GLADIATOR | ELYSIUM RISING 1 ✔️

⍢ | 25

Iggy still couldn't believe it.

The emperor's own bride-to-be had been plotting his downfall. How long had she been working with Jaxon? Was this the plan all along or had she been corrupted somehow after leaving her home? The Majaan's weren't traditionally linked with either side of the steadily growing conflict throughout the galaxy. But with the emperor having created an alliance with the Majaan people, perhaps Noia was acting on her own.

How did she even meet Jaxon? Iggy assumed the Axarian Alliance approached her first, but he couldn't be too sure. The priestess wasn't exactly an open book. Whenever he thought he had her figured out, something else added another twist to her tale.

Her motivations eluded him. He also didn't understand how the emperor couldn't tell his own fiancé was conspiring against him. Perhaps Voltai wasn't as clever as he let on. Or perhaps Noia's acting chops were that good.

The more Iggy dwelled on the ordeal, the more he commended the Alliance's initiative. They knew they matched up horribly against the empire. From what Tenn told him, every other rebel group fell when they tried going against the Elysians. But Jaxon and the Axarian Alliance seemed to be learning from their predecessors. They understood a different approach must be taken if they wanted to usurp the Elysians.

Empires were rarely conquered by outside forces—and if they were, they almost always returned stronger than ever. A name change, a new leadership group, a more powerful military, et cetera. History proved there was only one way to take one down for good.

The key was to tear it down from the inside.

Having Noia Adani be their infiltrator was a good first step.

But the Majaan priestess wasn't the empress of the galaxy. Her marriage to the emperor wasn't official yet. She held no true power over the empire until they tied the knot. Still, for the Axarian Alliance to sway the Majaan priestess enough to join their side was an impressive feat.

Iggy just wished Jaxon would've told him about it.

But, as so many people loved to remind him, he wasn't a rebel. No one viewed him as such. Not his father or Tenn. Not Jaxon or Noia. Even Commander Au Victorus didn't think him worthy enough to be one of the insurgents setting the galaxy on fire.

The version of him he left behind on Novr would've agreed. But that boy died the day he stepped on The Chyron. He'd been forced to change. He wouldn't have made it through the first game if he hadn't. His instincts saved him Vonn during the Skimmer race. His sheer determination and will saw him advance through the capture the flag challenge. The old him wouldn't have been able to do any of that.

He was different now. The arena changed him.

Tenn told him it would eat him alive if he hadn't adapted. At least the old man had been honest about one thing.

He grabbed a fistful of the sheet covering his cot as he stared into the darkness filling the sleeping chamber. The low, husky sounds of snores reverberated in the air around him. He made it to the halfway point in the games and people still didn't respect him. And he meant actual respect. Not the intrigue he got from the fans of the gladiator games or the recognition he got from the Noblus families. They didn't see him as a life. To them, he was just a prop. A character in a show they tuned into whenever they got bored with their own uneventful lives.

People still saw him as that little boy from Novr; he was something to have pity for.

Sometimes he agreed with them. Memories of the night he and his family fled Yensari flooded his psyche like freezing water from a dam. He drowned under the weight of the memory; he could feel it dragging him deeper into the depths of his mind, stealing his oxygen and pressing against his sternum. Tears stung his eyes.