Chapitre 3: Cold
1217-08-03
Hungry
I'm so hungry.
It overwhelms me, consuming every inch of my body.
Cold.
The cold is relentless, though the thin insulation offers a shred of relief.
Hunger and cold. Together, they define Eleanor—a desolate wasteland, a palace of pain and suffering. The warmth is stolen from your body almost instantly, leaving behind nothing but a gnawing emptiness and a suffocating sense of helplessness.
Last night, Gold came to my cell. The night before, she'd been in the cell, snuggled up with her daughter, keeping each other warm. I couldn't sleep, though. My mind was restless. Thoughts looped endlessly, tightening like a noose.
I was worried about the fight to come. Fighting wasn't new to me—I'd fought countless times in Marano, trying to carve out a path, trying to become... something. Yet no matter how many battles I survived, fear still found me each time.
In my sleepless haze, I remembered a time when the girl who betrayed me and I walked Anitus. We'd shared laughter—or so I thought. Maybe I'd gotten too close. Maybe I should've left her to live in her delusions.
Delusions.
The cold makes you delusional. But even that is better than the unforgiving frost outside, where the blue weapons feel like shards of ice stabbing into your soul. Anything is better than Marano.
Gold shifted in her sleep, and her daughter began to whimper. The sound stirred her awake.
"Did Samantha wake you?" she asked, rubbing her eyes.
"No," I replied, managing a faint smile.
With Gold no longer shivering or huddled against the cold, I got a better look at her. Her hair was neat, like she'd put effort into keeping herself presentable. Her deep brown eyes sparked with life, so different from the hollow gazes I'd grown used to. Her skin, no longer pale from the chill, held a faint warmth. It made me smile. She looked like a mother bear, fiercely protecting her child.
Last night, I'd overheard her whispering to Samantha, promising her it would be okay. Her soft tears had turned into a tiny smile, as if she could will the world to be kinder—make Eleanor feel a little less cruel.
"Are you okay?" Gold's voice broke through my thoughts.
I blinked, realizing I hadn't heard her clearly. "What?"
She tilted her head, cradling Samantha closer. "Are you nervous?"
"Nervous? About the fight?" I scoffed, forcing a grin. "Of course not. I'm the strongest one here."
My joke made her laugh, though we both knew I was lying.
"What about you, Gold?"
She glanced down at Samantha, holding her close. "I'm nervous about her," she admitted, her voice soft. "But I'm confident we'll survive."
"I promise we'll both survive," I said firmly, meeting her polished silver eyes.
Her hair, I noticed, was beginning to gray at the roots—like the cold itself was seeping into her. Everyone here looked like that eventually, the frost biting its way into their very being.
"I promise too," she said with quiet determination. "There has to be a way to escape."
"You're right." I forced a smile, clinging to her hope.
Part of me believed it. Part of me didn't. If escape was possible, surely someone would've found it by now.
"Gold," I said, trying to keep the conversation alive. "Even they started calling me it."
"They called you Gold?" she asked, her tone surprised.
"They even called Samantha 'daughter of Gold.'"
She smiled faintly as Samantha let out a soft coo.
"I gave you a great nickname, then," I said with a laugh.
"Gold suits me better," she replied, a solemn edge to her voice. "What's your name?"
"You can call me..."
Whoosh.
The door swung open. A blast of cold air rushed into the cell, forcing Gold to wrap Samantha tightly in her blanket. But something strange caught my eye—Gold didn't shiver. The cold didn't seem to touch her.
"Follow me," commanded Less.
I nodded to Gold as I left, trying to reassure her with a glance.
The cold outside was oppressive, each pelting snowflake feeling like icy needles against my skin. Less walked in silence, his presence as unyielding as the storm itself. Maybe that's how he got his nickname—Less. Few words. Fewer emotions.
We trudged through the snow until we reached a hidden underground entrance. The cold became damp as we descended into the pit. At the end of the dim hallway, bars separated me from the arena beyond. Inside the holding area, weapons were displayed—crafted from the same chilling material that had cut me before. My hands trembled, though I wasn't sure if it was from fear or the bone-deep cold.
