Me, slashing down with my blade. Ending his life.

I am Pira. Tomm is Corian. And I am witnessing the agony of my memory again, live, right before my eyes. I am her, tugging her Shield to herself in order to bury her own dagger in his chest, ending his suffering. And despite our stormy past, despite all the times Tomm had ever tormented me or Pira had lashed out, I can feel nothing but anguish for them.

Relax a little, Talin.

At Constantine’s voice in my head, I look at him through a veil of tears. He nods down at my hands. They are clenched so tight against the stone of the balcony that I’ve scraped my fingers bloody.

I release my grip, but the tide of my fury at Constantine rises in a wave. Corian, dead because of this young Premier. Because of his monsters.

With every ounce of strength I can muster, I push down the swell of anguish. I force my gaze back to where Pira is crouched beside Tomm’s now-still body. And I watch.

Pira doesn’t even have time to mourn her Shield. Instead, she leaves her dagger where it is, embedded in his chest, and runs down the path as the other Ghosts come for her. Up in the stands, the audience rewards her quick thinking with a thunderous cheer. Behind Pira, Tomm’s body collapses to the floor as the Ghosts finish with him.

She doesn’t get far. The other Ghosts finally catch up with her. She whirls on them, teeth bared, a ferocious whirlwind, and in this moment, she looks so powerful that I think maybe she really can fend them all off. But then she stumbles against one of them as it grabs her, then shoves her hard against the wall. She hits her head. Her movements become slow and unsteady.

I look away again, but the crowd screams, and I know what has happened.

Pira is dead.

My hands stay steady at my side, but my jaw has clenched so tightly now that I’m afraid I may break my teeth. Tomm and Pira had not been my friends on the warfront, but we had been allies. We had both fought against the Federation in Mara’s last stand. Now they’re gone, not from fighting Ghosts on the front, but from holding them back in an arena, where they gave their lives entertaining a crowd of fifty thousand.

I close my eyes. Beside me, Constantine shifts, but this time, his voice doesn’t appear in my thoughts. I’m grateful for the silence.

When my eyes open, I see down below that Aramin has reached the yellow flag at the end of his maze path. He nods silently as he faces a final Ghost, who snarls at him from underneath where the flag hangs. He doesn’t even bother pulling the blade out as he launches up from the Ghost’s back to grab the flag.

His steel gate slides shut, sealing him off from the rest of the Ghosts in the maze.