The Awakening of Slave

Chapter 2: The Slave Games

Senna’s POV

We all stood, staring back at the man who had bought us as slaves. Our derision was palpable.

Kalev’s eyes swept over us. When they landed on me, my breath hitched in my throat.

He had the most unusual eyes I’d ever seen, a glimmering silver-grey. His gaze held for a second too long, but then it moved on.

Turning away from us, he spoke to Elvin, who I assumed was a steward of some sort.

“The Game begins in three days. Ensure they are physically fit for island deployment.” His voice was steady and controlled.

“Of course, Master Kalev,” Elvin responded.

My heart clutched.

Game?

A cold weight settled in my stomach. My mind raced, piecing it all together. We weren’t being inspected for labour. We were being inspected to participate in the…

…the Slave Games?

The realization ripped through me, sharp like a razor blade.

We weren’t brought here to work. We were brought here to die! To fight for our lives on some island, all in the name of entertainment.

I’d heard about the Slave Games. Everyone had. But our district was so far removed from them. Only the elite classes watched. Our district was too poor for televisions and frivolous things like entertainment.

Clenching my fists, my anger flared.

Before I could stop myself, I lunged forward, stepping out of line. My anger cut through my shock.

“That’s why you brought us here?” I seethed. “The Moon Goddess will punish you!” I spat out, my cheeks flushed red. “She punishes every werewolf who treats human life as worthless!”

The reaction was immediate. Guards moved toward me, hands already reaching for their weapons. One of them grabbed my arm, wrenching it behind my back. I twisted instinctively, but he tossed me down to the ground like I was a rag doll.

I covered my head with my hands and braced myself for the blow.

“Stop.”

Kalev’s voice ripped through the air, halting the guards. Turning myself over, I scrambled onto my butt, my eyes wide as Kalev approached me.

“Stand up,” Kalev demanded, his voice low. I rose to my feet. He reached out and gripped my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze.

I didn’t look away. His eyes studied mine with hard precision. Then he released my chin.

“You’re brave,” he said.

But it didn’t sound like praise.

Breathing heavily, I glared back at him.

“You’re an Empty Shell. You won’t make it far. But I’m curious to see how your bravery serves in the game.”

“This is wrong,” I replied. “We’re people. Not entertainment.”

The flicker of something crossed his face. Guilt? Sympathy? I wasn’t sure. Because before I could fully make sense of it, he turned away from me.

“The rules are simple,” Kalev said, pacing in front of his. His shoes clicked loudly against the hardwood floor. "You will all be dropped on an island. Supply stations will open up every three days. It’s first come, first served.”

All around me, the other slaves averted their eyes. The woman next to me wrung her hands. Kalev continued.

“You may use any resource you find. You may form alliances as you see fit. The broadcast will be open to all Capital nobility. Your goal is to be the last one standing. Elimination is considered…” He paused, his hand poised at his chin, “Natural selection.”

Natural selection?

The words landed on us. We all held a collective breath for a beat.

“You mean…we have to…kill each other?” The woman who was wringing her hands gasped. A ripple of whispers broke out.

“What do we win?”

The man’s question broke through the shocked whispers. All eyes turned to him. He was thickly built, his glare hard.

A smile tugged at the corner of Kalev’s lips.

“A new life,” Kalev replied. “The last survivor will receive a free identity document and the right of residency in District 3. As well as a large sum of money.”

Listening carefully, I pieced it all together. First come, first served resources meant we’d have to fight each other for them. Alliances meant betrayal was expected and encouraged. And of course there was a prize. Motivation. A reason to do the unthinkable and kill each other off.

My blood froze as the enormity of the situation washed over me.

This wasn’t just a game; this was a veritable blood bath.

I clenched my jaw, my anger simmering beneath the surface.

Kalev turned to leave. But before he did, he waved his hand in the air.

“Good luck,” he said, his tone as flat as the floor we were standing on.

From there, we were moved to a guarded holding area. It was a big room with plenty of space for us all. We were fed a decadent dinner of roasted chicken and savory vegetables. I choked it down. Even though I had no appetite, I knew I needed the strength.

It was sometime after dinner that I noticed him. His large frame was hunkered down in the corner of the room beside a small boy who was maybe eleven or twelve.

He was the man who had asked what we will win.

The boy beside him was visibly shaking, his face pale. The large man passed the boy his portion of cake we’d been given for dessert.

“Take it,” the man said gently. Then he saw me watching him and motioned for me to come over.

“That was very brave, what you did,” the man said. “I’m Tor. From District 5.”

District 5 was the mining district, which would explain Tor’s muscular build.

“Senna,” I replied, settling down in front of them.

“This is Kulos,” Tor said.

The boy’s knees were drawn up to his chest. He balanced the plate of cake on his knees, trembling so badly I was sure the cake would slide right off the plate. Tor leaned in and whispered, “Poor thing is terrified.”

“I don’t blame him,” I said. “Why did you give him your cake?”

“Why not?” Tor shrugged. “I’m trying to comfort him.”

“But we’re all enemies now, aren’t we? Isn’t that the purpose of the Slave Games?”

Tor scrunched up his face and exhaled slowly. “Perhaps,” he said, his voice wistful. “But we can still choose how to act. I choose to be a decent person.”

There was something about Tor that I instantly liked. His large, gruff body was in direct contrast to his soft nature. He was the definition of a gentle giant.

Glancing around the room, I took inventory of the people around us.

Some of them looked hardened, like they wouldn’t hesitate to kill. Others looked scared, like they were caught in some sort of bad dream they couldn’t wake up from. And others still were expressionless, lost in their own thoughts, scheming, planning, praying.

There were weak people in the room. They’d be picked off quickly. There were strong people in the room. They’d be the pickers.

I was somewhere in the middle I figured. I had skills. I was raised with a bow and arrow in hand. I could forage. I could hunt.

And I was no stranger to survival.

Several groups of people were huddled together, talking in hushed whispers. They glanced over their shoulders to make sure no one was listening.

“Alliances are already forming,” I told Tor.

“Yes, they are,” Tor replied, the twinkle of a smile in his eye. I understood the subtext.

Without even meaning to, I’d just formed my own pseudo-alliance.

With a massive miner from District 5 and a terrified young boy with a plate of cake on his knee.

They weren’t the strongest nor the weakest in the room.

But they were decent.

And that was good enough for me.