Chapter Seven: Inken Trials


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    The amphitheater curved against the rugged mountainside, a crescent of ancient stone defying gravity with its elegant, spiraling tiers. Each level rose like a deliberate challenge to nature itself, a testament to craft honed by ambition as raw and untamed as the air in the Ares District of Olympus University. The atmosphere thrummed with the memories of past clashes and the unspoken promise of battles yet to come, every breath thick with the metallic tang of anticipation.


    Towering trees framed the arena, their sprawling branches clawing at the sky like the gnarled fingers of slumbering giants. Sunlight fractured against them, spilling in jagged, restless patterns across the smooth stone, as if even the light hesitated—uncertain, cautious—before it dared to touch this place.


    Over a thousand students filled the seats, a restless tide of anticipation. The scrape of a shoe, the creak of stone, each sound punctuated the silence but quickly dissipated. A fragile stillness hung over them—poised, expectant. After a beat, uneasy murmurs began, voices joining in a growing hum, conversations awkward and incomplete.


    Jace''s pulse thrummed in his ears. Unease coiled in his chest, not sharp, but insistent—a strength rising within, uncertainty and determination twisting together. The tension around him fed that energy, his resolve swelling like a tide just before the break.


    At the amphitheater’s center stood Brutus, a hulking figure in armor dark as iron forged from some infernal depth. His chest was a siege engine barely contained, a strange device strapped across his back—its purpose unreadable. A single, glaring cyclopean eye marked his forehead, sweeping over the crowd with grim precision. Brutus exuded raw power—a storm on the edge of release. His smirk, slight but sharp, was the smirk of a predator who knew his prey had nowhere to run.


    The air shifted, that subtle, uncanny stillness when something forces its way into being. And then Dranice Thorne simply was. One moment he wasn’t there, and the next he stood beside Brutus, as if reality had shrugged and slipped him into place. His robes shimmered—deep purple, like starlight caught in velvet. Tall and willowy, his white beard flowed down in a cascade, framing a face carved sharp as weathered stone. He looked every bit the classic wizard, but his eyes held a ruthless glint. When he raised one long-fingered hand, the murmurs ceased—the crowd silenced like a candle snuffed by pinched fingers.


    Dranice let the silence stretch, his lips curving into a cat’s smile. “Welcome, aspiring legends,” he said, voice like silk over bladed steel. “Welcome to our most honored and vital tradition—the Winter Games.”


    He paused, his gaze raking over the students, lingering on those whose fear betrayed them, on the few whose defiance dared to flicker through. “I am the Master of Games. The Trials ahead are no stroll in the park. They are designed to test you, to break you—to see if you are stone or tin.” His gaze shifted, eyes narrowing, daring them to run or step forward.


    Jace’s heartbeat thundered against his ribs. The enormity of what lay ahead pressed down on him, but he remained still, that ember of defiance flickering—alive. A promise: he would not turn back, no matter what awaited.


    Dranice’s smile widened. He shot Brutus a sidelong glance, amusement flickering in his eyes. “This year’s Games will be unlike any before. The challenges will test you. And, of course, there will be surprises… surprises that will kill you if you’re not careful.”


    Brutus snorted, a sound like grinding stone, but Dranice ignored him and pressed on. “Any questions?”


    The amphitheater stayed silent. He hadn’t told them anything—of course there were questions. A slender hand rose beside Jace. Alice.


    “Miss Candor, yes?” Brutus’s gravelly voice softened at the edges.


    Alice spoke with confidence. “How do the Games work? What are the rules?”


    Jace’s gaze lingered on her, the shift in her so stark it almost took him by surprise. Where had the shy, uncertain girl gone, the one he''d met just months ago? In her place stood a woman, poised and self-assured, her strength as undeniable as the stone beneath his feet.


    But then again, he didn''t need to wonder. They had all changed, each of them ground down, polished like stones in a mill, shaped by forces they hadn’t seen coming. Life had a way of doing that, he supposed.


    Murmurs rippled through the crowd, curiosity awakening. Dranice clapped his hands sharply—the sound cracked like a whip, slicing the noise in two.


