Before the invasion
Roland walked the quiet corridors of the coliseum with steady, measured steps. He hadn't been invited to stand with the others during the crowning—and why would he? Sure, Xain had been the one fighting in his place, but no one in the crowd knew his face. It would've made no sense for him to be out there. That suited Roland perfectly. The less attention on him, the easier things became. Otherwise, he'd have been forced to invent excuses, to cover his presence with a veil of lies. This way, there was no need.
A cluster of staff and guards approached from the opposite end of the hall. Roland offered them a casual wave, his expression easy, unconcerned. They nodded back without hesitation, none the wiser.
"Good. They don't suspect me at all," he whispered, low enough for only the stone walls to hear, his lips curving with satisfaction.
He continued toward the middle floor, his thoughts sharpening with every step. The Healing Springs—that was where he needed to be. He readied himself mentally for what had to be done. *Good thing it was Even who lost,* he thought with a flicker of relief. *He'll be much easier to take care of.*
He ascended the stairwell, boots pressing softly against the stone, until the carved doors to the Healing Springs came into view—
And then, without warning, the doors swung open.
Roland stiffened and darted to the side, pressing himself into the corner at the edge of the stairs. His breath caught as he peered carefully around the stone, eyes widening at the sight of Even. The boy stumbled out, his entire frame swaying with weakness, struggling just to remain upright.
*What are you doing?* Roland's mind raced. *You're supposed to be soaking right now, not up and about.*
Even staggered forward, taking one unsteady step.
Roland's chest tightened. Panic pressed against his ribs. *Don't come here. Don't come here. For the love of goddess, take the other stairs—*
And, by some miracle, Even did. He turned away, heading toward the opposite stairwell. Each step was shaky, but he disappeared down the far passage.
Roland let out a long, steady breath of relief, the knot in his chest finally loosening.
"Perfect," he muttered. "Stay gone."
He approached the Healing Springs' doors and slipped inside. The moment he entered, the atmosphere shifted, washing over him with unnatural force.
The air carried a cool serenity, unnaturally calm yet tinged with a subtle warmth that brushed against his skin like silk. The faint glow of the spring reflected across the stone chamber, steady and rhythmic, like the slow beat of a sleeping heart.
"Wow… this place feels good," Roland muttered as he closed the door behind him. From beneath his garb, he pulled free an iron rod and slid it firmly through the door handles, sealing himself in.
*Just to be safe.*
He rubbed his hands together, excitement creeping into his voice. "Ugh, I wish I could soak in it. Just to feel it for real." He lingered on the thought for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Can't waste time. A staff member might come through at any moment."
From within his clothes, he retrieved a metal jar, grooves etched with precise, curling sigils. He knelt by the edge of the spring and dipped it into the glowing water. The moment his hand broke the surface, the sensation rippled up his arm—an almost intoxicating calm.
"Oh… just having my hand in it feels so nice," he said, shivering as he pulled the jar free. He sealed it tight, droplets running down its surface, and tucked it carefully back into his garb.
"Done. That went much smoother than expected. Thank you, Even, for being so prideful. Otherwise this could've gotten messy." His grin widened as he patted the jar hidden at his side.
A sudden roar from the coliseum crowd rumbled faintly through the stone around him.
"Must've made his entrance," Roland muttered, picturing Even.
He stood, dusting off his knees. "Time to make my exit." He turned toward the door—then his gaze lingered on the spring again.
"…One taste wouldn't hurt. Right?"
He crouched once more, dipping his hands into the luminous water. Lifting the clear liquid, he held it with something close to reverence, watching it glimmer faintly in the chamber's light. Slowly, almost giddily, he brought it to his lips and drank.
The anticipation drained from his expression in an instant.
"…It just tastes like normal water," he muttered, his voice puzzled. He sighed, shaking his head. "Tch. Figures. But still—just touching it feels divine. So good to soak in… ugh, whatever."
Another eruption of cheers rattled through the walls.
"Sounds like the winner just got crowned," he whispered.
This time, he turned decisively for the door. His fingers reached for the iron rod—
A chill hit him.
It wasn't the calm chill of the Healing Springs. It was raw, piercing, unnatural. It drove through his veins like icewater and coiled in the pit of his stomach, dragging fear to the surface before he could stop it.
Roland froze, breath catching.
"What the hell was that?" His voice rasped, his throat suddenly dry.
The sensation gripped him tighter, wrapping icy claws around his chest. Something was wrong. Something outside.
Something had arrived.
Something really, really bad.
His hand fell away from the iron rod. He stepped back slowly, eyes locked on the sealed door, every instinct in his body screaming at him.
He wasn't going out there.
Not now. Not with that in the air.
Here, in this room, he would stay safe.