Chapter 21 - Samantha
I’m furious. Again. For the second time, I’ve been captured by this damned smuggling organization. The first time, it was with Logan. I haven’t seen him since. And now here I am, locked up again—this time with my friend Nov.
We’re in separate cages, locked in the cargo hold of their ship. Nov is unconscious, and I haven’t been able to check if he’s badly hurt. From here, he just looks like he was knocked out, but how can I be sure?
Nov starts to stir, signaling he’s about to wake up. When his eyes finally flutter open—those icy blue eyes—I feel an immense wave of relief. He’s alert. Present.
“Nov, are you okay?”
“What a foolish female you are,” he mutters. “How could I be okay after being captured by these idiotic Humans?”
“Oh good, you’re back to your charming, mildly toxic self.”
He slowly sits up, grimacing, and touches the side of his head where a small bump is starting to rise.
“They hit me. Cowards. Took all of them to bring me down.”
“Bad guys usually don’t play fair.”
“What do you even know about bad guys, living among those tiny cheerful lizards?”
“Enough. In case you forgot, I’ve been through all this before. And I haven’t seen my brother since.”
“Maybe it’s time you accepted the truth,” he mutters, avoiding my gaze.
Of course I’ve thought about it. As the days turned to weeks without a word from Logan, it became more and more obvious. He wasn’t just off on some faraway mission. He would have reached out.
“I’m not naive. Logan is either a prisoner… or dead. But I choose to believe he’s still alive. Because if he is, I know Ayden and Igor will come for him.”
“Igor? Ayden? Who are these now? More weak Humans?” he scoffs, testing the strength of his cage bars.
“Yes, they’re Humans. Loyal, strong ones. If Logan’s out there, they’ll find him. Believe me.”
He scans the dim cargo hold. The walls hum with the low vibration of the solar engines. Three other cages sit empty. It’s just us.
After a long silence, Nov turns to me with an intensity that steals my breath.
“Listen to me, Sam. Carefully. Your life depends on it. These people—they’re taking us to their base. From what I overheard, their main operation is Zebulon trafficking.”
“This is all my fault… I made that plant-based relaxant, just to ease pain. But it had side effects—euphoric ones. My dad found out and turned it into a business.”
“They expect you to improve the formula. And you will.”
“You’ve lost your mind. Zebulon is a drug! It was never meant to leave the medbay. I’m not going to help them perfect it!”
“Sam, I don’t know where they’re taking us, but if you don’t make yourself useful, they’ll find another way to use you. A… recreational one.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I’ve thought about it.
I barely had time to be locked up on Vagantu before it was attacked by the Confederation—but I heard enough.
It was a massive slave market.
I was unbelievably lucky to get out unharmed.
“I… I understand. I’ll do what needs to be done.”
“Good. Because your attitude will decide your fate. And trust me, you’ll be treated a hell of a lot better working with them than ending up as the merchandise yourself.”
I clench my jaw. My heart is pounding too fast.
The idea of helping spread Zebulon makes my skin crawl… but the alternative is worse.
I don’t want to end up like those broken shapes I saw in the dungeons of Vagantu.
“All right,” I say, my voice steadier now. “I’ll cooperate.”
A predatory smile curls across Nov’s lips.
“That’s more like it. Don’t worry, Sam—those bastards don’t know who they’re dealing with yet. I’ll get us out of this. That’s a promise.”
My poor friend seriously overestimates his own abilities. Sure, he’s way taller than us Humans, but his injured leg slows him down.
He couldn’t even stop the five guys who knocked him out and captured us. What could he possibly have done, alone, against all of them?
“Did you hear the name of the place they're taking us to?” he asks, frowning.
“Yes… They mentioned the Red Arena!”
“By the Stars…”
“You know this place?” I ask, nervous.
“It’s a secondary base of the Coalition. Mostly known for its… let’s say, very particular fights. As the name suggests, they have an arena.”
“Fights? Like gladiator fights?” I ask, horrified.
“I’ve never heard of Gladiators. What star system are they from? Sounds like a new species.”
“No, no… Gladiators were Humans. A long time ago. It was… a barbaric practice from our past.”
Nov narrows his eyes, clearly intrigued.
“Explain.”
“Back on Earth, during the time of the Roman Empire, they used to force prisoners, slaves—or desperate volunteers—to fight in arenas. For entertainment. Often to the death.”
“Is that so? Then yes, I can confirm that’s exactly the kind of entertainment the Red Arena provides.”
