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CHAPTER 8

Author: Joy Oforah
last update Petsa ng paglalathala: 2026-11-03 16:35:39

“Valeria, you are far too curious. One day, that relentless curiosity of yours is going to get you killed.”

My mother’s voice had always drifted back to me whenever I pushed too far, warning me that not everything in this world required a solution, that some doors were better left sealed, and some secrets were safer buried. And my usual, stubborn reply had always been, “But Mother, every puzzle has a solution, and every question demands an answer.” We would laugh about it then, a fleeting momen
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  • The hunt: Blood of the void   CHAPTER 20

    The morning of the Bidding was heavy, with the, overwhelming weight of an impending execution.The air within the dark corridors of the eastern wing felt impossibly thin, almost electrostatic, vibrating with the collective terror and desperate, hollow bravado of the surviving contenders. Men, beasts, and battered mortals moved like ghosts, knowing with absolute, terrifying certainty that we were about to be paraded into the open like prize livestock driven to the slaughterhouse floor. Every breath drawn in that humid, damp hall tasted of old iron and stale sweat.We were led out in single file, surrounded by a heavy vanguard of imperial guards whose iron-studded boots struck the flagstones in a rhythmic, menacing cadence. They marched us deep through the subterranean labyrinth of the fortress until we reached a pair of colossal, iron-forged doors carved with the weeping faces of defeated kings. With a long, agonizing groan of rusted hinges,

  • The hunt: Blood of the void   CHAPTER 19

    The days following our arrival at the eastern wing blurred into a relentless, blood-soaked cycle of survival.There was no soft transition, no grace period granted to let our bruised bodies adjust to the agonizing weight of iron blades or the suffocating, stale air of the subterranean barracks. Dawn arrived not with warmth, but with the cold, metallic clang of iron bars echoing down the stone corridors, dragging us out of our fitful slumbers to face another day of violence. Training ground sunrises gave way to bruised, sun-baked afternoons, and bruised afternoons melted into shivering, painful evenings. The fortress did not care about our fatigue, it was an unyielding machine built to grind down flesh and spirit until only the most ruthless remained.The Game Makers had a chillingly clinical term for the daily bloodbath they subjected us to, the weeding process.It was designed with terrifying calculation to cull the weak long before the actual gam

  • The hunt: Blood of the void   CHAPTER 18

    I was already on the training grounds long before dawn broke over the jagged marble horizon of Rome.Sleep had been an impossible, cruel luxury. I hadn’t managed to catch a single wink of it all through the night, every time I closed my eyes, the humiliating, raw memory of the banquet replayed behind my eyelids like an unhealing burn. My father’s mocking, aristocratic sneer, his cold eyes dismissing me as a weak, provincial mistake, and the choking sensation of fleeing that grand hall in tears, it was more than enough to keep me awake, staring blankly up at the rotting wooden beams of my subterranean cell.But the arena didn't care about bruised pride, and survival certainly didn't care about exhaustion. I had to win against all odds. There was no alternative, no quiet retreat back to a peaceful life. My mother was sitting in an imperial cage somewhere across the border, her life hanging by the thinnest thread, and every second I spent feeling sorry for myself was a second I surrender

  • The hunt: Blood of the void   CHAPTER 17

    The rhythmic, commanding knock at my heavy wooden door pulled me abruptly from the heavy fog of my thoughts. I would say it was almost surprisingly gracious of them to offer us gowns for the evening. Most of the contestants dragged in from the provinces were dirt-poor peasants with nothing suitable to wear to an imperial function, and the court naturally wouldn't want our shabby appearances ruining the pristine aesthetic of their grand political theatre.When I cracked the door open, a silent palace maid stood in the dim corridor, offering a modest selection of dresses provided by the royal wardrobe. I stared at the garments with quiet resentment, more than anything, I wished I could dress in men’s tailoring or simple military leather, anything to obscure my form and help disguise me among the crowds. But such a luxury was denied to me here.Leaving the dresses on the bed, I headed down the hall to the washroom attached to our wing. It

  • The hunt: Blood of the void   CHAPTER 16

    I must have drifted into a fitful, shallow haze near dawn, because suddenly my mother was there, lingering in the dark behind my eyelids.She stood at the edge of the ash-covered fields of home, her face ghostly pale, her hands reaching out to me through a rising, choking wall of black smoke. Her voice echoed, strained and desperate, warning me to run before the scorched ground caved in completely beneath her feet.I bolted upright with a sharp, ragged gasp, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird beating its wings to death. Cold sweat slicked my neck, and for one terrifying, disoriented second, I thought the smoke was real, that I was choking on the fires of our past. But as the shadows receded, I was met only by the bleak, weeping stone walls of my cell and the gray, weak light filtering through the high iron grate.Before I could collect my scattered thoughts or steady my breathing, a harsh iron bell cl

  • The hunt: Blood of the void   CHAPTER 15

    I had never truly been away from Pompeli. It was the first time I was stepping beyond the boundaries of what I called home, and as our wretched transport cart finally creaked through the sprawling gates of the capital, I realized with startling clarity how utterly sheltered my life had been.Pompeli was warm, intimate, and deeply lived-in a coastal haven steeped in sea-salted air, sun-bleached stone, and the comforting, rhythmic hum of everyday trade along the Sarno. Its streets were wide enough to encounter familiar faces, lined with vibrant frescoed villas, bustling market stalls, and the steady, protective backdrop of the mountains.The capital, Rome, by stark contrast, felt monstrous.The imperial heart of the empire was a staggering labyrinth of monolithic marble monuments, towering stone archways, and sprawling colosseums that seemed to swallow the sky. Where Pompeii moved with the leisurely, breathing pulse of the

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