Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Bloom
Blood on the Sand
We gathered in the courtyard between Founder’s Spire and the Midnight Banquet Hall. Over a thousand students crowded onto the black granite cobblestones.
Gothic arches framed the space, their stone carved with gargoyles, ravens, and mystic symbols.
Every student wore battle gear stamped with their house crest.
Students from Ravencrux House wore black leather armor reinforced with metal plates.
Witches and mages from Stardust House wore purple robes enchanted for protection.
Kingsley students wore amber and deep blue armor that gleamed like fish scales. They looked polished, prepared, and eager. Many of them were already grinning.
Headmistress Stardust moved through the crowd with her aides, separating students into three groups. They broke up houses on purpose. When a brunette aide tried to pull Sindy away, to place her with a Stardust-heavy group, my fingers closed around her wrist.
I looked up and met Headmistress Stardust’s gaze. No words. Just a flicker of power, cold and clear, behind my eyes.
Something shifted in her silver stare—pride, surprise, or worry. After a beat, she nodded to the brunette. “Leave them.”
Then she was gone, her radiant white robes billowing as she departed to join the gods in the colosseum.
My group had twice as many Kingsley members as any other. I felt their glares like heat on my skin. They didn’t matter, and I paid their hostility no mind at all.
I wondered if the other houses had held strategy sessions or given pep talks. Nero had done both before we were herded into the courtyard.
Dante had gathered us in the tower’s gothic hall. With Nero stripped of his professor status, Dante had stepped into the role, but no one could take Ravencrux House from Nero himself. Dante was his mouthpiece plus muscles.
Nero had watched from the top of the stairs, silent and imposing, while Dante addressed us.
“You’ll fight as a team,” the archdemon’s voice boomed, “as members of House of Ravencrux. And your duty is to protect Miss Bloom Aurelius, your leader in the arena, with everything you have.”
A male student protested immediately. “She’ll be the target. She’ll get us all killed.”
Orren growled from beside Dante, a low, dangerous sound. Sparks flickered in his nostrils, and a wisp of smoke curled into the air.
“The jackals from Kingsley House will come for you with or without Bloom,” Dante said coldly. “They don’t need an excuse. You’re from the House of Ravencrux. That’s reason enough.”
A girl spoke up before squirming under Dante’s glare. “Why is her life worth more than ours?”
“Hers is more important than yours. Than anyone’s,” Dante said mercilessly. “She lives, you have a chance. She dies, you all die. It’s that simple.” His voice dropped to something lethal. “She dies, and I’ll slaughter everyone in this academy myself.”
I lifted a hand. “Professor Dante, they should have the right to choose. No one needs to die for me. That’s where I stand.”
“I’d give my life for you, Bloom,” Sindy said softly beside me. “Without a second thought. Just like you would for me. For anyone on your side.”
I squeezed her arm in gratitude.
“You can choose to fight for this house or not,” Dante continued.
“But if you stand only for yourself, you stand outside the protection of House of Ravencrux.” He snarled, and I saw his archdemon horns—invisible to the others—vibrate with contained rage.
“Cowardice and disloyalty have no place here. But bravery and loyalty will be rewarded.”
The message had been clear. Stand with me, or stand alone.
Now that Headmistress Stardust had scattered us into mixed groups, we were led toward the colosseum.
The path was a tribute to gothic grandeur. We passed the Umbra Grimoire Library, its spires spearing the gray clouds, and Stardust Tower.
Ahead, the colosseum loomed.
It was an extension of the Elysian Grounds, our former training arena. Half of it—the spectator galleries—stretched beyond the academy’s wards, built to host the gods who’d come to watch the trial.
Each group halted at one of three gates. Nervous energy hung heavy in the air. The atmosphere was oppressive, a brew of fear and sharp anticipation.
Some students wore grins. The aggressive, bloodthirsty ones, mostly from Kingsley House, cracked their knuckles. They weren’t looking at the gates, or each other.
Every one of them was looking at me.
The moment they were unleashed in the arena, they would come for me first.
I wondered if Kingsley—that psychopath Poseidon—had given his own students a counter-speech to Dante’s. If he had promised rewards for my death.
