CHAPTER 3

I could feel myself drowning.

The freezing water forced its way into my nostrils and flooded my lungs, burning like liquid ice, but panic never came. Instead, I surrendered completely to the violent current, letting the dark rapids drag me wherever they pleased, because I knew these waters.

Silly, arrogant royals. They had a majestic waterfall cascading right in their own backyard, yet they had never possessed the curiosity or courage to explore where it led. How utterly pathetic. I had navigated these depths and plunged through these subterranean rapids more times than I could count; I knew every hidden cave, every underwater ledge, and every sharp cranny carved into the roots of these mountains.

Yet, despite my knowledge, my body was giving out, I didn't have the strength left to fight the pull. My chest burned, but my heart felt far heavier, a crushing, suffocating weight. I had always known in my gut that they would never let us walk away from this palace in peace, and now my absolute worst nightmare was coming to pass. As the roaring river carried me deeper into the pitch-black caverns beneath the earth, my vision blurred. My consciousness began to slip away, leaving me hollow, numb, and drifting toward the cold edge of nothingness.

In the fading embers of my mind, memory and history bled together.

The tournament was a barbaric blood sport known simply as ‘The Hunt’. It had been introduced centuries ago during the era of Spartacus by the first Roman conquerors, who used gladiator arenas to cement their absolute dominance over the masses. It was gruesome, chaotic, thrilling, and deeply intoxicating, which meant the royalty, high council, and the ruling lords fell in love with it instantly.

The game operated under a fatal, unyielding decree, the children of nobles, council members, common citizens, and slaves alike were forced into the arena to spill blood for the realm's entertainment. Naturally, the royals cheated, utilizing forbidden blood rites and secret armor to ensure their own offspring usually walked out alive. It was the children of commoners and slaves whose lives were routinely butchered and wasted like cattle. On the rare occasions when royal or council heirs lost their lives, their cold-hearted parents barely batted an eye, power was the only lineage they truly loved.

By the late 1800s and 1900s, The Hunt, had spread like a plague across continents, becoming a global spectacle of death. The stakes were so terrifyingly high that even foreign, immortal realms became entangled in the slaughter. That was why certain desperate humans dared to cross the treacherous boundary into the supernatural world, hoping to enter the immortal trials, survive the brutal odds, and claim unprecedented power, magic, and divine influence.

Only one kingdom on the entire map had managed to escape this cycle of mandated bloodshed, Pompeli. Our exemption had not been granted out of mercy, It had been bought entirely by my mother's immense, soul-crushing sacrifice. A peaceful reprieve that had infuriated every bloodthirsty lord and greedy councillors in the land, even as the common people worshipped her for saving their children.

And now, as the dark water choked the final breath from my lungs, I realized the horrifying truth. My father was going to tear her legacy to shreds, use my mother as a sacrificial pawn, and drag us all back into the bloody jaws of the arena.

As the cold current carried my helpless body into the dark, a single, heartbreaking thought echoed in my fading mind, she sacrificed everything to save us from the blood, and now her reward is to drown in it.

Mother always spoke of her old life with a soft, aching nostalgia, recounting memories of her homeland, her siblings, and the parents who had given her life. She told these stories in quiet, gentle whispers, clearly hoping to shield my heart from bitterness, trying to stop me from hating them. But her gentle heart couldn't erase the cold, brutal truth. We all knew how the story really went.

In those days, she was Princess Medea, a beacon of light in a kingdom steeped in greed. She was adored, cherished, and practically worshipped by the common folk. Yet, within the cold stone walls of her own palace, she was nothing more than an afterthought to her parents. To the King and Queen, her gentle nature and open-handed generosity were useless liabilities. But Medea never let their coldness harden her soul, largely because her three older brothers showered her with all the fierce, protective love her parents denied her.

Every single day, she would wander down into the dusty streets of the lower city, her delicate hands reaching out to feed the starving, clothe the freezing, and heal the broken. To the forgotten citizens, she was a living goddess. Her parents tolerated her charitable crusade only because her selfless reputation bought them the blind loyalty and admiration of the public. Her brothers, however, grew increasingly weary, watching the court exploit her warmth while giving her nothing in return. But despite their warnings, there was little they could do to pull her away from her calling.

It was during one of those quiet trips to the lower markets that she met Tiberius. He was a commoner, penniless, plain spoken, and far beneath her royal station, yet to her innocent eyes, he was everything she had ever dreamed of. She fell deeply, recklessly in love, completely unbothered by his lack of wealth or noble lineage. But her parents viewed her affection as a disgrace, a squandering of political leverage that infuriated them to their core.

Then came the turn of the century, bringing with it the return of ‘The Hunt’.

Her parents, driven by an insatiable hunger for supreme authority and divine wealth, threw themselves into the arrangements. They cared nothing for the terror gripping the populace, nor did they care for the safety of their own blood. In a terrifying bid for power, they enrolled all three of Medea’s beloved brothers into the life or death trials.

