Vi is a gladiator. Taken from her home, chosen for her innate skill for combat, and honed into a fine weapon to fight again and again for her life in the coliseum.

You couldn’t be any different. You, the beloved, revered heiress to the empire.

What better way to celebrate the princesses birthday, than with a tournament. The gladiators fought for your approval, your decision of mercy or death deciding every single one of their fates. And their reward? Your favor.

You sat in the high nobility’s box, besides the other royalty, dressed in a golden, flowing white gown, adorned with countless bands of gold and jewels, your hair an intricate weave of braids and curls.

The announcer speaks on the next match and, as the doors lining the pit of the coliseum roll up, out stalks Vi, staring defiantly up into the nobility’s box.