Josephine and her inner circle—Morgana, Precious, Elara, Ethan, Thomas, and Brite—were escorted to a magnificent, gilded private box high above the arena floor. From this vantage point, the sheer scale of the Colosseum was breathtaking, easily encompassing three football stadiums, built from dark, forbidding stone that seemed to absorb the light.
Josephine leaned forward, her brow furrowed in confusion as she looked down at the fifty formidable figures gathered below, all circling a single, jeweled crown resting on a basalt pillar.
"I thought there would be a list, like a proper one-versus-one tournament bracket," she muttered, voicing the expectation of conventional warfare.
"No, my Queen," Precious replied, her voice low and grave, the weight of the competition's brutality settling over them. She pointed at the gleaming crown. "In this competition, there is only one crown, and one rule: survival."
