15 – Isaiah Barclay

The guard yells at three other men to come forward. The sound of steel collars clamping around prisoners’ necks jolts me from my thoughts. They’re all of similar build, their skin dark as night. The guard makes a crude joke about giving the audience the “midnight package,” earning scattered laughs from his fellow guards.

The men shuffle toward the arena doors. One glances back, his eyes wide with an emotion I can’t quite read—fear mixed with something else, maybe acceptance of what’s to come. As they disappear around the corner, I wonder what horrors await them. Minutes later, the arena doors screech open, metal grinding against metal, before slamming shut with devastating finality.

My mind wanders to the state of our world—people fighting and dying for others’ entertainment, the powerful few controlling the desperate masses. I look at Papa, knowing he holds answers to questions I’ve never dared ask. He and Solomon were friends once, before everything changed. How much has he seen? How many secrets does he keep?

I know the basics, the stories everyone whispers: how the Shift destroyed most life on the planet years before I was born. The survivors gathered in what became Graven Pointe, scraping together a settlement from the wreckage of the old world. Our species teetered on extinction’s edge until the Xulguns crashed their vessel here.

“Are you doing ok?” Papa asks, moving closer.

“Why are things like this?” I ask. “How did it all come to this?”

“Oh.” He seems surprised by the philosophical turn. “The powerful will always try to control the weak.”

“No. I mean what happened with Solomon taking control? You were friends. What changed him? Why did the Xulguns turn hostile?”

Papa’s expression grows serious. “I’ve kept many secrets from you over the years, Neeka. Solomon forbade anyone from speaking of the past—it was safer for you not to know.” He glances around our grim surroundings. “But perhaps now, when we’re fighting for survival anyway…”

He pauses as another prisoner leans toward us, ears perking at Solomon’s name. I fix him with a hard stare until he retreats. My performance in the arena has earned me that much respect at least.

“What I’m about to tell you is dangerous,” Papa continues quietly. “Solomon would have you killed just for hearing it.”

“I don’t think things can get more dangerous than they already are.”

“When Solomon and I were young, we were friends. He wasn’t the monster he is today. Life was incredibly difficult after the Shift, but everyone worked together to survive. Then the Xulguns crashed here.” Papa’s voice drops lower. “They were a remarkable species. Their technology, their special abilities—they helped humanity thrive. We lived together peacefully.”

He takes a deep breath. “Solomon became infatuated with the Xulgun queen, but she had no interest in him. Instead, she fell in love with another human and bore his child. Jealousy and rage drove Solomon mad. He murdered the queen and took their infant daughter hostage, threatening to kill her unless the Xulguns left Eden.”

The arena doors screech open again, interrupting Papa’s tale. The crowd cheers wildly as someone screams—a sound of pure agony cut suddenly short. Moments later, a single prisoner returns. He collapses beside me, chest heaving, eyes bulging. He seems exhausted but otherwise unharmed, though his shallow, ragged breathing betrays how close to death he must have come.

The guard calls for Braam next. They collar him and lead him away. He turns back with a casual smile and shrug, as if none of this matters. The hinges shriek again as the doors open to receive him.

“Are you ok?” Papa asks the shell-shocked man beside us.

He stares blankly ahead, nearly catatonic.

“We’re trying to have a conversation,” I say, annoyed by his proximity.

“He’s in shock, Neeka,” Papa scolds gently. “Leave him be.”

I frown but turn back to Papa. “He’s not listening anyway. Continue your story.”

“The Xulguns left Eden,” Papa resumes. “They live far beyond the Dread Wastes now, on the other side of Thaloria. Their hostility toward humans is understandable. I suspect they’re still trying to recover the child—though she’d be in her teens now.”

“Some people think it’s a lie,” the dark-skinned man suddenly speaks, his voice hoarse but steady.

“No one was talking to you,” I snap.

“There are those who believe Solomon no longer has the child,” he continues, ignoring my tone. “That she was stolen from him barely a year after he took her from the Xulguns.”

“Well, aren’t you just full of useful information?”

“I’m Isaiah,” he extends his hand. “Isaiah Barclay.”

“Neeka,” I reply cautiously, giving his hand a quick shake. “And this is Papa.”

“Papa! What a nice name.”

“You can call me Jeremiah,” Papa says with a slight smirk.

As we exchange names, humanity seems to seep back into Isaiah’s face. The arena’s cold mask melts away as he speaks.

“If Solomon lost the girl, why haven’t the Xulguns attacked or left?” I challenge.

“Because they believe he still has her. But these are just rumors. Most people who know anything stay quiet, fearing death. But here, people talk. Solomon and his lobcock protectors are nowhere near this place. We’re all criminals, outcasts, or swindlers—including the spectators.”

“What do you think, Papa?”

“Who knows? The Xulguns couldn’t leave if they wanted to, though. Their ship sank into Ashen Falls’ lava pits.” He shrugs. “Enough about that. How are we getting out of here?”

I study his face, suspecting he knows much more, but I let it drop.

“Planning to escape, are we?” Isaiah’s eyes brighten.

“You have any ideas?” I ask.

“Most don’t last long enough to try. I’ve been here longest of anyone currently here.”

“How long?”

“Thirteen days.”

“How have you survived so long?”

“I handle myself well enough, but you never know what you’ll face in the arena. Guess I’ve been lucky.”

“Papa and I plan to get out as soon as possible.”

“And go where?”

“Back to Eden.”

Isaiah laughs sharply. “No one returns to Eden. Why would you want to? Find an outpost, make a new life. Come to my settlement—you’ll love Graven Pointe.”

“Graven Pointe is one of the better settlements,” Papa acknowledges. “They make kiju for the Royals, krum for the rest.”

“Yes, kiju! We have beautiful vineyards, flowing water, vegetables unlike anywhere else in Thaloria.”

“If you supply kiju, you must have Solomon’s protectors,” I point out.

“Only a few. It’s still the best place outside Fairebourne.”

The cell door opens again. Braam returns with a deep gash above his eye, blood coating his face. His middle finger points at a grotesque angle. Yet he strolls over casually, as if returning from a pleasant walk.

“Survived another round?” Isaiah asks.

“Looks like it,” Braam grunts.

Isaiah gestures toward me. “This silly girl wants to return to Eden.”

Braam laughs darkly. “Even if you made it, Solomon would kill you before anyone knew you’d returned.”

“What about being Eden’s hero and all that bobblegash?”

“That’s exactly what it is—bobblegash.”

I meet Braam’s eyes, noting how the blood makes dark rivers down his face. The arena may have marked him, but it hasn’t broken him. Just like it won’t break me. Because unlike the others, I’m not fighting just to survive. I’m fighting for answers, for justice, for vengeance. Solomon’s secrets can’t stay buried forever.