Chapter Text
“I wonder what the prince is like,” Sonic murmured, his voice quiet, more a thought slipping out than a question meant for anyone else.
Amy heard him anyway. She twirled her spear in her hands before striking a hay dummy with a quick jab. The wood of the shaft thrummed under her palms as she spun, hopped lightly on her feet, and drove the spear forward again with a satisfying thunk.
“Does it matter what he’s like?” she asked, breath a little uneven from the exertion. She twisted, planted her heel, and launched into another quick combo.
“We just gotta—” She swung once, twice, then, with a final grunt, drove the spear so deep the sack rocked back on its stand. “—kill him.”
Sonic let out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “Didn’t know you had it in ya.”
Amy smirked and swiped the sweat from her temple with the back of her arm, her other hand balancing the spear as she leaned it against the rack. “Why? Because I’m a girl?” she teased, though there was a faint edge in her tone.
“No,” Sonic shot back, genuinely offended. “Because you’re Amy.” His deadpan made her snort.
“Sure.” She shrugged it off and eyed Sonic’s training dummy, which hadn’t been touched. “Shouldn’t you be practicing with those?”
“Oh, this?” Sonic glanced down at the sword he’d been holding limp in one hand. “Feels wrong. Weighs me down. Sluggish, heavy. I’m not built for this.”
He’d always favored his dagger, the one hidden in his quills, quick and reliable. But this wasn’t about dealing with drunk patrons or sleazy Roman officials anymore. In the arena, speed alone wouldn’t be enough, and a dagger wouldn’t save him.
Amy plucked the sword out of his hand, weighing it herself before walking toward the weapon rack. “Honestly? Yeah. It looks way too big on you.”
Sonic leaned against his dummy, his head lolling to one side. “You think?”
“Mmhm.” She didn’t look back, scanning through the racks before selecting something else.
A moment later, she returned, holding out a short sword, the blade shorter and narrower than the one before, gleaming in the afternoon sun, along with several small throwing knives.
“These are perfect,” she said.
Sonic’s grin lit up his face as he wrapped his hand around the hilt and gave it a few test swings. “Ooh, this feels good to hold.”
Amy nodded in approval before turning and flicking one of the knives across the field. It whistled through the air and buried itself dead-center in the dummy’s chest.
“And these, for backup,” she said, gesturing toward the knives still in his hand. “Long range, light, deadly.”
Sonic rolled one between his fingers, testing its balance, before attempting to copy her throw. The knife spun lazily through the air before smacking against the dummy with a sad little clack and falling to the ground.
“Man.” He groaned.
Amy laughed, covering her mouth. “Yeah, you definitely need work on those.”
Sonic pouted but crouched to retrieve the knife, trying again with slightly better form.
“Come on,” Amy urged, picking up her spear again. “Start with the sword first. Build your arms up, then we’ll work on your aim.”
It had been a week since Sonic had first met Amy. His back had mostly healed, the scabs peeling away until all that was left were faint scars beneath his fur. He was finally cleared to train properly, and every day since had been a grueling routine of strength, speed, and agility drills.
But when it came to weapons—real combat, real fighting—Sonic still lagged behind.
Amy’s spear sliced through the air with a whistle, striking the dummy’s center and sending it toppling to the ground with a heavy thump. Sonic winced.
Way, way behind.
He glanced down at the short sword in his grip, the blade catching the sun like it was taunting him. He flipped it once in his hand, then again, trying to get used to its weight. His stance was a little awkward, knees bent too much, arms too stiff.
He thrust forward, aiming straight for the dummy’s chest.
The sword barely sank an inch.
“Seriously?” Sonic growled under his breath, shoving the blade forward again. It went in another inch, but no further.
With a frustrated grunt, he yanked the sword free and shook the hay loose from the tip.
“Use your core,” Amy called over without even looking up from her own practice.
“My what?”
“Your core. Tighten your stomach,” she said, demonstrating with her spear still in hand. Her feet planted wide, her whole body coiling before she lunged, driving the spear forward in one smooth, powerful motion. “Your arms aren’t strong enough on their own. Plant your legs, push from your hips. Use those thighs.”
Sonic squinted at her stance, committing it to memory. “I got it.”
He stepped back to the dummy, setting his feet apart the way Amy had. His grip tightened. He took a breath, tightening his stomach just like she said, then lunged.
This time the blade sank in deep, tearing through straw until the tip broke through the back of the dummy.
