It was the same arena. 

Esen held his breath without meaning to, his muscles seizing at the sight of it and the stands filled to the brim with spectators. The sound of their chatter and buzzing excitement filled the air until it was so thick it threatened to suffocate him. He tried to force back his mounting horror, but to no avail. How could these people find this exciting? They were being slaughtered. They were people, not some form of entertainment. Once somebody was dead, they were dead.

And it wasn’t like they had signed up for this the way the Socii had. They had known exactly what they were getting into when they strove to become the Houses’s strongest fighters. They could have refused the honour of fighting in the Battle of Wills if they had so wished. The men surrounding him — himself included — had thought that this would be more-so in line with the parades and games that were typically involved in the Twin Crown Tournament. 

He felt the familiar burn of tears in his eyes. He blinked rapidly in an attempt to clear them away. 

The arena was completely repaired. It almost felt like the events of the previous day, suspended high in the sky, had never happened. If it weren’t for the incessant aching of his body, he would have thought he’d dreamed the whole thing up. As they all stepped out into the arena again, the crowd roared. Esen’s eyes once more gravitated towards the established balcony where his parents — and the Empress — were sitting. He swallowed thickly. 

It was cruel, he thought. Forcing parents to watch their children kill one another and being unable to do anything. Speaking out against the Empress was treason, and any public support they might have been leveraged to sway her out of this had clearly evaporated. The crowds had gotten a taste of blood, and they wanted more, now. Esen and the other heirs had ceased to be people to them — they were nothing more than the most recent source of excitement.

Esen’s eyes snapped to the ground, and he couldn’t help fiddling with his fingers. He knew he was on borrowed time already. There was no way he would survive this. He swallowed thickly. Of all the heirs here, he was nowhere near the strongest, or smartest, or anything that would potentially give him a shot. His chest stuttered as he continued trying to regulate his breathing. If he stopped forcing air in and out, he would stop breathing altogether.

At some point during the month, he would join the ranks of the dead. And he was willing to bet it would be sooner rather than later. Inhale. There was no use thinking about that now, he tried to remind himself. Exhale. Being anxious over the inevitable wouldn’t stop it from happening. Inhale. No matter how many times he tried to remind hismself of this, his heart wouldn’t slow. Exhale.

He didn’t want to die.

He was drawn back to attention when the crowd hushed itself. His vision, which had grown blurred and distorted as he stared at a single spot on the ground, snapped back into focus. He glanced up. 

The Empress once again stood on the edge of the balcony. She was in a different dress, though it was no less stunning than the one she’d worn the previous day, and, of course, it was a deep shade of red. She smiled — Esen could see her more clearly now from where he stood. It didn’t reach her eyes.

“Welcome to the second day of this generation’s Tournament!” She glanced at the collection of men in the arena below. Esen felt a shiver run down his spine. He couldn’t help but look away. “I have heard many concerns about our first game. Some have said that certain elements may have unfair advantages over others depending on the trial. I have heard you, and I have listened. Starting from today, the competition will take place between two-man teams.”

Esen’s eyes shot upwards again. Teams? Did that mean each day… two competitors would be… eliminated instead of one? The blood drained out of his face. He thought he might faint. 

“The teams have been selected at random. I sincerely hope this appeases your concerns with… fairness.” There was something about the way she said the last word that made Esen swallow thickly. Like it had been carved from a blade’s edge. 

He wasn’t sure if this situation was any more advantageous than it had been before. It might well be worse. 

Fire errupted in the sky above them. It took Esen a moment to realize that the whirling flames were contorting themselves into names. He followed the movements as the teams were slowly revealed. He held his breath. 

The Gale House and the Thunder House. 

Esen blinked. His eyes snapped around his surroundings until they landed on his new partner. The man didn’t seem inclined to look for him in the crowd, staring at the names with his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw clenched. It looked like he was trying to destroy the flames with nothing but his eyes.

“Today’s game will begin shortly,” she announced once the last of the names had been written across the sky. “If one member of a team doesn’t complete the trial, both members of the team will be disqualified.”

Esen turned towards Zaire. Their eyes met. “Good luck,” Zaire said. Esen nodded, biting the inside of his cheeks. 

“You… you too.”

There was nothing else to be said. If Esen tried to utter a goodbye and articulate the very real possibility that they’d never seen one another again, he might burst into tears.

Hesitantly, as the competitors began moving towards their partners, Esen approached Raiden. His palms were clammy. He wiped them absentmindedly against his pants. As he came to a stop beside him, he thought his heart was going to explode out of his chest.

“Um, hi—”

Raiden’s eyes snapped towards him. Esen nearly flinched away. His eyes were hard enough to slice through metal.

“Don’t get in my way.”