Xaden and Leo moved with the crowd as the candidates funneled toward the arena gates.
His eyes darted around, trying to find a certain figure clad in a faded purple hood.
No luck.
But he did get a good look at the competition.
There were a lot of people present, all around the same age as he.
There were a lot of them. Dozens of boys and girls around his age. Some wore polished beast-armor that probably cost more than a slum family would see in ten years. Others looked like they'd crawled straight out of the lower districts—thin, sharp-eyed, dressed in patched clothes that had clearly survived more winters than they had.
Some of these people, he realized, had come a long way. Traveled from areas all over Sector 45 to attend Threshing; most had probably trained all their lives just for this chance to escape the abstruse poverty they've known all their lives.
The crowd pressed forward through a corridor of blinding white light.
Smooth white walls.
Brighter white ceiling panels.
And standing along the center of the hall—
A white marble statue of a tall, beautiful woman with curly hair, a blindfold over her eyes, and an open book stretched out in her right hand.
Several candidates slowed as they passed it.
Some even bowed their heads.
'Celeste.' Xaden scoffed inwardly, remembering a similar statuette his father kept, although made of white-washed stone.
A statuette he had destroyed into pieces after his father's execution...
"The one who sees all and yet nothing." A girl spoke beside him, voice filled with reverence. "The guardian of mankind."
Xaden snorted.
"Sounds like a load of crap."
The girl turned immediately, shooting him a venomous glare.
Xaden blinked.
Right.
He had apparently said that out loud.
He quickly faced forward again and kept walking.
"So now, you're checking out the competition without me." Leo snickered. He had probably assumed he was asking the girl out or something like that.
"That's just cold."
A few more steps past, another set of massive metal doors that now stood between them and the main Arena.
Automatically, the arena doors groaned open with the slow, deliberate weight of machinery that had existed long before Xaden had been born.
For a moment, all Xaden saw was light.
Blinding.
White.
The kind that swallowed shadows and burned the inside of your eyes.
Then the noise hit.
A tidal wave of voices crashes down from the towering tiers above the arena floor. Thousands of people packed into the stands beneath the glass walls of the dome, their cheers and shouts echoing through the massive structure like thunder trapped inside a metal drum.
Xaden stepped forward into it anyway.
The polished black floor stretched endlessly ahead, reflecting the arena lights like a dark mirror. Massive pillars of metal and crystal rose toward the ceiling, cables and glowing conduits running along their sides like veins of energy feeding the structure.
Above them, the High Gallery gleamed.
Crystal railings. Velvet seating. Golden light.
The powerful people of Sector 45 watched from there.
Commanders.
Officials.
Even a few representatives of the Great Houses, the less important members, obviously.
Men and women who had likely never once gone to sleep hungry.
Xaden felt his jaw tighten.
The sound of cheering scraped against his nerves like sandpaper.
To them, this was entertainment.
A show.
A bunch of poor kids thrown into an arena to see who survived long enough to be useful.
Beside him, Leo let out a low whistle.
"Holy shit."
Xaden didn't answer.
His eyes drifted upward toward the High Gallery where the silhouettes of elegantly dressed figures leaned against the glowing railings, watching the new candidates file into the arena like spectators at a hunt.
Some could invite promising newly awakened to come under their tutelage instead of attending the military college.
Which would, of course, allow one to rise above one's station and live a comfortable enough life. Although they would likely never rise beyond their tutor's rank.
His fingers twitched slightly at his side. He squeezed his fists.
Xaden officially hated this place.
Leo nudged him lightly with his elbow.
"Try not to look like you want to murder the entire upper class," Leo muttered. "They might take that personally."
Xaden exhaled slowly, releasing his fingers.
"Working on it."
He had a purpose, a reason why he had come here; he couldn't lose sight of it, not now.
More candidates were spilling into the arena behind them now, forming small clusters across the massive floor. Nervous whispers rippled through the crowd of teenagers as they stared up at the towering structure surrounding them.
Then suddenly—
The lights died.
Darkness swallowed the arena in an instant.
The roaring crowd above quieted almost immediately, their voices fading into a low murmur as thousands of eyes turned toward the center of the arena floor.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing.
Then, a single golden spark burst into the air above the center stage.
Then another.
Until an explosion of sparks tore through the darkness from somewhere at the central stage.
Gasps rippled through the candidates.
Another burst of sparks erupted, spreading outward like firecrackers.
And standing at the heart of it—
A woman.
She stood alone on the raised stage, one foot slightly forward, both arms outstretched toward the darkness.
Light poured from her palms.
The sparks rained down slowly, fading as they drifted toward the floor.
Then the main lights roared back to life.
The woman lowered her hands.
She was striking.
Delicately beautiful, yet commanding attention in a way that made the entire arena seem smaller around her. Dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, catching the arena lights like silk. Her gown—sleek and fitted—clung to the curves of her body with effortless precision.
Confidence radiated from her posture.
She surveyed the arena slowly, her sharp eyes passing over the hundreds of candidates gathered before her.
The crowd above erupted into cheers again.
Xaden realized he was staring at her for a bit too long, so he quickly folded his arms across his chest and looked away, seemingly unimpressed.
Leo leaned slightly closer to him.
"…Okay," he whispered, eyes wide, grinning ear to ear.
"Now I'm paying attention."
The woman smiled faintly as the thunder of applause rolled through the arena.
'The host.'
Her voice carried across the entire structure—clear, smooth, and amplified perhaps, by the arena's hidden systems.
Or maybe even the lesser magic Xaden had heard some of the awakened possess.
"Welcome, Sector 45," she said flamboyantly, hands spread apart again, gesturing towards the crowd.
"To the 467th biennual Threshing ceremony."