That year's tournament was whispered to be the most lethal in recorded history. Foreign delegates, corrupt demigods, and terrifying mystical beasts were drawn from distant realms to participate alongside human contenders from every corner of the continent. The ultimate prize promised to the survivors was beyond imagination: a permanent crossing into the immortal realm, granted unimaginable magic and eternal influence.

Two days before the arena gates were set to open, her brothers knew the bleak reality of what lay ahead. Knowing they might never walk out of that bloodbath alive, they secretly signed over all their lands, titles, and personal wealth into Medea's name, desperate to ensure their beloved little sister would live a life of comfort and safety even if they were slaughtered.

Tragically, Medea remained completely blind to the horror approaching her doorstep. Naive and trusting, she had no real understanding of what ‘The Hunt’ truly entailed. She merely smiled as grand carriages rolled through the gates, genuinely excited for the flood of foreign visitors, believing with an innocent heart that the bustling crowds simply meant the local traders and poor commoners would finally make enough coin to feed their families.

She had no idea that the very streets she loved were about to be drenched in the blood of her brothers.

On a quiet, casual evening, Medea walked into the lower market square, hoping to greet a few of her closest friends, buy some fresh produce, and steal a few stolen moments with her lover, Tiberius. But that night became a nightmare etched into her soul forever.

The square was in total ruin. Craters of smashed wooden stalls littered the cobblestones, spilled fruit was crushed into the dirt, and a terrifying silence hung over the deserted streets. Here and there, dark splashes of wet blood coated the stone benches. It looked like a bandit raid at first glance, but as Medea’s heart hammered against her ribs, the distant sound of panicked shrieks and booming, authoritative voices echoed from the residential alleyways.

Relying on her basic martial training and the weight of her royal name, she sprinted toward the noise, desperate to help. But as she drew closer, the angry shouts gave way to a far more sickening sound, the unified, heartbroken weeping of dozens of families.

Medea skidded to a halt at the edge of the avenue, her breath hitched.

Dozens of mothers were desperately clinging to their young sons on the muddy ground while fully armored royal guards dragged the young men away, sorting them into lines like helpless livestock.

Furious and thoroughly bewildered, Medea marched directly into the center of the fray. "What on earth do you think you're doing?" she demanded, her voice trembling with rage.

The captain of the guard turned, bowing his head with sickening nonchalance. "Princess, what are you doing here? You shouldn't be in this part of the district. The slums are no place for someone of your royal standing."

"I asked a question, Captain, and I expect an answer, not a lecture on my status," she snapped, her blood boiling as she glared at the iron cuffs around a young man's wrists.

"My apologies, Princess," the captain replied coolly. "These men are the selected human candidates for ‘The Hunt’. They are being drafted to participate in the upcoming games."

"Drafted? Why are you forcing them?" she asked, stepping between a guard and a terrified boy. "If they do not wish to go, you leave them be!"

"I am truly sorry, my Princess, but these orders came directly from the Queen herself," the captain said, pulling out a sealed parchment. "Her Majesty personally selected the core names on this list and instructed us to round up the rest."

Mara’s breath seized as her eyes scanned the faces lined up in chains. Shock struck her like a physical blow. She knew these men. They were her friends from the market, traders she shared laughs with, young men she had flirted with in her youth, citizens who opened their shops to her every day.

A horrific truth dawned on her, the Queen had done this on purpose.

Every night when she returned to the palace, she had innocently poured her heart out to her mother, gushing about her friends in the lower district and how happy they made her, with hopes that she may gain her mother affection with her tales. The Queen had smiled so warmly, asking if she was happy, pretending to care. In reality, she had been meticulously compiling a hit list of every single person her daughter cherished.

Panic seized Medea's throat as a terrible thought pierced her mind, ‘Where is Tiberius?’

She turned and sprinted toward the modest cottage where he lived, the very center of the guards sweep. Before she even reached the threshold, her heart shattered into a thousand pieces, Tiberius was sprawled in a pool of his own blood on the front porch, bruised, battered, and barely conscious.

"No! No!" Medea cried, throwing herself down beside him and cradling his face. "You can't take him! He's mine!"

"Forgive us, Princess," a guard said, stepping forward with iron chains, "but Her Majesty specifically requested his name at the very top of the ledger."

"He is mine!" she screamed, her voice cracking as tears blurred her vision. "Let him go this instant, or you will answer to my brothers! They hold more authority in the military than my mother, and you know it!"

The captain sighed, casting his eyes to the dirt. "I am sorry Princess, but it seems you haven't heard. Your brothers are being processed for the arena as we speak."

The world tilted beneath her feet. "No no, you lie! My brothers would never participate in ‘The Hunt’! They would never consent to this madness!"

"They didn't want to," the captain admitted quietly. "But they eventually surrendered. Your father personally signed their conscription papers himself."

‘How could he?’ she thought, her stomach twisting into a sickening knot. ‘How could a father sentence his own sons to die?’

