Chapter 3
Charisma
Sweat fell over my eyelashes, but I didn’t dare wipe the bead away as Zeus’s fierce scrutiny kept me locked in my place.
A chill snaked up my spine as the white in his eyes turned blinding, his knuckles paling as if clutching at invisible restraints.
I almost flinched away, bracing myself for when he would strike me down.
In the final, ephemeral moment, his expression underwent a subtle but significant change—his fists loosened and a subtle smile played at the corners of his mouth.
“Interesting,” he jeered.
The world twisted and warped around me, cold perspiration plastering my skin.
A heartbeat swept, then he spoke. “You shall all proceed to your chambers. And remember, do not disobey the rules.” Zeus’s voice soared over the crowd, singling out each of us.
“You have two days to prepare for the first trial, and I expect it to be what you mortals call ‘fun’ to watch you fall into despair.”
I waited, rooted to the spot, and prepared for a lecture or punishment.
If Zeus was anything like the god described in the books I’ve read, he wouldn’t let me go without reminding me of who was in charge.
Since he discovered his powers had no effect on me, I expected nothing less than him interpreting it as an insult to his magic.
“Come on,” the fairy prodded.
When my eyes met Zeus again, he gave no indication that he would stop the fairy from rescuing me. He just stood there, his pupils dilating with a glint.
Perhaps I was wrong. He could take it as a challenge instead of an insult. Or, he had another idea to make me obey. The mere notion of it sent a shiver down my spine, my skin crawling as if tiny insects were swarming all over it.
The god’s desperation of compelling us spoke of fear. Fear that we’d try to escape, and that meant only one thing: there was a way out. I just had to find it.
My throat jolted as I swallowed the thought away and shifted my gaze to the same fairy who told us not to be afraid earlier. As if sensing my thoughts, he tipped his head, an innocent look on his face.
The wind tousled my hair as I aimlessly turned on my feet, with no particular destination in mind.
I needed a minute to think, but the sound of snapping fingers sliced through the air, stopping me in my tracks.
I slowly peered over my shoulder where the fairies floated in front of their assigned human and, in a heartbeat, they materialized into nothing but dust.
Once again, the world dissolved, and only my thoughts remained, caught in a maelstrom of utter blackness, separate from my body—it was a brief sensation, gone in a flash like a whisper in the air.
When I blinked again, I was no longer in the arena, but where I believed our chambers were.
I brushed my tongue over my bottom lip, analyzing my surroundings and once again ignoring the dull ache in my head.
A vast circular hall unfolded, its floor paved with pale, aged marble.
The white columns rose around the perimeter, their polished surfaces reflecting the light, broken only by the dark, closed doors set within the walls.
Everything seemed to fit in the context except for the small dining room that stood out with its plain wooden tables and benches.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve doors.
Twelve names.
Zachary Jenkins.
Nicolas Jenkins.
The twins.
Hunter Kingston.
Riley Bennett.
Yvonne Torres.
Verena Sloane.
Adam Wells.
Theo Rivera.
Arianna Finley.
Draven Moore.
Georgie Green.
Charisma Sinclair.
My breath tethered as I stared at the familiar name on my door, the letters gleaming in the dim light. Sinclair. My father’s name. My tongue pushed forward against my teeth as a bitter taste lingered in my mouth.
I shook off the feeling, urging myself to devote my attention to something else rather than to my loathing of him.
Soft footsteps echoed through the place as people, guided by the gentle glow of their fairies, made their way to their chambers.
Turning, I scoped the area for a potential exit, though I didn’t have to search for very long—the imposing door loomed behind me, its presence casting a long shadow. My room was right next to it.
Good. That was good. In case I needed a quick way out, that was it. Though it wasn’t ideal to rely on only one option, it would have to do until I could find more.
The fairy, with a puff of air, trailed behind me as I approached the door engraved with my name, the metal of the door handle cold under my palm. Dust mites danced in the faint light as the door creaked inward, my feet carrying me inside where the cold air struck me like a physical blow.
I shivered, folding my arms around myself, feeling the coldness of my fingertips against my skin.
My lungs drew in a deep breath, my ribcage expanding as I took in the sight.
The single bed was in the left corner, and a faint light filtered through the thin window with a small, musty closet near the door to the tiny bathroom.
