The darkness was more than a mere absence of light—it was a suffocating weight, a presence that clung to his skin, his mind, his soul, sinking him into an abyss from which there seemed to be no escape.

  That coffin disguised as a dungeon was infected with the lost hopes of the captured, and it filled his body with an energy heavier than lead.

  At first, he thought he would get used to it easily. The dampness of the walls, the stale air that seemed to steal every breath, the constant pain in his hands, legs, and back.

  But he hadn’t accounted for how sentimental the mind could get when given too much time to itself.

  The days stretched endlessly, and the darkness no longer just surrounded him—it seeped into his skin, his bones, his will.

  The clinking of shackles broke the stillness like an echo of his sentence. Each step, a cruel reminder of his imprisonment. There was no escape, not even in thought.

  With every step, the sound echoed like a sentence. It was the constant reminder that he was no longer the prince he once was. He was no longer Perseo Tigerhearth, the young man who bore a legacy on his shoulders and dreamed of glory and fame. Now, he was just a sve—one among many who filled the depths of the Coliseum.

  And those memories haunted him whenever they could. In the silence, they transported him back home, walking through the Edorian forest—his homend of ancient trees that seemed to touch the sky, where the sunlight filtered through the leaves, painting golden canvases. He had heard of magical creatures living there but had never seen one—until a few years ago.

  He remembered walking and spotting, among the branches, a herd of white deer—majestic creatures whose antlers shimmered in the sunlight as if made of pure emeralds.

  “They’re sacred,” his older brother had whispered. “If you see them, it means the gods still protect this kingdom.”

  He had seen them for the first—and st—time at age eight. Now, his kingdom was only ruins, screams, and the smell of burning flesh.

  When the guards dragged him from the dungeons for the first time, Perseo struggled with the ferocity of a cornered animal. The burn in his muscles, the anxiety in his chest, made him fear that life here would be more than he could endure. But he had no choice. The harsh hand of the guards descended on him, and any attempt at rebellion was swiftly silenced. The whip whistled through the air before striking his back. A searing pain bent him over himself; his skin, now torn open, burned as if branded with hot iron.

  It was barely dawn when they pushed him, along with the other sves, toward the first work site: a cemetery of stone, ruins piled like the bones of a fallen giant—remnants of a glorious past reduced to rubble. His task was simple in theory: clear the debris, separate the rger stones to be reused in future construction. But the bor was relentless. The sun had barely risen, and he could already feel the fatigue creeping into his bones. There were no breaks.

  Hunger was a constant companion. A few crumbs of hard bread, a piece of dried meat—never enough to quiet the gnawing in his gut. Water was always painfully far away. Perseo gnced around at the other sves—their faces weary, devoid of hope. Some, with empty eyes, simply worked on, as if their minds had already abandoned their bodies or as if they had no other choice but to follow the Coliseum’s rhythm. All of them had the same look as the person he had fought upon arrival—defeated eyes.

  It didn’t matter if their bodies were broken or their spirits shattered. The work went on.

  A guard approached Perseo as he lifted a stone rger than his strength could bear. The man looked at him with a mix of disdain and amusement, as if his suffering were nothing more than entertainment. Without a word, he struck him with the whip—a dull, dry sound that sent him to his knees.

  “Move faster,” the guard said with a harsh, serpentine voice, gring at him.

  Perseo inhaled through clenched teeth, stifling the burning pain on his back. He couldn’t fall. Not now. Not while a spark of hope still burned inside him. Not while something within him still resisted. Despite the pain, despite the humiliation, he knew he had to endure at all costs.

  With effort, he rose and continued his task without compint. The sves around him said nothing. Some kept working. Others simply stared at the ground. But all, in one way or another, were lost in their own thoughts—in their own demons.

  When the day ended, the sun had set, and he could barely stand. His body was covered in sweat, dirt, and wounds. Fatigue piled in his chest like an invisible weight. But for one more day, he had endured.

  The man sat beside him, his movements unhurried, almost deliberate—like someone who had learned to exist in suffering.

  "I saw you today. Working like the rest of us, but with the pride of a king." His voice turned graver. "At first, everyone thinks it’s just about endurance. But endurance alone isn’t enough here."

  He leaned in slightly.

  "Here, the greatest battle is keeping something worth fighting for."

  Perseo frowned. "And what do you have left to fight for?"

  The man’s gaze was heavy.

  "Not everyone has something. Some lose it quickly."

  He exhaled slowly.

  "But sometimes, the goal isn’t to escape. Sometimes, it’s just to stay human."

  Back in the dark dungeon, he y on the floor, feeling the cold stone soaked in dampness. Darkness enveloped him, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, listening only to the sound of his ragged breathing. He knew this was only the beginning. He knew the battle to keep his word would not be won in a single day. The darkness in this pce wasn’t only in the air or in the endless bor. It was in each of them—in their hearts. And only those who held on to something worth fighting for could resist it.