“Ha!” Sonic’s grin lit up his whole face as he yanked the sword back out, hay spilling to the ground. “Did you see that?”
Amy stopped mid-swing and glanced over, one brow raised. A faint smirk tugged at her lips. “Not bad. Told you—it’s all in the legs.”
“Guess these aren’t just for running.” Sonic tapped his thigh proudly before swinging the sword again, this time with more confidence. The next strike landed true, embedding halfway through with one clean thrust.
“Better,” Amy said, nodding approvingly before returning to her own dummy.
Sonic tried again and again, each strike a little smoother, a little stronger. The air around him filled with the steady thunk of blade meeting straw. His arms burned, sweat collecting on his brow, but for the first time, it felt like progress.
“Good job,” Amy finally set her spear down and turned to watch Sonic, brushing a bit of hay off her fur. “Now try your swings.”
Sonic nodded, wiped his forehead with the back of his arm, and stepped back into position. His grip tightened as he swung the sword in a wide arc, but instead of slicing clean through, the blade bit halfway into the dummy and got stuck.
He groaned, yanked it out, and shot Amy a look.
“Swings are meant to slice,” Amy said, grabbing her spear.
One quick slash—hay spilled everywhere.
“Swift. Fast.”
She glanced at Sonic. “What you did? That’s a finisher.”
Another slash, higher this time.
“You save those for the kill.”
She tapped the edge of the spear against the dummy’s leg.
“Swings first. Weaken them. Disable them.”
She lowered herself to sit on the grass, leaning back on her palms and watching him closely.
Sonic nodded, committing it to memory. “Okay, I think I get it.”
He reset his stance, tightened his core like she’d shown him earlier, and this time focused on a smooth motion rather than brute force. The sword sliced cleanly through the dummy, severing it in a single, fluid motion.
“Whoa.” Sonic grinned, exhilarated.
“See?” Amy’s lips curled into a small, proud smile.
Sonic tried again, this time adding variation, from left to right, high to low, then spinning lightly on his heel to strike from behind. Some of the swings were still a little clumsy, but each one was quicker, cleaner.
“You’re a fast learner,” Amy called out, giving him a thumbs-up. “Keep going. When you’re ready, we’ll spar.”
Sonic looked up, ears perking. “Spar? With you?”
“Why not? You’re catching up fast.”
Sonic’s smirk returned, cocky and playful. “I’m always fast.”
He went back to the dummy, striking with growing confidence, sometimes following a slice with a thrust, sometimes spinning into a cut that mimicked Amy’s technique. The pink hedgehog found herself pausing to watch, genuinely impressed.
His movements weren’t perfect, but they were fluid, almost elegant, with every strike fueled by his natural athleticism.
Finally, Sonic delivered one last strike that tore the dummy apart, hay flying into the air like snow. He dropped the sword to the ground with a victorious sigh, chest heaving.
Amy clapped her hands together with a grin. “Great. Let’s spar.”
Sonic’s ears flicked back. “Wait, right now? But I just learned this!”
“Buh buh buh—” Amy was already on her feet, dusting her hands off. “And you’re Sonic,” she said simply, as if that explained everything.
Sonic frowned, following her toward the clear patch of the training ground. “What does that even mean?”
Amy just gestured toward the sword he’d left on the ground. “Pick it up.”
Sonic groaned but obeyed, muttering under his breath. “You’re just like Knuckles, you know that?”
“Let me guess, no countdown? No rules on the battleground?” Sonic braced himself, remembering his training with Knuckles.
Amy grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment, but no, you get the first strike.”
“Really?”
“Really. Come on.”
Sonic didn’t hesitate. He lunged forward, sword flashing in the sun, but Amy spun her spear in one smooth motion, blocking him with the shaft and forcing him to retreat.
He tried again, faster this time, but her spear was always there, redirecting, deflecting, never letting him close the distance. Amy barely even moved her feet, her stance solid and infuriatingly calm.
Then, she finally shifted, spinning the spear and thrusting it forward until the point hovered just at Sonic’s throat.
His breath caught, the metallic tip gleaming far too close.
“What’s your next move?” Amy’s voice was calm but sharp, a teacher’s challenge hidden in her tone.
Sonic swallowed, his mind scrambling. “I—I can’t even get near you!”
Amy didn’t lower the spear. Instead, she tilted it closer, just enough that he could feel the point against the fur of his neck.
“Then think,” she said. “Why a short sword?”
