The first sign wasn't pain.
It was fatigue.
A sudden, unjustified fatigue, with no identifiable cause. Not the kind that comes after effort. Not the exhaustion of a short night. It was foreign, invasive, dropping over us like a damp veil.
My legs felt heavy. Not sore. Just… dense. As if every movement had to push through an invisible layer of resistance.
I blinked several times.
The white hadn't changed.The same light without a source.The same space with no clear edges.
But my body was no longer the same.
Amad was the first to say it out loud.
"I feel like I've been running," he said, rubbing his thighs. "But I haven't moved."
Bintou shrugged, but the motion lacked its usual sharpness."It's in your head."
She took a step. Then another.
Her foot slipped slightly.
Nothing dramatic. Nothing violent.
But Bintou never slipped.
She caught herself immediately, jaw tightening. Her expression hardened, as if her own body had just insulted her.
"It's nothing," she said too quickly.
Ayyi hadn't moved.
He was watching. Not the space. Not the other participants.
Us.
"It's not an illusion," he said calmly. "Motor signals are disrupted."
I swallowed."What does that mean, exactly?"
"It means the body is failing before the mind understands why."
The words lingered in the air.
I felt tension creep into my neck, a strange sensation, as if my muscles no longer knew when to relax.
I raised my hand in front of my eyes.
It was trembling slightly.
Not fear.Not conscious stress.
Just a dry, mechanical tremor.
Around us, the other participants were showing similar signs. Some sat down without knowing why. Others rubbed their arms as if they were cold—or overheated. A girl nearby was breathing too slowly, as if her body had forgotten its natural rhythm.
No one was screaming.
Not yet.
A man older than most—maybe in his thirties—suddenly dropped to his knees.
He didn't shout.He didn't complain.
He stayed there, bent forward, hands pressed against the white floor, like he was praying to something unseen.
"My legs…" he whispered. "They're not responding."
Amad took a step toward him."Hey, it's okay—"
Ayyi immediately placed a hand on his shoulder."No. Don't rush in."
Amad froze."Why? He needs help."
"Maybe," Ayyi replied. "But we need to understand what's happening before acting on reflex."
That restraint made my skin crawl.
But I knew he was right.
That's when I felt something else.
Hunger.
Not a gradual emptiness. Not a craving.
A sharp, sudden bite that twisted my stomach.
I instinctively pressed a hand against my abdomen.
"Are you hungry?" I asked.
Bintou answered immediately."No."
Then she stopped."Well… yes. But like… all at once."
Amad nodded."Same. But at the same time, I don't really feel hungry. It's weird."
That was exactly it.
The signal was there, but disconnected from logic.
As if the body was sending alerts at random, without reference to reality.
Then I noticed something even more unsettling.
My mouth was dry.But I wasn't thirsty.
Or rather… I could no longer tell the difference.
I sat down slowly.
The floor was cold.
At least, I think it was.
I couldn't be sure anymore. I only felt a vague pressure.
Bintou crouched beside me without looking my way."If this is a test," she said, "it's completely twisted."
"It's not a conventional test," Ayyi replied. "It's not measuring what we can do. It's observing what breaks first."
Someone screamed.
A short, sharp cry.
Everyone turned.
It was a young woman, staring at her hands in horror.
"They're numb," she said. "I can't feel them."
She shook them violently."I can see them, but I can't feel them."
No one knew what to say.
And that's when I understood.
The body wasn't being attacked in the same way for everyone.
For some, it was strength.For others, sensation.For others still, rhythm.
As if something was testing different biological weaknesses.
Amad knelt beside a teenage boy lying on his back. He placed two fingers on his wrist.
"His heartbeat is too slow," he whispered. "Way too slow."
The boy opened his eyes."I want to sleep," he said softly. "Just… sleep."
Ayyi stiffened."Don't let him close his eyes."
"Why?"
Ayyi hesitated.
A real hesitation.
"Because if the body shuts down before the mind resists… we don't know what comes back."
The words chilled me.
I felt my own eyelids grow heavy.
Not like sleep.
Like a gradual disconnection.
I clenched my fists to stay alert.
A dull ache appeared in my back. Not localized. Not precise. A phantom pain, like the memory of an injury I'd never had.
"My shoulder hurts," Bintou muttered.
"Are you injured?" Amad asked.
"No. That's the problem."
I noticed several people adopting strange postures. Hunched backs. Tilted heads. Bodies folding inward.
As if the space itself had grown heavier.
I tried to stand.
My legs protested instantly.
A wave of weakness hit me, and I had to brace myself against a white table that had appeared at some point—I had no idea when—to keep from falling.
"You okay?" Amad asked.
I nodded.
Lie.
"We need to limit our movements," Ayyi said. "The body consumes more here."
"More of what?" Bintou snapped. "Energy? Nerves? Willpower?"
Ayyi didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
And ignorance, coming from him, might have been the most alarming sign of all.
I took a deep breath.
My breathing was uneven.
I could no longer synchronize inhale and exhale without thinking about it.
Each breath became a conscious act.
That's when the horror fully set in.
As long as the body runs on its own, the mind can think.But when the body demands constant attention…
It steals mental space.
Around us, some participants were deliberately lying down. Not to sleep. To ease their muscles. To stop fighting.
I looked at Ayyi.
"If we lie down," I whispered, "do we get back up?"
He stared at me for a long moment.
"I don't know."
Bintou clenched her teeth."Fantastic."
Amad placed a trembling hand on my shoulder."Stay with us," he said quietly. "Okay?"
I nodded.
But deep down, one thought took hold.
The Arena hadn't asked anything yet.It hadn't given any rules.No objective.
And yet…
Our bodies were already paying the price.
Before our minds even understood what we had agreed to.