Octavian stood at the top of the colosseum, staring in the direction the arrow had streaked towards before disappearing.
His fingers twitched at his side, eager to reach for anything that came.
Seconds, turned into a minute. A minute turned to even more minutes.
But nothing happened.
The king's soul never came.
His fingers curled into fists. If the king had truly died, his soul should have drifted toward him. But it hadn't.
He frowned. Had he failed? Had the arrow missed? That should be impossible. The king wasn't strong enough to have stopped One Shot.
This meant that one of two things had happened. Either the king survived the attack, or someone else had intervened.
The crowd in the colosseum started cheering again, and he walked to the edge to peer down at them. The fights had resumed but the king was not yet back.
