CHAPTER TWELVE: THE CALM BEFORE THE FIRE
[Memories are the key not to the past, but to the future.]
---
ZAREINA
Night had become a forgotten echo within the Arena compound. There was no true darkness—only a forged sky, stitched together with simulated moons and stars crafted by someone who had never once known silence.
But silence… silence was all Zareina had ever known. All she clung to.
She sat on the edge of her cold cot, cocooned in her hoodie like armor. Her fingers twitched—ghosts of adrenaline still lingering in her bloodstream. The mask stayed fixed, untouched, even as her body begged for rest. But even with her eyes shut, her mismatched gaze—one sapphire, one crimson—flickered through the veil, pulsing like a heartbeat unsure if it wanted to live or break.
Above her, the lights buzzed in artificial rhythm. A lullaby composed in static. It echoed the noise in her head—electric, unsettling, ceaseless.
She curled inward, knees drawn tight to her chest. Each breath was slow, deliberate—too careful. As if even the air couldn't be trusted not to cut her.
She should've been asleep.
She should've found peace.
But her body was a cage. Her mind, a battlefield. And peace? That was just another lie whispered between gunshots.
Her eyes glowed faintly in the blue-white glare of the sterile room—swirling storms of emotion trapped behind lenses and lashes.
She sat.
Still.
Unmoving.
Until the dreams came.
A corridor—drenched in white light.
A hand—reaching.
Fingers—brushing hers.
Then slipping away.
A name.
Not hers.
But tied to her veins.
"Icarus."
Every blink stitched that silhouette into her eyelids. A presence behind her thoughts. A pain in her ribs she couldn't place. And worse—a grief for something she never remembered losing.
She didn't scream.
She never screamed.
Her head jerked up. A gasp tore through her—but her voice never followed.
Instead, she rose.
She moved to the mirror in the corner, slow, mechanical.
Her reflection stared back.
Those eyes—those mismatched, aching eyes—reflected something more ancient than rage.
Recognition.
She raised a hand, fingertips brushing the mirror's surface.
And in that split-second—
Icarus was behind her.
Watching.
Gone before she could blink.
Her hand slid down to the cold wall, and a whisper escaped her lips—soft, broken.
"You were there, weren't you?"
---
ICARUS
At the peak of the Tower, wrapped in shadows and neon-blue light, Icarus stood before a wall-sized screen—Zareina's footage looping endlessly.
He hadn't eaten.
He hadn't blinked in minutes.
She was chaos in motion. Grace weaponized. The answer to a question no one dared ask.
"You're not her," he murmured, voice laced with reverence. "But... you feel like her."
He raised his hand to the screen. Stopped inches short of touching her paused image. Her eyes, frozen mid-frame, seemed to look right through him.
"You don't remember me. But I never forgot you."
Behind him, the woman in white approached. Arms folded. Eyes like razors.
"She's not just waking up," she said. "She's devouring everything around her. You placed her in the Arena to test her—what happens if she passes?"
Icarus gave a slow, ghostlike smile. His gaze never left Zareina.
"Then I'll finally have her… the way I couldn't before."
—
Later—his private chamber. A world above the blood-stained pits.
He stood still. Two hours without moving.
The screen frozen on Zareina mid-dodge, mask catching light like a phantom, eyes glowing with memories she didn't own.
He pressed his palm to the glass—right over where hers had nearly touched it.
"Even your pain feels familiar."
A voice broke the silence behind him.
"You're not sleeping again."
His advisor. Blonde. Icy. Always watching him like he was a cracked code she'd almost solved.
"She's not what you expected, is she?"
His smile was thin. Crooked. Hollow.
"No," he whispered. "She's what I lost."
The advisor tilted her head, uncertain.
"And if she never remembers?"
His eyes gleamed—golden, dangerous.
"She will. Her Evol's reacting to mine. She doesn't need to remember to feel me. And… the assistant told me—
We're connected."
That drew a visible flinch.
"Connected?"
"The Boss said it to the head assistant."
He raked a hand through his silver hair. The screen lit his features like an omen.
"When she wins tomorrow…"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"I'll be waiting."
---
CIPHER & ASPEN
Above the dorms, deep in surveillance, Cipher's hands flew over glowing controls while Aspen reclined like royalty—boots on table, blade dancing between fingers.
"She's not human," Cipher muttered. "Vitals unstable. Her Evol is mutating faster than anything I've catalogued."
"She's not evolving," Aspen replied, cracking candy between her teeth.
Cipher narrowed her eyes. "Then what is she doing?"
Aspen's smirk widened—knife still spinning.
"She's remembering."
She leaned in, her gaze locked on the monitors.
"This isn't transformation. It's reclamation. She's not becoming something new. She's becoming what was taken."
Cipher hesitated.
"So… she's not the protagonist?"
Aspen's grin deepened into something feral.
"No, darling. She's the queen. And tomorrow…"
She popped another candy.
"She kills a demon who thought she was a doll."
---
VEX
Far below, in the prep wing bathed in crimson light, Vex sat cross-legged in silence. Her blade lay before her, reverent like an altar piece.
Her shirt hung off one shoulder—scars old and ink fresh. Runes etched in languages the world forgot.
One hand clutched a photograph. Folded. Frayed. Faded.
A girl with two haunting eyes—one violet, one pale.
Vex's lips curled.
"I knew it. You're still alive."
She rose, dragging her blade behind her. Sparks hissed from the metal meeting tile.
"I chased a ghost."
Her fingers brushed the runes—memories inked into skin.
"But you were never dead. Just hidden."
She turned toward the Arena gates, whispering:
"This time, Zareina… I won't lose. You owe me the truth. And I'll carve it out, piece by piece."
---
ANNOUNCEMENT
Overhead, the Arena's PA system ignited like thunder, crackling with finality:
"FINAL MATCH: ZAREINA vs VEX. BEGIN AT DAWN."
---
SECRET ROOM
Within a chamber of marble and data streams, the Boss stood still. Watching. Listening.
His assistant hovered near—tense, pale.
"Sir… you said they've both lost their memories."
The Boss nodded slowly.
"But their souls haven't."
He leaned in as Zareina's final frame filled the screen.
"Some bonds… survive death, time, even betrayal."
His voice was barely a whisper.
"Because some souls don't forget. No matter what."
(To be continued.)