Or so the Empire believed.
Elian’s grip on the rusted sword loosened. He felt the wave of the beast’s emotions crash into his mind like a physical blow. It was a maelstrom of endless agony, blinding rage, and a deep, suffocating despair. The sheer volume of the creature's pain brought Elian to his knees. He gasped, dropping the sword into the dirt.
The crowd booed. They hated cowards. They wanted to see the boy run, to see the thrill of the chase before the inevitable, bloody conclusion. The Overseer, standing on a raised dais overlooking the arena, sneered and slammed his heavy staff against the stone, signaling for the beast to attack.
Ranger lowered his massive, armored head. The chemical injectors on his collar hissed, pumping liquid adrenaline and fury directly into his bloodstream. The beast lunged forward, his heavy, clawed paws throwing up massive plumes of sand. The earth shook with every bound. He was a localized earthquake, a force of nature barreling toward a fragile, trembling boy.
Elian forced himself to stand. He didn't pick up the sword. He didn't turn to the heavy iron gates behind him. He simply stood there, his small frame silhouetted against the blinding glare of the suns, facing the charging leviathan.
The arena went silent in waves as Ranger closed the distance. The crowd screamed for the boy to run, but he didn’t move. Tears ran down his face as he stood his ground.
He wasn't crying out of fear. He was crying because he remembered.
Through the fog of the beast's chemically induced rage, Elian felt a familiar, buried spark. As Ranger closed to within fifty yards, then thirty, then ten, Elian didn't see the monster of the Colosseum. He saw the golden wheat fields of his home village. He saw a sun-dappled afternoon five years ago, before the Empire's Reapers came to burn their homes. He saw a massive, silver-furred pup, big for his age but infinitely gentle, bounding through the tall grass to knock a laughing nine-year-old boy into the dirt. He remembered the soft, rumbling purr that would vibrate against his chest as they slept under the stars.
He remembered the jagged, crescent-shaped scar above the beast's left eye—the exact same scar that now peeked out from beneath Ranger's cruel iron helmet.
"I know you,"Elian whispered, though his voice was completely swallowed by the ambient noise of the stadium.
He projected the memory outward, pushing his Empathic magic past the barriers of his own fear. He gathered the feeling of the golden wheat, the smell of fresh rain on the prairie, the warmth of the hearth fire, and he threw it like a lifeline into the raging storm of the beast's mind.
Ranger was five yards away. His jaws snapped open, ready to crush the boy in half.