If this was their way of making it known that this place was only for sleeping, they couldn’t have expressed it more plainly. Message received. Loud and clear.
My boots sank into the old wood as I walked toward the window. There was no handle.
The words tumbled from his lips just before my fingers brushed against the edges. “It’s sealed with magic. You can’t open it.”
I looked at the glass, then back at the fairy. “And if I try to break it? What then?”
He shrugged. “If you can break it, it will rebuild itself.”
My teeth sank into my bottom lip as I stepped toward the bed and took a seat. Even if opening it wouldn’t have been very useful, I wouldn’t have minded having an alternative exit.
Following me, the fairy drifted along on his stomach, his palm cradling his head as he moved. “Got no more smart questions to ask?”
“Believe me, I have ten of those,” I admitted, threading a hand through my hair. “Though I’m sure you’re not going to answer most of them.”
He huffed. “Try me.”
“How are the contestants chosen?”
“I’m afraid I do not hold that kind of information.”
My eyes squinted. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
“Well, you just have to believe me! Our gods do not share such important matters with us.” His smile faltered. “It might be because we only live five years and they don’t find it worthwhile to explain the same things to each new generation of fairies.”
The Greek mythology books did not lie. Gods rarely did things themselves, and instead used pawns for every move in their eternity. It was no doubt that we served nothing different for their purpose—whatever that was.
My chest constricted. Not only was his lifespan short, but he spent it under the control of the gods’ will. “How old are you?”
He smiled as if he’s been waiting for the question his entire life. “Oh, I’m newborn,” he announced, tracing an eyebrow with his finger. “It’s my first time being a human guardian, and I must say it’s as thrilling as I expected it to be.”
It was his first time living, literally and figuratively, and perhaps my initial judgment of him was unfair. No doubt, he was someone that could not be trusted, but that didn’t mean my empathy toward him was any less.
“Now”—he sailed closer—“since you know how important this is to me, can we start over?” He smiled so broadly that the corners of his lips touched his ears. I eyed him with interest. “I’m Number 226688,” 226688 extended his hand.
I frowned. “Your name is 226688?”
He tilted his head as if it were an odd thing to ask. “Yes. Like I said, my name is—”
“Yes, I heard you the first time. Why don’t you have a proper name? Like the gods?”
Before he could respond, the answer was obvious to me. They weren’t worth naming when they lived so little.
The thought hit me like a physical blow. They lived their entire lives, identified not by given names but by codes. Their legacy was going to be nothing more than a cold, impersonal collection of numbers, devoid of any connection.
My loathing for the gods expanded, filling me with a venomous rage. I guessed that’s what living forever did to someone—any finite amount of time seemed insignificant compared to eternity.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“What for? I love my name. Number 226688 is mine and mine alone. As weird as it may seem to you, I like it.”
My head dropped in a nod, pushing the odd sensation in my chest away. “I’m Charisma,” I said, catching his hand in mine.
During the last two hours, 226688 explained with impressive attention to detail the schedule for the next days.
Meals would be served three times a day; every morning at seven, every afternoon at two, and every evening at six.
The training would begin tonight with a focus on hand-to-hand combat and wielding weapons, while tomorrow would be about common fears such as fear of water or heights—one of which I shared.
He also meticulously described each god, recounting information I had already learned. I yielded to his evident eagerness and let him have his say.
“Ready to go?” the fairy sing-songed, somersaulting through the air.
“Are you going to…” I gestured at 226688. “Teleport us to the arena again?”
He laughed—so hard, he placed a hand on his belly to hold it in. “You mortals,” he started between laughs, “make me laugh. We will veyrith there.”
“Veyrith?” I asked, tilting my head.
“Yes,” he said shortly.
My nose scrunched. “Veyrith us outside the arena, or whatever it’s called.”
“We still have to work on that accent,” he noted, and then I was thrown back into darkness.
A moment later, we landed at our destination. I frowned at the sharp pain in my temple. It now dawned on me that it happened every time 226688 veyrithed me.
“You’ll get used to it,” he said softly. “The pain will get worse before it gets better, but you’ll get used to it. It is the cost of veyrithing—humans are not supposed to do such magical things.”