Then all three gates opened at once.
A magic storm erupted. It seized us and hurled us through the gates into the arena like leaves in a hurricane.
The gates slammed shut behind us with a final sound.
A stunned silence rippled across the arena.
For an entire week, we’d imagined this, speculated, and built it up in our minds. Now it was real.
The arena was massive, a circular pit two hundred yards across. The ground was hard-packed dirt and sand. Thirty-foot stone walls rose around us, crowned with iron spikes. There were no obstacles, no cover. Only open space, designed for maximum visibility—and maximum carnage.
The spectator seats rose in tiers above the walls—row upon row of benches, each level higher than the last, forming a circle around the arena. Every angle was exposed.
And they were filled with gods.
Hundreds of Olympians occupied the lower tiers, dressed in their finest, eager for the violence to begin.
My eyes went straight to the grand balconies.
The elite gods sat in three elevated boxes, raised above all others. Their architecture stood apart from the academy’s gothic gloom—pure Olympian splendor in white marble and gold, columns carved with vines and laurels, silk curtains lifting in the breeze.
To the left sat Hephaestus, Hermes, Dionysus, and Hera.
Hephaestus looked as rough-hewn as ever, his smith’s muscles taut beneath formal robes, his beard braided with gold wire.
Hermes wore traveler’s leather and winged sandals despite the occasion.
Dionysus lounged with a cup already in hand, purple robes falling open.
And Hera sat rigid and cold in peacock blue and emerald, her crown glinting like a warning.
To the right sat Athena, Artemis, Ares, Aphrodite, and Apollo.
Athena wore silver armor polished to a mirror’s brightness, her owl perched on the back of her chair.
Artemis was clad in hunter’s leather and fur, her bow laid across her lap.
Ares grinned, resplendent in blood-red armor, already savoring the violence to come.
Apollo—Sebastian—shone in cloth-of-gold, light clinging to him as if he were the sun.
And Aphrodite.
I tried not to stare, but it was impossible.
The Goddess of Love wore a gown spun from starlight and rose petals, shifting from pink to gold to pearl with every breath. Her golden hair fell in perfect waves, adorned with diamonds and rubies. Her beauty was an overwhelming force that made every other female seem plain.
I’d once envied her. Persephone, young and insecure, had been jealous of her perfection and hated that Hades had once shared her bed.
Now, I just felt tired looking at her. So much beauty, and beneath it, such cold cruelty and emptiness.
Zeus, Poseidon, and Demeter lounged in the center balcony, drinking ambrosia.
Zeus wore snow white robes edged in gold and red, his beard shot through with silver. Lightning flickered in his gaze as he surveyed the arena, power radiating from him. The King of Gods, ensuring no one forgot it.
Poseidon—Kingsley—was draped in sea-blue robes embroidered with golden waves, his trident resting beside him. He looked smug. Satisfied. As though he’d already won.
And Demeter.
My mother.
She wore a chiton the color of wheat fields—gold, amber, russet—her hair crowned with a wreath of autumn leaves and ripe grain. She looked exactly as I remembered: beautiful, cold, powerful, impeccable, and snobbish.
Our eyes met across the distance.
I wanted to scold her. To scream. But I kept my face blank while she pretended this was entertainment.
Hello, Mother, I thought viciously. Long time no see.
But there was one more figure in the center balcony.
Hades stood apart from the three Olympians in full battle armor, black as midnight. His arms were crossed, his face hard as stone. Those winter-green eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch.
Bitter tension stretched between him and the Olympians, a hostility so thick I could feel it from the arena. They’d forced him to watch. To stand helpless, unable to interfere, unable to protect me. Only to witness.
I swallowed hard but didn’t hold his gaze. I couldn’t afford to show weakness. Couldn’t let anyone see how his presence shook me.
My eyes flicked back to Demeter instead.
The Goddess of Harvest and Sacred Law. The one who helped curse us and condemned me to die ninety-nine times because I chose darkness over her stifling righteousness.
I evened my breath. Steadied myself.
No time for emotion. No anger, no fear, no grief.
Now was the time for survival.
And the trial was only the beginning.