    “You enter the Tower with only what you have Soul Bound,” Brutus said, his tone firm and unyielding. “That includes your Shards, Traveler’s Handbook, User Interface Stone, and so on. No other weapons. No armor. The Tower will provide all you need inside. Additionally, there will be absolutely no divine assistance—no gods stepping in to save you or pull you out at the last minute. Once your name is enscribed on the Tower as an Entrant, you will lose all connection with your gods until the all contestants have exited the tower, or someone beats it. Which… has never been done. Inside the Tower, you will face things that no one can truly preapre you for. It will be the trust form of combat. If you have the wit to use your resources, good. But if you don’t… well, no one will mourn your failure. Failure is simply more material for the Wall of Lost Names.”


    Alice’s hand rose again, followed by the rest of her, swift and unhesitating.


    “Yes?” Dranice called on her, his voice laced with thinly veiled annoyance.


    “The Tower,” Alice began. “What else can you tell us about it? Did you…?”


    “Attempt the Climb?” Dranice finished for her, his lips curling into a faint, almost self-satisfied smile tinged with nostalgia. “Yes, I’m very proud to say I made it to the fourth floor before turning back. A very respectable floor, I might add.”


    “But my experience won’t help you. They call it the Wandering Spire for a reason. Some call it the Mazeheart. A few, the Tower of Eyes. Pick your poison, but the truth’s the same—it’s alive, it’s watching, and it’s more cunning than any of us. Always. No two Climbs are ever alike. Ten floors, or so we believe. No one has ever made it past nine, and not a single Traveler has breached the eighth floor.”


    He paused, his gaze sweeping the students. “Now, before you ask, Miss Candor, let me make this clear—these aren’t our rules. They’re the Tower’s. It decides who gets to pass, and it shapes the challenges however it damn well pleases. The rhyme, the reason—those are the Tower’s secrets, and it keeps them to itself. I can only tell you what the Tower has kept consistent, per reports. Recording crystals do not work in there, so there has only been verbal recountings.”


    Dranice’s voice dropped, becoming softer, almost reverent.


    “We know that there are ten floors, because the Tower shows each of us our progress through the Climb. We know that there is a time dilation, allowing months to pass in the tower in the span of hours. A Climb is no brief excursion. And we know that the tower refuses to accept anyone that has reached Gold Rank. Only those silver and below are permitted to enter, and you get one shot—no second tries. It lets you in once, and that’s it. For those who survive there are rewards—far beyond gold, far beyond mere trophies,” Dranice said, his voice carrying the weight of promise and peril. “Artifacts of untold power. Prestige among the elite. Prizes so rare, so incomprehensible, they could only come from forces beyond mortal understanding—the kind that can alter destinies.”


    He wove temptation into every word. “Some say the top holds the gift of True Immortality. Others whisper of answers to the Secret Questions of the Universe. The highest Floors, even for Travelers, bring status, fame, and glory.” His gaze darkened, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “But such rewards are as much a curse as they are a blessing.”


    The hum of the crowd swelled as students broke into hushed, private exchanges, their voices rising and falling in a discordant rhythm. The noise grew, a restless tide of murmurs—until Brutus cut through it with a bark sharp enough to cleave stone.


    “This is not a field trip,” he growled, his voice a low thunder, rumbling with the menace of an avalanche on the verge of breaking loose. “The Southeastern Stronghold sits on the doorstep of the embodiment of evil. And in case any of you geniuses haven''t noticed, that’s exactly where you’ll be in two days. So listen up!”Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    The silence deepened as the students exchanged glances. Brutus coughed and jerked his head toward the pouch hanging at Dranice’s side.


    With a sigh of exasperation, Dranice lifted a small golden orb from the pouch, holding it up for the students to see. The orb was wrapped in intricate gold filigree, swirling around the sphere in delicate patterns that caught the light, casting a soft, warm glow.


    “Each of you will have this soul-bound before you start the Trials. Use it, and it will teleport you out of the Trial or out of the Tower, immediately. We didn’t have these in my day. Takes some of the fun out of it, if you ask me. But, apparently, faculty has been going soft.”


    Brutus glared at him, halting his words. His gaze drifted over the crowd, cold and deliberate.


    "Now, for those of you not keen on throwing your lives away in the Games, this is your last chance to walk." Brutus’s voice was hard as stone.


    The tension grew, thick and stifling, until about forty students broke. They shuffled away, heads low, glancing back as if second-guessing. None of them turned around.


    "That''s it?" Brutus shook his head and looked more tired than Jace had ever seen him. "Fine. For the rest of you—let it be recorded." He reached into his pouch and flung a small scroll into the air. It snapped open, unfurling again and again until it hovered above him, its golden ink shimmering as the names of the remaining students etched themselves onto its surface.