“Seriously? People still do that in this day and age?”
“Yes. It draws thousands of spectators. They bet huge amounts of credits on the outcome of the fights. It’s both a wildly popular show… and an incredibly profitable business.”
“A show? Watching two living beings—Human or animal—kill each other, and you call that a show? That’s disgusting.
Have you ever stopped to think how invisible cells somehow come together to create life?
And not just one form, but billions of variations, each one unique.
Life is a miracle. A gift. That’s the real show.
It deserves to be protected, celebrated… not destroyed for a crowd’s amusement.”
A heavy silence follows.
Then Nov murmurs:
“You’re not wrong. But here, life has no value. Only the show does. And we’ve just been cast in it.”
“What do you mean?”
“We weren’t brought here by accident. There’s a reason. For you, it’s different—they want you working on their Zebulon production. But me? Their plans are obvious. They’re going to make me fight in the arena.”
“No… They can’t. You’re still recovering! You’re not fit to fight!”
“They can. And they will. Pain doesn’t matter here. Only the arena decides what you’re worth.”
Felone approaches, his boots clanging sharply against the metal floor.
He tilts his head slightly, mockingly polite.
“Madam, Sir, I do hope your journey was most pleasant. We strive to offer only the highest quality service… And we’re confident your stay at the Red Arena will be truly unforgettable,” he says, a wicked smile stretching across his thin lips.
Behind him, two heavily armed guards stand on either side of the lowered ramp.
A few moments later, we step into what looks like a throne room.
The space is vast, open, bathed in harsh lighting that highlights every detail.
At the far end, on a raised platform, sits a figure of the same species as Nov—a Srebat—poised with icy confidence on a chair carved from dark metal.
Nothing less than a throne.
Felone and his men shove us forward without the slightest care until we drop to our knees, just a few feet from this imposing figure.
“Lord Danuk, I have the honor of bringing you two gifts straight from Gekkaria!” Felone announces, bowing with exaggerated mockery.
“This Human will help optimize the production of our beloved Zebulon—she’s its original source. As for the Srebat… he promises to be a spectacular asset for the arena.”
The one called Danuk rises slowly.
His piercing eyes, glowing with an almost luminescent yellow, lock immediately onto Nov.
That’s when I notice a few differences between them:
Nov’s fur is darker, his frame broader and more muscular.
Danuk, in contrast, has grayish tones and a more slender build—but his authority radiates unmistakably.
“Well, well… what a surprise,” Danuk says, a sly smile curling on his lips. “Lord Noviosk himself!”
I freeze.
What did he just say? He knows Nov?
No… he called him “Lord Noviosk.”
That name… I’ve heard it before. Whispered in the dungeons of Vagantu, always with a shiver of terror.
My heart tightens. Everything falls apart.
I search for the eyes of the one I thought was my friend, hoping for an explanation, a denial—anything.
But he avoids me. No—he’s avoiding me. Or rather, he’s completely focused on Danuk, the real threat in this room.
“So what’s the former Lord of Vagantu doing chained at my feet like some common prisoner?” Danuk continues, his voice drifting between amusement and menace.
A heavy silence fills the room.
All eyes are on Nov.
He stays still, fists clenched, jaw tight.
Then slowly, he rises, ignoring the guards shifting around him.
“Enough,” he growls, his voice deeper, harder than I’ve ever heard it.
I barely recognize him. This isn’t the Nov I knew.
This is something else—someone else.
Darker. Larger. Unshakable.
“Yes, Danuk. You’re not dreaming. I am Lord Noviosk. Former master of Vagantu. The one everyone thought was dead.”
A ripple of shock moves through the room.
Even Felone steps back, caught off guard.
I stay frozen, barely breathing.
Everything I thought I knew—every story I believed—collapses.
Nov wasn’t some stray survivor.
He wasn’t a helpless man I rescued from the deadly waters of Vagantu.
He was a lord. A commander. A warrior.
And more than anything… he must know what happened to Logan.
“You took advantage of my fall to steal what was mine. My empire. But look at me…” he says, voice rising like thunder. "I’m still standing!"
Danuk smirks—but his eyes darken, sharp as blades.
“Now this is getting interesting… The fallen king, hobbling in on a cane, back to claim what he failed to protect. Wasn’t it you who once said: ‘He who loses his throne never deserved it’? That weakness justifies the fall? Ironic, isn’t it?”
Nov lifts his head, eyes blazing with fury.