Fighting in arena battles for the "Aboves" reining champion Gladia Stone and other "Belows" slaughter each other using the powers their ancestors attained centuries ago. Gladia's power being that of stone. While enacted, it grants her the ability to protect herself from harm in any way, she becomes like a solid, indestructible, moving, stone. Pain can reach her in no way, seeing as the stone latches itself to every vulnerability. Including, the poor girl's heart.

The Aboves leer down at me, the chain dome doing nothing to block their gleefully rapture at the gory scene splayed before them. Two men in armor drag away the remnants of my last opponent. She looked similar to what you may expect a dragon to appear as, if it were to choose the unfortunate form of the reched beast cresened human. More populous than us dwindling humanoid creatures, they deemed themselves above us, stepping on those below to get where they want.

For centuries we have had the upper hand but did not strike, as we very well could have done. But the Aboves lash out in volatile attacks, leaving us at the mercy of those we once treated justly. They force us to demolish our own, rather than our oppressors, our true opponents. They hand us substitutes, as if they believe us animals in need of a target, a target that usually holds a shared memory from a time when we had such luxuries as a reason to smile.

My newest is just that, in our childhoods, everyone believed us to be advancing along the road of love hand in hand. Though we laughed at the time, I would give anything for their convictions to be correct. For standing before me is the little fire boy, the man I once loved in a young girl's fantasy: Adrian Rupert. It would have been the first union between our two Houses, though anyone would have sworn differently, for it was otherwise unheard of; for two distinctly differentiating Houses to be so tightly intertwined, there must have been an arrangement present in which ties could not be severed in a fashion socially acceptable.

And yet, it always seemed so fantastic that it couldn't possibly be more than an illusion. The Ancient House Of Rupert, Flames And Heat To Guide Our Hearts, couldn't possibly be friendly with The Ancient House Of Stone, Hardened Hearts To Defend, Come Whatever May. And yet, there we were, foolish and young and believing in love.

Something in his eyes tells me the same monologue must be swirling through his head, hidden from the bloodthirsty crowd by hair that may have sufficed. I suppose the only difference between each predicament, is weight with which his shoulders sag. The kind only a whirlwind of emotions can hold, whilst all emotional turmoil has been halted within myself for years, kept at bay by the stone that is my heart.

"Gladia." Adrian's voice creaks with relief and pain, like wood beneath a load too great for it to bare. When his waiting for my response becomes an obviously vain effort, his feet carry him forward, equally both hesitant and confident. "Gladia." He breathes, elation evident in his voice, though his exhausted features display a clear image of confusion when I make no move to reciprocate his emotions. "You remember me don't you Gladia?"

"Yes," the stone shaping my throat and mouth grinds in response. "But repeating my name would make no difference in that Adrian." A grin splits his features just as a sunrise slices a dull horizon, though it fades when the Aboves' cries for his death accompany my still blank figure. Tentatively, he raises a scorched hand to my face, stained fingertips brushing against my rough cheek. With little hesitation, my solid fist slams into his chest, throwing him back like a rag doll.

My family was known for being ruthless, like a lion or shark, prowling, always in search of a meal, whether it was truly necessary or simply to kill, quenching our cold desire for the loss of life. We are not merciful, for anyone. Adrian's lips move, but his pleads are dominated by the crowd's elated cheering. Slowly, as if crawling from a smooth pit, he stands to face me as I, a remorseless predator, advance.

And then, so fast it was as if he were teleporting, he's standing before me, one hand on my cheek, his lips on mine. Only when he pulls away do I notice a change. My chest aches, right where my heart should be. One by one, every place I have been struck by an opponent since my first day in the arena, explodes with a burning pain. My vision swims with each shock wave pulsing through me, causing my head to pound. Whether due to some previous injury that should have been, or the spinning in my mind, I feel my knees give out like snapping twigs. Adrian catches me, arms wrapped around my waist and back to keep me upright.

Catching the most fleeing of glimpses, I manage to comprehend the skin on my hand, a smooth, creamy tan, the callous stone is gone. I can once again feel. The pain is very nearly unbearable, but it seems to be good pain, if there is such a thing. Comparable to a slap across the face to rouse one from a nightmare.

And, while the soldiers storming through the gates may very well be my end, I am glad for a small number of things. For if I shall be destroyed today, it will be as myself in the full, and with Adrian. Could I ask for much more in my death?