Okay, short sword, light, swift. Doesn’t cover distance, no, obviously not. The micropenis of the weapon world! Doesn’t matter. What? Think!
Her next words were almost a whisper, like she was giving him the last piece of the puzzle.
“You’re Sonic.”
And then it clicked.
Sonic moved before she even finished the word. In one burst, he knocked the spear aside with his blade, closing the distance in a single blur. Amy met him with a parry, pulling the spear back, but Sonic was already moving again, dashing past her and striking from the opposite side.
Amy pivoted smoothly, her spear no longer wide and sweeping but tight to her body, ready to meet him.
Sonic grinned. “You’re fast,” he said through his teeth, lunging again.
“And you’re finally using your head,” Amy shot back, blocking once more.
The clash rang sharp in the training yard, sword and spear colliding again and again, Sonic attacking from new angles each time until at last he feinted to the right and darted left, striking from behind.
Amy spun, the wooden shaft of her spear colliding with his sword in a heavy crack that sent a thrill through both of them.
“Good,” Amy said, panting slightly now, her grin matching his.
Sonic didn’t give her time to reset. He darted forward again, the sword flashing in the sun, each strike coming faster, sharper, fueled by the thrill of keeping up.
Amy blocked, parried, twisted, her spear moving like an extension of her arm, but now she had to adjust, stepping back to match Sonic’s rhythm.
Their feet kicked up dirt as they moved in a tight circle, steel scraping wood, the crack of every clash echoing across the training ground.
Sonic feinted low, then lunged high, aiming for her shoulder. Amy swept his blade aside, but the force sent her stumbling a step back, her heels digging into the packed earth.
That was all Sonic needed.
He spun, letting his momentum carry him, and came at her from the side. His blade stopped just short of her ribs, the tip hovering in the air, his grin feral.
Amy blinked, then let out a laugh, not mocking, but delighted. “You actually tagged me.”
Sonic stepped back, breathing hard, sword still raised. “Guess I did.”
Amy lowered her spear, planting it into the ground. “Alright, that’s enough for today.”
“What? But I was just getting good!” Sonic protested, though he was grinning too, chest heaving with the effort.
“Exactly,” Amy said, still smiling. “Better to end while you’re ahead.”
Sonic huffed, twirling the sword once before dropping it to his side. “Fine. But next time, I’m winning.”
Amy’s smirk turned challenging. “We’ll see about that.”
“I knew it!” Sonic pointed at her with his sword, grinning despite himself. “You were holding back, weren’t you?!”
Amy only tilted her head, smiling with that same maddening calm. “Mm, no. Not really.”
She was. Sonic could tell.
“I’ll make you get serious one day,” Sonic said, puffing his chest out, arms crossed like a kid daring the world. “I swear.”
Amy laughed, the sound light and unbothered. She nudged him with her elbow, then pointed toward the training grounds below.
“Look,” she said.
Sonic followed her finger, lowering his sword. Down in the dusty pit, Knuckles was already in the middle of a spar with another pankration champion, their bodies circling like predators. Knuckles moved with sharp, efficient precision, every muscle flexing under his fur as he blocked a strike, twisted, and sent his opponent sprawling into the dirt.
Sonic dropped down beside Amy, resting his chin on his knees, eyes glued to the match. The thuds of impact, the crunch of dirt under their feet, it was like watching a storm in motion.
“Damn,” Sonic muttered under his breath, both impressed and a little envious. “Remind me never to piss him off again.”
Amy snorted. “Too late for that.”
Knuckles pinned his opponent in one clean move, the crowd around the pit cheering. The echidna barely acknowledged them, stepping back and offering his opponent a hand to stand. Sonic caught himself grinning, it was brutal, sure, but there was something reassuring about watching someone so strong have your back.
He glanced at Amy. “Think he’d go easy on me if we sparred?”
Amy looked at him like he’d just grown a second head. “Absolutely not.”
Sonic groaned, flopping dramatically onto the ground. “Great. Guess I’ll die trying.”
Amy laughed, shaking her head, then offered him a hand up. “Come on, hero. Training’s over.”
Sonic took her hand with a grin, brushing dirt from his fur, but the sound of shouting broke through the training grounds. Heavy steps pounded against the packed earth.
They froze, exchanging a look, then instinctively followed the noise.
Just beyond the stretch of the field, past the line of tents, an athlete from Corinth crouched behind a tree, his chest heaving, eyes wild. He was so close to the tree line, to freedom. So close that Sonic almost thought he might make it.
