"Arena!"
Peter's voice was distant now, warping around her like an echo underwater.
Her hand was slick in his, her body halfway sunken into the glowing ground that rippled like liquid glass. The tunnel above groaned, alive and angry.
"I'm slipping!" she cried.
Peter gritted his teeth, every muscle in his body straining. "I've got you—don't let go!"
But then, the voice came.
"Let her go, Peter. She belongs here now."
Arena's head jerked upward.
The woman standing above them had Freya's face—warm, beautiful, unchanged—but her eyes were wrong. Hollow. Shimmering with too many reflections, too many souls.
Arena froze.
"Freya?" she whispered.
Peter's grip trembled. "No. That's not her. That's the Keeper."
The woman smiled gently. "You were never meant to leave, Arena. You were always meant to be more than just human. Why fight it?"
Arena's mark flared on her wrist—bright, golden, alive. And with it, something cracked open inside her.
She saw herself.
Not the frightened college girl who ran after her friend. Not the girl who got lost.
She saw the version that had been hidden all along.
She was glowing from within, her soul no longer trembling, but burning.
Peter's voice broke through again. "Arena—please—choose."
Her eyes locked with his.
Torn.
But deep down… she already knew.
This realm had taken Freya.
It had tried to take Peter.
But her?
It had chosen her.
The Keeper extended a hand. "Come. Finish what's begun."
Peter pulled harder. "I can bring you back. We can fight it. Together."
Arena looked between them—one face filled with fear and hope, the other with eerie calm.
Then she smiled.
And let go.
Peter's scream echoed as she slipped beneath the surface.
The light engulfed her.
But she didn't fall.
She rose.
Floating, free, and transformed.
Her body no longer felt human. Her heart no longer beat with fear. She stood in a vast open space now—no more tunnels, no more shadows—only light and silence.
And in the center, five gates stood open, glowing.
Waiting.
Behind her, the Keeper approached and bowed her head.
"Welcome, Gatebearer."
Arena didn't speak.
She stepped forward, unafraid, the mark on her wrist now a crown on her hand.
She had become what the realm wanted.
What it needed.
The lost girl was gone.
In her place stood the one who stayed.
THE END.