    He cleared his throat; the sound of iron knuckle rapping against stone.


    "I said it once, and I''ll say it again—this is a bad idea." His voice cut through the quiet, daring anyone to argue. "Not just because of the respawn issues, though those are a bloody nightmare alone. It''s the location. It''s reckless. Dangerous. And yet, did anyone listen to me?"


    His glare pinned Dranice. For a heartbeat, just a sliver of time, the ever-composed figure faltered. A twitch in the jaw, a shift in posture. Brutus caught it and smirked.


    "But small blessings of the gods," he continued, voice dripping mockery. "The respawn issue has earned us one new rule for all entrants this year, across all of Mythica. One death—anytime between now and the Tower—and you’re immediately disqualified from the Games."


    The crowd erupted, murmurs swelling into a chaotic clamor. Near the back, Jace felt a chill crawl over his skin, sharp as frostbite. He couldn’t understand why anyone would complain about this—knowing what they did about the dangers of dying here, the risk of losing your mind. Who would willingly tempt fate like that? All for what? Fortune? Status? Items? Jace told himself that he probably wouldn’t have bothered with it at all if it weren’t for his brother.


    But he was kidding himself. If it was a chance to get ahead in this madness, of course he would have.


    Brutus’s eyes scanned the crowd.


    "Yeah, yeah, whine all you want, you ungrateful lot..." he growled, his voice cutting like a blade. "Since my objections were conveniently overruled, the Council has agreed to allow me some lenience in the Pre-Trial Selection Process." His eyes took on a feral glint. "Two days. You have two days before you’re transported to the Southeastern Stronghold of Roandia. Two days to prove you’re not a liability—to yourself or anyone else. And I get to decide exactly how to test you."


    He reached into his side pouch and pulled out a ball. This one wasn’t glowing, but opaque, a deep, dark green that looked like polished acrylic.


    "So, I’ve decided on a Pre-Trial—The Ink Stain." A few of the students'' eyes went wide, apparently knowing what he was talking about. Jace had never seen anything like it in Mythica, though it reminded him of the paint he played with once as a child in the orphanage. He recalled the way it felt in his fingers—smooth, thick, and warm. A memory he hadn’t even realized he’d held onto flickered to life, and a bitter, almost wistful smile tugged at his lips, fading as swiftly as it had come.


    "Me, versus all of you. If a single drop touches you, your name—gone from the enrollment. But if any of you manage to tag me, I’ll stop." He glanced down at the ball, eyes gleaming with a hidden thrill. "Lucky for me, I’ve prepared quite a batch for myself. Those who actually paid attention in my class, instead of running off to grind ranks, will know how to make it—which should be all of you."


    Unease rippled through the students, glances shifting nervously. Brutus folded his arms, grin widening as he placed it back in his pouch.


    "So enjoy the next two days. If you can."


    He turned, as if done, his posture relaxed. Then, without warning, he spun back, pulling out a small ball, this one glowing red—like a shard of a twisted sunset.


    "If I were you," Brutus snarled, dark glee in every word, "I’d start running."


    He pulled back and hurled the orb into the crowd. Chaos exploded. The orb burst, spraying molten red dye, sizzling and staining the courtyard. Jace dove, barely avoiding the splash—it hissed as it hit the ground, vivid red spreading wide.


    He heard yelps as two students beside him were marked, their names slashed from the list still hovering behind Brutus and Thorne, disqualified before they even had a chance to move.


    Jace stumbled forward, adrenalin surging through him, his legs moving on pure reflex. He used Soul Step to clear the area, yanking Alice along with him. Dex and the others had already leapt from the stands, a blur of motion. Marcus ducked behind another student, using their body as a shield from a burst of aether-infused green ink.


    "Come back here, you little beasts!" Brutus roared with laughter. He swung the device from his back—a grotesque hybrid of slingshot and cannon, bristling with orbs of every color.


    Brutus’s laughter rang out, deep and unrestrained. There was no true malice in it. Jace knew Brutus—beneath the rough exterior, the gruff demeanor, he was a softie. He’d go to any length to protect those under his charge. This was his way of keeping some of the students safe.


    With a swift motion, Brutus pulled another orb—a chilling shade of glacial blue—and hurled it into the sky. It exploded with a deafening crack, releasing a torrential cascade of ink, staining skin and stone in vivid colors. Each burst wove an illusion—crackling fire, arcing lightning—bending reality harmlessly with each explosion.


