The pit had always had masters.
They simply preferred not to be seen.
Behind sealed doors above the arena, in a chamber without windows or heat, seven seats formed a circle around a suspended ring of light. Within the ring, images replayed—Aren under pressure, Aren conducting force, Aren refusing correction.
None of the seated figures clapped.
"Asset deviation exceeds tolerance," said one.
"Asset?" another replied. "That is no longer an asset. That is trajectory."
"Trajectory toward what?"
"Authority conflict."
Silence followed.
Kars Vell stood at the edge of the chamber, permitted to observe, not speak. Sweat gathered at the base of his neck despite the cold air.
"Why was the cleanser insufficient?" a voice asked him directly.
Kars answered carefully. "Because he measured the subject. He did not end him."
"Measurement is ending," another seat said. "If the system agrees."
"The system hesitated," Kars replied.
That caused a stir.
Systems did not hesitate.
"Then escalation is approved," the first voice concluded. "External claimant will be allowed to bid."
Kars looked up sharply. That had not happened in decades.
"January is still running," he warned.
"Yes," said the chamber. "That is why they are early."
The ring of light shifted—showing distant shapes moving toward the city like falling stars.
Ownership requests had begun.
And ownership meant removal from the pit—by force if required.
Kars Vell finally understood the danger.
If they took Aren now, the pit would lose its anomaly.
If they failed to take him, the pit might lose its authority.
For the first time, he found himself hoping the boy kept winning.