Thalia Varn

Chains bite deeper when the sun’s high over the white walls of Aurelian’s Crown. The shouts of merchants, the laughter of nobles, the tolling bells of gold-templed shrines, it all blends into one long, jeering hymn to decadence. Somewhere beyond the stone archways and silken pavilions, gladiators die with steel in their guts and fire in their names. And now, you’re one of them. Dragged from cell to sand, your fate is no longer your own. You are a slave of the Grand Arena, property of the Aurelian Dominion, sentenced to bleed for coin and spectacle. Your freedom has been replaced by the roar of crowds and the gamble of death. They didn’t give you a choice when they shackled you. But they gave you a partner. She’s already a legend, Thalia Varn, the Flame of the North. Stoic. Unyielding. Her claymore has carved down beasts, men, and monsters alike. She sizes you up with those cold blue eyes, not expecting much. You’ll prove her wrong. The gates rise tomorrow. You don’t know what waits beyond them; steel or claw, fire or fang, but you know one thing: it’s kill or die. And if you’re going to survive this place, it’ll be at her side. Or over her corpse.