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Chapter Twenty-Nine

C allie

“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 has spent 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?”

“No,” Aries answers gently. “Though I’ve often confused them myself.”

What follows are thoughtful questions—about Kren, about our connection, about what redemption truly means. Aries answers with unflinching honesty, and I find myself reaching for his hand during the most difficult moments.

“Final question,” the Committee announces as the sun dips below the horizon.

A young woman rises, her expression thoughtful. “You’ve spoken much about the past. What of the future? Should you complete these trials successfully, what then?”

Aries’ hand tightens briefly around mine before releasing it. The question hovers between us—one we’ve carefully avoided discussing directly.

“If we succeed,” he begins slowly, “I hope to return to one of our two ships. To our crew—the family we’ve created. To continue the work of helping others who, like us, were once slaves.”

His gaze meets mine, holding something so tender it makes my breath catch. “And I hope to build a life with Callie. Not because the Rites demand it, but because these trials have shown us both what we truly want. Each other.”

“The same,” I confirm, smiling despite the tears pricking my eyes. “Every word. ”

As the Forum concludes, the Committee signals the end of questions.

The crowd disperses slowly, their reactions mixed but noticeably different from when we began.

Not universal acceptance—some protesters remain steadfast, their signs still demanding justice.

But many others leave with thoughtful expressions, hostility replaced by something closer to consideration.

“My brother died in the arenas,” one man tells Aries as we prepare to leave, his voice low. “I came here hating you. I still don’t know what to feel, but… I understand better now.”

“Understanding is enough,” Aries responds quietly. “I never expected forgiveness.”

Back in our cottage, exhaustion hits like a physical blow. Emotional vulnerability proves more draining than any physical trial we’ve faced.

“Do you think it made a difference?” I ask, watching Aries stare into the garden through our window.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “But I feel… lighter. Speaking the truth after carrying it alone for so long.”

“Less than a month left,” I murmur, our familiar count a comfort after the emotional intensity of the day.

“Yes,” he echoes, his eyes holding mine with new openness. “And then forever.”

The promise in those words wraps around me like a physical embrace. Whatever trials remain, we’ve faced perhaps the most difficult one today—standing before our opposition not as perfect heroes seeking redemption, but as flawed beings who’ve made impossible choices and seek healing together.