Deadlock Chronicle

Promise me…
No matter what…
Keep looking up.

I shut my eyes, trying to bury her voice where it couldn’t reach me.

“It’s not too late, you know," Geneva whispered. “I know you’re awake.”

Of course she did. She always did.

“No one gets to do what you’re about to and sleeps at night,” she persisted, her voice slipping through the dark like it belonged there. Metal scraped softly as she dragged herself across her cage until she was closer to mine. Closer to me.

“Quite frankly,” she went on, lowering her voice even further, “as long as they keep this up, people like us will never know peace.”

The Ramos soldiers were always listening. Always waiting. Always… Long story short: one guardian killed their own and now the rest of us pay for it.

“But you only have yourself to blame,” she added with a shrug I couldn’t see but felt. “You weren’t here.”

She let that sit. The rule. Guardians who were gone when it happened? Banished. Guardians who stayed? Caged.

“You traded your freedom for this,” she hissed—bitter, sharp. Almost envious. Because I had a choice. At least, that’s what they all think. Who is she? Why does she care? Is she out of her mind?

No.

Ohana: family. No one gets left behind. No one gets forgotten.
Attiana: guardian. Twin. Orphan.

I came back for Lori. I knew she was here. I felt it before the letters ever came. Proof of her existence. Hope of mine. A thread I couldn’t ignore. Her last words still blazed the clearest:

Promise me… keep looking.

Like Geneva, she wanted me to stay away. To survive. Move forward. To move on.  But survival without her wasn’t living. It was waiting. So I came back. I came back for her. For me.  For us. For the ring. For us.

“You all want to be heroes,” Geneva muttered, retreating to her corner. Seven days beside her, and still, every night, the same lecture.

“You’re not even sure she’s here,” she called out, quieter now. “And you’re willing to go out there and fight for it.”

“She’s here,” I said. Certain.“I know it.”

 “You really are out of your mind.”

*

The next morning, they took me to the Grounds. You hear it before you see it. The noise. It builds slowly until it breaks into something alive. Like a storm. Hungry. The gates opened. Heat welcomed. Light received. Sound embraced. The crowd roared.

“Attiana Omega!”

My name tore through the arena, swallowed and reshaped by thousands of voices. I stepped forward anyway. Exhilaration and despair hung thick in the air, twisted together, impossible to separate. They wanted blood. They always did. And across the ring stood… Enzo. He was Goliath. In size and confidence. A suggestive glimmer in his eyes emerged like this was already over.

I’d watched him all week. Studied every movement, every habit. ‘Strength without patience. Power without precision,’ they said. He thrived on spectacle and fear.

Good, I thought to myself.

“Silence!” the captain barked, his voice cracking through the chaos. “Men and women of Subiya,” he continued, “welcome to the Grounds!”

The crowd surged again. I kept my eyes on Enzo. He rolled his shoulders, cracking his knuckles, feeding off the noise like fuel. This was less of a fight to him. It was a stage. A performance.

“My fight,” his posture said. “My victory.”

He was wrong.

“Gates!”

The command rang out. I stepped fully into the ring. For a moment, just a moment, I felt it. The weight of Lori, Geneva, the cages, the ghosts of the choice I made. Then I let it go, making room for promise, not doubt. Action, not thoughts. Living, not death. A figure slipped into the ring between us. He was the referee, late and breathless, tugging a cap low over his face.

“Welcome,” he called out, louder than necessary, drawing the crowd back in. “Welcome to the Knockouts!” The energy shifted. “For here…” he dragged the moment out, letting anticipation crawl, “…one lives—” The crowd leaned in. “—and one dies.”

A ripple of approval surged outward. Fists slammed. Voices rose. Enzo grinned wider. I remained still. No doubt. Not until it’s over, I told myself. And just then, the world narrowed to a breath, to heartbeat, to the space between us. Everything else faded.

Then—

The gong.

A single word cut through everything:

“Deadlock.”

And it began.