She loosened her grip on Tiberius's bloody tunic, her mind racing out of control. ‘I have to get back to the castle, I have to save my brothers.’

"No! Medea, don't leave me!" Tiberius choked out, coughing up blood as he reached for her dress. "Don't go, we need you!"

"Princess Medea, please! You're all we have!" screamed a woman kneeling nearby, her face pale with terror as guards pulled her teenage son into the ranks. Medea recognized her instantly, it was the baker who always gave her free pastries when she visited the square. "You have to speak for us! You have to save them!"

She stood frozen in the alley, choked by an agonizing, impossible choice. On one side lay her beaten lover and the gentle people who had given her a home when her own family shunned her. On the other side were her three brothers, the only royal blood who had ever truly loved her and protected her.

She knew her open heart was the very reason these commoners were dragged into this nightmare. She loved Tiberius with every fiber of her being, but her brothers, her brothers had put her first their entire lives, they were her life, life isn’t worth living without them.

With tears streaming down her face, she took a slow, painful step backward toward the castle road.

The baker saw the hesitation in her eyes, and her desperate pleading instantly morphed into raw, venomous betrayal. "How could you?" the woman shrieked, her voice cutting through the night like a serrated blade. "We treated you like family when your own blood abandoned you! And now you choose them over us? How pathetic!"

"I am sorry" Medea sobbed, the words tasting like ash on her tongue. "I am so, so sorry"

"Sorry won't bring back the dead, Princess!" the woman screamed, tears spilling over her hollow cheeks. "I lost my husband and my eldest brother to, this silly game last year, and now they take my only remaining son! Does your family's greed ever end? What more do you want from us? At this rate, all of you royals should just burn in hell!"

"My brothers are trapped in this too!" she pleaded, clutching her chest. "You're not the only one hurting! My heart is breaking!"

"Do not compare your royal pain to ours!" the mother spat bitterly. "Our sons will be the first ones slaughtered at your brothers' feet, killed without honor, like butchered livestock, not even deserving of a proper grave!"

"Please, don't say that!" she cried out, her hands shaking uncontrollably. "My brothers are good men! They would never murder your sons!"

"Yeah? I bet they won't," the woman laughed bitterly, turning her face away in disgust.

The reality of the ticking clock pressed hard against her chest. Her brothers were likely being fitted for arena iron at this very second. She had to leave, but she couldn't leave them with despair.

"I have to go," she vowed, turning to the crowd of chained men and weeping mothers. "I have to save my brothers, but I promise you on my life, I will come back!"

"Yeah, of course you'll be back," a bruised merchant sneered from the line. "You'll be back when the tournament ends to announce your royal wedding to whichever high-tier murderer wins the first round grand prize!"

Mara blinked back her tears, horrified. "What? Why would I do that? I'm not marrying anyone except Tiberius!"

"Gods, is the Princess truly this clueless?" the baker laughed hysterically, her eyes wild with grief. "You are the fucking prize, Medea! This whole tournament, all this blood, it's just a grand auction for your hand and your bloodline! You're the dowry!"

The breath left her lungs completely. Her heart felt as though it had ceased beating entirely. ‘They sold me, They turned my life into a trophy and traded my brothers' lives for sport.’

"That's not true" she whispered, though deep down, the puzzle pieces fell into place with terrifying precision. "I am not livestock to be sold"

"Tell that to the King and Queen," the baker spat.

Medea wiped the tears from her face, her grief hardening into a dark, terrifying resolve. "I will be back," she declared, her voice echoing through the dark alley with a newfound, dangerous authority. "I promise you all, I will bring a salvation that tears down these throne walls. Just hang on a little longer."

"I hope you keep that promise, Princess," the woman whispered hoarsely.

Medea walked over to Tiberius, kneeling down one last time to press her lips against his blood-stained forehead. "I will get you out of this, I promise."

He looked up at her through a swollen eye, a weak, hollow chuckle escaping his lips. "You won't get us out, Medea. We all know how this ends, why give us false hope?"

"I will," she whispered, her eyes burning with an unholy fire. "Even if I have to burn this entire city to ash, I will get every single one of you out."

He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wood. "Someone whose own parents treat her like a pawn thinks she can burn a kingdom down, you really think so highly of yourself, Princess."

His words wounded her deeply, exposing how helpless she truly appeared in his eyes. But she didn't blame him.

"Underestimate me all you want, my love," Medea whispered softly, standing up as the royal guards looked on in uneasy silence. "Just wait for my signal."

She turned on her heel and broke into a full sprint toward the castle.

As the wind whipped through her hair, the helpless, sweet princess died inside her. She wouldn't be able to live with herself if her brothers died for her sake. Her parents had engineered this nightmare to break her, to sell her, and to butcher everyone she loved.

‘They built this city on blood,’ she thought, her teeth grinding together as the towering gates of the palace came into view. ‘And I am going to burn it to the fucking ground.’