The underground chamber buzzed with a low, reverberating hum—an ambient vibration that settled into the bones of the survivors. The latest round had ended, and what was left was a mixture of silence, exhaustion, and unease. Blood dried on cracked lips. Sand and sweat clung to armor and bare skin. The gods had shown their hand, and even those who had doubted the supernatural could no longer pretend this was just a game devised by a sadistic billionaire.
Ethan sat in the far corner of the chamber, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. His hands trembled slightly, though he tried to steady them by clasping them together. Alessia leaned against the wall nearby, arms crossed and gaze fixed on the flickering torchlight that danced across the stone floor.
"So," she said quietly, breaking the silence, "we're not just fighting for survival anymore."
Ethan nodded, but his eyes were far away. "We're being evaluated."
Alessia turned her head toward him. "What did you feel when you touched that cloaked one? What exactly did you see?"
He hesitated. Words didn't come easily. Not for what he'd experienced.
"It was like… stepping into a dream made of mirrors," he said finally. "Each one showed a version of me. But behind the glass, something watched. A presence. Cold. Immense. I think it was a god. Or maybe... something even older."
Alessia frowned, trying to understand. "Older than gods?"
Ethan rubbed his temples. "I don't know. Maybe just one of them showing their real face. But I don't think it was their full power. Just a sliver."
She moved closer and crouched beside him. "Do you think they're really letting us decide our fate?"
"No," he replied instantly. "I think we're being cultivated."
A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the sound of distant movement—other survivors shifting, whispering. Since the appearance of the cloaked figures, alliances had begun to fracture. Some contestants believed cooperating with the gods was the path to survival. Others wanted to resist. Still more simply didn't know what to believe.
A man named Darius, a large, broad-shouldered survivor with twin axes strapped to his back, stood atop a makeshift crate and addressed the group.
"We need leadership," he barked. "We've all seen the truth now. There's more to this than blood and trials. We should be planning for what comes next."
Someone scoffed. "Leadership? You just want control."
Darius narrowed his eyes. "I want us to live. You think the gods care who survives if we don't prove ourselves useful?"
The murmur of the crowd grew louder.
Ethan stood slowly. "No one knows what comes next. But we should remember—we're still in a trial. This could all be part of it."
Darius sneered. "And you think hiding in a corner with your little healing trick makes you qualified to lead?"
"I think staying alive makes me qualified to speak," Ethan shot back. "You want to turn this into a power play? Fine. But ask yourself—what happens when the gods call the next match?"
That quieted the crowd.
Ethan didn't want to lead. He didn't even want to be here. But with every passing hour, it became clear this wasn't just a physical battle. It was a war of influence. Of direction. Of fate.
Later that night, Ethan sat in solitude, away from the others. Alessia had gone to scout the perimeter of the chamber. His mind drifted back to the moment the cloaked figure had dropped to one knee. That shift, that reverence—it hadn't just been pain. It had been recognition.
He was different now. He knew it.
He was Awakened.
Not fully powered like a Chosen. But the divine essence within him had deepened. Divinacea was no longer just a healing tool—it was a thread. A connection to something greater.
In the quiet, he opened himself to it.
For the first time since the awakening, he meditated.
His thoughts drifted into darkness… and into memory.
A boy, no older than nine, sat beside a hospital bed. His mother, frail and fading, smiled with pale lips.
"It's okay, Ethan," she whispered. "You're strong. Stronger than I ever was."
Tears welled up in the child's eyes. "Don't leave."
She touched his cheek, fingers trembling. "I'll always be with you."
In that moment, he had felt helpless. Broken. Powerless.
Now, years later, with a gift that could have saved her, he understood something cruel: power came only when the pain was deepest.
He snapped back to the present with a sharp breath. His pulse had slowed. His breathing was steady.
Divinacea whispered in his mind. Not in words, but in instincts. Ideas. Directions.
"More is coming," he murmured.
Alessia returned moments later, dust clinging to her boots. "We're not alone. The walls—some of them are false. Doors masked by illusion. I think the gods are watching from behind them."
Ethan stood. "Then they'll see this too."
He walked back to the central circle where the others were gathered. His voice was calm, but it carried.
"We don't have to wait. If the gods are watching, let them see us stand on our own terms."
Darius stepped forward. "What are you suggesting?"
"A gathering. A pact. Not of obedience, not of rebellion—of understanding. We learn. We prepare. And when the next trial comes, we face it as something more than scattered survivors."
The crowd murmured. A few nodded. Some shook their heads.
But a seed had been planted.