  The nights dragged on longer than he had imagined.

  His body, worn from the brutal bor, ached in every corner. The meager food served its purpose: it kept him weak, exhausted, and angry—but most importantly, it kept him alive. And though that was a small comfort, its very existence crumbled under the weight of his own mind.

  Because it was that same mind that forced him to relive the deaths of those he cared about, again and again. His brain had taken on a life of its own, beyond his control, tormenting him night after night—reminding him why he was still alive.

  He y on the floor, struggling not to be consumed by his thoughts, clinging to the single goal that still burned in his mind: to escape, and to carry out his revenge.

  At one point, he heard footsteps approaching. It wasn’t the sound of guards or the crack of whips. These were soft steps, almost cautious. Even with his vision clouded by exhaustion, Perseo went on alert. In the world of demons, he couldn’t afford to lower his guard—not even hidden in shadows.

  A figure materialized before him, its silhouette barely visible in the dim light that seeped through the cracks in the wall. The man was of average build, his face weathered by years, with a thick beard covering most of it. Despite his tired eyes, a spark of awareness remained—something more than mere survival.

  “Taking a break, huh?” the man’s voice was deep, raspy—like each word fought its way out.

  Perseo watched him in silence for a moment. Encounters like this rarely ended well, but something in the man’s tone told him he might have something urgent to say. Something he needed to know. Finally, Perseo spoke—his voice firm, though worn by fatigue.

  “Just a little.” His reply was brief.

  The man sat down beside him, slowly, with the grace of someone long accustomed to misery. There was no threat in his posture—just the quiet of one who had spent years awaiting death and learned to respect life with the smallest of gestures.

  “I saw you today, working like the rest of us—but with the honor of a king. At first, everyone thinks it’s about enduring. But endurance alone isn’t enough here.” His tone darkened. “It’s easy to lose yourself in the sweat, the pain, the hunger, and the shame. Those are tricks—of the mind, and of the demons—to turn you into a soulless body. Here, the greatest battle is keeping something worth fighting for.”

  Perseo frowned, puzzled. “And what do you have to fight for?” he asked, not wanting to sound defiant, but curiosity got the best of him.

  The man gave him a look that, for a moment, seemed heavier than the silence of the entire cell. “Not all of us have something. Some lose it quickly. But sometimes, the goal isn’t escaping. Sometimes it’s simply staying human—even in this pce.”

  Perseo’s frown deepened. “Staying human? What do you mean by that?”

  The man gave a bitter smile.

  “You see, kids like you—young, full of rage, revenge, and energy—are often the most dangerous. Because when revenge is your only drive, it pulls you down. It keeps you from seeing who you are now. The Coliseum takes everything from you—even your memories—if you let it. It forces you to be just another sve. And the worst enemy is when you don’t even remember why you’re still breathing. When you become part of the machine, and your mind is more broken than your body.”

  Perseo, eyes narrowed, absorbed every word. Was that what would happen to him too? Would he lose his purpose—his reason to fight? He considered it for a moment—but immediately shook the thought. No. His revenge was his reason. He would not be stripped of that.

  “How... how did you get here?” Perseo asked, determined to know more—to find the root of the man’s words.

  The man let out a long sigh, as if the answer was a burden he had carried for years. “I came from a faraway pce—from a home that was destroyed, probably like yours, by the same demonic creatures that brought us here. They took me and my family to this pce. Some adapted quickly. Others didn’t. Those who didn’t… were lost. Some began working with such frenzy that they became almost inhuman. I don’t know what’s worse—the creatures who brought us here, or what we’ve become.”

  “And you? What did you do?” Perseo asked, still incredulous. How could someone get lost?

  “What did I do? The same as you, I guess. Fought for something… though in the end, it’s all about surviving. The Coliseum transforms you little by little. It pulls you into the void. Not immediately. At first, the memories keep you afloat. But when those memories fade, when you’re left with only what you are now… the only thing you have left is what you choose to remain. And I chose to stay human.”

  The silence between them grew heavy until the man slowly stood.

  “There’s no easy way. No quick answers here. Only one thing is clear: if you don’t have something truly worth fighting for, this pce will make you forget it. It will let you fall. And maybe… maybe the worst thing isn’t dying here. Maybe it’s being alive but not living anymore.”

  Perseo watched the man as he walked away, reflecting on his words. Something stirred in his gut. He wouldn’t lose himself. His revenge—the justice for his kingdom, for his people—would remain his guide, his reason to endure. But what that man had said… it was a clear warning.

  The Coliseum didn’t just break bodies.

  It devoured souls.

  And after that conversation, the routine continued—more exhausting than ever. With each passing day, something inside Perseo felt heavier, as if the air of the Coliseum were seeping into his soul, draining what little strength he had left.

  But he still wasn’t ready to surrender.