But the soldiers were faster.
Within seconds, a half-circle of spears and bows surrounded him, the glint of iron catching the light. The forest beyond looked impossibly far now, a cruel mirage of escape.
“Stop right there, or we shoot!” one soldier barked, another already kneeling, bowstring taut.
Sonic felt his whole body go rigid, Amy’s gasp cutting through the air like glass. Her hand flew to her mouth, trembling.
Please, Sonic thought. Please just turn yourself in. Take the punishment. Anything is better than this.
Better than death.
He scanned the crowd desperately, searching for Rouge’s black and red uniform. If anyone could stop this, it would be her.
Nothing.
Only a few low-ranking soldiers, grim-faced, all ready to follow orders.
“Wait!” Sonic shouted, voice cracking. “Shouldn’t Captain Rouge decide that?”
The soldier closest to him glanced down with a cold, flat expression. “The emperor’s orders are clear. Anyone who attempts escape—”
The athlete made a break for it.
One heartbeat.
Two.
The arrow flew.
It cut the air with a whistle before lodging deep in the man’s back, punching clean through. He fell hard, the sound wet and final, blood blooming beneath him like spilled ink.
“—will be killed on sight.”
Sonic snapped his head away, bile rising in his throat. His hands shook as Amy clutched his shoulder, her entire body shivering. He put an arm around her back, steadying her before she collapsed.
“And you’d better run along,” the soldier added coldly, “before you get yourself flogged again. Captain Rouge isn’t here to protect you.”
Something in Sonic’s chest snapped.
He almost moved, almost lunged for the sword at his hip, almost made the worst mistake of his life.
But he didn’t.
His jaw clenched, his breath hot and shallow as he forced himself to step back. “Right,” he muttered, venom under his breath.
He gently pulled Amy with him, his arm firm around her shoulders. “Come on,” he whispered, soft, almost soothing.
As they turned back toward camp, Sonic’s quills bristled.
No more running.
No more hiding.
He swore then and there that he’d never back down again—not from the Romans, not from the prince, not from anyone.
✦ ✦ ✦
“I wonder what the prince is like.” Sonic repeated the question he’d asked Amy earlier, though this time his voice was grim, almost bitter.
Amy paused, her hand resting on her stomach, then looked back down at the untouched food in front of her. “Exactly like those soldiers,” she whispered, her stomach twisting at the memory. “Probably crueler.” She gagged, covering her mouth as if the thought alone could make her sick.
Sonic sighed through his nose, pushing his plate away, and turned to Knuckles. “You okay, big guy?”
Knuckles’ eyes were shut, arms folded neatly, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled through gritted teeth. “I’m not.”
“I get it,” Sonic said softly, staring down at his own reflection in the watered wine.
Silence stretched over the table. The dining hall was full of voices, clinking cutlery, the smell of smoke and boiled grains, yet their little corner felt heavy and hollow.
Sonic’s thoughts wouldn’t let him rest. The games loomed over him like a storm cloud. The prince, whoever he was, had agreed to this bloodbath, knowing full well that forty skilled fighters, some of them champions like Knuckles and Amy, would come for him. That meant either he was untouchable… or a monster.
“We can kill him.” Knuckles’ voice broke the silence, steady but simmering with rage.
Amy nodded, still pale. “We have to.”
But Sonic hesitated, a sour taste rising in his mouth.
“Yeah. We gotta,” he said at last, but his tone betrayed him.
Knuckles’ sharp eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong, hedgehog? Where’s that rebellious fire of yours?”
The words landed hard, like a fist in his gut. Sonic’s hands balled into fists.
“I just—” he swallowed hard, unable to meet their eyes. “I have a bad feeling. About the prince.”
Amy’s voice was flat, detached. “Then pray it’s wrong. In the arena, if you hesitate, you die. That’s it.”
I know that. Sonic’s chest tightened. The hall felt too hot, the air thick and sour.
The weight of his friends’ stares made it worse—worried, yes, but behind that worry lurked the tiniest glint of doubt.
“I—I can’t.” His chair scraped back with a harsh sound. His hands slammed onto the table, rattling bowls and plates. “I’ll be back.”
He left in a blur, ignoring Amy’s hand reaching after him and ignoring Knuckles’ quiet sigh.
Outside, the air cut like a blade, crisp and merciless. It grounded him, just barely.
