowly, trying to show this king of predators the respect he deserves. He watches me in silence, yellow eyes unblinking as I draw near. Slowly, I kneel, placing my other frozen blade on the ground to free my hand.

A low growl of warning emerges from the lupus as my hand hovers inches from the hilt that sits by his front paws. I freeze, terror running through my veins. But the beast does not move, only communicates his warning.

Steeling myself, I place my hand on the gladius and lift it from the ground, rising to my feet in one fluid motion to create some space between me and the wolf. The leader does not growl again. Instead, he looks over his shoulder, back into the arena as if disappointed in me.

I don’t know what to make of that.

Not turning away from the pack, I take a step backward, beginning to edge toward the door. The leader’s head whips around, and one of his ears cocks as if he’s surprised by what he hears. My heart races in my chest as I force myself to take another.

As one, the wolves leap to their feet, staring at me with the concentration of hungry predators who have seen a hare. Every instinct in my body screams that I should run, but I am frozen in place, afraid to shatter the stillness. I have become Bruttia, completely cowed by a more dangerous foe. I count my breaths, promising myself I will take another step after I reach five.

Five comes and goes, and I do not move. Neither do the wolves. At last, after fifteen, I can stand it no longer. I swallow my fear and take another step. The leader twitches forward and his pack copies his movements flawlessly.

Growls sound in their throats, a rumbling chorus more dangerous even than a distant avalanche. Even Iron and Ancient Frost cannot keep the fear at bay.

I cannot stay here.

If I stay, I will die. I must escape.

I take another step, even though it feels like I am condemning myself to death by doing so. Once more the wolves pace forward, and their growls grow louder as they express their displeasure. Instinctively, I tighten my grips on the hilts of my blades, drawing comfort from their sturdiness.

I try to hold the gaze of the alpha, but he will not meet my eyes. In fact, none of them are looking at me. The hairs on the back of my neck begin to stand up on end when I realize that all their gazes are fixed on something behind me.

Slowly, I look away from the pack to look over my shoulder. There is nothing there, only a door with three locks waiting for me to unlock it. What was it the announcer said? Whoever does both will receive a special prize.

I turn my back on the wolves, no longer afraid of them. Now I stare at the exit with a new sense of apprehension. For a moment, I debate simply giving up. I have won; they must let me advance. But the oath that binds my flesh to Domus Pelias constricts threateningly. If there are more points to be earned, Varus would want me to take it.

There is a scuffling on the grass behind me, and I whirl, terrified that the wolves are finally attacking. But I am just in time to see the tail of the last one as they vanish back into the hedge maze. It seems the mythi want no part of what is to come.

I reach out with my animus, reaching through the gate and into what waits beyond. I can feel the mechanisms that move the doors, but beyond is blank—not empty. It is a spot of darkness against my senses.

I can only chuckle in dry amusement as I walk back to the gate. This is a terrible decision, and yet I must make it. I reach down and pull out the black key, sliding it into its lock and twisting it. The click echoes throughout the entire arena, magnified like the announcer’s voice. Next, I insert the ruby key, repeating the process.

Every instinct in my body wants to stop. To turn tail and run away like the wolves that are much wiser than me. But my oath holds me fast, keeping me on the path that has been laid before me. With shaking hands, I put the emerald key in its lock.

Its click is deafening like Dead Jupiter’s thunder. The last bolt retracts, and I take two steps back as a series of pops resound. Slowly, the gates begin to swing open, but whatever waits beyond is shrouded in shadow, just like it is against my Symbols’ senses.

I settle myself into a fighting stance, holding my blades forward, ready for anything.

Well, almost anything.

A massive figure, head and shoulders taller than me, emerges from the darkness. In his right hand, he carries a massive maul so heavy I could barely wield it. He is covered head-to-toe in golden armor streaked with black lines that flows as if made of liquid while still hugging him like a second skin. I know without looking that his helm is molded into the snarling visage of a wolf.

It is him.

The one who gave me all these Hearts.

The Golden Wolf.

Far above Bellona’s Arena, Mons Olympus hovers in the sky, dead and dark.

Watching.