CHAPTER 310: RETURN II

We saw no one in the wide expanse of land, though it stretched far and was filled with neatly arranged structures of identical size and shape.

At first glance, it gave the impression that Isla and I were the very first fighters to arrive, but I knew better. The others were here, hiding in their chambers, cooling their heels, conserving energy until they were called. This silence wasn’t absence; it was strategy.

Still, the sight of the field stopped me in my tracks.

The place was magnificent in its own way, designed with ruthless practicality but touched with pride. This was no ordinary lodging ground—it had been built to house the flood of visitors who came each year for the combats and contests.

The stone paths beneath our boots were laid with precision, smooth and wide enough to allow ten men to walk side by side. They gleamed faintly in the dimming light, polished by countless steps, yet untouched by grime. Whoever built this had ensured it would stand the test of time, unyielding.

On both sides of the path, the bungalows stood in neat rows. Small, identical structures of pale stone, square-framed and rigid, as if they’d been pulled from the same mold. Each was designed to house only two fighters, and the symmetry was unnerving—like walking past rows of silent sentinels, waiting, judging.

Low porches jutted forward, their steps clean, as though no dust dared settle there. The carved lintels bore no decorations save for a single emblem—the triplets’ crest—burned into the stone, a silent reminder of who held power here.

The air was crisp. Fresh. It carried none of the heaviness we had felt in the barren land earlier. Instead, it smelled faintly of pine and earth, tinged with the metallic scent of magic that hummed faintly under the surface.

Beyond the high fences, the forest stretched into eternity, trees thick and dark, a living wall that seemed to guard this city of fighters. The branches whispered with the wind, and in them, I thought I heard sing-sung voices.

"Check the card, so we can find our space. Hopefully we’re the only roommates that’ll stay in the bungalow," I said, handing the invitation card to Isla.

She busied herself with the details, tilting the parchment to catch the fading light, while I allowed my eyes to roam further.

How long had it taken the triplets to build this place? Had they done it under their father’s consent, or had they spoken over him, wresting control as they always had?

Rachel had told me that the King—once fierce, once feared—now held little to no power over his sons. The mighty had fallen, and in his place three restless rebels had risen, snapping at the hand that once fed them.

My mouth tightened into a frown, distaste coiling sharp inside me.

That was when movement caught my attention.

A maid stepped out from one of the quarters, a basin of clothes balanced in her arms. Her steps were quick, almost nervous, her eyes darting left and right as if afraid to be seen. At first, I thought she was alone—until I noticed the shadow in the doorway behind her.

The man was cloaked in darkness, standing just out of sight, his form blurred, hidden.

The maid’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink, her lips parted slightly as though caught mid-laugh. I didn’t need to hear the words spilling from his mouth to know what they were.

Empty compliments. Sweet nonsense. Poison disguised as honey.

Idiot.

Couldn’t the officials at least have assigned male servants here? Did they not realize these maids would become easy prey for restless men? Or had they realized—and simply didn’t care?

The girl’s expression shifted rapidly as her eyes met mine. Panic first, then surprise, then a flicker of curiosity that lingered for a heartbeat too long.

She hesitated, caught in indecision, as though weighing whether to approach. Then, with a stiff turn, she fled, her steps hurried, the basin of clothes nearly toppling from her arms.

"She shouldn’t be here," Isla muttered dryly beside me, her gaze following the retreating girl. "Unless she actually wants whatever the man is offering."

I said nothing, my focus still on the doorway the girl had come from.

It wasn’t just shadow. My magic senses tingled. This was a cloak. A deliberate veil cast to shield the man from sight.

A coward.

My lips twitched upward. I winked at the darkness, amused. To my delight, the cloak flickered, fluttered like a dwindling light before fading altogether. A ripple of laughter escaped my throat.

So. We had a magic wielder among us.

Rachel had been right again.

All kinds of beings were drawn here. Shifters. Mages. Creatures from old bloodlines. Even select humans, arrogant enough to believe that their knowledge of the supernatural granted them power over it.

Stupid fools. I called them in my mind. According to Rachel, not one human had ever survived these combats. Not one had even triumphed in the lesser contests—horse rides, trick duels, even tests of stamina.

"Making a new friend already?" Isla teased, her tone lilting.

I shrugged. "Maybe. Have you found our place?"

She nodded slowly, still distracted by her scan of the card. "I think so. I’ve seen the number at least. We have to continue down..."

So down we went, our boots tapping rhythm against stone as more bungalows slid past us, each one silent, each one watching. The last rays of sun stretched over the field, painting everything in hues of orange and gold, as if mocking the shadows creeping in.

At last, we reached the final structure, tucked against the farthest end of the field, right before the high fence.

"The gods are on our side, can you believe it?" Isla laughed softly.

I smiled faintly, though my mind was on the fence. It was tall, but not too tall. Easy to scale, if I needed. Easy to send word across to the Queen. Easy to receive visitors under the cover of night.

Yes. Isla might be right—the gods could be on our side, no matter what Malek had said those years ago.

"Let’s see our new place," I murmured, stepping ahead of her. My boots thudded softly on the wooden porch as I pushed open the door.

Warmth and light spilled out to greet us.

The inside was simple, but not without care. A common sitting room occupied the center, its wooden floors scrubbed clean, its chairs sturdy, a low table gleaming under the glow of oil lamps. Two separate chambers branched off to either side, each marked with a carved wolf emblem on the door.

Food had already been laid out on the table. Steam curled upward from bowls of meat stew, fresh bread stacked neatly in a basket, fruits arranged with deliberate elegance. The scent filled the room—rich, savory, welcoming.

I inhaled deeply, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips despite myself.

"Two bedrooms," Isla said with satisfaction, peeking into the chambers. "Just the two of us. No strangers. No surprises."

My hand trailed along the polished frame of the doorway, my eyes sweeping the neat little house. The walls bore faint carvings of runes, protective wards humming gently, more felt than seen. Someone had thought this through.

I looked at Isla, who was grinning, already pulling off her cloak as though she owned the place.

"Well then," I exhaled, letting the door shut firmly behind us, sealing us away from the curious eyes outside, "let the games begin."