Somewhere deeper in camp, laughter drifted through the night, warm and bright, and Sonic’s ears twitched toward the sound. Curious, he followed it, until the firelight glowed ahead, a circle of athletes sitting around a crackling bonfire, shadows dancing across their faces.
A young bunny was speaking, voice clear, every word commanding attention. Sonic recognized her—the same girl whose face bore Infinite’s claw marks. She didn’t flinch under the firelight.
Sonic found an empty spot and sat, folding his legs. The warmth of the flames licked his fur, chasing away the chill.
“…and so the god wept,” the bunny was saying, her voice soft but rich, as if weaving a spell. “His wife’s life had been drained by their son’s birth. But when he looked at the child, he saw power that could rival Zeus himself…power that made the sacrifice worth it.”
The athletes murmured, leaning closer.
The bunny continued, her hands moving as though painting the story in the air. She spoke of the god who became greedy, demanding more and more from the mortals who worshipped him. The god’s son grew under that shadow, his power honed, until even the heavens began to fear what he might become.
“But then,” the bunny’s voice dropped to a hush, “a phoenix rose from the ashes of the suffering. The bird gathered the mortals, led them into battle. The son saw the phoenix fight…and fell in love with his enemy.”
Sonic’s ears twitched. The fire popped, sparks spiraling up into the star-strewn sky.
“They met in secret,” the bunny went on, her tone wistful now. “The god’s son healed the phoenix’s wounds, kept him alive even as the war raged on. He disguised himself as a mortal to stay by his side. But love like that…” she trailed off, smiling sadly, “love like that cannot last.”
“But what happened next?” a turtle in the group demanded, leaning forward eagerly.
The bunny only smirked, a knowing glint in her eyes. “The ending isn’t for tonight. Perhaps next time.”
Groans and protests rippled through the crowd, but then a soldier’s voice cut through the warmth like a blade.
“Curfew! Back to your tents.”
The group dispersed reluctantly, muttering under their breath. Sonic stood last, glancing at the flames one last time before turning away. The story hadn’t comforted him, if anything, it left a pit in his stomach, as if the gods themselves had whispered a warning in his ear.
He returned to Athens' shared tent quietly, his earlier anger drained away. The night was restless as ever. When sleep finally came, it was cruel and shallow, full of old hands, unwanted touches, and the muffled sound of his own breath hitching as he tried not to scream.
As Sonic disappeared into the shared tent, the night seemed to settle. The campfire’s glow dimmed behind him, leaving only the stars to watch.
But not all eyes were distant.
From the shadow of a supply cart, a figure remained perfectly still, the only sign of life was the faint ripple of a black cloak in the cold wind.
Shadow.
His crimson gaze stayed locked on the tent flap Sonic had just slipped through, unblinking. He had been there for a while now, long enough to hear most of the story; the god, the phoenix, the hidden love doomed to burn out. The firelight had played tricks on the edges of his vision, painting illusions across the dirt, but he hadn’t moved.
When the last spark from the fire hissed into the ash, he finally let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.
His hands tightened behind his back, leather gloves creaking.
Hesitation gets you killed. His father’s voice cut through the silence, cold and absolute. The words had been drilled into him since childhood, yet tonight they rang hollow.
He turned his head, glancing toward the camp. Laughter had died down, replaced by the occasional crack of wood from the dying fire. Somewhere in the distance, a soldier shouted at someone for staying up too late.
He could leave. He should leave.
But his boots stayed rooted in the dirt.
Every instinct told him to keep his distance, to keep the hedgehog no closer than a blade’s length. Every instinct said that compassion was weakness, that mercy, once given, could never be taken back.
And yet, when he closed his eyes, all he saw was Sonic’s expression from earlier that night: defiant, scared, exhausted. The fire had lit his fur gold, his green eyes bright against the shadows.
Shadow’s jaw tightened, the weight of that image pressing like a stone on his chest.
The horse at his side pawed at the ground, snorting softly as if impatient. Shadow’s hand absently moved to the reins, but he didn’t mount yet.
Instead, he stayed, a sentry carved from shadow, watching the camp until the last of the voices faded and the night returned to its stillness.
For one fragile, dangerous moment, he let himself imagine what it might be like if the phoenix’s story ended differently.
If the phoenix lived.
He crushed the thought before it could bloom into anything real.
With a sharp pull, he mounted his horse. This time he didn’t hesitate. The reins snapped taut, and the black steed carried him away from the camp, vanishing into the darkness as if he had never been there at all.