Page 50 of Aries

“They tried to kill us,” Callie says, her voice steady despite her shaking hands. “Not just make us fail—actually kill us.”

“And they’ll try again,” I say, the certainty sitting heavy in my gut. “The opposition is growing more desperate as we get closer to completion.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Callie

“The Public Forum begins in one standard hour,” the Committee member announces, their crystalline form painting our corner with streaks of iridescence. “This represents your opportunity to address the concerns of the community directly.”

“And the format?” Aries asks.

“Under increased security, you will each present your perspective on the Redemption Rites,” they explain. “The community will then pose questions. As with all trials, physical contact remains prohibited, with one exception—you may hold hands during the most challenging portions if deemed necessary by the Committee.”

“What will you say?” I ask, watching him pace our small cottage. “About… everything?”

He stands stock still, his golden gaze meeting mine with unexpected intensity. “The truth. All of it.”

“Aries—”

“No more hiding, Callie.” His voice is gentle but firm. “If they’re going to hate me, let it be for what actually happened, not rumors and assumptions.”

Hours later, we stand before the packed amphitheater. Mira Thessian sits in the front row, her son’s image clutched in her hands. Behind her, other families hold similar portraits—a devastating gallery of the gladiatorial system’s victims. But I also notice, scattered throughout the crowd, faces that show uncertainty rather than hatred. Not everyone here wants blood.

“The Redemption Committee welcomes you to the Public Forum,” the announcement echoes through the amphitheater as we step onto the central platform.

The amphitheater falls silent as Aries steps forward. Standing tall despite the scrutiny, his bronze skin catching the afternoon light, he looks every inch the warrior—but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that only those who truly know him would recognize.

“My name is Aries Dravek Zavalon,” he begins, his deep voice carrying effortlessly. “And I am a killer.”

The blunt admission sends murmurs rippling through the crowd.

“I stand before you not to deny my crime, but to share the full truth of it.” His hands remain steady as he tells the full story—his childhood with Kren, their capture by slavers, the gladiator training that tried to break their spirits.

When he reaches the arena fight—Kren being tortured by Selaxx the Flayer as Aries watched helplessly—his voice remains steady, but Spark’s color deepens to a sorrowful, bruised purple, reflecting the pain the memory still causes.

“My brother looked at me through the bars and begged me to end it,” Aries continues. “To give him a clean death rather than allow his torture to continue for the crowd’s entertainment.”

The amphitheater is utterly silent now, every face intent on his words.

“I disabled three guards breaking into that arena,” he says simply. “And then I granted my brother the mercy he begged for. One clean strike to the heart. That is my crime. Not random violence. Not bloodlust. An act of mercy that has haunted me every day since I performed it. I won’t beg for forgiveness. I have no right to ask for your understanding. What I offer—nothing more, nothing less—is the truth.”

My turn. Taking a deep breath, I step forward, feeling the weight of hundreds of stares.

“My name is Callista Marston,” I begin. “I was born on Earth, worked a normal job, had a normal life. Until I was abducted by slavers along with other women from my planet.”

The familiar story spills out—our captivity, the forced mating program, the slave rebellion that won our freedom. But this time, I add the parts I’ve never publicly shared.

“Aries and I were paired in that cell,” I explain. “Forced together by threat of death. But even in that horror, he showed me kindness. Gentleness. Tried to shield me from the worst of our shared trauma.”

Meeting Aries’ gaze across the platform, I find the courage to continue. “When we gained our freedom, we both retreated from the pain. For five standard years we carefully avoided each other, both carrying wounds we couldn’t bear to acknowledge.”

My voice grows stronger as I continue. “I’ve watched Aries over these weeks of trials. Seen how he protects those weaker than himself. How he carries guilt for actions taken under impossible circumstances. How he would sacrifice his own happiness to spare others pain.”

The flame earrings seem to warm against my skin as I speak. “If redemption isn’t possible for someone like him—someone who made an impossible choice out of mercy and hasspent years punishing himself for it—then what hope is there for any of us?”

Silence follows my words. Then a woman stands in the front row.

“I lost my son to arena violence,” she says. “I came here hoping to see justice served. But justice and vengeance aren’t the same thing, are they?”

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