The infirmary was quiet—too quiet, except for the steady rhythm of my breathing and the occasional soft footstep outside the door. The healer's work was relentless, slow weaving of mana and medicine to mend the shattered ribs that ached beneath my skin like a broken cage.
Days stretched out in soft white light and the scent of antiseptic. I lay still, muscles twitching with the urge to move, to fight, but every breath reminded me that healing was a battle of its own.
Ramon visited. Always silent, his presence a low hum of reassurance. Sometimes he brought word of the court; other times, just the weight of company. I never asked for more.
On the third morning, my broken ribs no longer screamed with every breath. The healer smiled—a small, rare victory—and gave me permission to rise.
⸻
The preparations began immediately.
King Hadrian's trusted armorers and weaponsmiths arrived with my gear—my own bo staff cleaned and polished until it gleamed, my armor repaired and refitted to fit like a second skin. The weight felt familiar, comforting even, as though the pieces had been waiting for me to return.
The armor was lighter than I expected—crafted for speed and flexibility, reinforced at the ribs but never bulky. It bore the faint crest of the crown, a reminder I was more than just a fighter: I was a message.
⸻
Before stepping outside, I tied my blindfold firmly over my eyes.
I didn't wait to be overwhelmed.
The streets beyond the palace walls had transformed.
News of the pit fights had spread like wildfire through the city. The nobles' propaganda machines churned out stories and rumors, and the common folk devoured them eagerly—hungry for distraction, for hope, or maybe for fear.
Crowds thronged the marketplaces and alleys, voices raised in anticipation.
"Annabel," they whispered. "The blind prodigy. The demon killer. The girl who controls space itself."
⸻
With my sight shielded, the world shifted.
Gone was the glowing haze of mana, the dark blurs that made every figure a ghost. Now, I saw only shadows. Most importantly I listened.
The footfalls on cobblestone. The crackle of hushed voices. The subtle change in air pressure as people moved past.
I was blind, but I was not lost.
⸻
The path led me closer to the pits.
The roar of the crowd swelled like a wave, carrying the scent of sweat and blood, anticipation and dread.
Five men waited for me inside—their reputations as killers and rapists well known. Their last chance for life was victory.
The nobles might have made me a spectacle.
But I was ready to show them something else entirely.