"Release… the Seer!"
If there had ever been a greater uproar, this one of hatred surpassed them all. The crowd erupted—screaming, spitting, hurling insults and anything else they could throw. Rotten vegetables, bones, and torn sandals flew through the air like rain. The King, calm behind his opera binoculars, smiled with grim satisfaction as the Seer became the focus of every blow.
Just as he began to relax, the horn sounded again—twice this time. A royal signal.
The people quieted in anticipation, their hatred quickly shifting to welcome.
A figure entered—tall, cloaked, and clearly troubled. His steps were heavy, his face shadowed with sorrow. Prince Navi had arrived.
Though his shoulders were straight, his eyes told a different story. They flicked toward his father's seat, filled with silent questions—questions the King had already silenced in his own heart.
"His Majesty, Prince Navi!" the announcer declared proudly.
The prince exhaled, already weary of the spectacle. With a stiff nod, he moved forward to stand in full view of the people. A practiced smile stretched across his face—false and hollow. The crowd responded with cheers, but Navi barely acknowledged them.
His eyes scanned the arena.
Nothing caught his interest at first—only the same pitiful sight of beaten slaves, thin and trembling in the dirt. In their midst stood the so-called Seer, her chains catching the sunlight. The prince frowned, uninterested… until something inside him paused.
His gaze lingered, as he squinted to get a better look. But soon, the feeling left him.
And in that instant, he returned to his seat beside the King, but the stern man beside him hadn't moved. Still staring through the binoculars. Still detached. That stillness, that cruel composure, told Navi everything he needed to know.
His father had not found any update yet.
The crowd's jeers had died down. Their arms were tired from throwing things. Their laughter gave way to restless anticipation. The announcer stepped forward once more, awaiting a nod from the King.
He got it.
"It is time," he called out.
A final gate creaked open.
From its mouth poured darkness—thick and still. The very shadow within the entrance seemed alive, like the black pit of some forgotten underworld.
Then came the sound.
A growl—deep and guttural.
Then another.
And another.
Each one rising, layering, until the air trembled with hunger. Panic seized the arena. The audience who moments ago were filled with joy now fell into a stunned silence. Even the slaves, though already weak and doomed, began to crawl and stumble in every direction like sheep without a shepherd.
Prince Navi leaned forward, his brows furrowed. Something was wrong.
"Binoculars," he said, and a servant rushed one to him.
He pressed the lenses to his eyes—and froze.
They were not lions.
Or at least, not ordinary ones.
These creatures crept from the gate like shadows come to life. At first, they walked low and slow, testing the air with every breath. The crowd, breathless, began to count them silently. One. Two. Three. Four…
With each emerging beast, the tension rose.
Their skin was not tawny or gold—but black, dark as coal. Their manes were thick and regal, yet wild and unnatural. Fangs glinted in the sunlight, longer than any normal lion's. Their claws were massive, thick as knives, dragging marks into the earth as they prowled forward.
But their eyes—light-gold and glowing—those were the worst.
Each eye locked onto its prey with terrifying precision.
The King smiled faintly, finally removing his binoculars. But he halted, his mind catching an image that pinched his ego. So, he looked again through his binoculars. But Prince Navi could not look away from the moment he began to watch.
"Father…" he said, his voice quiet, breathless, "where did you find such beasts?"
The crowd had fallen completely still now.
No one dared speak.
No one cheered.
The arena had become a cage not for the prisoners, but for them—the spectators—frozen by the horror of what they saw.
The lions, if they could still be called that, closed in on their victims slowly. Their tongues, a deep scarlet, hung from their jaws as they roared in turns. They hadn't even tasted blood yet, but they hungered with an intelligence no animal should have.
They were four times the size of a full-grown lion.
These creatures weren't beasts.
They were monsters.
And they had come to feast.