    Across the kaleidoscopic battlefield, small teams of students held their ground. Spells shimmered as they worked in sync, using aether to scoop up inky puddles and hurl them back at Brutus. He stood at the center, unbothered, a shimmering shield flaring around him, deflecting attacks with ease.


    “Gonna take more than that, you little welps,” he laughed, his voice thickening, an accent creeping in—something rough and guttural that Jace only heard when Brutus lost himself in the moment.


    Jace, now just out of range, glanced back and thought, He''s certainly enjoying this... maybe a little too much.


    Fake lightning tore across the sky, heatless fire roared like an unleashed beast, ink oozing into dark pools that mirrored the madness. Ell stood firm across the way, her hands raised, a shimmering shield deflecting thorny ink vines that screeched as they struck. Behind her, students huddled, wide-eyed. Dex flanked her, his aether glowing as he caught Jace’s gaze. A silent question.


    Jace answered with a sharp nod. We’re fine. Go.


    Dex grabbed Ell’s arm, leading the students toward safety. Ell hesitated, glancing back, but Jace held her gaze—her hesitation melted. They vanished into the chaos, her shield flickering like a ghost''s light.


    Brutus tossed a handful of orbs into the air. They hung suspended for a moment before darting off like predators sensing prey, each honing in on their target. Jace moved on pure instinct, Soul Stepping through the chaos again, pulling Alice with him. Orbs exploded around them, bursts of color and danger. Just as they thought they’d made it clear, they reappeared directly in the path of another attack.


    Without hesitation, Alice raised her Sapphire Shard. A brilliant surge of blue light erupted, blasting ink-streaked enemies away. She followed with a swift motion, conjuring a glimmering bubble around them—a barrier of radiant blue, pulsing with energy. Jace’s eyes widened. He hadn’t known the Shard could do that.


    The battlefield was a storm of color, lightning, fire, and ink—magic and madness swirling in every direction.


    A wild, raw laugh tore from Jace’s throat. There was something about the false danger, the thrill of pretending to fight for survival when he''d faced the real thing so often. To play—to pretend—he couldn’t quite explain it, but the tension, the tightness in his chest, drained away as he let the madness of it all wash over him.


    Alice laughed too, her voice bright and free, as they ducked behind a wall just as a burst of purple ink splattered across it. In the chaos, Alice stumbled into Jace, both of them tumbling into each other, laughing without care. The courtyard had transformed into a chaotic battlefield—students diving, rolling, and laughing as explosions of color burst all around them.


    In that moment, everything seemed to freeze. They looked at each other, smiles faltering just for a heartbeat. Her closeness, the smell of her hair, the warmth of her breath, all hit him like a wave, and suddenly, Jace couldn’t tell if his heart was racing from the near escape or from her.


    Alice’s gaze locked with his, a knowing glint in her eyes.


    “Ladies and gentlemen! Men and monsters, the Games have begun!” Brutus’s voice rang out, growing louder as he approached.


    After a long beat, Alice smiled. "We should probably get out of here."


    "Right. Yeah," Jace said, though his voice came out softer. He nodded, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer than he intended, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. His heart was still racing, not just from the rush coursing through him, but from the way her eyes searched his. “Let’s go.”


    They slipped away, untouched by ink but marked by the sheen of adrenaline, and the relentless drum of their hearts.


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    Jace walked Alice to the entrance of Athena District, his steps slowing as they reached the threshold.


    Brutus was nowhere to be seen, but his drones could be anywhere—they had to remain vigilant.


    Jace hesitated, his eyes drawn to her, etching the moment into memory: the way sunlight kissed her skin, casting a tender glow along the soft curve of her cheek; the way her eyes held a depth, like the still surface of a secret lake. Time seemed to stretch, holding them in a fragile, unspoken moment. And then, like a fleeting sigh, it was gone. With a quiet breath and the weight of reluctance in his stride, he turned and made his way back to the Fields Below.


    During his walk, he glanced at his notifications and saw the Games Roster was now accessible. Over eighty students had been eliminated already, their names crossed off. Yet Jace and his friends remained, bound tighter than ever by an unspoken connection—a quiet, unshakable thread that wove between them as the world around erupted in chaos and vivid, unrelenting color.


    Jace felt an inexplicable happiness, a lightness in his chest that made the world seem a little brighter. Still, there was a faint tug in the back of his mind, a sense that the moment had left something undone, something just within reach—if only he''d reached for it.