Anthesis of Sadness
Chapter 123: The Colosseum of Species

Chapter 123: The Colosseum of Species

The crystal had been opened earlier than expected.

Much earlier, they said — the learned voices, the arcane experts who no longer dared speak too loudly since. According to all estimates, according to the curves, the flows, the balances carefully traced in their scrolls, such a breach shouldn’t have occurred for several more cycles. There should have been signs. Tremors. Cracks in the telluric lines. A shiver in the ground, at the very least. A magical complaint, somewhere, like a warning.

But no.

The seal had given way in absolute silence.

Not a wave. Not a breath. Just that sensation, imperceptible but definitive, that a boundary had been crossed without asking for permission.

It was already too late.

Or rather... it was already open.

And that nuance made all the difference.

It meant one thing — simple in form, but terrifying in what it implied: the victorious team would not have to wait.

No preparation.

No goodbyes.

They could enter immediately.

They would be projected, without delay, into the Magic World.

And no one knew what was behind it.

Not really.

Then, at the turn of a final corridor of black stone, it appeared.

The Arena.

Massive. Inhuman. A colossus of stone carved to contain more than bodies: peoples, pacts, sentences. A gigantic coliseum, built to the scale of the Twelve Species. To match their pride, their wars, their egos cemented together in this crushing architecture.

It was a monster.

A monster of symmetry, of strength, of silence. Every stone seemed placed to recall something we hadn’t lived. The walls, engraved with ancient runes, still vibrated. With echoes. With wounds. With specters frozen in the mineral.

I felt a fleeting vertigo upon entering.

The impression of stepping into a place that no longer wanted us. Or that had been waiting for us too long.

We entered, the three of us.

Me. Lysara. Orphéa.

The trio formed for the trial.

We walked in equal steps, in silence. Not out of strategy. By instinct. As if something was already weighing on us in the shadows of this enclosure.

Only one name was missing.

Lukaris.

And his absence... was no accident.

But I didn’t even think about it.

Not yet.

My mind was elsewhere. Saturated by another tension, another vertigo. My body advanced, yes, it responded to the call, it passed through the arches of stone as if it knew what to do... but inside, everything floated.

All that obsessed me was them.

My friends.

Those I hadn’t seen for so long I wasn’t even sure of the shape of their voices anymore. Those who had once carried me, protected me, looked at me as if I were real. Those whom, perhaps, I would have to fight.

Here.

Now.

A breath longer than the others passed through me, like a hesitation that can no longer be pushed away.

— Cassandre...

The voice came from my left. Orphéa. Calm, but tense. Not a question. Not a reproach. Just a thread cast into the void, to check if I was still there.

I nodded. Without answering.

Because I didn’t know what to say. Because another question was screaming under my skin: what if they were against us? What if this tournament... wasn’t ceremonial at all? What if it wasn’t a demonstration, but an execution?

And then, without transition, without herald’s cry, without countdown or preparation — everything shifted.

We landed at the center.

The interior of the arena swallowed us in a spiral of light. Brief. Painful. Like a flash crossing the body, followed by an absence of sound, a muffled beat — just before the uproar exploded.

One second earlier, it was emptiness.

And suddenly... the entire world had opened upon us.

A crowd.

A tide.

A living wall, raised all around, immense, furious, composed of thousands of voices roaring, screaming, chanting, laughing, rumbling, in a language that wasn’t one. Each people had its cry. Each species its rhythm. The Raxaï struck the ground with their bone heels. The Sylveths blew into braided vegetal horns. The Aérides sang in high notes, their breath whistling like razors. And the vampires... they were silent.

They watched.

From above.

Like predators already sated, but still curious about the blood to come.

Around us, the arena rose to the sky. A coliseum sculpted into the flanks of a world, with its immense tiers, its runic arches, its sacred tribunes. Banners floated, tinted with magic, fire, mist. They did not merely represent nations — but memories. Myths. Ancient families come to see if their blood still meant something.

The ground beneath our feet was red. A matte, dense, almost pasty red. It was not smooth. It had hollows. Striations. Traces. Marks of impact. Of wear. Of ruin.

— It’s blood, Orphéa whispered.

Her voice did not tremble. But it was low. Held back. As if she were aware of disturbing something ancestral.

I didn’t know if it was true.

But I believed it.

Because there was a smell. Thick. Mineral. Something between iron and ash, risen from the bowels of the earth. A stench of ancient war, held too long beneath the skin of the world.

— YOU HAVE ENTERED AMONG THE CHOSEN ONES!

A voice thundered above us. Amplified, vibrant, saturated with magic. The kind of voice that pierces flesh, that echoes through your spine. Applause burst in waves. Other cries rose. Some cheered us. Others cursed us. I heard words I didn’t understand, but whose intention I grasped.

— Show them what you’re WORTH!

— Make THEM BOW!

— Let blood speak! Let the weak kneel!

Guttural tongues. Others clacking. Some peoples didn’t shout, but pounded in rhythm — hooves against steps, fists against chests. The vibration became a fabric. An indistinguishable sound layer, a single cry composed of a million fragments.

And we were at the center.

Thrown there.

Like offerings.

Me. Orphéa. Lysara.

The official formation. The designated trio.

Lysara didn’t move. She was staring at something. Or someone. Maybe no one. Maybe the void. Her face was expressionless, but I felt under her lashes a dry, precise, almost animal tension.

Orphéa, for her part, swallowed. I saw her close her eyes for half a second. Just enough to readjust to the air, to the heat, to the fear. Then she straightened her shoulders. Her hand searched for mine. She didn’t take it. But she brushed it.

And I looked around. I tried not to falter. I tried to stand tall. But everything in me wanted to close off. As if my body had understood we had just been exposed.

Officially.

Sanctified.

And offered to the fall.

Only he was missing.

Lukaris.

And his absence, in this uproar, echoed like an anomaly.

An absence heavier than all presences.

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