Casey walked toward the edge of the stage. She didn't look back.

Callum Cabrera stepped out from the shadows. He was a wall of muscle, his face hard. He reached out and grabbed Kayson's shoulder, holding the sputtering idol back.

"Let me go!" Kayson yelled, trying to shake off Callum's grip. "She's crazy!"

"Shut up," Callum growled. His voice was deep, commanding. "We're live. Do you want to ruin your career?"

Kayson's chest heaved. He glared at Casey's back, but he stopped struggling.

From the side of the stage, Coralie appeared. She hurried over to Kayson, her face a picture of distress. She took his injured hand in hers, stroking it gently.

"Kayson, are you okay?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Kayson's expression softened instantly. "I'm fine. She's just insane."

Coralie looked up, her gaze landing on Casey. For a split second, pure malice flickered in her eyes. Then it was gone, replaced by saintly sorrow.

She walked toward Casey. Her steps were small, careful. She stopped a foot away and opened her arms, offering a hug.

"Sister," Coralie said, her voice carrying through the microphones. "No matter what happens, I hope you find true love here."

Casey stopped walking. She turned her head slowly. She looked at Coralie's outstretched arms, then at her tear-streaked face.

Casey didn't move. She didn't step back. She just stood there, staring at Coralie like she was looking at a corpse.

The silence stretched. The audience held its breath. Coralie's arms hung in the air, trembling slightly. Her eyes widened, tears spilling over.

The holographic screens, though Casey couldn't see them, flashed red with anger.

Casey tilted her head. "Move," she said. Two words, cold as the vacuum of space.

Coralie flinched like she'd been slapped. Her body shook.

Callum was there in an instant. He stepped in front of Coralie, shielding her completely. He glared at Casey, his eyes promising violence.

"That's enough," he snarled. "Back off."

Casey shrugged. She looked bored. She sidestepped the pair of them, giving them a wide berth.

She walked to the far edge of the stage, into the darkest corner. She sat down on a metal bench, closed her eyes, and waited.

Behind her, Coralie collapsed against Callum's chest, sobbing. Callum held her, his eyes burning holes in Casey's back.

In the control room, Director Quinn Vance stared at the monitor. The ratings graph was a vertical line going straight up. He slammed his hand on the desk, laughing.

The stage lights dimmed. A deep, resonant electronic chime echoed through the studio.

Director Quinn Vance jogged onto the stage, a microphone in his hand. His face was flushed with excitement.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted. "The twelfth season of 'Ancient Love' is about to begin!"

A massive hologram flickered to life above the stage. It showed Planet A13. Red dirt. Black forests. A wasteland.

Quinn cleared his throat. "The rules are simple. Survive on the planet for one month, and you split the grand prize!"

The contestants buzzed with excitement. They whispered to each other, forming alliances.

In the dark corner, Casey's eyes snapped open. One month. That wasn't enough. She needed a year.

She stood up. She walked toward the center of the stage, her stride purposeful. The crowd parted for her, sensing the danger radiating from her.

She reached Quinn and grabbed the microphone right out of his hand.

Quinn gaped at her, reaching for it back. "Hey!"

Casey sidestepped him easily. She brought the mic to her lips.

"Director, a one-month challenge is boring. I want to invoke Clause 7.4 of my contract," she said. Her voice was clear, cutting through the noise of the crowd. "I'll survive for a year, and the planet becomes mine."

Silence. Then, laughter. It started as a chuckle and grew into a roar. The audience pointed at her, tears streaming down their faces.

The holographic comments reappeared for a split second on the main screen, just so she could see the mockery. She's insane. Gold digger wants to die.

Coralie covered her mouth, her eyes wide with fake shock, but her shoulders shook with hidden glee.

Quinn's face turned red. "Give that back!" he hissed. "You're disrupting the show!" He shoved her shoulder. "Get off the stage, or you're disqualified!"

Casey didn't move. The shove didn't budge her. She stared Quinn down.

"I want to invoke Clause 7.4," she repeated.

Security guards started moving toward her.

Then, a sound broke the tension. Slow, deliberate clapping.

Everyone looked up. In the VIP box on the second floor, a man lounged in a velvet seat. Giles Henson. The Second Prince. He was handsome, with a lazy, dangerous smile.

He pressed a button on his armrest. His voice boomed through the speakers. "I find this... entertaining. Director, grant her request."

Quinn started sweating. He wiped his forehead. He knew better than to argue with royalty.

He sighed into his backup mic. "The challenge... is approved."

The crowd erupted. They stared at Casey like she was already dead.

Casey shoved the microphone back into Quinn's chest. She looked up at the VIP box. Her eyes met Giles's. She didn't thank him. She just looked at him like he was a variable in an equation.

Casey walked off the stage. She headed straight for the resource distribution area in the back.

A staff member stood behind a counter. He looked at her with open disgust. He slapped a holographic tablet down on the counter.

"Sign this," he sneered. "Death waiver. Hurry up."

Casey didn't react to his tone. She scanned the document. It was a standard release form. If she died, it wasn't the show's fault. She picked up the stylus and signed. The tablet beeped.

"Done," she said.

The staff member rolled his eyes. "Now pick your gear."

Across the room, Coralie was surrounded by her men. She giggled as she selected a sturdy, wind-proof cabin. She grabbed a stack of high-grade nutrient packs and a thermal sleeping bag.

Elena Tran, the leopard beastman, chose a dry cave and a steel crossbow.

One by one, the contestants took the best items. By the time it was Casey's turn, the table was empty.

Except for one thing. A single-person tent, dumped in the corner. It was covered in dust. One of the main poles was snapped. The fabric was torn in three places.

Next to it sat a single bottle of cheap water. 500 milliliters.

"This is what's left. Take it or leave it," the staff member said, his voice dripping with malice. "Looks like this is all the system thinks you deserve. Better luck next time."

The live chat was having a field day. They predicted she would cry. They predicted she would beg.

Casey's face was blank. She walked over and picked up the torn tent. She didn't look at the staff member. She shoved the bundle into her tactical backpack.

She picked up the water bottle. She unscrewed the cap and took a small sip. Just enough to wet her throat. She screwed the cap back on.

She turned and walked toward the transport pods. The staff member stared after her, looking disappointed.

"Contestants, enter your pods," a robotic voice announced.

Casey stepped into the narrow pod. The heavy metal door slid shut, sealing out the noise.

The pod lurched. A crushing weight pressed down on her chest. The G-forces made her vision blur. She gripped the metal handrail, her knuckles white, regulating her breathing.

Minutes later, the shaking stopped. A hiss of pressurized air. The door slid open.

A wave of hot, dry air hit her face. It smelled like rust and dead things.

Casey stepped out. Her boots crunched on the red dirt of Planet A13.