Here in Eleanor, nothing was certain. But one thing was clear: this wasn't a friendly spar. This was life or death.
"You don't block your face," the girl had once told me. "That's your problem."
I picked up a spear from the weapon rack. Less gave me the faintest smile, his version of approval.
"You really use a spear?" the girl's voice echoed in my mind.
"Of course," I'd replied. "I'm the best spear user here."
"Good luck, boy," Less said now, his smile widening slightly as he gestured me forward.
I stepped into the pit. The snow seemed to halt, the air thick with tension. The ground was a grim mix of red and silver, blood and frost woven together.
Across from me stood a man—strong, broad, his presence commanding. He wore a comfortable leather jacket, his frame solid beneath it. His hair was the same gray creeping over the others, and his green eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, the only brightness in this cage of death.
The silver bars behind me slammed shut. I glanced upward. Above the pit, the city had gathered, faces eager and alight with anticipation. To them, I wasn't a person. I was entertained.
The man reached for a spear at his side.
This wasn't just a fight. It was survival.
The man moved first, lunging with his spear like a seasoned warrior. His strikes were precise, no wasted energy, no hesitation. I barely managed to parry, the impact jolting up my arms. His strength was overwhelming, and I stumbled back, feet slipping against the frost-covered ground.
He didn't wait. Another strike. Another. I dodged left, then right, the spear slicing just past my ribs. I could feel its chill even without contact, as if the weapon itself carried the frost of Eleanor's wasteland.
Then it hit.
A glancing blow against my shoulder. Pain wasn't the first thing I felt—just cold. The spot where it struck turned a sickly blue-gray, the numbness spreading outward like a poison. My arm grew heavier, slower. I tighten my grip on the spear with my good hand.
The crowd above roared.
I pivoted, thrusting my spear toward his chest, but he caught it with a twist of his wrist. With a vicious yank, he tore the weapon from my grip, sending me sprawling backward. My leather shirt snagged on a jagged edge of ice, ripping free as I hit the ground. Now stripped to my clothes left only in shorts.
My spear felt heavier now, the numbness creeping through my arm like a second skin. But I forced myself to stand. Forced myself to move.
I charged, feinting left before driving my spear toward his unprotected side. It struck true, grazing his ribs. He growled, a feral sound, but it slowed him enough for me to find my footing again.
He collapsed to the ground.
I raised my spear, holding it above his head.
"That's enough!" the Leader shouted.
I won.
I had won.
My breaths came in short, ragged gasps as blood stained the snow beneath me. I glanced up at the top of the pit. The leaders and the onlookers were turning away, indifferent, like they weren't impressed. But Gold—Gold had a smile on her face, a small, warm smile that cut through the cold.
"What has this accomplished?" I yelled, desperate for some acknowledgment. "What does this prove?"
The mocking voice of one of the spectators called back, "The Vena is angry!"
Laughter erupted from the crowd, followed by more taunts.
"The Vena is mad!" someone shouted.
But then, others began to chant.
"Vene! Vene! Vene!"
The chant grew louder, rhythmic and wild. I gripped my spear, the weight of it dragging me down. I almost collapsed to the snow-covered ground.
And then, I did fall.
Gold was running down from the top of the pit, her eyes wide with fear. "Someone, help him!" she cried.
I could barely hear her over the ringing in my ears as hands pulled me to my feet.
"Be—"
I was slammed back down onto the cold, hard ground.
"Okay."
A warm blanket was thrown over me.
Gasp.
I woke up. The room around me is warm. The room could've been one of the many in the main building, the architecture so familiar I could almost believe this was just another part of the place I'd grown used to. Beside me is a small plate of meat that Gold had snuck in
I couldn't help it. I began to cry. Why?
Gold was sitting next to me, her own tears silent as she pulled me into a tight hug.
"I don't think you can do this two more times," she whispered.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone