ã€ŠBook One - Whispers in the Snowã€‹


 0. Vaelorn

    Cold winds blew in the empty, barren land. Not a tree nor plant could be seen underneath the sky with color that matched rusting steel. Hills and mountains of brown dirt and stone were the only geological objects worth noting. However, in this age of desolation, there lived a single species. Humanoid individuals known as Vaelorns.

    However, these were not organisms. They felt no hunger. They had no sleep. They could not reproduce. They could not die.

    To their knowledge, they had just always existed. They only had their speech and their names. Such a boring, meaningless life this was. They could feel no pleasure, pursue no dreams, nor could they wish such a thing. Some wished for an end to this meaningless existence, but the Vaelorn weren''t even capable of this. They simply wandered these empty lands, for what else was one to do.

    Among this species, one was distinguishable from the others. One whose spirit was not sunken. One who was viewed as delusional. This Vaelorn went by the name of Lyrion. Lyrion believed is something strange. A higher power, one that had given him a purpose. Whether there was any truth to his words, or was it just pure madness? No one that observed him could deduce the answer. But once in a while, he could be seen climbing the tallest mountain. A pilgrimage he bestowed upon himself. In a world that was fully explored, only one thing remained unknown.

    What was above?

    At the top of this mountain, Lyrion made it his duty to pray. There was no day, nor no night. So Lyrion prayed until he was satisfied. Then he would walk down only to climb back up. The tale he would tell, the tale of a Creator above was one that began to resonate within the hearts of many. But still, no one had the desire to join Lyrion on his climbs.

    Then came a meeting. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was chance. To Lyrion, it was an answer. For upon his ten thousandth prayer, a being came down from the sky to meet him. Feminine in appearance, her ethereal presence commanded even the world to direct their eyes towards her. She was clad from head to toe in a fluttering white dress. Her white pupils were a mirror that Lyrion could view his own ungroomed, disheveled self in. His ragged beard and unruly hair directly contrasted the angelic face and strands of hair as pretty as snow. Most captivating however, was the bright light that surrounded her. She was akin to a moon in the midst of this gloom filled world. She was the first to open her mouth, her words were like comfort. Like they were bringing Lyrion to the end of a terrible nightmare.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "What a pitiful sight you are."

    Her fingers stroke his face, affectionate like a mother''s.

    "It must be hard, living the life you do. Tell me your name if you have one."

    The word "Lyrion" was barely stammered out from the Vaelorn''s mouth. The emotion he felt now was unlike none he had ever felt before. In fact, many would call it his first emotion. When the woman replied, her tone never changed, but her hand had left Lyrion''s face and were now reaching inside her dress.

    "A brilliant name. Lyrion, the man who stands highest in this world. I deem you worthy of this task. It is one that will give you the sun, the moon, and stars. It will give you mortality, it will give you dreams. These words are nothing you can comprehend right now. But one day you will. For that is why I was sent to you."

    She had pulled out a bag the size of a small hand. She pulled out Lyrion''s hand and emptied the bag''s contents within it. They were small seeds, the first Lyrion had ever seen. He didn''t know what they were, but the different colors of each seed were like visual candy to him.

    "Begin now, my dear Lyrion. Heed my words carefully, for I will not return to ensure your mission''s success."

    A wave of desperation crawled across Lyrion''s body upon hearing these words, but before he could form the words to the hundreds of pleas running through his head, he was silenced by the comforting smile before him.

    <hr>

    For the next few centuries, Lyrion worked tirelessly. With every other hour, he would repeat the words in his head. The last words that woman had said to him.

    "Travel. Travel to every corner of the world. And plant. Make holes for the seeds."

    The First Seed, for the flames and suffering.

    The Second Seed, for the tundras and all else that is beautiful.

    The Third Seed, for the breeze and the life it will bring.

    The Fourth Seed, for the seas and everything within.

    And in the center world, plant the Final Seed, for the sun and the shadows.

    "Do this and you will achieve what you have always desired. The life of a mortal."

 1. Descent of Misfortune

    The single meteor sliced through the sky, cutting through the stillness of the black night with a trail of luminous green and purple. It lit up the world, casting eerie, shifting hues over the land below. People gathered in awe, pointing and murmuring in anxious whispers. Beneath them, the snow lay thick and untouched, waiting in silent anticipation as the blazing object hurtled toward it.

    But there was one man who seemed utterly detached from the spectacle. He stood far away, a figure of calm indifference amidst the chaos, and not a flake of snow marred the space around him. The meteor was little more than a distant dot in the sky from where he watched, a faint flicker barely worth noting. The wind tugged at his short white hair, and with a deliberate motion, he raised his hand to adjust the mask that covered his face. The mask was adorned with a strange design¡ªthree triangles stacked atop one another, centered around a single, unblinking eye. His expression was hidden, but the slight lift in his voice betrayed a flicker of excitement.

    "Do you see that, ____? The harbinger of misfortune has finally arrived."

    He stood tall atop a towering structure, his posture as unyielding as his confidence. The height, the power, it suited him. He welcomed the meteor¡¯s arrival with a tone that hinted at both anticipation and amusement.

    "Welcome back. I wish you the best of luck in your survival... and your mission."

    "I look forward to seeing your accomplishments in this land of Titans."

    <hr>

    When the boy first opened his eyes, the world around him was a suffocating haze of smoke. His chest burned with each breath, and he could barely make out anything beyond the blur. Cold dampness pressed into his back, contrasting with the unbearable heat that seemed to come from everywhere else. He was surrounded by a dense fog, but he couldn¡¯t remember why. He struggled to sit up, only to be buffeted by a sudden gust of wind that cleared some of the smoke. A single thought echoed through his head-

    Where am I?

    Two figures emerged from the haze. They stood tall, their outlines sharp in the dim light. Through his tear-blurred vision, the boy could just make out their forms¡ªa boy and a girl. The boy''s hair was immaculate, his expression stern and severe, while the girl leaned forward, her gaze curious and far less guarded, her long bangs fluttering like butterflies in the wind.

    The boy lay in a desolate tundra, the snow around him darkened to a filthy black sludge. He realized they were all standing in the center of a massive crater, the ground still smoking from some recent impact. The male figure was the first to act. From nowhere, a sword of pure ice materialized in his hand, glowing coldly in the dim light. It floated in front of him, its edge razor-sharp, its point aimed directly at the boy''s throat. The threat was unmistakable, though the blade never touched him.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    "Who are you?" the boy asked, his voice as cold and his eyes piercing.

    It was at this moment the boy realized the emptiness in his mind. He couldn¡¯t remember anything¡ªanything except one word. A name.

    "My name is Sorn," he said, his voice hoarse.

    The girl spoke next, her tone lighter. "Looks like he speaks our language."

    Now that the smoke had mostly cleared, Sorn could properly see his visitors. Both of them had hair as pale as the icy sky above. Their white uniforms were marred by soot and dirt, though the man¡¯s sleeveless top displayed muscular arms, and the girl wore a skirt, with a delicate ice flower perched on a headband.

    Neither Sorn nor the boy in front of him answered the girl, so she took it upon herself to continue. "You do understand us, right? I¡¯m Crystal, and this is Keilan. Say hi, Keilan."

    Keilan¡¯s gaze never wavered from Sorn. "Where are you from?" he asked, his voice tense.

    "I don¡¯t know," Sorn replied.

    "Where do your allegiances lie?"

    "I don¡¯t know."

    "Explain the meteor you fell out of."

    "Meteor?" Sorn echoed, confused.

    Keilan¡¯s icy sword lowered slightly, but his scrutiny remained intense. "Do you remember anything?"

    Sorn struggled to rise, but his body betrayed him, his arms trembling and weak. "No, I don¡¯t."

    Keilan studied him for a moment before letting the sword dissipate. "Fine. Get up. You¡¯re coming back with me."

    Keilan turned to leave but stopped when Crystal spoke up, her voice carrying a hint of defiance. "You can¡¯t be serious."

    Keilan¡¯s eyes narrowed, his fingers flexing unconsciously. "And what would you suggest? Leave him here? This is a matter for the Council."

    "You¡¯re planning to send him to his death."

    Keilan¡¯s stoic fa?ade cracked for the first time, his frustration bubbling up. "He¡¯s a threat to the Order. What would you have me do? Let him walk free?"

    Crystal smiled, the tension slipping from her face as if this was all some lighthearted game. "I¡¯ll take him to the hut. I have a few questions of my own."

    Keilan¡¯s frown deepened, his resolve shaken. "You can¡¯t hide from the Dancing Blade. Toren¡¯s group is investigating. You know how relentless he is."

    "They won¡¯t find us."

    "If you say so." Keilan gave Sorn one last hard look before walking away.

    Crystal turned to Sorn, her smile softening into something more genuine. "So, what do you think? What should we have done with you?"

    Sorn met her gaze, his body trembling with fatigue. "I don¡¯t want to die."

    Crystal tilted her head, her eyes scanning him with a mixture of pity and curiosity. "Were you really inside that meteor?"

    Sorn, still weak, stood with difficulty, locking eyes with her. "Like I said, I don¡¯t remember."

    She giggled lightly and, without warning, poked his forehead. Sorn collapsed back into the sludge, his vision fading. As his eyelids fluttered shut, he heard her mutter a soft, amused, "Oops," her expression unconcerned.

    Then, the darkness swallowed him whole.

 2. Tunnel of Questions

    Sorn''s eyes slowly opened to a dark, damp room. He felt an unfamiliar coldness seep into his feet as he slid off the bed and stood, the chill biting his bare skin. The faint scent of something warm drifted through the air, pulling him towards a narrow staircase. He slowly ascended it, finding himself in a modest floor boasting two small rooms. In one, a pot bubbled, filling the room with a comforting aroma. The other room was barren, containing only three empty beds. Sorn¡¯s eyes landed on a door, and with nothing else to do, he opened it, stepping outside.

    The cold hit him instantly, stealing his breath. There, standing against a backdrop of endless snow and barren trees, was the blue-haired girl from earlier. Her name escaped him. She turned, catching his eye, a faint smile playing on her lips.

    "Hey, you¡¯re finally awake."

    "Hi."

    His breath misted in the air, just like hers, and for the first time, he took in the landscape. An endless expanse of snow stretched around them, blanketing everything in sight. Barren trees reached toward an empty blue sky, their branches frozen and lifeless. In the distance, two massive structures commanded his attention. The nearer one was a fortress, tall and brooding. It''s stone walls were frozen throughout. It looked as though the base had been carved into what once was a mountain. Farther away was a towering narrow wall that dwarfed the fortress and the mountains alike. Sorn tilted his head, straining to see the top, but it disappeared into the sky.

    He glanced back at the girl. Her eyes, the same icy shade as her hair, held a curious glint as she looked him over. She was shorter than him, but her confident demeanor made her presence seem much larger.

    "This is your first time seeing snow, I take it?"

    "What? Oh, yeah."

    She tapped a finger against her chin thoughtfully. "And you don¡¯t remember anything that isn¡¯t your name, correct?"

    "Yes, I think so."

    "Alright then." She pointed back toward the door. "I¡¯ve left a fresh set of clothes downstairs in the room you were sleeping in. Take a shower, and then we¡¯ll eat something."

    Sorn looked at her blankly, and her shoulders dropped, a sigh escaping her lips. "I¡¯m not going to have to explain what a shower is, am I?"

    <hr>

    Sorn stared at himself in a mirror, oddly at ease in a clean uniform. The fabric was simple but functional, the same white and blue as the outfit Keilan had worn, though his own lacked the sleeveless design. A small emblem in the shape of a crown was pinned over his heart. He took another moment to look himself over in the mirror. His skin, darker than Crystal¡¯s pale complexion, was a warm brown, a stark contrast against the blue and white of his uniform. His thick, black hair curled over his forehead, and his gaze landed on the scar that ran across his left eye, a harsh line from his brow to just above his cheek.

    When he returned upstairs, he found Crystal waiting, seated at a table by the window, her gaze fixed on the snow-laden landscape outside. Two empty bowls of stew sat in front of her, and she nodded at him as he approached.

    "Ready?" she asked.

    Sorn nodded. The silence hung heavy between them, but he couldn¡¯t deny the strange comfort in her hospitality. They had exchanged few words, and still, he felt a sense of security in her company. For now, he would follow her lead.

    <hr>

    Back outside, Sorn felt the crunch of snow underfoot as he followed Crystal, who seemed to float above it. Her gaze drifted back to the colossal structures looming on the horizon¡ªthe distant fortress and the towering wall.

    ¡°You don¡¯t even remember the bridges?¡±

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Sorn shook his head, glancing toward the taller structure. Was it meant to be a bridge?

    They walked until they reached an open ledge, the ground falling away sharply. From this high vantage, Sorn could see what was underneath.

    ¡°We¡¯re on one of four floating islands,¡± she said, glancing down at the vast sea of clouds below, rolling and dense, stretching endlessly across the sky. ¡°Long ago, the bridge you saw connected our island to another. But those bridges were raised, sealed off until what we call the Promised Day.¡±

    Curiosity sparked in Sorn. He stared down into the clouds, layered in various textures and thicknesses, shifting below them like an ocean in slow motion.

    ¡°What¡¯s beneath the clouds?¡±

    Crystal¡¯s expression flickered, her tone almost dismissive. ¡°Nothing.¡± Seeing Sorn¡¯s dissatisfied frown, she elaborated. ¡°There¡¯s an old tale, about five people who made the longest rope of ice and climbed down as far as they could. They vanished the moment they touched those clouds, swallowed by nothingness.¡±

    The tale made Sorn take a step back, and Crystal¡¯s amusement showed as she moved to a nearby boulder. With a single kick, she sent it rolling, revealing a hidden passage below. Gesturing down into the shadows, she said, ¡°After you.¡±

    Suspicious but wary of the strength she just displayed, Sorn descended into the tunnel, his steps echoing on the damp stone. The walls were dotted with faintly glowing blue crystals, casting eerie shadows. The passage twisted and turned, and he noticed carvings along the walls, though most were faded beyond recognition.

    ¡°What was I talking about?¡± Crystal asked absently.

    ¡°Uh¡­the Promised Day?¡±

    ¡°Oh, right.¡± She continued as they moved into a wider chamber, where the blue crystal light danced across the walls. ¡°There was a being named Seraph, said to be chosen by the Gods to keep the islands afloat. An angel, they called him. But during a dark era, he fought against a Devil¡¯s army. It was a legendary battle in which my ancestor, Aelon, joined him as a Champion. Seraph emerged victorious, but he was sealed in the process. With him gone, a successor was needed. Instead of appointing someone, he decreed a final game. The bridges were raised, isolating each island. On the Promised Day, the bridges will lower. And whoever reaches the middle first will inherit his title and powers to rule the world.¡±

    Sorn took it all in, his eyes tracing the carvings on the walls of this chamber. They showed scenes of battle: a trident-wielding creature facing a winged figure, others showing scenes of the islands surrounded by clouds. In the center of the chamber sat a large, circular stone table.

    ¡°Why not just pick a successor?¡± Sorn asked.

    Crystal shrugged. ¡°Some say he wanted a fair race. Others claim it¡¯s a ritual that has to be performed.¡±

    Her expression softened as she looked around the room. ¡°I used to hide here with my brothers. You¡¯ve already met Keilan.¡±

    Sorn remembered Keilan¡¯s stern face and cold demeanor.

    ¡°Ten years ago, my brother Draco, the second-oldest, left. He vanished without a word.¡±

    Sorn opened his mouth to ask why, but Crystal suddenly punched into the table¡¯s surface, making him flinch. She pulled a hidden book from beneath the surface, the cover well-worn and faded.

    ¡°This was Draco¡¯s,¡± she said, brushing dust from its cover. ¡°After he left, a hooded stranger appeared and gave me this book, claiming it was from him. The man had a tattoo¡ªa ¡®VIII¡¯ marked on his cheek. At first, I doubted it was truly from Draco, but the handwriting¡­¡± She opened it, showing pages mostly blank, except for a single entry.

    Sorn¡¯s curiosity was piqued as she glanced up at him. ¡°You can¡¯t read this, can you?¡±

    Sorn shook his head, and she read aloud. ¡°He didn¡¯t tell me why he left, but he wrote to wait for one of two things: Keilan¡¯s ¡®sacrifice,¡¯ or a boy who fell from the sky.¡±

    Sorn immediately recognized the second part to be about him. However, the apart part made him feel something wasn''t right. ¡°Sacrifice?¡± he asked cautiously. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±

    She sighed, looking at him intently. ¡°In the absence of Seraph, the true rulers of our kingdom, the Council, has enforced a sacrifice tradition: a male of royal blood is sacrificed on his twentieth birthday to ¡®appease¡¯ the Gods. In return, they will keep the islands afloat. Rhaen, the eldest of us, disappeared right after I was born. Draco swore to stop this cycle but¡­he, too, left.¡± She paused, a shadow crossing her face. ¡°Keilan resents him deeply for it.¡±

    ¡°What about you?¡± Sorn asked. ¡°How do you feel about it?¡±

    Crystal¡¯s face tightened. ¡°I don¡¯t know enough. I need more context, which Draco promised in the book I¡¯d get by finding him. You¡¯re the signal I¡¯ve been waiting for, Sorn, and I¡¯m taking Keilan with me. Draco wrote that the ¡®sacrifice¡¯ is a lie fabricated by the council.¡±

    Sorn absorbed the words, his mind hardly overwhelmed by this information. His life since waking had been filled with questions. Though this was unrelated to him specifically, they were answers. And they felt comforting.

    ¡°So you just plan to get Keilan and go?¡±

    Crystal laughed, a wry, almost exasperated sound. ¡°It won¡¯t be so simple.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡±

    ¡°Keilan doesn¡¯t know about the book. Even if he did, his loyalty to the Council runs deep. Their words would always hold more weight than Draco''s. But with you here, I finally have a reason to put my little plans into action.¡±

    Her grin spread wide, and Sorn sensed a mixture of mischief and determination in her expression.

    ¡°How much time do we have until his twentieth birthday?¡±

    ¡°Three weeks.¡± Her eyes sparkled with a thrill of excitement, and Sorn could see in her expression the weight of years of planning. She hopped off the table, and Sorn realized just now that she had been sitting upon it. She seemed to enjoy doing that.

    "Alright, let''s go."

    "Where?"

    "You''ll see."

 3. Unyielding Echoes

    After a few minutes of walking, Crystal and Sorn returned to the cabin¡ªthe very one Sorn had first opened his eyes in. The wind gusted around them, bitter, stinging his cheeks. He turned to Crystal, who had already resumed her knowing grin.

    ¡°Alright, what we do next depends on this moment,¡± she said, her voice warm, but with a sharp edge to it. She gestured toward a few of the nearby bushes, gaunt, twisted things. What leaves clung to their branches were brown and brittle, a sad sight, withering under the cold.

    ¡°This cabin was built in the middle of a Raball breeding ground,¡± she explained. With a quick, fluid motion, she stepped forward and kicked one of the bushes. Suddenly, a handful of small, white creatures shot out from the branches, darting here away but stopping behind the shelter of nearby trees. They were small, the size of a man¡¯s head, each with two black eyes, like ink spots, wide and watchful, staring directly at Sorn.

    Crystal, in an effortless motion, darted at one of the creatures. Her legs bandaged from her hips to her knees underneath her skirt, flashed as she moved, silent as snowfall, her blue hair glimmering. Before Sorn could even process the movement, she was holding one of the creatures up by the scruff, its little body hanging limp in her grip.

    ¡°This is a Raball,¡± she said, letting it dangle, ¡°It¡¯s how we prove ourselves.¡±

    Sorn blinked at her, lost. ¡°Prove what?¡±

    ¡°When we turn thirteen, we¡¯re given a choice,¡± she replied, her voice suddenly hardened. ¡°Either be sent to the outskirts to work with the peasants or remain in the interior to train as a fighter. To do that, we have to bring one of these Raballs back to the Academy. It¡¯s our entrance exam.¡± Her mouth quirked into a slight grin. ¡°You had some for breakfast, by the way.¡±

    Sorn looked at the creature with a new light, half-pitying it. ¡°And you want me to catch one of these?¡±

    She tilted her head. ¡°It''s up to you, but if you can''t manage to catch even one, you''ll be too weak to help me out with anything.¡±

    She released the creature, and it quickly darted off, scampering under a bush and peeking out to stare at Sorn with wary, beady eyes. Crystal watched it go, folding her arms. ¡°They''re curious creatures that refuse to leave their dens They¡¯ll watch you until you leave. Even now, I can see six of them. But they won''t make catching them easy for you.¡±

    She yawned then, glancing up at the vast Fortress looming over them. Her face softened as she gazed at it. ¡°I have to leave soon. The Tournament is something I must prepare for, and Keilan¡ªwell, he would worry if I missed the Academy.¡±

    Keilan. Sorn had momentarily forgotten his existence. He shrugged. ¡°So, you just want me to catch one?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she replied curtly. ¡°I¡¯ve noticed you¡¯re slow. There¡¯s no shame in it, but like I said before, I can''t work with dead weight. So if you can¡¯t manage even this, interaction with any of my people will prove too dangerous for you.¡±

    She seemed to ponder something then, her gaze lowering. Then she looked at him. ¡°Can I punch you?¡±

    Sorn paused, unsure what to make of the question. She stared at him, her cold blue eyes warm with a strange excitement. Her hair whipped around in the wind as she waited. Sorn found himself nodding before he could stop himself. ¡°Uh, sure. Go ahead.¡±

    Before he could process even his own words, he felt the strike. The blow landed like a hammer to his gut, her knuckles driving into his stomach so hard that his breath left him in one short, horrid wheeze. Stars filled his vision as he clutched his midsection, falling to his knees in the snow. She was already apologizing, kneeling beside him, her hand on his shoulder.

    ¡°Sorry, I may have hit harder than I meant to.¡±

    Sorn managed a bitter gasp. ¡°What¡­ were you¡­ trying to do?¡±

    Crystal looked away, averting his eyes. ¡°You fell from the sky. Any other would be crushed to a pulp, yet here you are, completely unharmed. I wanted to see if there¡¯s something more to you. Something¡­ strange.¡±

    She smiled then, a tight, unreadable smile. ¡°I think there is.¡±

    Sorn only stared back, trying to make sense of her words, but her eyes had already drifted back toward the Fortress. ¡°I¡¯ll return in three days. Stay here, near the hut and retreat to the cave. The others from the Fortress won''t come here. But if you happen to explore out and meet them, well, they¡¯ll not all be so kind as me.¡±

    And with that, she was gone, her footsteps as light as her words were heavy. As she vanished from view, a peculiar emptiness filled him. This was his first time experiencing loneliness, he thought, and yet¡­ it didn¡¯t feel entirely foreign.

    He turned back to the bushes and to the beady-eyed Raballs who still watched him, the one Crystal had caught peeking out from behind a tree. Sighing, he moved toward it, creeping closer until he thought he was close enough to pounce. Yet each time, the Raball would dart just out of reach, always moving in some infuriating rhythm that mocked his every step. He lunged again, and his face hit the frozen bark of a tree, jarring him back with a sharp pain and a rising frustration.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    He glared at the creature, rubbing his bruised forehead.  Looking into the sky, he began to swim in his thoughts. The girl who had given him hospitality was kind. He enjoyed the short time they had spent together. Well, at least until the she punched him. But he barely knew her. And she seemed to be dragging him into something dangerous.

    He looked at his own hand, remembering the ice sword Keilan had created and the speed he had seen Crystal take off at. Her words echoed in his head. Being weak didn¡¯t really concern him. He had no reason to be strong. But he didn¡¯t like the idea of dying without answers. Crystal¡¯s desire was to save Keilan. Remembering the cold and rude boy, he couldn¡¯t say he shared the same sentiment.

    Not nearly enough to give up his own short life.

    Then came a voice, low, rich, and unfamiliar. ¡°Amusing. And painful to watch, frankly.¡±

    Sorn jumped, spinning toward the voice, but no one was there.

    ¡°Over here, Outsider. Are you slow?¡±

    Sorn turned again, and there he was, a man of proud bearing with the same snowy skin and ice-pale hair that marked the others of this land. Yet his eyes, a bright, bitter blue, held something sharper¡ªa contempt that bordered on mirth. He wore his smile like a mask, and in his hand, he twirled a slender needle of ice.

    Sorn took a single sharp breath, Crystal''s prior warning fresh in his mind. ¡°Who are you?¡±

    The man swept into a bow. ¡°I am Toren, heir to the Dancing Blade. I''m sure the importance of this name is lost on an Outsider like you. Respect,¡± he added with a condescending smile, ¡°is something I would expect even from someone like you.¡±

    Sorn bristled. ¡°What do you want?¡±

    Toren¡¯s smirk didn¡¯t waver. ¡°Your apology, for a start. You, a mere nobody, dared spend time alone with my betrothed. Crystal is mine. She has been mine since we were seven. Did you forget to uphold respect for you to so much as glance in her direction, much less spend time alone with her?¡±

    Sorn was truthfully confused as to what he did wrong. But he didn''t like the sharp needle the stranger was now pointing at him. ¡°I¡­ apologize?¡±

    Toren chuckled, letting the ice needle trace a line in the snow. ¡°Very good. You have overcame my concerns with you as an individual. Now, as a fighter of status, I find myself with graver concerns. A boy falls from the sky a week before the Prophecy, two weeks before the Sacrifice.¡± His eyes narrowed. ¡°What part of this do you find coincidental, Outsider?¡±

    Sorn stood firm, locking eyes with the man before him. The silence between them taut before Sorn broke it, a questioning suddenly racing to his mind.  ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you were following us?¡± Sorn¡¯s voice was steady, though his heart thundered in his chest.

    Toren¡¯s lip curled in a shadow of a smile. ¡°Yes, I did say that.¡±

    ¡°Then, did you hear anything we talked about?¡±

    For a moment, a flicker of annoyance flashed across Toren¡¯s face. ¡°No, I did not. Crystal is a sharp one. Fitting for my future bride. But her vigilance demands distance if even one as talented as I wishes to remain unseen.¡±

    Sorn¡¯s eyes darted past Toren, seeking some unseen ally among the trees, some refuge. He found only the twisted branches, clawing at the slate sky. ¡°Then why confront me now, only once she¡¯s gone?¡±

    ¡°You ask too many questions, boy. In the name of the Dancing Blade, by the oaths I swore to the Order, I offer you two paths. Fight for your freedom, or come with me quietly before the Council. Whatever choice you make, I shall honor it.¡±

    ¡°And what will the Council do with me?¡± Sorn asked, though he already felt the answer like a cold dagger pressing at the base of his neck.

    ¡°That decision depends on their choice.¡±

    A smirk twitched at the corner of Sorn¡¯s mouth. The chaotic events that had brought him here had begun to render him weary. ¡°A certain someone told me that such an occasion wouldn¡¯t end well for me.¡±

    The shift in Toren¡¯s expression was subtle¡ªa muscle tensed along his jaw. ¡°That someone speaks when they shouldn¡¯t.¡±

    The woods held their breath as the two measured each other, the wind humming a low, mournful tune through the boughs. The moments ticked by until Toren¡¯s patience frayed. He tapped his boot against the frost-crusted earth. ¡°Well, have you chosen?¡±

    Sorn¡¯s hand found a branch, rough and splintered. He drew a breath, then flung it with all the strength he could muster. Without waiting to see the result, he bolted, snow crunching beneath his feet like the clamor of shattered glass.

    Toren¡¯s laugh was a dry bark. ¡°Bold. Foolish, but bold.¡±

    Before Sorn could make ten paces, a shadow swept past him. Toren¡¯s weapon struck his side. Luckily, Toren had used the blunt side rather than choosing to outright stab him. It was an impact that sent him sprawling, ribs aflame with pain. Snow kissed his face, and he choked. Toren moved with an unnatural, inexplicable elegance. The needle in his hand twirled with practiced ease as he advanced.

    Sorn tried to rise, gasping as Toren¡¯s shadow loomed over him. He lashed out with a desperate kick, but Toren sidestepped, a motion almost mocking in its simplicity. Toren grabbed Sorn, his first twisting in the Outsider''s collar, wrenching him up and slamming him against the trunk of a tree. The bark bit into Sorn''s back but the defiance in his eyes remained.

    ¡°I would prefer not to harm you, Outsider,¡± Toren¡¯s voice softened, but it held a deadly edge. ¡°You are... intriguing. Spare me the trouble. Yield, and you may yet see the sun rise again.¡±

    The fight seemed to drain from Sorn¡¯s limbs. He sagged for a moment, the thought of surrender whispering in his ear. Yet something inside him resisted, a spark that flared into a stubborn flame. This was not where he would meet his end.

    Do you wish for victory?

    The voice was not his own, yet it resonated from deep within him.

    I can grant you the means. But you must claim victory for yourself.

    Toren¡¯s was talking, but the words missed Sorn''s ears, as the voice in his head held dominance. A sudden strange light coiled around Sorn¡¯s limbs, emerald wisps that flickered and pulsed around his body. He felt a strange unknown power rush through him, turning the world into a blur of motion. In this moment, only a single word could describe his innermost feeling.

    Unstoppable.

    Snow exploded beneath him as he leapt, the distance between them gone in an instant. Toren¡¯s eyes widened, a look of surprise gracing his face. He twisted away just as Sorn¡¯s fist grazed his cheek, barely avoiding the attack. Toren¡¯s needle of ice then flashed upward, slicing through the green tendrils and carving a jagged path across Sorn¡¯s body, from hip to shoulder. The blood erupted, as Toren moved again to avoid it, letting it all paint the white snow.

    Sorn crumpled, the light around him snuffed out like a dying ember. He laid there unmoving, as Toren stood over him, his expression unreadable. He clapped his hands twice. From behind a nearby tree, a stocky boy stepped forward, hair sticking out in clumps resembled uneven bangs. He too bore a similar needle, but his gaze was uncertain as it flitted between Toren and Sorn.

    Toren¡¯s voice cut through the silence. ¡°Heal him, Neville. Then we will bring him to the Council. They will be the one''s to pass judgment.¡±

 4. Born in Blood

    Drip.

    Drip.

    Drip.

    The slow patter of rain tapped its gentle cadence against a roof. A boy lay cocooned in a thick blanket, his eyes half-closed as he listened. The rain was a stranger¡¯s touch. It was cool, soothing. In this moment, he was thoughtless, adrift in that soft, ceaseless rhythm.

    His concentration was broken suddenly by a scream. It was a raw, ripping thing, fit to make even the hardened wary. Before his mind could catch up, the boy¡¯s little legs propelled him from his bed and out into the dim corridor. Breath ragged, he pressed himself against the cold ice wall, peering from the shadows of the doorway.

    There she was¡ªa girl, fairly younger than him, struggling in the grasp of a man who loomed over her. His face was stoic, revealing not a single flicker of emotion as the girl sobbed, her eyes wide and frantic. Then, the boy found himself making eye contact with the wailing girl. She reached for him, fingers outstretched, trembling with a desperate silent plea. The boy¡¯s heart raced, and he mirrored the girl¡¯s motion, his arm straining as he tried to grab her hand. Unfortunately, the distance between them seemed to never shorten, no matter how hard he tried to reach her.

    Then she was gone, ripped from the scene faster than the boy could comprehend. The rain, too, vanished, leaving behind nothing but silence.

    The boy blinked, and suddenly, he stood outside. The sky was a deep crimson, unappealing to any eye. The air was suffocating, carrying  a stench that overwhelmed his nostrils. The ground at his feet shimmered¡ªnot with water, but with blood. Puddles of it stretched around him, as far as his eyes could reach.

    He should have retched; any child would. But he did not. The boy¡¯s mind was blank, simply awaiting the inevitable future.

    Ahead, a figure emerged suddenly. Their face, or what should have been a face, was a shifting mass of grotesque contortions, impossible to comprehend. In their hand dangled the head of a man. The man¡¯s hair once bright blue, now lay matted and streaked with red.

    The boy¡¯s eyes locked with that lifeless gaze, saying and doing absolutely nothing.

    <hr>

    Oden awoke with a start, his breaths quick and ragged. He wiped the cold sweat beading on his brow, before composing himself and sitting up in his bed. Outside, the early sun¡¯s light flooded through the narrow  window. He cursed under his breath¡ªdawn had come and gone, meaning he had overslept again.

    Unable to change what had been done, Oden accepted his fate and moved on, putting on his clothes and leaving his room. The stairs creaked as he descended. The sudden sound of the hall enveloped him as it usually did: laughter, the clatter of mugs, the rip of meat from bone. It was a familiar chaos, alive with men who wore their scars as badges and whose voices rang like war commands.

    His eyes skimmed the room until they found his target. Serene sat among the raucous men, silent but watchful. Her posture was easy as she sat with her chair leaning back. Beside her, Zachen prattled, weaving one of his usual tales with dramatic gestures. Oden moved behind her, a playful tap landing on her back with a thud. Serene turned sharply, knife in hand, sending it hurtling towards Oden. Oden swayed to the side, the blade embedding itself in the wall with a low thunk.

    ¡°Trying to spill my blood before breakfast, are you?¡± he said, the jest rolling playfully off his tongue.

    Serene rose from her seat, casting Zachen¡¯s droning into the oblivion of background noise. The retort on her lips faltered as she caught the shadow in Oden¡¯s expression.

    She was twenty, the same age as him, but he still thought she was too perceptive for her own good.

    ¡°The dream again?¡± she asked, her hostility gone.

    Oden gave a slight nod, the words refusing to form. They both knew his dreams were a frequent scourge, so it was something he didn¡¯t like talking about.

    ¡°Father sent for you,¡± she said simply.

    Oden felt a spark of unease. ¡°Do you know what it¡¯s about?¡± he asked.. Summons from the leader of the Marauders were rare, and usually didn¡¯t mean something good.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Before Serene could respond, Zachen decided to chime in. ¡°Word is, it¡¯s about a Southern kid Toren dragged in.¡± His grin was wide at the attention he had. ¡°Heard he was a scrawny thing, black hair, looks ready to be snapped in half.¡±

    Oden immediately disbelieved Zachen¡¯s statement. Outsiders weren¡¯t merely rare; they were nonexistent. Stories of Outsiders were talked of only in fireside tales where those on the stupid side like Zachen liked to muse as to what an Outsider society might look like. The truth was, no one that isn¡¯t an Ice Elemental should survive the southern frost. Yet, when he looked at Serene, the look she gave him said otherwise.

    ¡°So this mystery boy is being brought to the Council?¡± Oden asked, though he already knew. He didn¡¯t subscribe to this bizarre rumor that an Outsider had suddenly appeared for the first time in centuries.

    Serene nodded, her face serious. At that same moment, a laugh boomed from the entrance, drawing every eye. There stood Bjorn, broad as a bear. His teeth bared in an unsettling grin that could make the bravest man take a step back. Even in moments of mirth, he loomed larger than life, his mere presence enough to silence a room.

    ¡°Oden, you¡¯re awake I see! Did your bed try to eat you?¡± Bjorn¡¯s laughter roared again at his stupid, the table joining in as if they were forced to be doing it.

    Oden exhaled, eyes slipping back to Serene. ¡°I suppose your father expects me at the trial.¡±

    Serene¡¯s mouth quirked, allowing a small ghost of a smile. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯d want to go anyway,¡± she said. And she was right¡ªOden was quite curious about this Outsider. It hadn¡¯t left his mind since it got brought up, and he had just remembered that Toren¡¯s group had left to investigate the meteor that crashed down last night. What if the boy was in that meteor?

    <hr>

    The Goblet loomed ahead, a colossal masterpiece of architecture. It was a historic creation of Aethril, the first Spear and founder of the Order. Only the Royal Palace rivaled its size, but the Goblet was by far the more impressive construction.

    Shaped like a cup raised to the sky, it was said, to catch the snow sent by the Gods. Yet in truth, the Goblet served two purposes: to house the Spears and to hold Council. Oden¡¯s uncle, Bjorn, never failed to voice his displeasure at each summons. ¡°Those Spears have only to descend a stair, while we trudge through snow and stone like beggars.¡± But that was the way of things. For a thousand years, the Spears ruled from their perch, unchallenged. Yet, in this modern age cracks were showing. Even the peasants in the outer region whispered of it.

    Oden continued to think to himself  as Serene spoke with her father. Bjorn, towering like a mountain crowned with frost, laughed and blustered as he always did this. He was seemingly an oaf, but Oden knew better. Underneath the brainless roars and primal instinct to always want a fight, Bjorn¡¯s mind was one capable of cold cunning.

    They reached the base of the Goblet, where two Spears awaited, their uniforms betraying their position in the Third Division. Oden smirked, the irony was laughable. A dying division, yet these lowly Spears still looked down at them with condescending glares.

    Wordlessly, the guards held out an ice tray, atop which lay folded blindfolds. This ritual, older than any of them, served as a reminder.  To ascend the Spear¡¯s residence, one must do so in darkness. Serene took hers, lips pressed thin. Bjorn did the same, a flicker of disdain passing over his scarred face before he covered his eyes. Oden bound the cloth around his head and he could only see black.

    After being guided by unseen hands and gruff voices, Oden felt the blindfold slide away, unveiling the Hall of the Council in all its somber grandeur. He took a moment, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light filtering through the high windows. The enormity of the chamber loomed around him, impressive as ever. It was a place where the fates were decided, and even one of his high stature could count the number of times he had stepped within this historical hall upon two hands.

    Banners hung from the frozen walls depicting the unity of the many clans in the Fortress. Ironic. Meanwhile, statues decorated the whole, but Oden couldn¡¯t care less about them. His gaze was drawn to the center of the room, where a figure knelt in chains of ice¡ªa pitiful contrast to the majesty surrounding him. The Outsider, a boy probably a little younger than himself, was shirtless, displaying a body sculpted by what could only be a life of hard training. Curly black tufts of hair spilled across his brow, and a fresh scar painted his chest. Oden could all too easily guess the hand that had dealt it, for Toren stood with pride beside the boy, a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

    The boy was facing the five thrones before him. In each of these grand seats of ice, a member of the Council sat.

    Varian [The Iron Stag] ¨C The man who sat in the middle and tallest throne. He commanded the hall with a practiced authority. The oldest of the Council, Varian¡¯s demeanor was one of pride. Once the champion of the previous Tournament, he had risen to become the leader of the Spears and the Supreme Enforcer of the Order. His rule was marked by a stoic resolve, and like his predecessors, he promised to quell any chaos that threatened the Order.

    Lyra [The Silent Chord] ¨C She occupied a throne at Varian¡¯s side. From the Council members, her presence commanded the least attention. She had forged her way onto the Council despite her lack of clan affiliation, a feat accomplished through her victory in the previous Tournament alongside Varian. She had since founded the Harpists, a clan that boasted a mere two members. It was said she had not uttered a word in decades. Bjorn had once told Oden that this rumor was false, it was simply that her voice was reserved for moments of necessity.  Her fingers danced over the strings of her signature ice harp, creating melodies that only added to the tension of this strange environment.

    Bjorn [The Storm Troll] ¨C The beast of a man loomed among the Council. He was the leader of the Marauders,  a clan whose influence went from minimal to unmatched within the Fortress through one generation alone. He now stroked his beard as he sat comfortably next to Varian, gazing down at the Outsider.

    Freyja  [The Freezing Heart] ¨C A woman whose unparalleled beauty radiated a fierce elegance as the leader of the Dancing Blade. She was one who particularly caught the attention of Oden. Her logic and compassion matched with rumor¡¯s of great strength caused everyone with strings to pull to keep an eye on her. Unlike her brat of a son, Toren, Freyja possessed a gentleness that brought intrigue.

    Cedric [Winter¡¯s Warden] ¨C The youngest on the Council. He was barely a few years older than Oden. The prodigy had taken up command of the Chains during a time in which the Clan had scarce talent. His untamed demeanor bore an intensity, highlighting a flame of ambition that refused to extinguish. It was his resolve that had kept the Chains relevant despite their fall from greatness.

    The chatter in the room instantly ceased upon a single clap from Varian. Directly across from him, Oden noticed the Ice Princess Crystal. She wore an uncharacteristic expression of worry on her face, her body language betraying the immense discomfort she was feeling. Oden had talked to her a fair amount in her Academy, and this rare display of character and her possible relation to this Outsider intrigued him greatly. Beside her stood her insufferable brother, Keilan. He stared at the Outsider with what could only be described as cold hatred. The future sacrifice paid no attention to the worried girl beside him.

    Now that all attention was directed towards Varian, he cleared his throat.

    ¡°Welcome, Council and audience. In the Goblet we will now host the 74th trial, in which we will comply with the Order to decide the fate of this black haired Outsider. With the Blessing of Seraph, let us begin.¡±

 5. The Ices Decree

    When Sorn opened his eyes, he found himself in a vast and unknown chamber. Before him stood five frozen thrones, tall and grim. Only three of them were occupied, and Sorn watched for a moment as they chatted amongst each other before turning his head. Beside Sorn, Toren shifted, his face pale and sharp. His smirk was as faint, mocking and silent as he raised a single finger to his lips just as Sorn was about to speak. The wound across Sorn¡¯s chest throbbed, his wound searing.

    "Keep silent if you wish to keep breathing," Toren murmured, his threatening words spoken as soft as falling snow.

    Rage flared in Sorn, recent defeat and pain leading to an emotional state. But he swallowed it down, his gaze slipping to the far end of the hall, where Crystal stood. She was speaking to Keilan, her eyes flashing with anxiety. Keilan, in turn, watched her with a stone-faced expression.

    One by one, figures began to file into the hall, their faces gleaming with barely hidden curiosity. Whispers rose, a rustle like dead leaves, as they took their places to witness the trial. Some lined up to Sorn¡¯s left or right, but most took their place in a crowd behind. At last, Varian rose from his throne, his cloak heavy. His eyes fell upon Sorn with the cold scrutiny of a hunter. To him, Sorn was nothing but a nuisance.

    Varian¡¯s relentless voice rumbled through the hall. The murmurs grew silent the moment he spoke. ¡°I hear you have the tongue of our land, Outsider. Is that so?¡±

    Sorn¡¯s eyes met his, steady as a blade held to his throat. ¡°Yes.¡±

    Varian¡¯s gaze drifted to Toren, and he gave a single nod. ¡°Then proceed. Tell the Ninth Council of your doings, Toren.¡±

    Toren''s words echoed through the hall as he recapped the recent events. Each syllable was dramatically calculated to elicit gasps and conversation. His recount of the capture painted him as a valiant hunter, speaking with pauses as he savored his tale. His lips curled with disdain as he gestured toward Sorn. ¡°Unremarkable,¡± he scoffed, ¡°a mere wretch with neither wit nor strength to match me.¡±

    Sorn thought that Toren¡¯s account would end here, but Toren''s smirk broadened. The words he spoke now were louder now. ¡°This boy,¡± he continued, ¡°fell from a meteor in the sky. And not only did he survive, no. He was harbored by the Princess and the Sacrifice.¡± He paused, his gaze flicking over the Council, ensuring every pair of eyes was fixed on him. ¡°Moreover, he possesses a strange power, and should it grow unchecked, it could be of potential threat to the Order.¡±

    The hall broke into murmurs, and most faces were drawn with unease. Varian did bother trying to silence the crowd, but the moment he straightened in his seat, the chatter fell away.

    Varian¡¯s gaze turned first to Keilan. ¡°And what do you say of this? This boy, this Outsider, was given shelter under your roof?¡±

    Keilan¡¯s face was a mask of indifference, each word a lazy drawl. ¡°None of this involved me, my lord. By the time my impetuous sister decided to throw herself into the unknown, I was already returning to the Fortress. She made no mention of her intentions to me.¡±

    Sorn knew that Keilan¡¯s words were gilded lies, but with only Crystal and himself possessing this knowledge, none attempted to challenge the fib. Varian¡¯s sharp gaze lingered on Keilan for a long, searching moment, as though he too sensed the layers beneath the prince¡¯s nonchalance. ¡°Is that so?¡± he asked.

    Keilan¡¯s reply was undeterred. ¡°Yes, my Lord.¡± The tension was apparent between the two, a brittle string, until Varian shifted his gaze to Crystal.

    ¡°And you,¡± he said, ¡°Princess, or I should say, future Empress, though one would not think it from your foolishness. This Fortress may one day be yours, but today it is mine. Under the sickness of your father, it is I who will see that it is kept safe. Did you truly think you were above consequences? Or are you simply reckless?¡±

    Crystal''s shoulders hunched, and her gaze dropped to the floor. The hall watched, the silence thick, until an unexpected thud echoed across the chamber. All eyes turned to the throne on Varian¡¯s right, where Freyja, the Freezing Heart, sat, her cold beauty attracting all surrounding eyes. She had struck an ice-crafted needle against the floor, letting it break upon the impact.

    ¡°You forget yourself, Varian.¡± The leader of the Dancing Blade spoke coldly, her blue eyes gleaming as she leaned forward, ¡°You are here to judge with fairness, not berate children like some bitter father. And I will do you the honor of warning you now. If you continue to hurl insults at the Princess, you may find yourself regretting it.¡± Her words were a challenge, and the audience was silent as they anticipated Varian¡¯s response.

    Varian held her gaze, but after a beat of silence, he turned back to Crystal, lips pursed. ¡°Go on then, girl. Tell us your story.¡±

    To Sorn¡¯s surprise, Crystal was truthful as she spoke, laying out the tale without embellishment or excuse. She explained how she had found Sorn near the meteor¡¯s crater and how she had offered him shelter out of compassion. She made no mention of Keilan, and omitted their adventure in the cave, but was otherwise honest. ¡°As for these supposed powers,¡± she said, glancing at Toren, her future husband, ¡°I have seen no such thing. He is a stranger in our land, yes, but I see no threat in him. He remembers only his name and tongue, and beyond that, his memories are nonexistent.¡±

    A snicker came from the throne at the very right end. Cedric, the Lord of Chains himself, leaned forward, his lank hair falling over his forehead. ¡°Oh, is that so? ¡°How convenient, don¡¯t you think? The Outsider remembers his name and our language, yet claims all else is lost to him? One would almost think he¡¯s a charlatan.¡±

    Crystal bit her lip in a moment of raw frustration. Her gaze wandered for a brief moment, then finally came to rest on Varian. ¡°All I ask of the Council,¡± she began, her voice shaking slightly, ¡°is that you speak with him. He¡¯s as lost in all of this as any of us. He deserves to be spared¡ª¡±

    But Cedric cut her off with a sneer. ¡°Who gave you permission to make demands here, girl?¡± he spat. ¡°Did we ask for your opinion? Was it not enough to recount your tale?¡±

    This time, no one interrupted to defend her. Crystal, cheeks flushed, gave a stiff bow, her voice tight. ¡°My apologies, my Lord,¡± she murmured, gaze averted. ¡°I spoke out of turn.¡± Her eyes drifted away, finding neither Sorn nor any Council member.

    Varian then turned his attention to Sorn. He cleared his throat, his tone scrutinizing. ¡°Now, then. Sorn, is it? Can you confirm the story we¡¯ve been told?¡±

    Sorn¡¯s gaze flitted to Crystal, then back to Varian. ¡°Yes. Every word Crystal has spoken is true.¡±

    From beside him, Toren let out a low, mocking chuckle, just loud enough for only Sorn to hear.

    Varian nodded slowly . ¡°Very well. Order, my brothers and sisters, has been the backbone of our land for centuries. It has kept us strong, has brought prosperity, and will be our greatest shield as we prepare for the ¡®Promised Day¡¯¡ªa day that will come sooner than we can plink. We have lost much¡ª recent events have made our ranks thinned¡ªand yet now, from nowhere, this boy arrives with no past to explain.¡± He paused, letting the weight of his words settle like dust on the silent hall. ¡°This kind of disruption cannot be tolerated. It is a wound upon the Order, one that will fester if we do not treat it properly.¡±

    His gaze fell upon Sorn with a harsh, unyielding stare. ¡°I propose we remove this threat before it grows,¡± he declared, his voice steady, almost casual. ¡°His execution is the best path to restore balance.¡±

    The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Words that were now aimed at Sorn¡¯s very life.

    This mention of the Order had made Bjorn stir for the first time, his eyes gleaming with a spark of disdain. The ;arge man let out a contemptuous laugh. ¡°Bah! You Spears and your endless prattling on ancient traditions, you all talk as though there are icicles lodged up your asses!¡±

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    Freyja spun a delicate ring of ice around her fingers. ¡°I find myself believing my son,¡± she said coolly, glancing toward Toren. ¡°But I will also trust the judgment of my future daughter-in-law. There are places to enforce the Order, Varian, but there are also times when chaos must be embraced. Killing a harmless and innocent boy is beneath this Council.¡±

    Varian pressed on, ignoring Freyja completely. ¡°Any other comments?¡± He scanned the Council, but none spoke. ¡°Very well,¡± he continued, refusing to acknowledge anyone who had spoken against him. ¡°All in favor of execution?¡±

    Varian raised his hand first. Beside him, Cedric followed. No one else shared the sentiment, and Varian turned to glare at Lyra, who had not spoken a word until now. His former teammate looked up at Varian with quiet defiance. ¡°I do not wish to see him killed,¡± she said simply.

    Sorn felt a rush of relief. He glanced toward Crystal, and for the first time since the trial began, he saw a glint of hope in her eyes, which in turn gave him the same feeling.

    Varian¡¯s gaze narrowed, and as he moved his gaze over to Bjorn, the Marauder shrugged lazily from his seat, letting out a yawn. ¡°Because it doesn¡¯t matter,¡± he said, his words a careless drawl. ¡°Outsider or not, the boy lost a fight to that little twink,¡± he nodded towards Toren, whose face twisted in scorn. ¡°Hidden abilities or not, he¡¯s no threat to our cause. Kill him, keep him alive¡ªnothing will change.¡± The man looked almost disappointed with how this trial had gone.

    Varian seized on the remark, his confidence swelling. ¡°Well then. It appears Bjorn¡¯s simplicity has, for once, served the Order. The vote is tied.¡± He paused, savoring the moment. ¡°And when the council is split, we defer to the Emperor for a final ruling. As the Emperor is ill, I, head of the Council, shall make that ruling.¡±

    A spear of ice formed above Varian¡¯s head, and it aimed itself toward Sorn. The weapon hovered, shimmering as Varian raised a hand. From the corner of his eye, Sorn saw Keilan seize Crystal¡¯s arm, holding her back as she strained forward, eyes wide with desperation.

    ¡°Sorry, boy,¡± Varian murmured, his voice heavy. ¡°You die here.¡±

    Sorn closed his eyes, bracing himself for the end. The council, the bitter faces, the bitterer words¡ªall seemed to fade. A strange calm settled over him. He had known his fate since the moment he had awakened in this hostile room. But just as he surrendered, a heavy silence fell over the hall, and a shadow moved in front of him.

    Opening his eyes, Sorn saw a figure standing before him¡ªa boy he hadn¡¯t noticed before. The boy was sturdy, with cropped blue hair and a fierce stare that met the Council without flinching. Even Varian seemed taken aback.

    ¡°Oden, what is the meaning of this?¡± Varian demanded, his voice betraying the fury simmering.

    Oden held his ground, his voice resonant as he addressed the five great people before him. ¡°O Council members, heed my words,¡± he paused, letting his words carry a boldness that made the onlookers lean in, drawn by his conviction. ¡°You call this boy a threat, yet you dismiss the very signs that might explain his presence here. He fell from the skies. He is not some wanderer from a dead society to the South. You think his fractured memory is suspicious, yet that alone is proof of his origin.¡±

    This was the longest the Council had been silent.

    ¡°This boy,¡± Oden continued, ¡°was sent to us by the Gods. It is Seraph¡¯s will that he is here, a gift sent to aid us in the battle of the Promised Day! Killing him would be to spit in the face of that divine will, to cast aside the very hand that might grant us victory.¡±

    A rumble of chains disrupted Oden¡¯s speech, the heavy clanking echoing ominously through the hall as Cedric shifted, his gaze now fixed on Oden with a malevolent gleam. "Insolent fool," he spat, his voice cutting through the room like a whip. ¡°You are beneath even the girl who dared speak out of turn, yet here you stand, spewing drivel as though our holy council were some pit for jester''s tricks.¡± His contempt flared with each word, and he was so animated that he had risen halfway from his seat.

    Bjorn raised a brow, and though he remained calm, his tone was no less dangerous. ¡°Tread carefully, Cedric. The boy you scorn is my nephew. Disrespect my blood, and you¡¯ll pay with the lives of yours.¡±

    The threat was preposterous by any sensible measure¡ªnone in their right mind would slaughter an entire clan over a single insult¡ªbut it was enough to shut Cedric¡¯s mouth. He scoffed, slumping back into his chair with a scowl.. Bjorn then leaned forward for the first time, his attention fully on his nephew. ¡°This boy speaks on my behalf. Continue, Oden.¡±

    Oden inclined his head, grateful yet undaunted. ¡°Councilors, I offer an accord,¡± he declared, carrying the conviction of a zealot preaching gospel. ¡°In two weeks¡¯ time, we face the Night of Prophecy, followed by the Tournament. Allow the Marauders to house the boy, to sharpen whatever skills he may possess. Toren claims he¡¯s gifted with a power unlike any we¡¯ve seen. This is something worth testing. The Pythia, as you know, will never ignore a sign from the skies. They will surely have something to say about this matter in two week¡¯s time.¡±

    A smile played at the corner of Oden¡¯s mouth, and he turned to face his uncle, who grinned back like a madman. ¡°And if the boy fails in the Tournament, if he proves unworthy or weak? We can dispose of him like the fodder he is, no harm done.¡±

    Bjorn threw back his head and laughed, a sound as fierce and unforgiving as a storm breaking across the cliffs. ¡°You never fail to impress me, boy! A brilliant idea!¡±

    Varian¡¯s gaze tightened, though he couldn¡¯t entirely mask his intrigue. His icy spear still hovered above Sorn, casting a large shadow across the Outsider¡¯s face. ¡°I admire your cunning,¡± he admitted, his voice laced with reluctant respect. ¡°But cleverness alone does not erase the threat that lies before us. If this boy was given to us by the Gods, then surely they would not allow us to kill him so easily.¡± The spear dipped lower, its lethal tip a single command from Sorn¡¯s brow.

    Oden held his breath, his argument seemingly spent. Sorn felt the crushing weight of Varian¡¯s verdict closing in around him, the inevitability of death looming.

    But then a ripple went through the hall¡ªa collective intake of breath as every person in the room, including the Council members, suddenly knelt, their heads bowed as if compelled by an unseen force.

    ¡°Good afternoon, Emperor,¡±

    Varian intoned, his voice tight and controlled. ¡°What brings you out of bed to be here?¡±

    Sorn¡¯s heart raced. Emperor?

    He turned, and the crowd parted, murmurs spreading as a frail, stooped figure shuffled through the hall¡¯s center. The Emperor¡¯s robes trailed behind him like frost on the ground, and in his grasp was an ice staff keeping him upright. His hair was white as snow, save for a few strands of pale blue that hinted at the once-vibrant man he must have been. The crown, studded with sapphire gems, sat heavily on his brow, but it was his eyes¡ªpiercing and knowing, the gaze of a man who had seen countless generations rise and fall¡ªthat silenced even Varian.

    ¡°Rise,¡± the Emperor commanded softly, and though his voice was faint as a whisper, the room rose at once. The Emperor¡¯s words fell like snowflakes, gentle yet bearing a chill that lingered. He looked to Varian, his gaze sharp as shattered ice. ¡°It seems, Varian, that your enthusiasm for our sacred traditions has pushed this Council toward unseemly haste.¡±

    He addressed Varian as he spoke. ¡°Winter ends soon, and with it comes Spring. It will thaw the ice from our hearts of ignorance. With it will seep in compassion and understanding. Varian, it seems our time apart has polluted your mind. The Order you speak of is one made by both mine and your ancestor. The first Emperor and his Spear Aelon and Aethril. They did it to honor the Great Seraph¡¯s name.¡±

    Sorn had no idea what he was talking about.

    ¡°Yet here, you deny a snowflake that he granted us.¡± The Emperor slowly lifted up his arm, pointing his finger at Sorn. This was the first time the Emperor acknowledged his existence. ¡°It is through beautiful snowflakes that we can create a beautiful blanket of snow. Once again, your haste blinds you Varian. Where you see poison, I can only see a light chosen by my daughter herself.¡± The Emperor gave a gentle smile to Crystal, whose face was painted with shock.

    ¡°But surely, even in these times of peril, you will not allow a potential threat to the Order?¡± Varian didn¡¯t even try to hide his frustration.

    ¡°Your worry is well thought,¡± the Emperor calmly replied. ¡°But to deny a sign of the sky violates the core mandate we follow. The young man earlier gave a proposition that I agree with. The Prophecy will decide the Outsider¡¯s fate.¡±

    ¡°You¡­ were listening the whole time?¡± Varian asked, defeated.

    ¡°I¡¯m always listening, Varian.¡±

    With the Emperor¡¯s words, the balance of power shifted. In the event of a tie, it was the Emperor¡¯s decree that held sway, and just like that, Sorn found himself granted a reprieve¡ªthough he could scarcely believe it. Yet, before he could fully process his newfound freedom, Oden strode forth, flanked by a girl whose muscular frame and determined gaze marked her as no ordinary attendant.

    ¡°Quick,¡± Oden said urgently, "We must leave immediately."

 6. A Written Path

    The cold breeze swept across Sorn¡¯s face, chilling his skin as he sat upright upon a bed. The pale light of the rising sun stretched across the room, slightly illuminating it. It kissed Sorn¡¯s face with a slight warmth that was almost comforting in the midst of the never ending cold. For a moment, he stared at the bright star that hung low in the sky, its light insistent, as if it knew him, as if it had always known him.

    His gaze dropped. Across from him, seated in a chair, sat a burly man, fast asleep. The snores rumbled from his chest like heavy thunder. The man was a Marauder who had been assigned to watch Sorn. One of the decrees regarding Sorn¡¯s temporary freedom commanded for an ever-watchful eye to ensure his compliance. And yet, now that the man lay in slumber, sprawled back on the chair with his face pointing to the sky, the weight of his gaze was absent, Sorn felt a curious freedom. He hardly realized that the promise he had made was already broken.

    He thought back on the events of the day before¡ªif it could even be called a day. A blur of faces, cold glances, and sharp words. He had been dragged from the center of the Council¡¯s storm, removed from the heated deliberations that were so loud, even the walls trembled in fear of the booming voices. Oden and Serene had taken him by the arm, guiding him away from the middle, as to save him from any reckless act that could be caused by the heated emotions. The discourse could not go forever, and Oden¡¯s proposal was finalized. It had been Oden who¡¯d placed a cloak over Sorn¡¯s shoulders, hiding him from the world as they were escorted out of The Goblet, and they made their way to the Marauder¡¯s Hall.

    The Marauders accompanying them on their way back¡ªBjorn and Serene¡ªhad introduced themselves, but their interest in him was fleeting. Once the formalities were done, they had paid him no further mind, their attention directed at their own conversations. Oden, though, had been different. His questions came sharp and intrusive. His words, methodical and deliberate, tried to pry into Sorn¡¯s past and his identity. It was the same as when Keilan and Crystal had interrogated him, but Oden''s approach was more intense, more calculating. It was as though he were a predator, picking at the bones of a carcass, searching for weakness.

    Sorn had offered nothing. No answers, no clues, no piece of his story to satisfy his new companion¡¯s hunger. Fifteen minutes, Oden had interrogated, only to be responded by an empty answer accompanied by a steady, unblinking stare. It had been a useless endeavor, for Sorn could not answer what he did not know. And after that brief eternity, the Marauder had finally relented, his eyes narrowing in mild frustration as the sun dipped low, casting the world into the night¡¯s shadow. The four stopped before the Marauder¡¯s Hall. It was a wide building of ice, filled with nothing but quarters for the Clan to reside.

    Oden¡¯s words were a confident promise. ¡°Tomorrow, you will have your questions answered. Your doubts will be erased. But tonight, I would recommend you to rest.¡± And with that, they had left him alone with his newly appointed watcher in his room.

    Sorn now rose from the bed, his bare feet meeting the cold ice floor with a sharpness that made him shiver. He moved carefully, lest the heavy sleeper before him stir, but the thought of waking the man seemed like a foolish one. It was the kind of thought that Sorn would learn to regret if the wrong person were to learn of this.

    A set of clothes sat neatly on the bedside table¡ªsimple garments that seemed to belong to anyone and no one at once. He took them, his fingers brushing against the fabric. The clothing was foreign, quite unlike the uniforms he had already grown used to seeing. With a quick glance back at the slumbering Marauder, Sorn stepped from the room and into the hallway beyond.

    Sorn moved slowly through the corridor, searching for a restroom. It took him longer than it should have, but eventually, he found a small, modest chamber, a flickering light casting long shadows on the walls. He closed the door behind him, stripped the remnants of his old clothes, and dressed quickly. When he was done, he stood before the mirror, the faint reflection of his own face staring back at him, a stranger that he would one day grow used to seeing.

    When Sorn opened the wooden door, he was startled by a man standing right outside, waiting for him. He stumbled back a step or two, but the shock faded quickly. To his relief, the figure before him was no stranger. Oden stood with a grin that stretched wide across his face, a smile that spoke of confidence.

    "You¡¯re awake early," Oden remarked.

    As he responded with a simple ¡°yes¡±, Sorn studied the man. Though Oden was smaller than most of the Marauders he had seen, his frame still made him taller than Sorn by a few inches. Sorn¡¯s gaze dropped to Oden¡¯s left hand. Blood was dripping from the back of it, dark against the pale skin, a slow, steady drip that splattered onto the floor with each shift of Oden¡¯s fingers. Sorn¡¯s eyes narrowed, but Oden, seeming to sense the question before it was asked, put the bleeding hand on Sorn¡¯s shoulder.

    "Don¡¯t trouble yourself over it," Oden said, his smile never faltering. "Just a bad dream I get sometimes."

    Despite the vague dismissal answer, Sorn felt a sense of truthfulness to the answer. The finality in Oden¡¯s response made Sorn refrain from asking anything further.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    They made their way back down the long corridor, passing by the room Sorn woke up in. Sorn¡¯s gaze flicked briefly and he noticed the chair, once occupied by the man who had watched him in the night, was empty. A small pool of blood marred the floor beneath the chair. Sorn felt a prickling unease crawl up his spine, but he said nothing, letting the moment pass in silence. Oden didn¡¯t take any notice of the room.

    Making it outside after descending some stairs, Sorn once again felt the biting air. Both the interior and exterior of the Hall were empty, save for the silent sweep of snow that lay in undisturbed drifts. The cloak he had worn the day before was once again wrapped around his shoulders, heavy and comforting against the chill. He hadn¡¯t asked where they were going¡ªOden hadn¡¯t bothered to explain. But the Marauder¡¯s promise of a day spent walking felt more like an obligation than an invitation.

    ¡°So,¡± Oden said, his voice light, as they walked along the snow-dusted path. The crunch of their boots was the only other sound in the stillness. "Anything you¡¯d like to ask me?"

    Sorn glanced sideways at Oden, but there was no telling what lay behind that wide, too-pleasant smile. The question that had been gnawing at him for an entire day slipped seamlessly from his lips before he could stop it. ¡°What¡¯s going to happen to me?¡±

    Oden took a moment to respond, his face now painted in a more serious manner. ¡°I thought that was made clear in your Trial. In fourteen days, the night of the Prophecy will fall upon us. It happens once every fifty years, so I¡¯ve never seen it myself. Some old man from the Pythia Clan reads the stars, makes his Prophecy, and it¡¯s said that it always comes true. The Pythia are a strange lot. They never show themselves, always holed up in their watchtower on the outskirts, staring up at the sky.¡±

    Sorn¡¯s brow furrowed, but he kept walking. What did any of this have to do with him? Was there any guarantee that Sorn would be involved in the Prophecy?

    Oden seemed to read his thoughts without needing to say a word. ¡°As for you, your involvement in the Prophecy is almost a certainty. Not just because of who you are, but more importantly because you fell from the sky.¡± Oden¡¯s eyes twinkled as he talked. He was clearly enjoying this conversation. ¡°Like I said before, what happens in the sky is pretty important to us, and your descent has got many people whispering that you¡¯re tied to whatever the Prophecy has to say.¡±

    Sorn¡¯s mind raced to keep up with the information he was receiving. ¡°And what does that mean for me?¡±

    ¡°Simple,¡± Oden replied, his grin slipping into something more knowing. ¡°If the Prophecy sees you as a threat, you¡¯re dead. If it doesn¡¯t, then you¡¯ll be allowed to prove yourself in the Tournament. Survive it, and you¡¯ll be accepted as a Marauder. Fail, and¨C¡± He shrugged. ¡°Well, you die.¡±

    Sorn felt a shiver upon hearing those last words, but something also bothered him. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say the Prophecy always comes true?¡±

    ¡°I did.¡±

    ¡°Then if it says I¡¯m a danger, wouldn¡¯t it be pointless to try to stop me?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that simple. If the Prophecy deems you a threat, that¡¯s enough reason to end you before you prove it right. But if the stars say you¡¯re meant to do something, then we can¡¯t change it. Not even if we wanted to.¡± He let the weight of his words settle between them, ¡°That¡¯s why there were some who wanted you dead on the spot. Because the Prophecy doesn¡¯t care about what doesn¡¯t exist. If you¡¯re alive you¡¯re guaranteed to be part of it. If you aren¡¯t, then you¡¯ll be on nobody¡¯s mind.¡±

    Sorn was beginning to understand the stakes, but there was still a lot he didn¡¯t know. ¡°I see,¡± he said, his voice distant. He was grateful to Oden for keeping him alive so far. Sorn wasn¡¯t a threat. That¡¯s what Sorn would like to think at least. But still, the thought of dying before he ever had a chance to live made his chest tighten with a cold fear. ¡°If you don¡¯t mind, could you explain the Tournament to me?¡±

    Oden had kept silent as he watched Sorn think, watching him like a hawk. ¡°The Council you saw yesterday are the ones running the whole thing. The Tournament is the most important event here, as it always follows the night of the prophecy. It¡¯s the only thing that gets any real attention in this dreary Fortress. The Tournament¡¯s always been a heavy influence regarding who the next Council will be. Varian, the Iron Stag as well as Lyra, the Silent Chord were the winners of the last Tournament. And now, with the Promised Day coming in only three years, it¡¯s more important than ever.¡± Oden¡¯s voice carried more weight as he spoke these words. ¡°This year, the Tournament is going to decide the future of our militia. Our strategy, the next generation of leaders will all be part of the result the Tournament brings.¡±

    Sorn had heard from Crystal before of the Promised Day, the day when the raised bridges would lower, and the Elementals would travel from their isolated islands to clash in a race for Seraph¡¯s unparalleled power.

    ¡°The Tournament¡¯s rules are different this year too,¡± Oden continued. ¡°The minimum age to participate has been lowered. It used to be twenty-five, but now? We¡¯ve got a mere fifteen-year-old boy participating.¡±

    As Oden ended his sentence, the duo arrived at a strange ice statue. The sun had fully risen, its beams now raining slight warmth on Sorn¡¯s back. They had left the roads of the interior area. Now in the outskirts, the snow was much deeper, and Sorn could feel his shoes sinking with every step.

    The statue they stopped at was massive. Nearly double Sorn¡¯s size, he looked up at the beautiful artistry. Oden smiled at Sorn¡¯s interest. He looked at the statue with less enthusiasm, as this was something he had seen hundreds of times before. The face was one of a male¡¯s but the features were still soft, almost androgynous. Long hair fluttered from the skull of the statue, frozen forever in a dance. The robes were luxurious, its design unlike anything Sorn had ever witnessed.

    ¡°This was made by the Third Emperor many centuries ago,¡± Oden explained. ¡°Aelon, the First Emperor had a great love for Seraph, the Champion of Light. The Third Emperor, Andreas, was inspired by his Grandfather¡¯s stories and he made this masterpiece upon his passing.¡±

    The statue sure was impressive, but Oden seemed far more disengaged in this conversation than any prior one. Sorn had deduced that the Marauder loved to talk from his previous enthusiasm, but with this knowledge he decided that this analysis was to be changed. Oden loved to talk about things he was interested in.

    Sure enough, Oden began walking, motioning for Sorn to follow him. ¡°Come, there is more history for you to see. The Frost Archives shouldn¡¯t be too far away.¡±

 7. Frost Archives

    Sorn exhaled, his breath misting before him. The journey had been taxing, the sort of trek that burrowed itself deep into one¡¯s legs and lungs. The Fortress was carved from the mountain¡¯s heart, and the farther one ventures inward, the less the terrain seemed to belong to men and more to the mountain itself. Here, in what Oden referred to as the outskirts, snow fell thicker, and buildings became scarce.

    They had walked for the better part of an hour, always uphill, though the slope had been deliberately gentle¡ªpurposeful, no doubt, to stave off the threat of avalanches. With each step upward, the ground beneath them grew quieter, the crunch of their boots swallowed by the dense snow.

    Along the way, Oden had been recognized more times than Sorn could count. Men and women of blue hair alike had greeted him warmly, with nods or waves that bespoke a respect rarely given freely in these lands. Their faces softened at the sight of him, though the same could not be said for Sorn. The cloaked figure at Oden¡¯s side drew stares¡ªawkward and searching. Though no words were ever exchanged, he could feel their questions hanging in the air.

    ¡°Rumors travel faster than the wind in these parts,¡± Oden remarked, catching the way Sorn glanced at one of the onlookers. His lips curled into a slight smirk, as if he found the entire ordeal amusing. ¡°But don¡¯t worry. They won¡¯t say anything to you. Their tongues may wag among themselves, but they don¡¯t have any intentions of doing anything to you while I¡¯m around.¡± Sorn noticed Oden pull on his sleeve as he talked. ¡°Those in the outskirts have a healthy respect for the Marauders. We¡¯re the only clan that doesn¡¯t bow to the nonsense of hereditary talent. To us, a man is worth the sum of his own sweat and skill, not the shadow of his ancestors.¡±

    Sorn nodded, though he wasn¡¯t sure he fully understood.

    ¡°I¡¯ve come out here before myself,¡± Oden continued, his voice taking on a contemplative edge. ¡°To see if there¡¯s any steel among the folk here, anyone with fire in their gut and grit in their hands. We give them a chance to join us, to forge themselves into something greater than a farmer. Not many make the cut, but those who do are welcomed into the interior as a Marauder.¡±

    Oden¡¯s gaze swept across the horizon, where the snow rose in uneven drifts. ¡°They earn something more honorable. A life where they¡¯re not just surviving, but standing. Fighting. Living for something bigger than themselves.¡±

    Sorn cast his gaze around the outskirts, taking in the quiet rhythm of life that pulsed through this snowy corner of the Fortress. He struggled to fathom why anyone would willingly abandon such a place. The homes here were humble but sturdy. Families worked together, faces ruddy from the cold and their honest labor. Children chased one another through the snow, their laughter echoing in the still air. It was a life unadorned by excess, yet it seemed rich in its own way¡ªa wealth measured in warmth.

    Oden had explained, during their climb, that there was no rigid class system here, no gilded lords or groveling peasants. If anything, the farmers lived better than the soldiers. ¡°The fields provide in abundance,¡± he had said, ¡°but a soldier¡¯s life demands discipline¡ªdiscipline of the body, the mind, and the stomach. For most of us at least, food is plain, and our lifestyle is dull. Such is the price we must pay if we are to prevail on the Promised Day.¡±

    Sorn had nodded at the time, though his thoughts had lingered on the image of well-fed farmers and stoic soldiers, two sides of the same coin in a society built on scarcity and sacrifice. Now, as he watched a father teach his son how to wield a farming scythe, he wondered if perhaps the farmers were the luckier of the two.

    ¡°Honor is everything here,¡± Oden had said earlier, his tone firm. ¡°Since you weren¡¯t raised as one of us, you wouldn¡¯t understand. Your worth isn¡¯t measured in coin or comfort¡ªit¡¯s in your status, your deeds, and your achievements. That¡¯s why the Tournament doesn¡¯t offer gold or titles. The prize is the honor itself. For most of us, that¡¯s worth dying for. Of course, you¡¯re more likely for a position on the Council, but it is not a desirable position to obtain. My uncle often complains of long nights and intense politics. But the honor to us makes the sacrifice more than worth it.¡±

    The words still echoed in Sorn¡¯s mind. He glanced at Oden now, watching the Marauder pick his way across the snow-covered path with ease, his shoulders relaxed and his expression unreadable. Oden had been patient with Sorn during their journey, answering every question the Outsider posed. He¡¯d explained the Tournament, the traditions, the values of his people. Sorn had begun to comprehend, but the ideologies presented to him continued to feel alien.

    What puzzled Sorn most of all, though, was Oden himself. The Marauder spoke of honor with the reverence of a priest speaking of a god, but his voice carried no passion. When the subject of the Tournament came up, there was no fervor in his tone. He spoke of his people¡¯s values as if reciting a hymn he had long since ceased to believe in.

    ¡°What about you?¡± Sorn asked suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. ¡°Do you really care about honor?¡±

    Oden stopped in his tracks, turning to face Sorn with a wry smile. His blue eyes glittered like sharp shards of ice. ¡°Careful, Sorn. You¡¯re starting to sound like you think you know me.¡± He chuckled softly, but there was an edge to it. ¡°For this assumption however, you are correct. Honor means nothing to me. I have my own goals, and they don¡¯t need a stage or envious onlookers.¡±

    He didn¡¯t elaborate, and Sorn decided not to press him. Instead, they continued their climb, the path narrowing as it wound deeper into the outskirts. The air grew colder, and the snow thickened beneath their boots.

    Eventually, a strange building loomed ahead, its frosted walls catching the pale sunlight and scattering it in fleeting patterns across the snow. Its height was modest, dwarfed by buildings such as the Goblet and the Royal Palace. However, the presence of this building was undeniable. Its walls were adorned with intricate designs, lines twisting and curling like a frozen flame. Every mark seemed deliberate, the labor of a hundred hands. The ¡°Frost Archives¡±, Oden called it.

    Ahead, giant twin doors of stone barred their way. They bore no handles or hinges. If there was a way to enter, Sorn could not discern it.

    ¡°How typical of him,¡± Oden muttered. It was unclear whether he spoke to Sorn or himself. ¡°He doesn¡¯t even bother leaving this place anymore. I warned him about burying himself too deeply in old parchment.¡±

    Oden turned and gave Sorn a knowing look. ¡°Stand back.¡±

    Sorn hesitated, unsure of what was to come, but obeyed, retreating several steps to give the Marauder room. Oden stood before the doors, his shoulders set, his breath coming slow and steady. For a moment, he simply stared at the unyielding stone.

    Then, without warning, Oden charged. He hurled himself at the doors, lowering his shoulder as he collided with the frosted stone. The impact echoed through the air. A crack resounded, and the massive doors shuddered before swinging open with a groan, their weight dragging against the frozen threshold.

    Oden sprawled momentarily on the ground, but he rose quickly, brushing snow from his cloak as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. His face split into a grin as he caught sight of Sorn¡¯s wide-eyed expression.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°After you,¡± Oden said, bowing slightly and sweeping an arm toward the darkened interior beyond.

    <hr>

    The interior of the Frost Archives was a cathedral of knowledge. Towering shelves of ice rose from floor to ceiling, their sheer height dizzying. They were arranged with military precision, six in total, creating long aisles that stretched into shadowed recesses.

    Sorn turned slowly, his breath visible in the chill air as he tried to take it all in.

    "Impressive, isn¡¯t it?¡± Oden said with a smirk, watching Sorn¡¯s awestruck expression. ¡°There¡¯s no other place like this, not in all the Fortress.¡±

    Sorn¡¯s brow furrowed as he turned to Oden. ¡°What exactly are we doing here?¡±

    Oden sighed, his smirk fading as his eyes scanned the dim expanse of the Archives. ¡°We¡¯re here to rouse a ghost from its lair,¡± he muttered. Then, louder: ¡°Nothing really fazes that old geezer.¡±

    Without further explanation, Oden stepped into an open space in the center of the Archives. He raised one hand to the cold, high air, and frost began to form around his fingers. The frost thickened, crackling as it grew, shaping itself into the form of a massive hammer. Oden hefted it with ease, the weight of it seeming inconsequential in his grasp.

    ¡°Oi, Qian!¡± Oden bellowed, his voice booming off the vaulted ceiling. ¡°You¡¯d best show yourself, or one of these bookshelves is coming down!¡±

    A shrill, piercing voice responded, echoing from somewhere above. ¡°ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT! Put that blasted thing away before you break something, you reckless beast!¡±

    Sorn looked up, following the sound of the voice, and spotted a figure perched on a balcony that overlooked the room. Before he could make out much detail, the figure leaped from the high ledge, landing with a surprising grace that belied his apparent age. The man straightened, brushing frost from his cloak, and approached Oden and Sorn.

    The newcomer was ancient, his face lined with deep creases and his blue hair displaying streaks of gray. Yet there was a wiry strength to him, his posture straight, his movements spry. In one hand, he clutched a thick, heavy book, holding it aloft like a shield warding off a charging bull.

    ¡°Darn brute boy,¡± the man grumbled, his voice scratchy but forceful. ¡°You dare interrupt my precious, precious reading time? This had better be worth it, or I¡¯ll have you mucking out my goat pens and weeding my garden for a fortnight!¡±

    Oden grinned broadly, ignoring the man¡¯s scolding as he stepped forward and threw his arms around him, the hammer fading from existence the moment he had caught sight of the old man. The smaller man squawked in protest as Oden nearly lifted him off his feet in a bone-crushing embrace.

    ¡°Missed you, old goat,¡± Oden said, laughter rumbling in his chest. ¡°What¡¯s it been now? Three years?¡±

    ¡°Three years too short,¡± Qian muttered, wriggling free from Oden¡¯s grip and straightening his cloak with great dignity

    Qian¡¯s sharp eyes landed on Sorn for the first time. ¡°And who,¡± he demanded, his voice laced with suspicion, ¡°is this you¡¯ve brought to my threshold, Oden?¡±

    Oden, as if reminded of Sorn¡¯s presence for the first time since their entrance, turned with a grin and, without ceremony, yanked the boy¡¯s cloak from his shoulders. The hood fell away, revealing Sorn fully to the flickering light of the Archive.

    Qian¡¯s reaction was instant and dramatic. He staggered back as if struck, his mouth agape in a theatrical gasp. Recovering quickly, he conjured a slim rod of ice in his hand and began prodding Sorn with the unyielding tip, his face a study of shock and wonder. ¡°It cannot be! What is this creature you¡¯ve dragged into my domain?¡±

    ¡°Remind you of anything?¡± Oden asked, his tone laden with amusement.

    Qian squinted, pacing a step closer to Sorn as he scrutinized him. ¡°Black hair, black eyes,¡± he murmured. ¡°Certainly no kin to the Frostborn. A stranger to our kind, then. But where, boy, did you spring from?¡±

    Sorn hesitated, feeling the old man¡¯s questions pry at something deep inside him. He was somewhat tired of this feeling. ¡°The sky,¡± he said finally, his voice flat.

    Qian¡¯s eyes lit with intrigue, though Sorn could not decide if it was genuine or mocking. ¡°A skyfall!¡± the old man exclaimed, his tone veering toward delighted incredulity. ¡°A tale worthy of an epic, surely. And yet you seem remarkably ordinary.¡±

    ¡°Not ordinary enough for the Council¡¯s liking,¡± Oden interjected. ¡°The Dancing Blade brought him before them. It was by miracle that I managed to secure him a place among the Marauders.¡±

    ¡°And the Council let him live?¡± Qian¡¯s surprise seemed unfeigned, his tone tinged with dark humor. ¡°A skyborn boy? Unmarked by an element? Hah! It¡¯s a wonder they didn¡¯t plant a spear through his heart on the spot.¡±

    Sorn¡¯s lips twisted in a bitter smile. ¡°They almost did,¡± he muttered under his breath, the memory of Varian¡¯s spearhead flashing vividly in his mind.

    Qian laughed dryly, the sound raspy. ¡°And now you stand before me, boy,¡± he said, his sharp gaze boring into Sorn. ¡°No previous Prophecy foretells of your arrival. Yet I wager the next Prophecy will not stay silent on the matter. You are an enigma the skies themselves will answer for.¡±

    Oden gave Sorn a sidelong glance, his expression tinged with disappointment. He had hoped that Qian would have had more answers. ¡°If anyone in this Fortress knows what to make of you, it¡¯s this man,¡± he said grimly.

    Qian preened at the praise, his gnarled hands clasping behind his back as he straightened. ¡°That is an irrefutable truth,¡± he declared, his voice dripping with self-satisfaction. ¡°There is no mind in this Fortress more attuned to the weave of history, no keeper of secrets more learned than I.¡±

    Sorn raised an eyebrow, but Qian continued unabated, his voice growing somber. ¡°Once, long ago, I was one of the ''Loreweavers'', a clan whose sole purpose was the pursuit, preservation, and safeguarding of knowledge. For centuries, we gathered truths, the whispers of the Prophecies, the mysteries of the word itself. But power fears truth, and the Council declared us a threat. Spears were raised against us, and the Loreweavers retaliated. My kin were hunted, our Archives burned, our histories scattered to the winds. Now, I am the last.¡±

    Oden let out a sharp, humorless snort. "If there''s one thing those order-loving bastards excel at, it¡¯s massacres."

    Qian sighed deeply, his gaze softening as it roamed lovingly over the towering shelves that filled his sanctuary. ¡°The Archives before this were far grander, vaults of thought and wonder, scattered in the interior. When the Council declared us heretics, most were razed to ash. This one¡ªthis humble keep¡ªwas built in secret, carved stone by stone by the last remnants of my people, when I was but a child. Our more compliant elders bargained with the Council to preserve it, submitting to their suffocating decrees.¡±

    Sorn¡¯s curiosity overcame his earlier unease. ¡°What sort of decrees?¡±

    A mirthless smile crept across Qian¡¯s lips. ¡°Decrees, boy? Chains. I am to collect but not inquire, to preserve but not share. And now, even speaking with the likes of you is a trespass. Were the Council to know of this conversation¨C¡± He trailed off, leaving his sentence unfinished but obvious.

    ¡°I see.¡± Sorn shifted his weight uncomfortably, guilt flickering in his chest. There was something about Qian¡¯s earnestness that stirred a quiet respect in the boy. Though the old man¡¯s initial prying had irked him, he now felt an understanding of the loneliness etched into Qian¡¯s every word.

    Oden broke the silence. ¡°Qian isn¡¯t just forbidden from spreading knowledge. They¡¯ve made sure he can¡¯t seek it either. His life is confined to this cold mausoleum, tending to secrets that no one else is allowed to hear.¡±

    Sorn frowned, his thoughts turning. ¡°What does the Council fear from knowledge?¡±

    Qian gave a sardonic chuckle, the sound like the cracking of dry wood. ¡°They fear what power always fears, questions. Questions are the chisels that bring empires down. They worry one might pry into things best left buried.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re trying to hide something,¡± Sorn murmured, his voice low as he came to this realization.

    Oden¡¯s lips curved into a wolfish grin. ¡°You¡¯re catching on quick, Outsider.¡±

    The implication hung heavy in the air. Sorn¡¯s mind churned, connecting threads that felt tenuous. The Council¡¯s hostility, their rigid control. And most relevant, he recalled Crystal¡¯s words from their time in the cave, as she boldly revealed what she believed the Council to be hiding.

    ¡°The Sacrifice is a lie.¡±

    His eyes flickered toward Oden, uncertainty clouding his gaze. Should he share what Crystal had confided? If Oden already knew, admitting it might make him appear foolish. If he didn¡¯t, then Sorn feared the weight of the revelation might not belong to him to give. Crystal had taken a risk sharing it; it was not his place to gamble with her trust.

    Instead, he chose silence. The Marauder¡¯s motivations remained shrouded, almost as murky as the Council¡¯s own. Oden had risked much to shield him, but Sorn suspected that protection could be as much about power as it was about principle.

    [Cont. next chap!]

 8. Frost Archives II

    ¡°I have other reasons to believe this,¡± Oden added, ¡°but the truth of it is plain enough. There¡¯s something the Council doesn¡¯t want us to know.¡±

    Sorn frowned. ¡°Isn¡¯t your uncle on the Council?¡± He recalled Bjorn¡¯s tense demeanor during his brief encounters with the man, alongside his sharp exchanges with the other Council members during Sorn¡¯s Trial. Surely, Bjorn, with his position and influence, had access to the secrets Oden spoke of.

    Oden¡¯s lip curled, though whether in amusement or frustration, Sorn couldn¡¯t tell. ¡°The Storm Troll is a voice of reason among fools. However, his seat on the Council is more honorary than anything else. The true keepers of the Council¡¯s mysteries are Varian the Iron Stag, the Emperor himself, and his Royal Guard.¡± His voice lowered, sharp as a winter gale. ¡°It¡¯s safe to say the rest of them, my uncle included, are as much in the dark as we are.¡±

    At this, Qian, who had been silently sorting through a mound of dusty tomes, chuckled. His expression was one of unrestrained glee, the sort only a scholar with a secret could muster. ¡°Compared to me, however,¡± he said with an air of self-satisfaction, ¡°they are practically blind.¡±

    Oden gave a sharp laugh. ¡°True enough.¡± He turned his gaze back to Sorn. ¡°While we¡¯re here, I may as well enlighten you on some recent events the Spears would prefer buried under the snow.¡±

    Qian had ascended into the labyrinth of shelves, his ice-crafted platform creaking faintly under his weight as he searched for something unseen. His absence left the air heavy, and Oden took the moment to ask, ¡°Did Crystal ever tell you about Draco?¡±

    Sorn nodded cautiously. ¡°She mentioned he was her brother.¡±

    ¡°And did she tell you of the Sacrifice?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Oden leaned against the nearest shelf, his broad shoulders eclipsing the faint glow of the lantern behind him. ¡°Draco wasn¡¯t just her brother. He was a legend¡ªa star of potential that burned too brightly for the world to contain.¡±

    His voice dipped into the rich cadence of a storyteller. ¡°Twenty years ago, the eldest child of the Royal family, Rhaen, disappeared into the night. It was one week before his scheduled Sacrifice. The Fortress erupted in chaos. I was just a baby then, but there are still whispers of the uproar. Ragnar was always a peculiar one, they say. Lazy, aimless, uninterested in what our people hold dear.¡±

    Oden paused, his gaze growing distant. ¡°Draco was different. He was the pride of the land, a prodigy unmatched. By the time he was fifteen, he was outmatching warriors twice his age, beating a member of the Spear¡¯s First Division in single combat. It was a practice match, but with such a feat, there was no doubt in anyone¡¯s mind¡ªhe was destined to win the Tournament and lead us into glory on the Promised Day.¡±

    ¡°But Rhaen vanished,¡± Sorn interjected, piecing it together. ¡°And that left Draco to take his place.¡±

    ¡°Exactly,¡± Oden replied, a grim smile tugging at his lips. ¡°The Council faced a dilemma. The only viable candidates were Draco and Keilan, as it must be a son sacrificed. Draco fought tooth and nail to protect his brother. Rumors say he nearly came to blows with Varian in the Council chambers. In the end, the Council relented. Draco would take the burden upon himself.¡±

    ¡°But he didn¡¯t,¡± Sorn murmured.

    ¡°No,¡± Oden said. ¡°A week before his Sacrifice, just like his brother before him, Draco vanished. But unlike Ragnar, Draco did not slip away quietly. He and his closest allies ransacked the Goblet, killing dozens of Spears. Then they began to move toward the Fortress gates, slaughtering anyone who stood in their way. By the time he reached the outer gates, the Spears were in ruins. The entire Second Division was wiped out, along with a Captain of the First. The losses were crippling for them.¡±

    Oden let the weight of his words settle in the air, allowing Sorn time to chew on Oden¡¯s words. The silence stretched out between them, the heavy ticking of time seeming to press down on the small room. Finally, Oden spoke again, his voice edged with something like curiosity.

    "Has your understanding of your situation deepened now?" he asked as he surveyed Sorn. "A week before the first Sacrifice, the subject vanishes without a trace. A week before the second Sacrifice, the subject brings ruin upon the greatest Clan in history, and then disappears into the snow. And now, with the third and final Sacrifice at hand, a boy from the outside arrives just before it is scheduled to happen."

    Sorn¡¯s stomach twisted. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to shift in his mind, but the image they formed was still too unclear, too fragmented. He tried to push the doubt aside, but the more he thought about it, the more everything seemed, well, planned.

    Before he could respond, Qian¡¯s voice rang out.

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t surprise me if the boy was sent by Draco himself, or even by Ragnar. Most believe them to be dead or gone forever. They are wrong. No doubt they¡¯re still alive out there, plotting.¡± Qian was hanging upside down from a frozen ice structure he¡¯d created, his body contorted in a way that made Sorn¡¯s neck ache just looking at him. ¡°The timing is too perfect. Too suspicious. I suspect the Spears are wondering the same thing.¡± His grin was wide, but it wasn¡¯t a smile of comfort¡ªit was the kind of grin a fox wears when it senses a trap.

    Sorn hadn¡¯t considered it in those terms, but the more he thought about it, the more sense it made. His mind drifted back to the book Crystal had shown him, the words inscribed by Draco¡¯s hand: ¡®Await the boy who falls from the sky.¡¯ He could no longer deny it. There was a thread connecting him to Draco, a line that ran deeper than mere chance. He thought back to the man with the "VIII" tattoo, the same one who had given Crystal the book. Crystal believed that he was undoubtedly tied to Draco. He had little doubt in this theory as well now.

    "It still is curious, isn¡¯t it?" Oden¡¯s voice broke into his thoughts, a tone of quiet amusement weaving through his words. "Sending a boy with no memories, with no skills to speak of¡ªskills that couldn''t even best Toren of the Dancing Blade." Oden¡¯s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Toren¡¯s not unskilled, but even he with all his pride would admit that he can¡¯t surpass the average soldier of the Third Division. You¡¯re still just a child, like us. So, what¡¯s the purpose of sending you?" His voice became more contemplative. "Perhaps your true power lies dormant, waiting for the right moment to awaken. Or maybe you¡¯re just a good actor, playing your role to perfection. Who can say? Anything¡¯s possible when the boy who falls from the sky shows up at the edge of everything."

    Sorn felt a flicker of resentment flare up inside him, though he tried to suppress it. The doubts Oden voiced were a sharp sting to his pride. He knew he had no answers¡ªhe still didn¡¯t remember who he was or where he came from¡ªbut to be treated like some untrustworthy pawn, stung more than he cared to admit.

    He leaned forward slightly, his voice tight with suspicion. "Then why keep me around?" he asked, the question hanging heavy in the air. There was more to it, he knew. Oden hadn¡¯t just taken him in out of some misplaced sense of charity. "If you think I¡¯m just a tool in someone else¡¯s game, why not cut me loose?"

    ¡°Multiple reasons,¡± Oden replied, as though this answer had been rehearsed, carefully thought through in the quiet corners of his mind for some time. ¡°Firstly, I trust Draco. I believe he learned something. A truth the Spears never wanted us to see, and it¡¯s that knowledge that drove him to act as he did. I believe it wasn¡¯t a display of madness; it was an action of clarity.¡±The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Oden paused, his gaze turning distant for a moment. ¡°And then there¡¯s the fact that I¡¯m a Marauder. We live for chaos. We thrive in it. We don¡¯t just bend the rules¡ªwe break them, and we find joy in doing so. The Spears, the Order¡ªthey stand for rigidity. They worship control and submission. And we are the dissonance in their perfect, ordered world.¡± His voice roughened, as though the very thought of the Spears brought a bitter taste to his tongue.

    Oden¡¯s next words were spoken with a quiet, almost haunting finality.

    ¡°Most of us, those who actually understand this world, the ones who know there is a game being played behind the curtain, we don¡¯t believe in the Sacrifice the way most do,¡± Oden said. It was as though he were sharing a secret, one too dangerous to keep but too dangerous to reveal too openly.

    Sorn frowned, confusion clouding his thoughts. ¡°Why not?¡± The question was out before he could stop it. He couldn¡¯t help himself¡ªthere were too many pieces of this twisted puzzle that didn¡¯t seem to fit together. Crystal had reached the same conclusion, and if she¡¯d shared that with Oden, well, then it made sense to trust in them both. But something about this felt off.

    Oden¡¯s eyes darkened. ¡°Keilan¡¯s freedom,¡± he said, voice tight, ¡°is far too suspicious. You see, the Order¡¯s structure is one of control and restriction. The only reasonable course of action for someone in his position would be to keep him bound. In chains, if necessary.¡± His lips twisted into a bitter smile. ¡°But they don¡¯t. They give him the freedom to come and go as he pleases, to leave the Fortress walls, even alone. And that,¡± he leaned forward, his voice low, ¡°makes me question what we know. The Sacrifice is supposed to be the linchpin that holds this place together. Without it, the island falls. So, either the Sacrifice is a lie, or the Spears are so monumentally stupid that they¡¯re willing to risk everything for one boy who is going to die anyways. And I don¡¯t believe in the second conclusion at all.¡±

    Sorn¡¯s question was quick to come out. "What if they¡¯re hiding something else?"

    Oden¡¯s lips pressed together in a thin line, his gaze hardening. "Any excuse the Iron Stag offers will not change the conclusion we¡¯ve already reached." His voice was low, dangerous. "Keilan does not need to die as the Sacrifice. Yet they continue to insist, year after year, that he will. And why? What is it that they¡¯re trying to hide?"

    Qian¡¯s eyes glinted with an odd gleam of curiosity. He had been surprisingly quiet for this duration, letting Oden do all the explaining, but it seemed now his patience had run thin. "It all comes across as suspicious," he said, tinged with intrigue. "And it''s not just us, boy. This is splitting the Council down the middle. Every passing week, the tension between the Spears and the Marauders grows. And the final conflict is inevitable."

    "Like I told you before," Oden said, "our ideologies are worlds apart. The Marauders were born two centuries ago from the outskirts of the Fortress. A single man, an honorless farmer, trained himself to the point where he could match the best our army had to offer. He forged our clan through sheer grit and power." Oden''s eyes were proud as he said this. "We Marauders aren¡¯t tied to bloodlines, or the Emperor¡¯s name, like every other clan. We prove ourselves by our strength, our will, our defiance."

    Sorn¡¯s brow furrowed as he listened. He was technically a Marauder himself, so he supposed this was important for him to know.

    "We currently represent eighty percent of the army," Oden continued, "The Spears and their precious bloodlines, they can no longer ignore us. They¡¯ve no choice but to respect us. And with the Promised Day drawing closer, they will not instigate anything unless absolutely necessary. The power of the Marauders is undeniable, and extremely costly to lose."

    "It¡¯s the only reason the Fortress hasn¡¯t fallen into open conflict," Qian chimed in, leaning close to Sorn. Sorn recoiled instinctively, stepping back a pace. "But mark my words, boy," Qian whispered with the glee of a man recounting a prophecy of doom, "Oden might tell you he wants you to succeed, but what he truly hopes for is disaster. There¡¯s no one in this land who wishes for the fall of the Spears more than our dear Oden. I suspect you might be the spark he¡¯s been waiting for."

    Sorn looked between them, a chill creeping down his spine. Oden¡¯s expression had darkened, but his voice remained steady.

    Oden looked away for a moment, his gaze drifting out of the window as if searching for something on the distant horizon. The flicker of guilt crossed his face, though Sorn didn¡¯t fully trust it. "It is true," he said slowly, almost apologetically, "when the bridges fall, it will be catastrophic without the Spears and Marauders fighting together. But I prefer to take things one step at a time. One goal, one victory. The future can wait."

    Sorn mulled over the words, his mind drifting to the weight of the situation. He thought back to Varian. A man who, despite the crumbling ruins of his once-great Clan, still carried himself as though he were untouchable. Varian had maintained his seat at the head of the Council, his arrogance intact, despite Draco¡¯s defiance and the rise of the Marauders. The Spears were fractured, but Varian¡¯s pride was a sturdy thing, and it seemed to hold them all together, for now.

    Qian interrupted the silence with a chuckle. "Seems Varian¡¯s little game has succeeded in shaking up the young boy," he said, his eyes gleaming with a strange sort of satisfaction. "Ah, the sweet taste of uncertainty, it suits you, doesn''t it, Sorn?"

    Sorn¡¯s thoughts churned. "I just wonder," he mused aloud, unable to hold back the question, "how easy would it be to actually beat the leader of the Council?"

    Qian raised an eyebrow, his expression thoughtful as if savoring the prospect of such a question. Oden¡¯s lips pressed together in a tight line before answering."If the Spears and the Marauders fought today," Oden began, his voice hardening with the gravity of the answer, "it would not be a swift victory. A stalemate, perhaps, or Varian would edge out the win, though only just. He¡¯d have a few First Division members left standing, but the rest of his Clan would be decimated." He looked at Sorn, his eyes calculating. "The Spears are dangerous, but far from invincible."

    "Yes," Qian chimed in with a sly grin. "But then, there¡¯s the two famed members of the Royal Guard. They¡¯re quite the unpredictable bunch. A duo with unbounded loyalty to the throne. But this current Emperor, older than even I, is an unpredictable man, who spends his final days in deep slumber like every Emperor before him. Even I cannot predict what actions they will take." His eyes narrowed. "But in the end, the true deciding factor will be the Dancing Blade."

    Sorn¡¯s thoughts turned to the only two members he knew that represented the Dancing Blade, the leader and the heir. Toren had nearly ended Sorn¡¯s life outside the Fortress, but Freyja seemed far more kind and likable.

    Oden spoke with a sense of ambition. ¡°Freyja¡¯s strength could change the course of a battle. My uncle has worked tirelessly to bring her to our side. A final push is all she needs. Once she¡¯s with us, there¡¯s nothing to stop us from taking the Fortress. It would be an easy victory.¡±

    Qian, ever the observer, added his own thoughts. ¡°Freyja¡¯s strength is no mere rumor. Her power is rumored to be one of legend by her own people, and the Dancing Blade are not given to exaggeration. None of these whispers come from her own mouth. It is a truth borne of her very presence.¡± He paused, then added with a smirk, ¡°The most beautiful woman in the Fortress, and also one of the strongest. It¡¯s a fitting combination, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    It was clear now why Oden had brought Sorn here. Qian, for all his peculiarities, was no fool. He was sharp. Too sharp, in fact, and it seemed that Sorn had been drawn into their web, whether he liked it or not. Oden''s aim was simple, though wrapped in camaraderie: to turn Sorn into a tool. A weapon, to aid in his quest to bring down the Spears. He hadn¡¯t said it outright, but Sorn was confident in his intuition.

    Qian, too, had played his part, though in his own quiet way. The old scholar had added his voice when needed, nudging Sorn along, pushing him in the direction Oden wanted. It was subtle, so subtle that Sorn had nearly missed it. But now that the fog of confusion had cleared, Sorn could see it for what it was. Qian hadn¡¯t been offering just conversation. He had been offering guidance. Encouraging Sorn to take that first step, to believe in Oden and the Marauders . They were like a pair of hunters, and Sorn, whether he realized it or not, was the prey. Or perhaps, the weapon they hoped to wield.

    It stung, if Sorn was honest with himself. He had thought¡ªhoped¡ªthat Oden was his friend. But now, he realized with a sinking feeling, he was nothing more than a piece in a game that was far older than him. And like any piece, he would be moved as needed.

    He couldn¡¯t shake the thought. And yet... he didn¡¯t completely resent it. The things they had told him rang true. The Spears were hiding something. The Marauders were the underdogs in this battle for power. But he also believed nothing was as simple as Oden had made it seem. There were too many uncertainties lurking in the corners of every story, too many unanswered questions. Could he really trust Oden? Could he even trust himself?

    But those thoughts would have to wait. Oden clapped his hands, snapping Sorn out of his reverie. ¡°Alright, enough of the talk. We¡¯ve overstayed our welcome,¡± he said, his voice taking on an edge of finality. ¡°I don¡¯t doubt Varian has spies watching you. They didn¡¯t follow us here, but if we stay gone too long, their suspicions will grow.¡±

    Qian smiled, but there was something almost knowing in the way his eyes lingered on Sorn. He stepped forward, his cold fingers brushing lightly against Sorn¡¯s hand. ¡°A pleasure to meet you, Sorn,¡± Qian said softly, his voice more sincere than Sorn had expected. ¡°I understand what it is to feel lost. No memories, no sense of who you are. But trust yourself, and soon enough, you¡¯ll have a story of your own. A story that¡¯s yours, and not anyone else¡¯s.¡± He paused, his gaze lingering on Sorn¡¯s eyes. ¡°I can see it in you. The fire. It¡¯s already there, waiting to burn.¡±

    Sorn found himself taken aback by the scholar¡¯s words. There was a warmth in them, something uncharacteristic of the cold man who spent his time among books and dust. He didn¡¯t know what to say, so he just nodded, muttering, ¡°Thanks, Qian. For, um, everything.¡±

    Sorn then watched as Oden''s large hands closed around Qian in a brief but powerful embrace. The scholar, small and frail beside the giant, returned the gesture with surprising strength, his hands clasping Oden¡¯s back with tenderness.

    For a moment, the two of them stood there, silent, while the cold stone of the Archives seemed to hold its breath. Then, Qian¡¯s voice broke the quiet, softer than Sorn had ever heard it. ¡°Remember, my boy born in blood,¡± Qian said, his tone fatherly. ¡°Throughout these upcoming perils, always act with your head, not your heart. That is how you will best find success. And it is among my greatest wishes that you find what you are searching for.¡±

 9. Marauder

    The sunlight spilled across the snow as Sorn and Oden emerged from the Archives after a surprisingly emotional departure. The journey back began in silence, the crunch of their boots being the only sound between them. Oden had offered no explanation onto their next destination, as typical of him. Sorn glanced at the tall Marauder from under his hood as he tightened his cloak. Oden¡¯s face was unreadable. Finally, Sorn broke the quiet.

    ¡°We¡¯re going back to the Quarters?¡±

    Oden didn¡¯t break stride, as his reply was flat. ¡°Yes, we¡¯re going to train you now.¡±

    The conversation ended as abruptly as it began. Their journey brought them back toward the inner city of the Fortress, where the towering walls loomed large. It was there, near the border, that the scene unfolded: a trio of Spears confronting a farmer, the spear symbol on their uniforms flashing proudly.

    The Spears turned as Oden approached, their conversation cutting short. They stiffened, instantly recognizing the figure before them. Oden pushed Sorn behind him with one large hand, his arms crossing over his chest as he came to a halt. The size of the Marauder was imposing, being almost a whole head taller than everyone around him despite appearing much younger than the Spears.

    ¡°I assume you¡¯re looking for us?¡± Oden asked coldly.

    Seemingly the leader of the trio¡ªa wiry man with eyes like a wolf¡ªstepped forward. His face betrayed no nervousness. ¡°That depends on who that cloaked boy is hiding behind you.¡±

    Sorn perked up a bit upon being mentioned, but he said nothing. Oden, his patience ever present, stepped aside. His arms stretched out, presenting Sorn like a prize. ¡°Take the hood off, Sorn.¡±

    The boy hesitated, but it only took a few seconds before Sorn pulled the hood back, revealing his face to the bitter wind and the sharp stares of the Spears. There was a beat of silence before one of them hissed, as if faced with the Devil himself.

    ¡°Even uglier than the rumors said,¡± one of them spat. ¡°Skin like mud, hair like shadow. What foul God spat you into existence?¡±

    Oden¡¯s tone hardened, his usual easy confidence now was accompanied by a dangerous edge. ¡°And where,¡± he said, ¡°does a nameless pack of the Fourth Division find the confidence to insult a Marauder and his charge?¡±

    The Spear that first spoke responded without hesitation. ¡°A Marauder? You mean your ragged band of misfits, a ¡®Clan¡¯ born of dishonor? No noble blood flows in your lot. And now you disgrace yourselves further, bringing this thing in your captivity.¡±

    Oden took a deliberate step forward, his shadow falling long over the sneering Spear. The two men stood mere inches apart, their eyes locked as neither of them showed signs of backing down. ¡°Do you want me to make you regret those words?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve no wish to cross you, Armored Fist,¡± the Spear replied. ¡°We¡¯re simply here to remind you that this little excursion violates the contract. You know the terms. The Outsider is a matter of order, not of chaos. We aren¡¯t resorting to violence for your sake. Whether you win or lose, neither outcome will prove good for you and your companion.¡±

    An almost mocking curiosity flickered across Oden¡¯s face. ¡°You seem confused. Remind me, who stands with the boy right now?¡±

    The Spear¡¯s lips pressed thin. ¡°You.¡±

    ¡°Exactly. And the Iron Stag¡¯s terms were clear: a Marauder must be present. You see no breach of contract here.¡±

    The Spear was not so easily dismissed. ¡°And when we tell Varian of this little foray, what do you imagine he will say?¡±

    A slow smile crept between the Marauder¡¯s ears. ¡°Let him talk. He may restrict the boy¡¯s movements if he likes. We¡¯ve no plans for another journey anyway.¡±

    Finally satisfied, the Spear gave a grunt for a reply and then he jerked his head. The Spears turned and marched off, as proud as they came. The farmer they had presumably been questioning had run away long ago.

    Oden waited until they were well out of earshot before turning to Sorn. ¡°Remember those three,¡± he said lightly. ¡°In the Tournament, you¡¯ll face students and not soldiers. But those who participate are not mere children. They will be twice as dangerous and half as polite. Train hard, or you¡¯ll find yourself flattened.¡±

    <hr>

    "Again."

    Thud.

    Sorn''s body hit the frozen ground.

    "Again."

    Thud.

    Oden¡¯s commanding voice cut through the icy air like the axe he wielded.

    "Again."

    This time, Sorn¡¯s legs betrayed him entirely. He stumbled backward, his muscles screaming in protest, and slid down the slick, frost-covered wall. His back scraped against the rough surface until he hit the snowy ground with a muffled thump. The cold seeped into his bones, but the soft snow provided a semblance of relief.

    The training courtyard¡ªa roofless annex of the Marauder Hall¡ªhad become Sorn¡¯s new world over this past week. Here, beneath the open sky, he had spent the last seven days being forged in fire¡ªor ice, as it were. This period of time was a tribulation unlike any the outsider had faced before.

    After the visit to the Frost Archives, Oden had taken it upon himself to make Sorn a warrior. Relentless was too mild a word for Oden¡¯s methods. Sorn found himself sparring with both students his age as well as seasoned Marauders. Worst of all was Oden himself. The towering "Armored Fist" was recognized as the most prodigious among the young Marauders alongside his cousin Serene, the ¡°Hammer¡¯s Daughter¡±.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Yet the agony bore fruit. Sorn had begun to master his strange ability."Emerald Wisps," as Oden had named it. When activated, the glowing green wisps charged Sorn¡¯s body, granting him physical attributes that made even older Marauders take notice. In those moments, he felt invincible. It was the only time he could hold his own against Oden.

    Without this power however, Sorn¡¯s body felt like that of a frail child. He was utterly incapable. The payoff for using Emerald Wisps was that it drained his stamina with alarming speed, reducing him to a breathless wreck in minutes. This was still a major improvement. A week ago, he couldn¡¯t hold the Wisps for more than twenty seconds without collapsing.

    This was why Oden had shifted the focus of their training. Initially, he had wanted to train Sorn like a Marauder, building all his attributes from the ground up, but something else took priority.

    ¡°Forget strength,¡± Oden had said that first night. ¡°Forget technique. Without stamina, you¡¯re a corpse waiting to happen.¡±

    So, for seven grueling days, they pushed the limits of Sorn¡¯s endurance. His threshold had grown from mere seconds to an astonishing ten minutes. Ten minutes where he could fight Oden to a standstill, his fists flying faster than the eye could track, his emerald-lit body darting with newfound vigor.

    But Oden wasn¡¯t one for celebration.

    ¡°Don¡¯t get cocky,¡± he¡¯d warned Sorn. ¡°Those you¡¯re sparring with, they don¡¯t want to kill you. They¡¯re pulling their punches, and not one of us is using our abilities. The same won¡¯t be true in the Tournament. There, the only mercy you¡¯ll find is a quick death. Especially from the Spears who¡¯ll likely be using the situation to hunt you.¡±

    It was a sobering thought. The Tournament loomed large over the horizon, its shadow growing darker with each passing day. There would be no reprieve.

    And then, there was the Prophecy.

    The words hung over Sorn ominously. He didn¡¯t fully understand its implications, but the way Oden spoke of it gave him a hint of nervousness.

    Oden¡¯s voice brought him back to the present. ¡°On your feet, Sorn. The snow isn¡¯t your ally. It¡¯ll catch you when you fall, but it¡¯ll keep you there if you let it.¡±

    Sorn groaned as he pushed himself upright. His legs trembled and his arms felt like lead, but he managed to stand. The Emerald Wisps flickered faintly around him. He closed his eyes, focusing to bring them back to their earlier intensity.

    Oden gave him a hard look. ¡°Next week will be worse. Limits are for men who¡¯ve earned the right to rest. And you have a long way before you reach that point.¡±

    <hr>

    Oden had left Sorn to his own devices that evening, as per usual. The boy pushed himself while his limbs screamed for rest and his lungs barely functioned. The cold night crept onward but still, he persisted, driving his body until exhaustion finally claimed victory. By the time he stumbled back to the Marauders¡¯ stronghold, the world around him felt like a distant dream, blurred and softened by fatigue.

    The fortress was silent, its inhabitants deep in their slumber. Sorn¡¯s boots echoed faintly as he slowly made his way to the heart of the stronghold, a cavernous chamber the Marauders called ¡°The Mess.¡± It was a simple room, large and unadorned, with long tables stretching from one wall to the other. It was the kind of place with hearty cheers and crude laughter, but now it stood empty, bathed in the faint glow of torches along the walls.

    Sorn¡¯s gaze fell to a plate left on the nearest table. Oden had set it aside for him, as he often did, perhaps the only kindness Oden gave him in these long days of work. Without bothering to even sit down,, Sorn grabbed the leg of meat by the bone, tearing into it hungrily. It was cold, but it didn¡¯t matter. Hunger made a feast of anything.

    He didn¡¯t notice the presence behind him until the voice broke the silence.

    ¡°Hungry, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    Sorn froze mid-bite, his heart leaping into his throat. The voice was deep, gravelly, and familiar¡ªa low rumble that seemed to shake the very walls. Turning, he saw the towering figure of the Storm Troll. The giant of a man leaned casually against the doorframe, his ever-present grin curling across his face.

    Behind Bjorn stood two other figures Sorn had come to recognize well. Harvard and Gunnar. They were fixtures of the Marauders, inseparable from Bjorn. As a trio, they were known throughout the Fortress as the most elite warriors to be produced by the Marauders. When the subject of strength arose¡ªand it often did with Marauders¡ªthe question of who might triumph between Bjorn¡¯s trio and the First Division of the Spears sparked debates so heated they often ended in violent scuffles.

    Here, infighting was not a shameful thing. It was encouraged, as many believed it to build character. Sorn, for now, had been spared the brunt of such quarrels, though he wondered how long this fortune might hold.

    ¡°Didn¡¯t mean to startle you, boy,¡± Bjorn said, his grin widening.

    Sorn swallowed the bite he had been chewing and managed a stiff nod. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±

    Harvard and Gunnar stepped past him, each offering a brief nod of acknowledgment. The pair disappeared into another room, leaving Bjorn alone with Sorn.

    It struck Sorn then that this was the first time he had ever been alone with Bjorn.

    ¡°You¡¯re not much for words, are you?¡± Bjorn said in an amused tone.

    ¡°I just wasn¡¯t expecting company this late,¡± Sorn replied cautiously.

    Bjorn let out a low chuckle, the sound bouncing off the walls. ¡°Late hours are the best for talking. No one to interrupt. Just two souls sharing the quiet.¡±

    Sorn shifted uncomfortably, unsure of where this was heading. ¡°I suppose, sir.¡±

    Bjorn¡¯s grin was easy, but the sheer enormity of the man made the gesture no less intimidating. Even among the tallest Marauders, he stood a full head higher. Sorn felt as though he were looking up at a mountain.

    ¡°There¡¯s no need for such courtesy, boy,¡± Bjorn rumbled. ¡°Under this roof, we are all equal.¡±

    Yet even as he said this, Bjorn extended a hand, palm open, his meaning clear. Sorn didn¡¯t even hesitate before handing over one of his chops. Without a word of thanks, Bjorn bit into the meat, tearing a generous chunk free. Sorn watched him eat, wondering what could the leader of the Marauders possibly want with him at this hour?

    When the meal was finished, Bjorn wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and gestured for Sorn to sit. The boy obeyed, taking a place at the end of the table while Bjorn settled into the largest chair, its reinforced frame groaning under his weight.

    ¡°So,¡± Bjorn began, his tone conversational. ¡°I hear your training is going well.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Sorn answered, doing his best to sound confident despite the exhaustion still pulling at him. ¡°I can feel myself improving every day. Oden is a great teacher.¡±

    Bjorn let out a laugh. His voice, even lowered in respect for the sleeping Marauders, filled the cavernous Mess.

    ¡°A rare sentiment,¡± Bjorn said, leaning back in his chair. ¡°None have said those words before you. Every trainee Oden has taken under his wing has broken and fled back to the plow. Yet here you are¡ªnot even an Elemental¡ªand you¡¯ve held your ground..¡±

    As Bjorn spoke, Sorn¡¯s thoughts once again drifted to the peculiarities of his existence. He had come to understand even more about this world. There existed three Elemental races, each confined to their own floating island. Here, in the north, mortals once lived in harmony with the Ice centuries ago, only for all of them to be banished. Living conditions worsened exponentially the farther south one travels. Common consensus was that no mortal could endure such an environment, that they had surely been wiped out long ago.

    And yet, Sorn was a contradiction to all that was known. It was the Emerald Wisps that set him apart. They were not the gifts of fire, wind, or ice. They were something else entirely. Sorn also lacked the telltale marks of the Elementals¡ªthe fiery reds of the Fire, the green hues of the wind, or of  course, the cold blues of the Ice. His jet-black hair stood as a declaration of his difference, an enigma none could explain. The Marauders had taken to calling him a ¡°strange mortal,¡± and though the label was dismissive, it was likely accurate.

    ¡°Never in my life did I ever think a mortal was still alive, much less one that I could wholeheartedly accept as a true Marauder.¡± Bjorn leaned forward as he continued to speak, and placed a large hand on Sorn¡¯s shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ve come to like you, and your drive. So I¡¯ll tell you this, boy. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve heard whispers and made conclusions of your own. But I, as a member of the Council, will tell you this here and erase your hopeful doubts. The outcome of the Prophecy matters not, as fate is something that cannot be challenged. But seeing you among us makes the blood of every Spear boil. Varian will not hesitate to kill you off, and if you are not careful, you will be a quick victim in the Tournament. So when you train remember that the less you try, the more likely you will die.¡±

    The Marauder gave an amused smile in reaction to Sorn¡¯s blank stare. The boy had been completely entranced by the giant¡¯s words and had forgotten his fatigue completely. Sorn hesitated, looking back at his food. Someone had killed this animal, in pure cold blood. To the Spears, Sorn was equivalent to them. A lesser being to be slaughtered. He picked up the fork stuck inside the meat, before twirling it in his finger.

    ¡°I appreciate your words, sir. But I don¡¯t intend on dying in this cold world, where I am a sheep. When you slaughter an animal, you do so without expecting it to fight back. I am that animal. But I am also rabid beast disguised as a sheep. And I will kill any to try to hunt me. So I don¡¯t need you to motivate me or treat me differently than any other in your clan. I am a Marauder that does not intend to be pierced by any spear.¡±

    Sorn had welled up a lot of courage to say this, and he winced a bit after realizing his words. But to his surprise, Bjorn¡¯s smile was wider than it had ever been before.

    ¡°I truly expect great things from you, Sorn.¡±

    Saying that, the Storm Troll walked away, leaving the newest addition to his clan alone at an empty table after calling him by his name for the first time.

 10. Final Establishment

    Three nights before the Prophecy, Oden entered Sorn¡¯s quarters without knocking. The room was quiet, with an unsettling emptiness. Sorn had few possessions to clutter the space, and even fewer that felt like they belonged to him. Everything¡ªhis cot, his basin, his single chair¡ªwas meticulously arranged, each object precisely where it should be. Sorn had found himself taking pride in the order he maintained. There was a strange solace that came with tidiness. Oden had remarked on it more than once, calling it unusual for a Marauder, whose quarters were typically chaotic dumps of garments* and stale odors.

    Now, Oden stood, casting a long shadow across the walls. He rarely ventured into Sorn¡¯s space at this hour. In fact, Sorn had never seen him awake this late.

    ¡°I¡¯ve made a decision,¡± Oden said, his voice breaking the stillness.

    Sorn sat up straight in his bed. He didn¡¯t respond right away. Instead, he braced himself, knowing that whatever Oden was about to say wasn¡¯t likely to be trivial.

    ¡°Tomorrow, we rise at dawn,¡± Oden continued. ¡°It¡¯ll be the final day at the Academy before the Tournament begins. I expect you to use that time wisely. Scout your opponents. Learn what you can from watching them.¡±

    Sorn nodded but said nothing.

    ¡°It¡¯ll also be a chance to see the Princess again.¡±

    Sorn¡¯s heart betrayed him, suddenly skipping a beat. Truthfully, the moment Oden had mentioned ¡°Academy¡±, Sorn¡¯s mind had directly gone to Crystal. The memory of her was still vivid in his mind, though it had been days since they¡¯d spoken. She was the only one, outside of Oden, who had ever treated him like a person rather than a curiosity or a nuisance. She had been a friend, in a way no one else here had been. And though he¡¯d never admitted it, not even to himself, he¡¯d missed her.

    What about my training?¡± Sorn asked.

    Oden¡¯s eyes pierced Sorn¡¯s stare for a moment as he thought about his answer. ¡°There¡¯s nothing left for you to learn,¡± he said. ¡°Your endurance is more than adequate, and you¡¯ve proven your dedication through hours of labor. Don¡¯t misunderstand me, you¡¯ll still train until the day of the Tournament. But consider tomorrow a reward for your effort.¡±

    Sorn wasn¡¯t sure how to take the statement. Still, Oden¡¯s acknowledgment of his progress was not unwelcome. The remark about his endurance wasn¡¯t empty praise. Where once Sorn could barely hold his Emerald Wisps for more than a few minutes, now he could sustain them for nearly an hour.

    Three days prior, something had shifted in him. It was like a breakthrough that had sharpened his understanding of his technique. His progress since then had been exponential. Though his control was still far from perfect, Oden had declared him to be among the upper echelon of the Tournament''s participants.

    ¡°Not the best, of course,¡± Oden had said, as was his nature to temper praise with reality. ¡°But you¡¯re far closer to the best than the worst. That, at least, should give you hope.¡±

    With that, Oden turned and left, his silhouette disappearing into the hallway. Alone once more, Sorn stared at the empty space where his mentor had stood, lost in thought until he went to sleep.

    <hr>

    When Sorn stepped into the Mess that morning, he was greeted by a cacophony of voices. The room was alive, more so than usual. The Tournament was only three days away, marked by the final day of the academy, and it seemed the anticipation was feverish. Groups of Marauders sat in clusters at the weathered tables, their booming laughter and sharp words competing for dominance. Boasts of prowess mingled with the occasional clang of a fist striking the stone tables. This was more than just morning chatter; it was a prelude to something historical.

    Sorn moved through the room, his eyes scanning the rows of broad shoulders for Oden. His mentor was a quiet presence on most mornings, an observer of the surrounding chaos. But today, for the first time since Sorn had arrived, Oden was absent. Sorn lingered for a moment, unsure, before finally settling on an empty seat at a table reserved for all the student Marauders.

    The food was spread across the tables in abundance, though the more desirable cuts had long been claimed by the early risers. A half-eaten loaf of bread, some hardened cheese, and a few scraps of meat were all that remained¡ªexcept for one steak, still untouched on a serving plate near him. Sorn reached for it instinctively, but just as his fingers grazed the edge of the plate, another hand darted in and seized it.

    Sorn¡¯s gaze shot upward, his eyes landing upon a large figure. It was Serene.

    She sat straight with an air of quiet command, her sharp features framed by the warrior¡¯s braid that fell over one shoulder. Her pale blue eyes met his as she assessed the boy. The ¡°Valkyrae¡± had a presence that was enough to steal the air around her. The way she carried herself reminded everyone who she was¡ªthe daughter of the Storm Troll himself.

    Sorn hadn¡¯t spoken to her beyond a few polite greetings, though he¡¯d observed her often enough. Like Oden, she was rather quiet, a contrast to the rowdy nature of most Marauders. While others bragged, she sat back and watched with sharp eyes taking in every detail as she grinned at jokes and listened intently to stories. Yet despite her casual demeanor, she commanded unwavering respect.

    Unlike other clans, the Marauders had developed a prejudice when it came to women. Women warriors were an uncommon sight in their ranks, and the elders had made no secret of their disdain for her presence. To them, she was an anomaly, a deviation from tradition they would rather ignore. But Serene had silenced their whispers through sheer strength. She had bested every challenge placed before her, outmatching her peers in a system designed for her to fail. Especially among the younger generation, she was a warrior who was idolized. Her peers would follow her to the ends of the world, and in a clan where strength mattered above all else, that meant more than the clan politics ever could.

    Serene glanced down at Sorn briefly, her expression unreadable, before tearing the steak in half with a practiced motion. Without a word, she tossed one half to him.

    ¡°Here,¡± she said, her tone devoid of ceremony.

    Sorn caught the meat in midair, blinking in surprise. For a moment, he didn¡¯t know what to say. Like her father, Serene acted with an unapologetic decisiveness that left little room for gratitude or objection.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± he managed, though she had already turned her attention elsewhere.

    Sorn ate quietly, savoring the meager meal in the chaos of the Mess Hall, when Serene¡¯s voice broke through his focus.

    ¡°I look forward to seeing you fight in the Tournament,¡± she said.

    Sorn glanced up at her, swallowing the last of his steak. ¡°I look forward to seeing you fight as well,¡± he replied.  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    He meant the words he spoke. The ¡°Valkyrae¡± had a very respected reputation. Stories of her prowess and grace with the axe inspired awe in many. In conversation, the younger warriors often spoke of her as though she were an avatar of war itself, a walking epitome.

    Serene leaned back slightly. ¡°I received news this morning,¡± she said. ¡°The structure of the Tournament will be announced today. I¡¯m sure Oden will make certain you know it, but I advise you to give it serious thought. It will be vital for your survival.¡±

    It was the third time he had heard the same caution this past day. For most Marauders, the Tournament was a contest of glory and honor. For Sorn, this was a game of survival.

    Before he could form a reply, a pungent wave of heat and the stench of beef filled his nostrils. He barely had time to register it before a brash voice shattered the moment.

    ¡°Serene, please allow me to prove myself to you!¡±

    Sorn turned and found himself face-to-face with Zalen, one of the most obnoxiously loud students among the Marauders. Zalen leaned in far too close, his breath thick with the remains of whatever meal he had just devoured. His square jaw was scarred from past fights, his blue buzz-cut hair doing little to soften his brutish features.

    Wherever Zalen was, his older brother Zacen was never far behind. Sure enough, Zacen loomed just over his shoulder, his identical frame and  face marred only by the lack of scars. The only real difference between the two was that Zacen¡¯s voice was sharper, louder, and almost always at full volume.

    ¡°Move aside, Zalen! You¡¯re always stealing my ideas!¡± Zacen barked, elbowing his brother hard enough to send him stumbling a step.

    The argument ignited like dry kindling. Voices rose, and fists slammed onto tables as other Marauders eagerly joined in. It became a shouting match of taunts, each warrior trying to outdo the other in volume and confidence. It wasn¡¯t long before words gave way to shoves, and shoves turned to fists. The Mess descended into a brawl, the clash of bodies and the scrape of overturned benches only added to the overall chaos.

    Sorn looked to his right. Serene had not moved, nor did she seem fazed by the spectacle unfolding before her. If anything, she looked amused, a faint smile was etched upon her face as she watched the chaos unfold with a detached intrigue.

    Then, amid the noise, a heavy hand clamped down on Sorn¡¯s shoulder, startling him. He turned sharply and found Oden standing over him.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Oden said, his voice low but carrying effortlessly over the din. ¡°We need to leave these fools here. There needs to be at least one Marauder present on the last day of the Academy.¡±

    <hr>

    The trio of Sorn, Oden, and Serene had a silent journey traversing the inner Fortress. Narrow alleys coiled like veins through the heart of the Ice domain. Serene moved with a calm confidence, her steps neither hurried nor hesitant. Oden strode beside her, and his sharp gaze seemed to take in everything. Sorn followed a step behind, aware of the eyes lingering on him as they passed.

    It wasn¡¯t long before a towering structure seized Sorn¡¯s attention. The great Royal Palace had been replaced by a monumental cylinder of ice. It loomed impossibly high, its walls smooth and glittering in the pale daylight. The new structure dwarfed its predecessor, its height stretching skyward at least four or five times over.

    ¡°Looks like that¡¯s where they¡¯re going to hold the Tournament,¡± Oden muttered, his tone lacking the awe Sorn felt.

    Sorn couldn¡¯t help but stare, his thoughts tangled with questions. The very idea that such a thing could be constructed so quickly seemed absurd. Just yesterday there had been no sign of such an edifice.

    ¡°They¡¯ve hidden the course,¡± Oden continued, more to himself than anyone else. ¡°Looks like they want to keep as much hidden as possible.¡±

    Serene offered no comment, her expression neutral, though she had given the structure a long glance herself. Sorn, however, found his mind whirling. A course? The word struck him as strange, unnecessary even. Why would a Tournament meant to test their mettle need something so contrived? He didn¡¯t know what to expect, perhaps a long series of battles. But the idea of an entire course left him with far more questions, mostly because he didn¡¯t have a concrete idea as to what a ¡°course¡± actually entailed. Most of all, he wished Oden had given some indication to such a thing, as his actions displayed that he knew this would happen.

    It took a few minutes for them to arrive at their destination. The building before them was old, its stones weathered and worn by centuries of wind and use. Though larger than the scattered huts that dotted the outskirts, it paled in comparison to the grandeur of the Marauder Hall or the imposing Goblet of the Spears.

    ¡°This is the Academy,¡± Oden said simply, pushing the heavy door open.

    Inside, the chill lessened slightly, though the air retained the dampness of aged stone. The main hall stretched out before them, a long corridor flanked by rows of doorways on either side. The faint hum of voices carried from behind the closed doors. At the far end of the corridor stood another door, its heavy frame left ajar.

    ¡°Walk through the hall and go out that door. That''s where the training grounds are,¡± Oden said. ¡°You¡¯ll wait for us there. There¡¯s no point throwing you into a classroom with the others. It wouldn¡¯t be productive.¡±

    Sorn nodded, as he pushed through the door to the training grounds. The sight that greeted him took him aback. The space was vast, far larger than he had imagined, with every corner dedicated to some form of preparation or challenge. Moving targets zipped unpredictably in one area, their icy surfaces glinting as they darted back and forth. Nearby, crash dummies stood in neat rows, their surfaces scarred from relentless strikes.

    Students milled about, their focus split between exercises and hushed conversation. Sorn scanned the faces, but none were familiar. With uneasiness, Sorn noticed that most of those gathered wore the uniform of the Spears. He was confused by this. Wasn''t the point of sending him  out here for him not to engage with other students, especially Spears?

    A voice rang out behind him, but it didn¡¯t help settle Sorn¡¯s nerves.

    ¡°Been a while, hasn¡¯t it, Outsider?¡±

    Sorn turned, his breath caught between exhale and inhale. Standing there smugly, was Toren, the Dancing Blade. His smirk was filled with malice, his eyes gleaming with the cruel delight of a cat toying with prey. Such a cruel look didn¡¯t suit such a beautiful face.

    Two boys flanked Toren on either side. They carried themselves with confidence, though they seemed completely uninterested in this exchange between Toren and Sorn.

    Toren leaned closer with an uncomfortable sharpness in his smile. Sorn¡¯s hand moved instinctively to his chest, his fingertips brushing his recently acquired scar. Toren¡¯s grin widened instantly.

    ¡°It still hurts, doesn¡¯t it?¡± Toren asked softly. ¡°Has it healed yet?¡±

    The words were like venomous honey. Each syllable had a clear intention of inflicting fear and harm. However, Sorn found his resolve, straightening his back and meeting Toren¡¯s gaze with borrowed defiance. He realized immediately that he was subconsciously imitating the way Oden carried himself.

    ¡°I¡¯m doing fine,¡± Sorn replied with steel added to his voice. ¡°Are you excited for the Tournament? I¡¯ve heard quite a bit about it, and from what everyone¡¯s saying, arrogant runts like you are the first to drop dead.¡±

    Toren chuckled softly, the sound more amused than offended. He raised a single finger, wagging it back and forth in front of Sorn¡¯s face. ¡°Tsk, tsk, tsk. You really haven¡¯t learned anything, have you?¡± His tone was chiding, clearly meant to belittle the black haired boy. ¡°When you enter someone¡¯s house, you¡¯re supposed to show respect. It¡¯s the first rule of courtesy, yet you defy it at every turn. You are an intruder, Sorn. From the very moment we met, you challenged my authority as a person, and even now you refuse to display respect to my kindness.¡±

    There was something unnervingly genuine about Toren¡¯s delivery, as though he truly believed himself to be an altruist.

    ¡°So, what do you want?¡± Sorn asked bluntly, cutting through the pretense.

    Toren sighed theatrically, as though the question itself were an affront. He conjured a thin sliver of ice with a flick of his fingers, turning it into a toothpick and casually scratching his teeth. His movements, like his words, carried an air of performance, but whether this was by design or habit, Sorn couldn¡¯t tell.

    ¡°We Elementals feel deeply, Sorn,¡± Toren said, his tone softening to something that almost resembled sincerity. ¡°In our short time together, I¡¯ve come to understand that you¡¯re not so different from us. You¡¯ve learned quickly. Remarkably so. The way you speak, move, and carry yourself. It has the edge of a true Marauder. And you¡¯re not just mimicking. You¡¯ve become one of them in a matter of weeks. I must congratulate you on this. You have integrated yourself into the most brutish and undignified clan within these Fortress walls.¡±

    He paused, letting the words hang in the air like frost. ¡°But what do I want? I just want to talk to you. The Council granted you the right to live. And I, magnanimous as I am, will respect their decision. Isn¡¯t that wonderful? You can redeem yourself, Sorn. And if you do, I won¡¯t hunt you down with the Spears¡ª¡±

    As Toren was talking, another voice rang out. It was light, and silenced Toren¡¯s ever-moving mouth immediately.

    ¡°Have you not teased him enough, Toren?¡±

    The words came from Sorn¡¯s left, and he turned quickly to face their source. Toren¡¯s raised eyebrow was almost comical in its surprise, but Sorn¡¯s reaction was far more pronounced.

    A girl stood there, strands of long blue hair drifting in the wind like strands of silk. Atop her head was a tiara of ice, its gleaming edges catching the light. Her eyes, large and unblinking, moved over the group, lingering on each boy before finally settling on Toren.

    Sorn felt his breath catch in his chest, an unmistakable gleam lighting his face. He had been anticipating this moment for what felt like an eternity, replaying it in his mind during his many hours training.

    ¡°Crystal!¡± he shouted before he could stop himself.

    The Princess of the Ice raised a hand in acknowledgment. ¡°Yes, hi, that¡¯s me.¡±

 11. Comets Embrace

    Having just been dismissed from the final day of the Academy, Crystal found herself feeling uneasy. The absence of Marauders in the room had stirred a quiet anxiety within her. On any other day, she might have dismissed such a thing, but today was different. Today was meant to bring critical revelations about the Tournament. And yet, no one from the Marauder contingent had appeared.

    Her thoughts churned as Aira grasped her hand, tugging her toward the training grounds. Crystal allowed herself to be led, her concerns temporarily shoved aside as she began to train with her friends. Then, her eyes caught Sorn, standing at the center of the grounds, looking adrift as he exchanged words with Toren.

    Her steps quickened. Seeing him filled her with a pang of guilt that had lingered ever since Sorn¡¯s trial before the Council. Crystal had assured him he would¡¯ve been safe by staying around her hut. His capture had been a consequence of her failure, and her inability to help him out in the trial.

    She had come to trust Sorn completely, his sincerity convincing her on that day the two first met. But she feared now that the trust was not mutual. Worse, she feared he might resent her for her misstep.

    Yet when she approached, the look of recognition that lit Sorn¡¯s face was a balm to her soul. It was a reaction she had not anticipated but welcomed all the same. Whatever doubts she had carried, they melted away in that instant as she greeted the boy.

    Her attention shifted to her betrothed. Even from a distance, it was clear that Toren had been taunting Sorn. Crystal knew her fianc¨¦ well enough to see through his games. The pride of the Dancing Blade was in his element whenever there was someone he could talk down to.

    And despite Toren being the one to capture Sorn, Crystal felt no anger toward him. It was an action from him that she expected, and thus she couldn¡¯t blame him.

    Still, she noted with some satisfaction the way Toren¡¯s carefully measured composure slipped when he noticed her approach. His frosty breath caught for just a moment, and he cast one final glance at Sorn before stepping forward.

    ¡°I look forward to seeing you soon,¡± Toren said.

    Then, with an exaggerated bow, he knelt before Crystal. She sighed softly, extending her arm with a practiced grace. Toren leaned forward, pressing his lips to the back of her hand in a gesture of respect.

    ¡°Your Majesty,¡± he murmured.

    When he rose, his smirk returned, the fleeting crack in his mask sealed once more. With a sharp gesture, he signaled for Neville and Jason to follow, and the three Dancing Blades disappeared to the other side of the grounds.

    <hr>

    Sorn found himself impressed by the ease with which Crystal had dismissed Toren. The Dancing Blade heir had slunk away with just the sight of her.

    The tension left Sorn¡¯s shoulders, and his attention shifted to the two figures lingering at a respectful distance behind Crystal. The pair stood close together, their posture mirroring each other¡¯s. They were both slight of frame and looked quite alike, with only a few distinguishable features. One girl wore her hair in high, sharp pigtails, her expression set in a compassionless glare. The other, with a bob of sparkling blue hair, seemed to balance the other girl¡¯s intensity with a detached curiosity. Together, they appeared to Sorn as quite the odd pair.

    Crystal gestured toward them with a small smile. ¡°These girls are very close friends of mine. Aria and Aira, twins from the Dancing Blade clan,¡± she said.

    Sorn¡¯s initial intrigue soured at the mention of their clan. His thoughts flicked back to Oden¡¯s words about the Dancing Blade¡ªa clan that walked the line between the feuding Spears and Marauders, pledging no allegiance but ever maneuvering for advantage. They were neutral, perhaps, in name, but Sorn¡¯s dealings with Toren had left him skeptical. That first conflict in which Toren drew blood with a single ruthless strike was etched into Sorn¡¯s memory, and now, anything tied to the Dancing Blade came with a bitter taste.

    Still, he allowed himself to nod politely. If Crystal trusted these two, then he would put faith in that. ¡°Hey, I¡¯m Sorn,¡± he said.

    The girl with the pigtails narrowed her eyes further, her glare darkening to something just short of a scowl. Sorn noticed her judgment, though he had no idea what he had done to earn her displeasure. Her sister, meanwhile, remained quiet but nudged Crystal gently, her gaze lingering on him with interest, and the two locked eyes for a moment too long.

    ¡°She wants to see your power,¡± Crystal explained.

    Sorn blinked at the request. ¡°Ah, okay.¡± He wasn''t aware of the Emerald Wisps being common knowledge, but he supposed if even just one person ran their mouth, the entire Fortress would learn. Sorn glanced at the bob-haired twin, wondering why she hadn¡¯t spoken up herself. Shyness, perhaps? Whatever the case, he decided the reason was irrelevant. If showing his abilities would satisfy their curiosity, and perhaps smooth the unease in the air, he saw no harm in it.

    Taking a steadying breath, Sorn closed his eyes and reached inward, seeking the familiar spark of his Emerald Wisps¡ª

    ¡°It appears you have finally been able to reach me.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Sorn found himself immobilized, every one of his muscles was locked in place. The sky above was a surreal shade of spring green, dotted with floating fragments of beige rubble of different sizes drifting aimlessly. It took him a moment to realize he stood upon one such fragment himself. The entire realm exuded a sense of mystique, with bright wisps dancing in the air, shifting in patterns reminiscent of his abilities.

    Before him sat a solitary figure, cross-legged and facing away. Short white hair spiked from the back of the man''s head. He wore a robe adorned with three stacked triangles with an eye positioned at the center. It was a symbol that quite literally felt seared into Sorn''s very soul. Though the man had not turned, Sorn was certain the earlier voice had emanated from him, resonating within his being rather than through his ears.

    "It seems you do not recognize me. That''s a shame." The voice carried a feigned melancholy, yet it stirred a memory within Sorn. He recalled hearing it during Toren''s attack, the moment he first activated his Emerald Wisps. "That was you?" Sorn attempted to speak, but his mouth refused to move; the two were communicating with their souls.

    "Indeed it was. And I commend you. I did not think you would take control of your power as quickly as you did. Should you continue, you may reach the desired state far more quickly."

    "Desired state?" Sorn inquired.

    "Do not fret over small matters. Do not ask me questions. You will refrain from being a bother to me. You still have some way to go before you can fully capitalize on this power I have gifted you. But remember, you are but a vessel to output what I desire. You do not understand this right now. Perhaps you never will. Regardless, I look forward to seeing if you can meet my expectations."

    Questions swirled in Sorn''s mind, but even communication had been stripped away. The mysterious figure remained silent for a moment, allowing Sorn to languish in his state of catatonia.

    "Well, goodbye, Sorn."

    And then, abruptly, he was back in reality.

    <hr>

    Sorn''s vision blurred as he struggled to regain himself. The world around him slowly came into focus, revealing Crystal''s face inches from his own, her eyes full of panic. She gripped his shoulders, shaking him violently as she called his name. Behind her, Aira''s worry was palpable, and even Aria''s usual glare had softened into an expression of concern and curiosity.

    As Sorn''s senses returned, he became acutely aware of the wisps encircling him. They writhed and twisted, their hues darkening to deep greens before reverting to their original shade. The air crackled with their energy, thicker and more volatile than ever before.

    "What happened to you?" Crystal''s voice was a rapid stream of questions. "The moment those green things appeared, your eyes went wild, and your body started convulsing. You were completely unresponsive." Her words mirrored the confusion in Sorn''s mind. Fragments of the surreal encounter with the strange man flitted through his thoughts, but when he attempted to speak of it, a strange force stifled his words.

    "I can''t have you saying that, Sorn. You must continue being a good, quiet boy for me."

    The voice echoed in his mind, and Sorn found himself unable to articulate anything about the experience.

    Aria''s sharp tone cut through the tension. "Is it supposed to be doing that?" She gestured towards the erratic wisps with a look of distaste.

    Sorn concentrated, attempting to will the wisps away, but they remained stubbornly active. "I can''t seem to turn it off," he admitted.

    Aria''s scowl deepened. "You can''t even control your ability? That''s a level of incompetence I never thought I''d witness."

    "Calm down, Aria," Crystal interjected. The reprimand caused Aria to avert her gaze, though her displeasure was still evident. Turning back to Sorn, Crystal''s eyes gleamed with a unique intensity. It was an expression Sorn had only seen once before. It was in the cave, where Crystal excitedly spoke of Keilan''s sacrifice.

    "Perhaps your power needs to be worn down," she suggested, stepping back and spreading her arms wide. There were a few meters between both of them now, and her smile grew wide. "Come at me."

    Sorn hesitated. "I''m not sure about this..."

    Crystal wasn¡¯t fazed at all. "If you won''t make the first move¡ª" She lunged forward, her feet leaving the ground as she delivered a swift kick to Sorn''s face, sending him sprawling into a snowdrift.

    Groaning, Sorn pushed himself up, surprised at the minimal pain from the blow. The bruise on his forehead throbbed, but familiar energy coursed through him with a new intensity, invigorating his senses. He looked up to see Crystal bouncing lightly on her feet. She was like a ball of pure excitement.

    "Well? Ready to try now?"

    Resigned, Sorn dashed forward without a reply. The Emerald Wisps propelled him with unprecedented speed. "Just don''t blame me if you get hurt!" he shouted.

    Crystal sidestepped his attack effortlessly, grabbing his arm and using his momentum to flip him back into the snow. She aimed a stomp at his chest, but Sorn rolled away just in time, springing to his feet and pivoting to deliver a kick aimed at her head. Crystal raised her arm to block, absorbing the impact but stepping back several paces. She shook her arm, a smile playing on her lips.

    "I felt that," she said, her breath coming in visible puffs.

    Sorn''s focus sharpened his soul, his essence, his entire being honing in on the singular goal: defeating the opponent before him. He crouched low, the wisps around him intensifying.

    A sudden, sharp pain struck his side. The attack was intangible. Before he could react, a boot connected with his skull, snapping his head back and dispelling the wisps. Above him stood Keilan, his face a mask of fury. "You dare spar with my sister with the intent to kill in your eyes?"

    Crystal rushed forward, placing a hand on her brother''s shoulder. "Keilan, stop."

    Keilan turned back towards Crystal, throwing her hand off. "And what do you think you were doing? You couldn''t have picked a worse candidate to duel. Do you intend to die before the Tournament even starts?"

    Despite Keilan¡¯s angry outburst, Crystal remained calm in her response. "He didn¡¯t have a chance of killing me. And it isn¡¯t your business who I choose to battle. Why are you even here?"

    Keilan hesitated at the change of subject, causing the tension to ease slightly. "There''s something I wanted to tell you."

    As the siblings conversed in hushed tones, Sorn remained on the ground, his body aching from the confrontation. His thoughts drifted back to that strange man he had encountered earlier. He tried to focus, but his exhaustion was overwhelming. He just knew that if he wanted to be angry, he should direct those emotions to that man. He was doing something to him, and Sorn didn¡¯t have his autonomy being infringed upon.

    A shadow fell across his face, and he looked up to see an upside-down face. Short hair hanging down and soft facial features allowed Sorn to deduce that this was Aira. But before he could speak, Aria walked up, immediately pulling her twin sister back. "Don''t get too close to the outsider," she warned in a harsh tone.

    Sorn forced himself into a sitting position, wincing as he did so. He glanced at Aira, offering a weak smile. "I''m okay. Just a bit bruised."

    Aria''s eyes narrowed. "She can''t speak, and I don''t have anything to say to you. You might as well keep quiet."

    Sorn nodded, choosing to take the hint. He turned his attention back to Keilan and Crystal, who were still deep in conversation. As interesting as it seemed, he couldn¡¯t be bothered to try and eavesdrop.

    "Hey! Sorn, you look like a mess!"

    The familiar voice cut through the haze of his thoughts, and Sorn looked up to see Oden approaching, a grin on his face. Relief washed over him. He had never before been so happy to see the Marauder. The only sane person within these forsaken Fortress walls.

 12. Omen

    Sorn departed the training grounds alongside Oden, glancing back at Crystal. He chose to ignore the others, alongside everything that had just occurred, focusing instead on the future. Oden had mentioned pressing matters to discuss, and Sorn was intrigued. Serene had stayed behind to train with the other Marauders, who, despite their earlier scuffle, were now regrouping in the training ground, battered but enthusiastic.

    As they walked toward the Marauder Hall, Oden began to talk. "The Tournament roster is finalized," he began. "Fifty top students from the Academy will participate, including you."

    Sorn nodded.

    "There are twelve contestants from the Spears and nine from the Marauders," Oden continued. "The numbers aren''t in our favor."

    "I expected that to be honest," Sorn said.

    Oden¡¯s eyes narrowed a bit. "What''s more concerning is Keilan''s inclusion. He¡¯s meant to be sacrificed immediately after the Tournament. He has no reason to participate, so he must have an ulterior motive."

    Sorn recalled Keilan''s earlier conversation with Crystal. "He mentioned needing to tell Crystal something."

    Oden sighed. "Whatever it is, just stay vigilant. There¡¯ll be twelve people after your head already, and Keilan will be one of the worst if he¡¯s also after you."

    They walked in silence for a moment before Oden spoke again. "The Tournament is structured as a race. The course will be unveiled once the cylinder disappears, but the goal will be to get from the top to the bottom as fast as possible."

    Sorn glanced toward the distant monolith of ice. It remained as imposing as ever.

    "There are five sections, each overseen by a Council member," Oden said. "I don''t know who manages each part, but my uncle told me secretly that he will handle the final section in the Royal Palace."

    Sorn didn¡¯t even want to imagine what Bjorn or Varian''s challenges might be. As Oden concluded his explanation, Sorn¡¯s gaze drifted upward, settling upon a solitary figure perched atop a nearby rooftop. The boy appeared in his mid-teens, with textured hair partially veiling his face as he stared pensively at the sky. A gentle breeze tousled his bangs, occasionally revealing a solitary, contemplative eye.

    Noticing Sorn''s attention, the boy''s expression hardened into a frown, silently conveying a clear message: "What are you staring at? Move along." Accustomed to unwelcoming receptions, Sorn averted his gaze, choosing to continue without confrontation.

    Oden observed the brief exchange with a hint of amusement. "That''s Varian''s only son," he remarked, piquing Sorn''s curiosity.

    "What?" Sorn blurted out.

    "His name is Kaen," Oden continued, "he¡¯s often called ''The Spear''s Disappointment.'' Despite being the sole blood of the most formidable Spear, at fifteen, he has yet to manifest even a single spear. In the Fortress, such failures are typically relegated to the outer regions. Yet, he''s been entered as the youngest participant in the Tournament, despite being nowhere near the top fifty. He keeps to himself, and I can only imagine the scorn he endures within the Goblet, especially with the select harsh words I hear Spears use for him. It''s hard not to feel sympathy for the kid."

    Sorn pondered this for a moment. "If he lacks abilities, how is he expected to succeed in the Tournament?"

    Oden''s tone was somber. "He isn''t. Varian likely hopes his son meets his end there, erasing the only blemish on his legacy. But truthfully, I¡¯m uncertain."

    While Oden spoke with a hint of difference, Sorn found himself having empathy for the boy. Their circumstances, though different, shared the common thread of isolation and expectation. Sorn vowed silently that if their paths crossed during the Tournament, he would extend a helping hand to Kaen.

    They stopped right before the Marauder Hall, and as Sorn began to walk towards the entrance, he turned around to see Oden standing still.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got some business to attend to,¡± the Marauder said. ¡°You go on ahead.¡±

    <hr>

    Oden halted before his destination. Before him stood tall ice-reinforced walls encircling a singular structure¡ªthe stronghold of the Dancing Blade. This fortress within the Fortress stood as a relic of a bygone era when the first members of the Dancing Blade had defied the Council''s disdain for their unconventional combat techniques. Their rebellion had culminated in the construction of this bastion, signaling their intent to secede and form an independent nation, incurring the Council¡¯s wrath. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    War seemed unavoidable, but the Fifth Emperor, utilized his influence and he brokered a truce. Much to the anger of the Spears, he removed one of them from the Council. securing that seat for a representative of the Dancing Blade, cementing their influence that remained to this day.

    Approaching the main gate, Oden acknowledged the guard with a nod. The guard stepped aside, permitting entry without inquiry. The palace within was modest compared to the Marauder Hall, around half its size, yet its complex corridors were far more easy to get lost in. However, Oden''s frequent visits and innate sense of direction guided him unerringly.

    Ascending a flight of stairs, he encountered Toren alongside Aira, the deaf outcast from the Turtle Clan. Their silence was laden with unspoken tension. Once, Oden and Toren had been close, but as Toren matured, pride had driven a wedge between them. Now, they passed each other as strangers.

    Oden proceeded to a vast bookshelf, settling against it with a tome in hand, feigning absorption. Berten, his special confidant, approached discreetly, slipping a folded parchment between the pages. This exchange had become routine over the past three years. Initially, Oden''s visits were driven by a genuine appreciation for the Dancing Blade''s literary works. That changed when Berten, professing allegiance to the Marauder ethos, began supplying intelligence. His role as a custodian afforded him access to privileged conversations, which he dutifully relayed.

    The current missive detailed a recent conclave where a sinister plan was unveiled: to use the Outsider to incite discord between the Spears and Marauders, orchestrating mutual destruction, thereby paving the way for the Dancing Blade''s ascendancy. Berten lingered by, his anticipation evident. He recognized the gravity of his revelation, and was intent on seeing Oden¡¯s reaction.

    A subtle smile played on Oden''s lips. The information aligned precisely with his expectations.

    Because he was the one who came up with that plan.

    From behind Berten, a chain of ice wrapped around his neck. His eyes spread wide with panic as he clawed at the chain, desperately trying to regain his breath but to no avail. The cleaner was rendered unconscious. The wielder of the weapon walked into view from behind the man. Cedric, the ¡°Winter¡¯s Warden¡± had a concerned glare on his face as he walked alongside two other Chains. The youngest Council Member pulled his chain back, looking at the Marauder to see the boy with an unconcerned smile. He held up three fingers. Only three more days until the Prophecy.

    <hr>

    Varian stood at the precipice of the Goblet, a tower whose name is born of its very shape. From this vantage point, the entirety of the Fortress sprawled beneath him. The sun had set, relinquishing its dominion to the night. The first sliver of the moon emerged, and Varian inhaled deeply, savoring the crispness of the evening air. The recent shave left his face exposed to the biting cold, a sensation he found refreshing. Such tranquil moments were rare, and he yearned for them to last forever.

    A familiar voice shattered his moment.

    "I''ve brought him."

    Suppressing a flicker of irritation, Varian turned to face the intruder. Radan, Commander of the First Division and one of Varian''s oldest confidants, stood with an air of casual authority. Their bond, one made in their youth, allowed for a candor few could afford with Varian. Beside Radan stood Keilan, his expression neutral like always.

    "Come here, my child," Varian said warmly.

    Keilan approached without hesitation, ascending the steps to stand alongside his mentor. Radan, recognizing the need for privacy, retreated into the interior of the Goblet, leaving the two alone.

    "Look," Varian murmured, gesturing expansively toward the panorama before them. They had shared this view countless times. To Keilan, it had become a mundane sight, but to Varian, it remained a perpetual source of wonder.

    "Why did you involve me in the Tournament?" Keilan asked.

    Varian shifted his gaze from the horizon to look down at the young man beside him. The slight difference in their heights, about five centimeters, seemed far more pronounced at this distance.

    "Why did I place you in the Tournament?" Varian echoed. "Why would I position a young man, on the cusp of his prime, into the most esteemed competition of our people?" The sarcasm was evident, yet his voice retained passion.

    "That''s not the reason. A dying man has no need for glory." Keilan retorted, a hint of agitation coloring his words. His fingers absently traced the edge of the wolf fang pendant hanging from his neck. Varian was well aware of this being the boy¡¯s subconscious reaction to his own nervousness.

    "You are mistaken," Varian said. "The gods have determined our deaths long before our births. The sole distinction between you and others lies in your foreknowledge of the day. Fate has decreed that you shall not meet your end before the Sacrifice. Death is both an inevitable and unpredictable guest; you can try to turn it away, or barricade your door, but it will always find a way in. I might collapse before you now, never to rise again. Yet, my legacy would endure, my name etched into history forever. You, Keilan, as the Last Sacrifice, have yet to inscribe your own mark. This Tournament presents an opportunity¡ª"

    "Do you want me to kill the Outsider?" Keilan''s interrupted, his gaze fixed steadfastly on the distant horizon.

    A shadow crossed Varian''s face. The head of the Council could only tolerate so much disrespect. With deliberate calm, he reached out, his fingers gripping Keilan''s chin, compelling the young man to meet his stare.

    "I expect you to play a role in that, yes. If you have already surmised as much, why then do you ask to see me only to pose such a redundant question?"

    "I wanted to hear you say it."

    Varian released his hold, a contemplative silence stretching between them. Once, fear of physical discipline had been an effective tool. Keilan had grown out of such a fear long ago. Luckily Varian was well aware, Keilan harbored far greater terrors.

    "Perhaps a modest incentive will motivate you."

    Keilan''s composure faltered, apprehension breaking through. "No¡ª"

    "The Princess''s life will end by my own hands if the Outsider survives the Tournament, and she will forever be labelled as a deserter, just like the rest of her filthy siblings. From the moment the first course begins, you will hunt him down and end his life. A fair death in the Tournament is imperative to avert civil war and to ensure the success of the Promised Day."

    Keilan absorbed the pronouncement, then bowed slightly before retreating into the shadows of the Goblet''s interior. He had matured physically, yet his simplicity remained. No matter; his end was imminent.

    Turning his gaze skyward, Varian''s attention was captured by a rare and wondrous sight: a blue bird with elongated tail feathers, gliding gracefully across the twilight. An undying phoenix, the Gods'' own masterpiece.

    Unfortunately, even the immortal cannot escape the horns of the Iron Stag.

    "O bird of the mountains, why do you reveal yourself to me now? Do you bear an omen, or seek vengeance for your chosen?" A subtle smile played on Varian''s lips as the phoenix seemed to acknowledge his words, its wings spreading wide in a final, elegant display¡ªjust as the spear of ice reached its target, ending its flight.

 13. Beneath Us

    Dark. Terrifying. Unknown. Isolated.

    Isolated¡ª Alone. So alone. I¡¯m so alone.

    Where am I? What¡¯s going on?

    How long has it been since I¡¯ve been trapped in this dark decrepit place? A day, two days? I sit here, my wrists and legs bound. I sit upon this chair of wood, as I rot in my shit and piss. I have been given no food and no water. I have had no one to talk to. I hold onto memories, my duty, and my family.

    Alone, I¡¯m so alone.

    Footsteps¡ª Those are footsteps!

    ¡°Ah, it stinks here!¡±

    ¡°This is your first time around a rotten body. I envy your innocence.¡±

    ¡°Silence brute, before I rip your head off.¡±

    ¡°Shut up, both of you.¡±

    A hand reaches out. The warmth of another, but this warmth is ice cold. Fear has overridden my joy for companionship.

    What did I do? Where did I go wrong?

    At least I¡¯m no longer alone.

    The bag upon my head. It¡¯s gone. I blink. Once, twice. My eyes must adjust to the light¡ª

    Oh, how I wish I kept them closed.

    Bjorn of the Marauders, Freyja of the Dancing Blade, Cedric of the Chains. To be honored with the presence of three renowned Council members as much in a pile of my feces, what an experience.

    Ah¡­ Behind them. I see it now. It was you. Damn you, damn you to the hottest fires the Gods can offer!.

    ¡°He¡¯s been talking to himself for a while.¡±

    ¡°Well, what do you expect? That¡¯s what happens when you leave a man like this for so long.¡±

    ¡°Hello Berten.¡±

    Oden leaned toward the custodian of the Dancing Blade, trying to ignore the abhorrent stench that permeated the room. He was surrounded by three Council members, so he couldn''t help but feel out of place.

    Yet, such trivial matters meant nothing in the face of the duty at hand.

    The young Marauder clapped his hands sharply, startling the depraved man before him. Berten squealed, his eyes finally focusing for the first time.

    "Oden..."

    "Back to reality? Calmed down?"

    "You bastard, you bastard¡ª"

    Berten''s tirade ceased abruptly as Oden unveiled an axe of ice.

    "For so long, we''ve had such a great relationship. But you couldn''t have made your attempts to generate discord more obvious? I just wonder how many small pigs like you Spears employ for their most mundane tasks."

    Shivering, Berten averted his gaze. The man was unwell. "I was born a Dancing Blade. I''ve always been loyal to the Dancing Blade."

    "So why feed me false notes for so long?"

    Berten''s eyes drifted to Freyja, and realization dawned upon him. He had not connected the dots earlier in his panicked state. For how long had Oden been playing him like a fiddle?

    Oden smiled. "Since we first started talking. To be honest, everything about you became useless to me after a week, but I found it amusing to toy with you."

    The captured man began muttering to himself once again, and Oden had responded.

    "Now, let''s try again. Why did you give me those notes?"

    Berten let out a heavy breath, "I was born a Dancing Blade. I was chosen by the Order. I serve the Iron Stag. He will free me; he will pass judgment on you."

    This was the lifeline Berten had clung to all this time. Without hope, he would have been completely lost. But he believed in the man who embodied fury, inspiration, and wisdom. The greatest man of the greatest clan.

    "Varian''s not coming, Berten. He doesn''t know you. He doesn''t care about you. I don''t know which Third or Second Division scum recruited you, but they''ve long forgotten about you now. There''s no one coming for you," Oden smiled as he slowly let these words drip from his mouth like venom.

    They were words that confirmed doubts. Words that cut sharper than a sword. Words that extinguished hope.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    "I don''t have any information worth giving. Just kill me," Berten said, reduced to a shell of a man.

    The Winter Warden moved forward, the weight of his presence filling the cold room. ¡°Do you know anything regarding the name Fiore?¡± he asked.

    ¡°I don¡¯t kn¡ª¡±

    The man¡¯s answer was cut short, his throat torn open by the vicious lash of an ice chain. The room fell into a heavy silence. A moment later, a large man stumbled through a jagged hole in the wall. It was Gunnar, one of the elite three Marauders, his broad frame well suited for the work he had done in carving out networks of underground rooms. He had twisted through the bowels of the earth so that the Marauders could slip through the underground unnoticed, attending to any business too secret for the surface.

    ¡°Ey, boss,¡± Gunnar rumbled, looking at the corpse with a raised brow, ¡°we gonna leave him to rot down here?¡±

    Bjorn¡¯s eyes never left the body. ¡°Yes,¡± he replied, his voice lacking its usual hearty warmth. ¡°Seal the tunnels.¡±

    Freyja, renowned as the Fortress¡¯s most graceful, seemed the most unbothered by the fetid air. She looked over at Cedric, her gaze playful.

    ¡°Convinced now?¡± she asked.

    Cedric¡¯s lip curled in disdain, bitterness riding his tone. ¡°I always was,¡± he growled. ¡°I just never wanted to admit it.¡±

    Oden stood apart from them all, his gaze fixed on the corpse at his feet. His thoughts were tangled, too many to unravel in a single breath, yet each one seemed to pull him deeper into the dark places of his soul. The blood pooled beneath the dead man, spreading across the dirt and rocks. Oden didn¡¯t move until it reached his feet.

    <hr>

    Sorn despised idleness. Nearly alone in the Marauder Hall, he swung his legs over the edge of his bed, restless. Training crossed his mind, but after his earlier loss of control, he hesitated to use his power. Thus, he had spent hours confined to his room, ensnared by his thoughts.

    "Hey Sorn, have you seen Oden around?"

    Serene''s voice broke through his reverie. She appeared disheveled, sweat glistening on her brow, multiple gashes marking her arms, accompanied by a nasty-looking bruise.

    "Are you okay?" Sorn blurted out.

    "I''ll be fine; just a few light scratches. Had to go all out for the last training before the Tournament. Can''t have me hurting myself right before, y''know."

    "Ah," Sorn responded, uncertain whether to feel relieved or concerned. "Well, Oden mentioned he had some business to attend to when I arrived at the Hall. I haven''t heard from him since."

    "Gotcha," Serene replied, giving Sorn an extra glance. "I heard what happened at the Training Ground. You doing alright?"

    "I''m fine," Sorn replied.

    "Y''know, don''t let them get in your head. It''s a good thing Keilan''s gonna participate. Great opportunity to get revenge," Serene said, pumping her fist confidently, her long warrior''s braid swaying behind her. Sorn had never seen this side of the Marauder. It appeared that a good training session helped the reserved girl break from her shell.

    "Well, I''ll be off now," Serene waved goodbye before Sorn could respond.

    "Be off where?" Serene yelped in surprise as Oden stood unfazed before her. He smiled widely upon seeing her properly. "Got a good session in, huh?"

    Serene glanced at him suspiciously. "No one around here said they''ve seen you. Did you sneak in?"

    "Maybe I did," Oden said. "I just felt a bit gross, so I melted a few blocks for my shower."

    "How many?"

    "Three."

    To take a shower, one had to melt a block of ice with a special heating pad found in the belly of a Merkal, a fluffy lizard-like creature. The pad is activated by physical force, and the more pads a shower has, the higher the water pressure will be. Generally, blocks of ice are thick, so three is quite an impressive number.

    The two continued to banter as Sorn watched. Generally, they engaged in quiet, serious discussions. Seeing how the cousins playfully interacted revealed a new side of them to Sorn. Eventually, Oden''s demeanor became more serious as he turned towards Sorn.

    "Anyways, I came here to tell you something important. Word going around is¡ª"

    Another Marauder, one Sorn recognized but couldn''t recall the name of, crept behind Oden, whose face became even more solemn.

    "They''re here for you," he said.

    "Who?" Sorn replied, his voice uneasy.

    "The First Division."

    <hr>

    The Spears'' cheers echoed through the courtyard as they heralded the arrival of Jaron, the Swirling Spear of the First Division. At the forefront stood Harvard, one of the elite three Marauders, his chest puffed with pride, causing his curled blue mustache to twitch with each breath.

    Oden navigated through the crowd of Marauders standing at the entrance. They were shouting back at the Spears, and it was clear the situation needed de-escalation. With Sorn and Serene trailing closely behind, Oden halted beside Harvard. This was Sorn''s first encounter with a First Division member, at least with the knowledge of their rank. Jaron was a man of modest stature, perhaps slightly shorter than Crystal, yet he exuded an air of unwavering confidence. His gaze met the towering stature of Harvard without a hint of intimidation. As Oden and Sorn approached, Jaron''s attention shifted to them, and Harvard stepped back, letting Oden take control of this situation.

    "Greetings, Outsider," Jaron said smoothly. "I have been sent to retrieve you by Lord Varian himself. We will offer you hospitality in the Goblet until the night of the Prophecy. This measure ensures your presence will be accounted for."

    Oden responded on Sorn''s behalf, "This was not part of our agreement."

    "No, it is not," Jaron conceded. "But the Iron Stag wills it. Do you intend to defy him?"

    "How can I trust anything you say if you change the agreement without prior notice?"

    "Do you not trust us? Lord Varian may be many things to you, but is a liar one of them?"

    Oden bit his lip, contemplating, before turning to Sorn. "Alright, you go with him."

    "Ah¡ª" Sorn began, hoping for more resistance from Oden. The thought of entering the Spear''s domain, home to those who despised him most, filled him with dread.

    Sensing his hesitation, Serene nudged him forward, causing him to stumble between the two parties. Jaron regarded him with a studious gaze. "Good evening, Sorn. Please stay close to me as we head towards the Goblet."

    <hr>

    The procession to the Goblet was an uneventful affair. Sorn, flanked by Jaron and his group of Spears, trudged through the Fortress with the weight of a prisoner marching to his fate. The Spears maintained their silence, their eyes fixed ahead. Occasionally, passersby would pause, their curious gazes lingering on Sorn, amplifying his discomfort. Yet, the Spears remained indifferent, their posture unwavering as they escorted him with an air of duty.

    Upon reaching the base of the Goblet, a blindfold was secured over Sorn''s eyes. Deprived of sight, he was led through a complex path of corridors, each step echoing ominously in the silence. After a few minutes, the blindfold was removed, revealing Varian seated upon a throne of molten metal spears. The Iron Stag''s gaze bore down upon Sorn, reminiscent of the Trial, yet the smaller size of the setting made it more unsettling.

    "Rumor has it that you have developed into quite the fighter." Varian''s began. Sorn remained silent, prompting Varian to continue.

    "That''s one thing those Marauders excel at¡ªcombat. While our relationship may be strained, I believe in coexistence. Without military prowess, we cannot hope to triumph on the Promised Day, especially if we falter in the race. You, however, are expendable. Is a mere mortal competing against Elementals? The notion is so blasphemous, it makes my blood boil." Despite the harshness in his words, Varian''s demeanor remained composed.

    "But time will tell, won''t it? Will you rise to the challenge or falter at the first frozen river? I eagerly await the outcome." It became clear to Sorn then¡ªVarian was content right now due to his certainty that Sorn would not survive the Tournament. The realization made Sorn sick.

    Unbothered by Sorn''s silence, Varian pressed on. "Your presence here ensures you won''t flee before the appointed time. You are permitted to roam this floor, but the stairs are forbidden. Do you understand? Now, begone, mortal."

    Dismissed, Sorn wandered until he found himself in a vast, empty chamber. One wall was a pane of ice, offering a panoramic view of the outside. The altitude made his stomach churn. As he sat, lost in thought, he couldn''t ignore the two guards stationed nearby, their eyes never leaving him.

    Isolation gnawed at Sorn. The unfamiliar surroundings made him yearn for the relative comfort of the Marauders'' quarters, away from the oppressive scrutiny of those who despised him. Varian''s confidence in his demise weighed heavily on his mind. He had trained his powers diligently, but doubt crept in. The more time he spent alive, the clearer it became¡ªhe did not want to die.

    As his thoughts spiraled, a hand clasped his, halting his tremors.

    "Can you not look any more pathetic in my house?"

    The voice, tinged with boredom, came from his left. Turning, Sorn recognized the face¡ªthe boy from the roof, the Spear''s Disappointment. Kaen, Varian''s son, who had once ignored him, was now initiating conversation.

 14. Awake

    Kaen stood over Sorn, casting a shadow that blended with the moonlight filtering through the windows. Sorn glanced up at the young boy. Their only encounter hadn¡¯t left Sorn with the best impression. There was a deliberate avoidance in Kaen¡¯s attitude that convinced Sorn to keep away. Now, seemingly by his own volition, Kaen was staring at him from about a mere meter away.

    "I didn''t expect to see you here," Kaen said.

    "Well, your father wishes to ensure my death tomorrow," Sorn¡¯s reply was a bit more sarcastic than he had intended.

    Kaen nodded. He lowered himself in a single motion, settling beside Sorn, his gaze drifting to the same darkened sky that Sorn had been observing for hours.

    The proximity of Varian¡¯s child drew Sorn away from his spiraling thoughts. He studied the boy, noting his calm demeanor.

    "Aren''t you afraid?" Sorn ventured.

    "Afraid of what?" Kaen''s tone was devoid of mockery, a genuine question.

    "The Tournament."

    "Why would I be?"

    Sorn marveled at the boy''s composure. At fifteen, Kaen faced a similar fate to Sorn. According to Oden, he too was a pawn in his father''s game, destined to depart from life. Yet, where Sorn felt angst, Kaen exhibited tranquility.

    "I''m scared," Sorn confessed. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, the weight of his dread pressing down. "I''ve trained hard, and I have capable allies, but I don''t want to die."

    Kaen turned his gaze upon Sorn, peeling his eyes away from the sky to look at the black-haired boy. "I approached you because of your defeated eyes," he said. "But you''re even more pathetic than I imagined."

    Sorn recoiled a bit, stung by the blunt assessment. He grappled with his emotions, uncertain if he should feel insulted by such an analysis.

    Kaen''s expression bore into Sorn as he talked. "With an attitude like yours, you''ll die instantly. You''ve lost before the battle''s started." He gestured around the room, his finger tracing an arc that encompassed the walls. "Every Spear lives here, and their mentalities in battle are far more advanced than yours."

    Rising to his feet, Kaen continued to speak. "You said you''ve worked hard, right? Just trust in that, and you''ll be fine. Or you''ll die fighting. Either way, it''s better than succumbing to your cowardice. So don''t let anybody know your weakness. Especially your enemy."

    Sorn watched as the boy departed, his silhouette diminishing into the shadows of the adjoining chamber. A guard, stationed nearby, cast a questioning glance toward Kaen. After a brief exchange, the sentry stepped aside, permitting the young Spear to vanish from sight.

    The following day stretched interminably. Confined within the same austere room, Sorn oscillated between pacing the stone floor, gazing through the window, and sleeping. His only companions in this period were the watchful guards and a silent boy who delivered small meals.

    The earlier interaction with Kaen lingered in Sorn''s mind. While his anxiety remained, he found himself better equipped to banish the more insidious thoughts that were gnawing at him earlier. Some of him yearned to express gratitude, but Kaen did not reappear.

    As the night of the Prophecy drew near, the weight of solitude was finally broken by the arrival of someone Sorn recognized well.

    "You¡¯ve kept pace," came the gruff voice of the Swirling Spear of the First Division. "You¡¯ll follow me until I tell you otherwise."

    Jaron, without a word, handed him a blindfold. Sorn accepted without hesitation, slipping it over his eyes. They moved in silence, the world narrowing to the echo of their footfalls until they made it out of the Goblet. When the blindfold came off, the surrounding snow was bathed in the fading light of dusk. A mere quarter hour had passed before they reached the stage. It was a vast, empty thing of ice. The setting sun bled across the surface, spilling fiery orange and rich purples, a fleeting moment of warmth before the Prophecy.

    The stage was empty, save for a single podium and a set of stairs leading up to another platform. Atop the higher platform, five chairs rested in solemn arrangement, their design a reflection of the Council¡¯s meeting hall, a cruel reminder of the past trial Sorn endured and almost died in. Beyond the stage rose a towering wall of ice.

    "Go behind those chairs," Jaron instructed, his hand gesturing toward the icy backdrop. "There¡¯s a hole within the wall. Wait there until you are told otherwise."

    Wordlessly, Sorn obeyed, stepping into the shadowed recess behind the chairs. There, he found two figures awaiting him. Their presence was imposing, both in stature and reputation.

    One was a hulking figure, with a broad shoulder and chest, yet still smaller than most Marauders Sorn had encountered. The other was a slighter man, but no less formidable for it. His long hair hung loosely about his face, his eyes bored and distant, as if the world had long ceased to hold his interest. But even in that indifference, there was a sharpness that could not be ignored.

    The Emperor¡¯s Royal Guard was a powerful force that Sorn had heard many rumors about in the Marauder Hall. The fact that it took but two of them to stand watch over the entire Guard spoke volumes of their strength.

    Sorn recognized these two from the trial, though their names lay just beyond the reach of his memory. It was the larger man who chose to break the silence, sparing Sorn the effort of fumbling for their identities.

    ¡°Hello, Sorn,¡± the man¡¯s voice was a heavy stone cast into an abyss. ¡°I am Aran, of the Royal Guard, formerly leader of the Turtles. And this,¡± he gestured to the second man, his large arm sweeping toward the silent figure beside him, ¡°is Flaren, one of the Second Division of the Spears.¡±This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    Flaren¡¯s gaze slid toward Sorn. His voice, when it came, was almost a drawl. ¡°No need to look so frightened,¡± he said, ¡°I couldn¡¯t care less about you.¡±

    Sorn, taken aback by the mention of the man¡¯s former clan, found himself briefly flustered, but he quickly himself before speaking again. ¡°So what exactly is happening here?¡±

    ¡°Is it not obvious?¡± Aran asked, his voice flat. ¡°We are waiting.¡±

    The three of them spent the rest of their time in silence. Slowly, like a distant tide creeping in, the murmurs of a growing crowd began to reach Sorn¡¯s ears. Though the looming chairs ahead obscured much of his view, the sound of hundreds of voices meant that an audience was gathering. It wasn¡¯t long before Sorn could hear the rustling of the Council members settling into their seats. They weren¡¯t speaking much, only exchanging brief greetings, but the air between them was taut with unspoken tension. Leaders of the Fortress, each with their ambitions, each with their secrets.

    Suddenly, the stillness in the backstage was broken by a voice¡ªold and raspy in a way that made Sorn flinch.

    "In such a gloomy and dark world," it croaked, "how do you expect to find the guiding light of hope?"

    Sorn¡¯s gaze snapped toward the source of the voice. The Emperor had arrived. The man¡¯s figure was hunched and frail, his silver crown gleaming. He was draped in a robe that glowed faintly, but the most striking thing about him was his sharp eyes, belying the frailty of his body. Behind him stood two children, a boy, and a girl, both no older than ten or twelve, their small hands clutching at the hem of his robe.

    "Off with you two," the Emperor said softly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Go find a place in the audience." The children bowed low and then scampered off into the distance, escaping the room like mice scurrying towards a meal.

    The Emperor¡¯s gaze then shifted to Sorn, and for the first time, their eyes met. It was a curious thing, the way the Emperor regarded him. It was not as an enemy or an inconvenience that Sorn had grown to expect, but with the familiarity of an old friend.

    ¡°This is our first true conversation, isn¡¯t it?¡± the Emperor remarked with a faint smile. He paused for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked toward the children who had now disappeared into the crowd. ¡°Those two... they are orphaned siblings. They¡¯ve done much to help me in my old age. It is thanks to them that I am still able to walk on my own two feet today.¡±

    Sorn nodded, though he didn¡¯t ask and didn¡¯t care either. More importantly, Crystal¡¯s father, the Emperor, the most powerful man in the Fortress¡ªdid not seem to view Sorn as a mere nuisance to be stamped out. There was something in the Emperor¡¯s gaze and voice that suggested he saw more than a pest. It was a welcomed notion that strengthened Sorn¡¯s soul.

    The Emperor¡¯s smile flickered, sudden and sharp. Aran and Flaren dropped to their knees, bowing low, prostrating themselves before the shadows. Sorn could feel it then, a strange shift in the air A presence was nearing, though he couldn¡¯t tell who else could command such a reaction from the Royal Guard. Aran and Flaren had barely stirred at the Emperor¡¯s arrival, but now, as they knelt, their bodies almost touched the cold floor.

    ¡°So, you awaken from your slumber,¡± the Emperor said, a grin spreading across his weathered face. The shadows seemed to part like a curtain, revealing the source of the disturbance. A foot, gnarled and ugly, emerged from the darkness, encased in a simple sandal. Then, inch by inch, the rest of the figure stepped into vie.

    The man who appeared was somehow older than the Emperor. He seemed to barely stand at all, his frail form trembling with age, the stick of ice he clutched shaking violently as though it might snap at any moment. His body was hunched, every movement labored. As Aran moved to offer assistance, the elder raised a hand, his expression grim.

    ¡°The Last Phoenix will not be violated by a lowly, sinful man like yourself,¡± he rasped, his voice a whisper of authority. His eyes, though barely open, seemed to take in everything around him.

    He turned his head slowly toward the Emperor. ¡°The stars have given me many hints,¡± he murmured, a deep conviction in his voice. ¡°Tonight will be revolutionary.¡±

    The Emperor nodded. ¡°I look forward to it.¡±

    With a slight gesture, the Emperor beckoned the strange figure forward, and together, the two ancient men stepped out onto the stage. Sorn could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on him. Aran, still kneeling, straightened slightly and turned his attention to Sorn.

    ¡°Go on,¡± Aran said, his voice low but commanding. ¡°Follow them. We¡¯ll stay back here.¡±

    Sorn nodded and stepped toward the crevice in the wall, the cold air rushing over him as he emerged into the open. The night sky stretched endlessly above him, a canvas of dark blues and purples. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the crowd, stretching farther than he could see, a sea of faces. Every single one of them was focused on the stage, focused on him.

    Sorn fell into step behind the two old men, though it took every ounce of his willpower not to hurry. Their pace was painfully slow, only adding to the unease that churned in his gut.

    He didn¡¯t turn his head to glance behind him, but the feeling of eyes upon him was unmistakable. He could feel the gazes of the Council members like needles in his back.

    Now, standing at the edge of the stage, Sorn was surrounded by every Ice Elemental in the Fortress. He didn¡¯t want to look out over them, and he didn¡¯t want to sift through their faces. Their blue hair, all of them with the same pale hue, blended in a strange, undulating sea. He could hear the quiet rustle of breath, the shifting of feet, the barely contained excitement that thrummed through the crowd. Murmurs were abundant, but he couldn¡¯t make sense of any of them.

    For the first time, Sorn allowed himself to glance behind him. His eyes caught sight of Varian, his eyes unyielding, like a statue staring down from the peak of a mountain. Sorn turned back to the two ancient figures ahead, grateful for the distraction.

    The old men had halted before the podium now, their slow steps bringing them to a place of prominence. The Emperor, still standing with the fragility of age about him, raised his hands with a silent authority.

    And then, as if the air itself had been shaped by his will, a strange sight unfolded. Ice, cold and glimmering, began to form high above the crowd. Two birdlike heads emerged, twisting and curling into shape, their jagged edges gleaming in the dim light. They hung suspended in the air for a moment, watching over the audience with grace. Then, slowly, they began to split, doubling and redoubling, forming two long rows that stretched across the entire expanse of the gathered crowd. Each ice head, curved and perfect, mirrored the others, until the rows reached the very ends of the audience, filling.

    When the Emperor spoke again, his voice carried with an unnatural resonance, amplified through the rows of ice birds. The sound echoed through the hollow shapes, reverberating to allow the entire audience to hear his every word.

    ¡°Welcome, all,¡± the Emperor began. ¡°My beloved sons and daughters, you stand here today as descendants of our first Emperor, Aelon, may his soul rest with the Gods.¡±

    A murmur rose from the crowd, and a prayer of reverence whispered in harmony.

    ¡°As you know, Aelon left us a legacy and we have been tasked with an undertaking beyond our imagination. We are to reclaim the endless power Seraph left behind after his valiant victory against the King of Demons, and we have only three years to prepare.¡±

    The Emperor¡¯s words hung in the air, a weight that settled deep within the chests of the audience members. He paused then, his gaze sweeping over the sea of faces, allowing the murmurs to settle, letting the gravity of his speech seep in. The crowd shifted restlessly, a quiet wave of concern passing between them.

    ¡°You may be concerned, or anxious upon hearing this,¡± the Emperor continued, his voice softening with an almost fatherly calm. ¡°We have never met our enemies, and we will not meet them until our final battle. The unknown, as we all know, is a terrifying thing. But my people,¡± he said, his tone rising, ¡°you must not fear. For the Gods have chosen us.¡±

    His words seemed to ripple through the air. ¡°For many years, the sky has been our closest companion, offering us guidance, telling us of our fate. And today,¡± the Emperor¡¯s eyes glinted, ¡°today is the final day the sky will speak to us. And we will receive much information indeed. And most importantly¡ª¡±

    With a sudden movement, the Emperor placed a hand on Sorn¡¯s shoulder, guiding him forward. Sorn stumbled slightly as he was pushed to the very edge of the stage, the sharp chill of the air brushing against his skin. He blinked against the sea of unfamiliar faces, all turned toward him, their eyes wide and expectant, studying him like some rare and fascinating creature.

    The Emperor stood beside him, one hand resting lightly on Sorn¡¯s back, a proud smile on his face. ¡°This boy, Sorn,¡± the Emperor declared, his voice booming across the crowd, ¡°was a gift from the sky. He fell into our lands by the will of the Gods. If the Gods truly intend to favor us to the very end,¡± the Emperor¡¯s smile widened, ¡°then they will tell us good fortune regarding this boy. And we will use whatever is given to us to the best of our advantage.¡±

    The audience stood in silence as the final echoes of the Emperor''s words died away within the beaks of his ice birds. Then, he spoke again.

    ¡°Now, I invite my oldest companion. It is fate itself that has allowed him to reach the age of two hundred and fifty. The Last Phoenix of the Pythia Clan will give you the final Prophecy.¡±

    It was only then that Sorn noticed the Last Phoenix had been looking into the sky the entire time, muttering to himself under his breath. Then, with a sudden fluidity, he stepped forward, moving with a grace that seemed entirely at odds with his ancient form. His eyes, though clouded with age, appeared distant, as though the man were possessed by something far beyond mortal understanding.

    ¡°I will now begin the Prophecy,¡± he said, his voice a chill in the air.

 15. Of Petals and Ruins

    The Last Phoenix lifted his arm, pointing upwards.

    ¡°To the North, the Black Tortoise remains idle and unmoving.¡±

    He shifted his hand, pointing to his left.

    ¡°To the West, the White Tiger remains outcasted. They will soon be done anticipating.¡±

    With a sharp movement, he pointed to his right.

    ¡°To the East, the Azure Dragon roars, waiting for a chance to unleash its jaws at our throats.¡±

    Finally, he pointed downwards.

    ¡°And to the South, the Vermillion Bird flies away, making its final escape.¡±

    His voice suddenly became lower, but it mattered not as every word he spoke was also being echoed in the beaks of the Emperor¡¯s ice birds.

    The crimson walls begin to crumble.

    Frost envelops the throne, only for it to be thawed and reclaimed.

    A rightful heir emerges from the cascade.

    Shadows waltz among your people, mumbling spells.

    The wheel of fate spins around again.

    Escaped petals drift through the icy wind.

    The roses have long decayed.

    To those wading through a sea of darkness.

    The roots of the throne must keep your gaze.

    When the remnants of the past strike back.

    The people will engage in a lost spite.

    The order crumbled.

    All due to the second and his dragon¡¯s flight

    The arrival of a radiant arc illuminates the concealed.

    Games woven upon lies.

    The spear that pierces to the sound of the rhythm

    Clashing with the fiery streaks that bequeath death

    From the abyss, the heir is sent to claim the crown.

    And the sun¡¯s bird is reborn.

    The seven forged by the frozen hand¡ª

    Just as the next verse began to roll from his lips, a spear whistled through the air. It struck true, its point sinking deep into the head of the Last Phoenix, a flash of crimson staining the night as the old man immediately fell to the floor. Then the spear, guided by something unseen, twisted mid-flight, changing its course. It hurtled toward Sorn, its deadly tip aimed straight at his chest, its velocity too high for Sorn to even perceive the projectile.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t expect him to go for the geezer first.¡±

    Sorn blinked, and there was Aran, appearing in front of him as if he had anticipated this entire situation. The spear, once brilliant and imposing, was now nothing more than a crushed ruin in Aran¡¯s grip, the pole of ice now shattered into fragments. Sorn¡¯s gaze snapped to Varian, whose towering figure stood a fair distance behind Aran. Varian¡¯s eyes were locked on him, his face a portrait of cold fury. The calm mask was gone, replaced by an open, unfiltered hostility.

    The air seemed to thicken, and before Sorn could even take a breath, an axe pressed against one side of Varian¡¯s throat, while a needle-thin blade kissed the other. Bjorn and Freyja flanked Varian on either side, their weapons raised high and aimed with lethal intent. Their presence was a warning. No movement would be tolerated from Varian. One twitch and his head would be no more.

    A sudden, sharp snap cut through the stillness like a crack of thunder, and Cedric had gotten up from his throne and walked before Varian. In his hands, a chain of ice unfurled, its frigid coils glowing a pale blue. It slithered through the air, twisting like a serpent, its razor-sharp links extending long enough to strike at any who dared come too close. The chain hissed with menace, repeating snapping sounds as it danced in the air.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°You confuse me, Cedric,¡± Varian¡¯s voice was thick with the weight of disappointment.

    Cedric¡¯s gaze never wavered, ¡°I¡¯ve given you grace for too long, older brother,¡± he said. ¡°But tonight, that ends. I¡¯m done with your silence. I will have answers, or you won¡¯t leave this place alive. What did you do to Fiore?¡±

    For a long moment, Varian stood unmoving. The entire world had drawn in a single, collective breath, waiting for the moment to pass. The seconds stretched into eternity, and time itself seemed to pause.

    And then, the chaos descended.

    Automatic Defense, one of Varian¡¯s secret spells activated without warning. Spears of malicious ice formed around him, generating faster than any could perceive. They were aimed with perfect precision at those who possessed intentions to harm him. Freyja¡¯s arm moved in a flash, her weapon deflecting one of the spears with a practiced flick of her wrist, sending it spiraling harmlessly away. Bjorn twisted just enough to avoid the brunt of the attack, but not without the spear grazing his shoulder, tearing a thin, bloody line across his flesh.

    Varian surged forward, his body a blur. He was past Cedric in an instant, but Freyja was already upon him, her blade drawn, her eyes fierce. The two were moments from clashing when a voice, loud and commanding, rang out from the bird speakers above, cutting through the rising storm of violence.

    ¡°STOP!¡±

    Below, in the rows of the audience, unrest stirred. Small uprisings and bitter infightings broke out among the rival clans, as those loyal to their respective leaders followed suit, mirroring the chaos unfolding above. The air was thick with tension, as whispers and shouts filled the space. But just as the bickering and discord seemed on the verge of consuming the crowd, the voice rumbled through the air, a single word shaking the very bones of all who heard it.

    The command was not just heard but felt, deep in their chests, a voice that made blood hum and the breath freeze. Every head in the room turned instinctively, drawn to the source of the voice. There, on the stage, stood the Emperor. His shoes were soaked in the blood of the Last Phoenix. The frozen heads of the birds began to melt, their icy forms dissolving into nothingness.

    The old man slowly turned toward Varian. Varian, in return, locked eyes with him, his gaze filled with quiet fury. Freyja had stepped back, retreating to stand among the other Council members. The space between Varian and the Emperor was now empty, with nothing separating the ruler of the Fortress from the leader of the Council.

    The Emperor¡¯s voice came again. "For what purpose do you create such an outburst?"

    As the words left his lips, a spear formed behind Varian. The weapon aimed itself directly at Sorn,. In a fluid motion, Aran stepped forward, his imposing figure casting a shadow over the outsider. He stood between Sorn and the weapon, his eyes locked on Varian with the quiet promise of violence should the need arise.

    Varian, however, did not flinch. His gaze shifted once more to the Emperor. The old man had made no motion, no gesture since his question had been asked. The air hung heavy with the weight of the moment, as all eyes now rested on the confrontation between these two men.

    ¡°Did you not hear the Prophecy?¡± Varian¡¯s voice lashed out, dripping with disdain. ¡°Who do you think the boy in the abyss is? Do you truly intend to let that pest fulfill his destiny and overtake you?¡± He almost spat the words, his anger palpable.

    The Emperor''s eyes remained steady. ¡°You misunderstand, Varian,¡± he said softly. ¡°Your tendency to jump to conclusions, even at such a senior position, disappoints me. Sorn is not the true heir.¡±

    Varian¡¯s jaw clenched, his voice rising, almost a shout now. ¡°Then who is?¡±

    The Emperor¡¯s silence was the only response. Varian¡¯s eyes narrowed even further, the simmering fury inside him intensifying with every passing moment.

    ¡°I will not have this any longer,¡± Varian growled. ¡°I don¡¯t understand why you insist on making me suffer like this, but I cannot allow¡ª¡±

    ¡°Oh, dear Varian,¡± the Emperor interrupted, his voice suddenly soft, almost amused. ¡°But you will.¡±

    Before Varian could react, the air around him seemed to freeze. A massive swan of ice materialized from nothingness, its wings spreading wide, encircling Varian in a frozen prison. The creature¡¯s long neck arched gracefully down toward the Emperor, so long that it reached from the top of the stage to where the Emperor stood. The swan moved with a life of its own as it trapped Varian within its wings.

    The Emperor smiled calmly, as though this were all part of a game. He reached out, stroking the swan¡¯s neck before he began to walk toward Varian.

    ¡°You will do as I say, understand?¡± The Emperor¡¯s voice dropped to a low whisper, so quiet that only Varian could hear it.

    Varian, struggling within the trap, managed to turn his head, his gaze defiant even as the frozen creature held him tight. ¡°The swan of sealing. I didn¡¯t think you still had this in you.¡±

    ¡°Do you trust me, Varian?¡± The Emperor asked.

    Varian didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°But you realize now,¡± the Emperor continued, his smile almost fond, ¡°you must trust me.¡±

    Varian¡¯s lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing. The silence stretched between them. Then, in a blink, the swan of ice vanished, dissolving into nothingness as quickly as it had appeared. The grip that had held Varian in place was gone.

    The Emperor, flanked by Flaren, began to walk away. Varian¡¯s gaze followed him, but his attention was drawn to Flaren, who walked beside the Emperor with a casual ease. Flaren had once been a prodigy of Varian¡¯s clan, now he was aligning himself with the Emperor without even a glance in Varian¡¯s direction.

    Varian¡¯s eyes shifted toward the other members of the Council. Lyra had not moved from her original position, still in her designated chair. Bjorn had already left, and the number of Marauders in the audience had also run thin. Freyja had settled back beside Lyra, speaking softly with her, their conversation a murmur against the growing tension. Cedric still stood at the edge of the upper platform, his eyes locked on Varian with a simmering glare, but making no move.

    As Varian lingered, two figures leaped up beside him. Faron and Radan, both of his First Division. Faron¡¯s brow furrowed as he addressed his superior. ¡°What are we to do now?¡± he asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

    Varian took a deep breath and turned, his mind calculating the next steps. Without hesitation, he began to walk off the stage, his subordinates falling in line behind him. He hopped down from the edge, his eyes fixed ahead, already focused on what needed to be done.

    ¡°We begin preparing for the Tournament,¡± Varian replied simply.

    <hr>

    Sorn stood at the top of the towering ice cylinder, a dizzying height that made the ground seem like a distant memory. The wind tugged at his clothes, and from this height, the world seemed small, almost fragile. If he stretched his hand far enough, perhaps he could even grasp the stars. He felt a vague unease, a queasiness that curled in his stomach as he stared off the edge.

    Aran sat a few meters away, his figure. The two of them had ascended in silence the moment the Emperor had summoned his swan of sealing. A floating platform of ice had waited for them, and it carried them upward, rising steadily as they stepped onto it. It was the highest Sorn had been since his fall from the sky, a height that felt unnatural, almost as if the ground had slipped away beneath him.

    Aran had not spoken much since their arrival, but suddenly he began to talk. "I have two daughters,"

    Sorn blinked, caught off guard. "Huh?" he replied, unsure what had prompted this sudden revelation.

    "I don¡¯t think of them often," Aran continued, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "I guess you''re around the same age as them, and seeing you and how scared you are; I suppose that¡¯s how they¡¯ve been feeling since I abandoned them." He paused. "I don¡¯t even know if they¡¯ll be in the Tournament."

    The words hung between them. For a moment, Sorn didn¡¯t know how to respond. The stoic man was showing a side of himself Sorn had never thought to see. Aran stood up, as he walked beside Sorn to the edge of the cylinder, gazing down at the vast expanse below, his shoulders straight and unmoving as he took in the scene.

    "And now it begins," Aran said. He turned to Sorn with one final glance. "I wish you the best of luck."

    Before Sorn could respond, a flurry of movement caught his eye. Ice platforms shot up from the surrounding arena. Figures stood upon each, each person a solitary silhouette against the frozen landscape. They leaped off their platforms, landing gracefully on the edge of the circular arena.

    Sorn barely had time to comprehend the scene before he turned back to find Aran, only to see the man tumble off the edge of the cylinder. Sorn¡¯s heart skipped a beat as he watched him fall, wondering why the man had done that. He assumed the man would be okay, and thus he redirected his attention.

    But before he could even finish processing his thoughts, a sudden rush of pressure gripped his body. His vision blurred, and in the next instant, he found himself bound. His limbs were restrained by an invisible force, his vision obscured by an unknown object. Panic surged through him, but it was quickly swallowed by the realization that this was it, the first stage had begun.

 16. Deathstalker

    The world around Sorn was a black void. The air around him was thick with the faint echo of his breathing. Every other sound was drowned, lost in silence. His limbs were trapped, held fast by chains that scraped and bit into his skin. He could not speak. He could not move. The only thing he could do was feel.

    He could feel the cold, the hardness, the way the chains circled his arms, his chest, his neck, and even his face, suffocating his senses. Immediately, he came to an understanding. These chains were Cedric''s doing. The leader of the Chains had been chosen to manage the first part of the trial.

    A pounding pulse of anxiety gripped his chest. He tried to keep his mind sharp, desperate to make sense of this situation. He had to figure out a way to quickly get out of this predicament.

    No one knew all the details of the trial. However, the one immutable truth was that speed was of priority. To falter or to hesitate, was to invite failure, and in Sorn¡¯s case, likely death. Every second that passed was a second wasted, a step closer to the end. However, he had no idea what to do in this situation, thus he tried to adopt a new way of thinking.

    Think like an Ice Elemental. What do they have that you do not?

    The answer came in a rush of clarity. Ice Elementals were beings of creation, boasting the ability to mold weapons and tools from the ice at will. Sorn had no such power.

    As he knelt, he felt the slick ice beneath him, its chill biting into small parts of his exposed skin. There, in the silence, he concentrated, as he began to activate his ability. His wisps were still different since his venture into that strange dimension. He still couldn¡¯t make complete sense of his wisps, but there was something he could do here. Something that felt instinctual.

    Blow up.

    He thought it, and then the air itself trembled at his command. The wisps around his legs surged with power before combusting right there. The shock of the blast shattered the ice beneath him. The chains that had bound him vanished into nothingness.

    Then suddenly, he was freefalling, descending through the air as he was at the mercy of the gravity around him. The cold chains were gone, replaced by a rushing wind that tore at his skin. He looked down, and his heart skipped a beat. Below him, a vast structure loomed, a gaping hole torn through its center. It was a hole that he assumed was his destination.

    To his right, another figure was falling, too. He could just barely see them. Another participant, no doubt, but too far to identify.

    In a brief flash, a terror gripped him, as he realized that he had no way to brace for impact. Luckily, as he fell into the hole, something steadied his descent, and the speed of his fall slowed. He floated downward, and eventually his feet brushed against the ice floor.

    The room he found himself in was oddly sterile. It was small and mostly empty. At the center of the room, there was an ice table. Upon it rested a handwritten note, its edges curling slightly in the damp air, and a strange pendant. The pendant was made of ice and it was shaped like a crescent.

    Sorn lifted the pendant, and the sound it made was not the soft clink of crystal, but something far more unsettling. The pendant let out a primal shriek, like the last desperate cry of a creature as it was being slaughtered. Sorn recoiled at the terrible noise, but he did not drop it.

    With the pendant in hand, he turned to the note. His fingers traced its edge, but he couldn¡¯t make out anything it said. He ignored the slight frustration bubbling up inside him as he folded the note carefully, tucking it into a pocket. The pendant went around his neck, settling against his skin with an eerie chill.

    The floor beneath his feet was solid, far thicker than the ice he had shattered to reach this place. He thought of breaking through it, but he had no desire to risk breaking any rules, as he knew none of them. For now, he would explore, try to make sense of this stage, and hope that some answer would reveal itself quickly.

    The layout of the second stage was like a maze, a labyrinth of icy walls. His thoughts drifted briefly to Toren¡¯s mother, Freyja, the proctor overseeing this trial. The leader of Chains had used his power to craft the first challenge. However, there was nothing here that spoke of the ¡°Dancing Blade.¡±

    The pendant around his neck continued to shriek as he moved, the sound a constant, maddening presence. He tried to ignore it, and even considered leaving it behind, but he decided against such a stupid idea.

    Then, from a place nearby, a different sound reached his ears. It was sweet and alluring. A melody beckoned Sorn, drawing him closer. He walked towards the music. It was as if he were in a trance.

    But then, a guttural scream violated Sorn¡¯s ears. The cry of agony shattered the trance that had begun to cloud his mind, and Sorn halted mid-step, his instincts flaring. The sweet melody died away, replaced by the echoes of that horrific scream.

    Sorn¡¯s mind was a swirl of conflicting thoughts. He stood frozen for several heartbeats, as he began weighing his decisions. His fear quarreled with his impulse, but it didn¡¯t take long for him to give in to the latter. He needed information, and he felt that the area of the scream would be the best way to find some.

    He set off towards the sound, navigating the corridors of the ice maze with urgency, forcing through as he tried to run towards the general direction of the earlier sound. Eventually, the twisting path opened up into a large dome-shaped chamber, and before him stood an opening just wide enough for a single person to slip through.

    Inside, the room was cluttered with enormous ice mirrors, arranged in complete randomness. As he walked through, he could see his reflection everywhere. The mirrors were plentiful, which made traversal extremely disorienting.

    And then, he heard a groan.

    Sorn¡¯s eyes snapped toward the sound. A large boy, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, lay sprawled on the floor. Another man sat on top of him, his eyes closed. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    ¡°I told you,¡± the man spoke flatly, ¡°you don¡¯t have the right guy. You Marauders and your love for conflict will be your downfall.¡±

    The boy¡¯s lips twitched, but the man did not react, his hands resting calmly on his knees.

    ¡°I do appreciate the information, though,¡± the man continued. ¡°For that, I¡¯ll keep you alive.¡±

    Sorn stepped closer, feeling uneasy. The boy on the floor was barely conscious, but luckily he was still alive.

    Then, the strange man¡¯s attention snapped to Sorn. The pendant around Sorn¡¯s neck swung lightly, its grotesque sound, drawing the man¡¯s attention. Before Sorn could react, the man was already standing directly in front of him.

    It was hard to tell if the man was looking at him. His eyes were closed, but he could still tell where Sorn was regardless.

    ¡°You smell unfamiliar,¡± the man said. ¡°Are you Sorn?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­ yes?¡± Sorn answered, uncertain.

    The man made no visible reaction. ¡°I see. Well, you seem to have exactly what I need.¡±

    Sorn tensed. The proximity of this stranger gave him more anxiety than he¡¯d have liked to admit.  ¡°Who are you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m Scorpius,¡± the man replied. ¡°But my name doesn¡¯t matter.¡± He paused, his head dipping for just a moment before it snapped back up, his eyes still shut. ¡°I understand now.¡±

    Sorn¡¯s gaze flickered to the note Scorpius now held up in his hand. It was identical to his own.

    ¡°You can¡¯t read our language,¡± Scorpius continued, ¡°so you don¡¯t understand the rules. That makes you similar to me. You see, I was born without the ability to see, so I needed this guy to explain it to me.¡± He gestured toward the unconscious Marauder.

    Sorn¡¯s gaze flickered to the fallen figure. He recognized the Marauder, he was one of the more boastful individuals in the Mess, always talking about his dream of taking down ten opponents in the upcoming Tournament. At the time, Sorn had tuned out his boasts, finding the man insufferable. But now, seeing him defeated and, presumably, useless, Sorn felt a flicker of sympathy.

    Scorpius¡¯s voice remained steady as he continued, ¡°I¡¯ll do you a favor since you¡¯re like me. I want this game to be as fair as possible, after all.¡± He gestured toward Sorn¡¯s pendant. ¡°See how yours is different from mine?¡±

    Sorn had already noticed. Scorpius¡¯s pendant mirrored his own, the sound it made as he moved it in contrast to the harsh noise from Sorn¡¯s. Both pendants were crescent-shaped, but Scorpius¡¯s was the reverse of his. If they were to connect, the two halves would form a complete circle.

    Scorpius confirmed this with his next words, then moved on. ¡°You know those rooms we started in? There are others like them scattered throughout the maze. To progress to the next stage, you need to bring a circle to one of them. The Marauder over there had a pendant like mine, but he was obsessed with fighting me for some reason. I took him down and made him explain the rules, and only then did I realize how pointless his actions were.¡±

    His voice, once detached as he explained the rules, shifted now as he spoke with renewed interest. ¡°You have what I want. Sorry it has to be you, Outsider, but I must defeat you and move on. I hope you understand.¡± His eyes, still closed, seemed to narrow slightly. ¡°I¡¯ve given you the grace of a fair fight. Prepare yourself.¡±

    Before Sorn could respond, Scorpius moved. His body shifted in a blur, and from behind him, an icy tail shot forward with deadly precision, slicing the air toward Sorn¡¯s chest. He barely managed to avoid the attack, and, by some luck, it missed him completely.

    Sorn planted his feet deep into the frozen ground. Green tendrils coiled around his legs, and he took a moment to observe his opponent. Sorn, too, required Scorpius¡¯s pendant to advance. He looked once more to the fallen Marauder, sprawled on the floor. The odds of victory were in Sorn¡¯s favor. Scorpius could only wrest the pendant from Sorn¡¯s neck. Sorn, however, also had the option of winning in combat,  but he could also reach for the Marauder¡¯s pendant, take it, and end this without a fight.

    With a low breath, Sorn crouched. He would bide his time and wait for the right moment. He wanted to understand his foe before striking.

    But Scorpius was quicker than he had anticipated. A blur of motion, as Scorpius¡¯s tail shot forward again, and again, and again as the frigid lash of it pushed Sorn back, step by step.

    Then, without warning, Scorpius vanished from his sight, darting leftwards.

    Sorn¡¯s breath caught in his chest. Without an opponent in front of him to focus on, he was left with looking at mirrors of frost reflecting his every movement, his misted breath. The mirrors multiplied, fracturing the world into false images wherever he looked. He couldn¡¯t tell which way was which, what was real and what was his imagination. He had no doubt now, that these weren¡¯t simple mirrors. They were made to disorient any onlooker. His previous assumption had been wrong. In this room, where Scorpius could fight with his eyes closed, Sorn was simply prey to be hunted.

    A sound broke the eerie silence. It was the chime of Scorpius¡¯s pendant. That was it, the sound would betray Scorpius¡¯s location as he moved around, allowing Sorn to know exactly where he was. He couldn¡¯t miss this opportunity.

    Sorn let his instincts flare, and in a rush, he surged forward towards the sound. He aimed for the spot where the chime had come from, hoping to shatter whatever lay in his path.

    A mirror splintered under his weight, but as he broke through, the sight before him was empty. Immediately, he darted his eyes around, and in a rush of dismay, he saw the pendant lying on the ground before him.

    And then, to his right, a flash of bright blue, and Scorpius¡¯s tail whipped towards him. Sorn dropped low, spinning beneath the tail¡¯s deadly arc, just narrowly evading the blow. But even as he twisted, Scorpius¡¯s foot struck him in the jaw, sending him hurtling backward.

    A searing pain blossomed across his mouth as he tasted his blood. His vision swam, but he quickly recuperated, only to see Scorpius standing tall before him. Scorpius¡¯s eyes were still closed, and behind him, his tail loomed, waving back and forth dangerously. It was then that Sorn fully understood his situation.

    No amount of training would have prepared him for this encounter. There were no openings to strike through. No weaknesses to take advantage of. Sorn had no choice but to play defense, but he could only do so for so long. His original plan of snatching the Marauder¡¯s pendant also seemed impossible now. He had no idea where the Marauder¡¯s body lay, and he didn¡¯t think Scorpius would give him leeway to try and find it.

    ¡°I can tell you are defeated,¡± Scorpius said. He extended a hand toward Sorn as if offering a truce. ¡°But you fought better than I expected. I will do you this favor. Give me your pendant, and you may take the one from the fallen Marauder.¡±

    Before Sorn could reply, a sound from outside the room broke the conversation. An assortment of two notes rang through the walls, their tones clashing together. It was the inharmonious melody of about five pendants clashing together.

    "In here!" a voice shouted, its urgency rising. The notes were getting closer, and Sorn knew they were not alone.

    Scorpius¡¯s attention shifted, and he was momentarily distracted by the approaching noise. This was the first opening Sorn had. Without a thought, he darted to his right, moving before he could even think.

    But Scorpius was faster. His tail shot out, cutting off Sorn¡¯s path in one swift motion.

    ¡°Did you truly think I¡¯d let my guard down?¡± Scorpius asked beratingly.

    Sorn let his boot slip on the ice, feigning clumsiness, allowing himself to slide beneath the outstretched tail. He hit the ground low, rolling back to his feet with a fluid motion.

    The wisps that had been swirling around him flashed. Sorn let them take control, allowing them to surge through his legs. A burst of energy shot him forward, propelling him across the room with a speed so fast that even he couldn¡¯t control it. He broke through one ice mirror, then another, the sharp cracks of shattered glass ringing in his ears.

    He didn¡¯t look back once, dashing aimlessly until finally, he found himself out of the room, his chest heaving with the effort. He looked back in the room only to hear sounds of conflict. It was safe to assume Scorpius was now engaged with the group before. Sorn thought momentarily of going back in to swipe a pendant, but truthfully he wasn¡¯t willing to take another step in that room. The ice mirrors had left him sick. If he were to fight anyone else, it would be out here in the open.

    He turned, walking away from that forsaken room. His mind was already shifting, searching for a new challenge. His pendant swung loosely at his chest, the terrible noise acting as an invitation for anyone to face him. He had wasted too much time with Scorpius. Others were out there, presumably moving forward, and this was a race. There was only room for urgency.

    As he reached a solid wall of ice, he prepared himself to turn before he was forcibly stopped. A thick hand shot through the frozen barrier shattering the wall with a single, violent thrust. Fingers latched around Sorn¡¯s neck, lifting him off his feet. His breath caught in his throat, and the world narrowed into a blur as he choked on the grip that constricted his airway.

    In a desperate move, he slammed his fist down into the arm that held him. It felt like striking stone, the force of the impact sent a jolt of shock through his body. For a moment, the grip tightened, but then it suddenly relented. The rest of the wall crumbled away, and the figure behind it fully emerged. Sorn was dropped to the floor with a thud, gasping for air.

    "Sorn?"

    His head snapped up. Standing above him, dressed in the unmistakable uniform of a Marauder, was none other than his trainer. Oden¡¯s expression was a mix of concern and wariness, his blue eyes narrowed.

    "Hey, didn¡¯t think I¡¯d see you here.¡±

 17. Sink Your Claws In Me

    "So, you haven¡¯t found your other half either, have you?"

    Oden and Sorn sat side by side at the edge of the ice wall. It was the same place where Oden had discovered Sorn just a minute ago. Sorn glanced at Oden''s chest, and a small flicker of relief stirred within him when he saw the familiar pendant hanging there, identical to his own. Sorn was confident in his trust in Oden, but he truthfully could not be certain that Oden would not try to take Sorn¡¯s pendant if he carried the other half.

    "We could hunt down others. Take their fragments." Oden proposed.

    It was the first time they had laid eyes on one another since the day they separated just before the Prophecy. Oden removed his pendant and set it down next to them, allowing it to let out one final jarring note before a far more preferable silence coated the area.

    Worryingly to Sorn, a full minute had passed, yet Oden acted as if he had all the time in the world. His earlier declaration of  ¡°every second counts,¡± now seemed like a throwaway statement. Additionally, Oden had a new dark demeanor that he couldn¡¯t put his finger on.

    Sorn opened his mouth to ask, but he stopped. He wasn¡¯t sure if this was a question he could bring up.

    Oden raised a finger to his lips, as he saw Sorn wanting to say something. Then the Marauder gestured toward his ear. Sorn turned, listening closely. At first, he thought it was the wind, but then he heard it. A soft sound traveled through the air, a note he¡¯d heard before. The faint melody was one that only someone with the other pendant could produce.

    Without a word, Oden stood, his eyes peering in the distance. He left his pendant beside Sorn. "Don¡¯t let anyone touch it," Oden muttered.

    Then, without another glance, he turned his back and began walking down the corridor.

    Without warning, a spear sliced through the air, whizzing down from above. Sorn sprang to his feet, a green wisp swirling at his side. The spear was aimed at Oden, who snatched it out of the air with a swift motion.

    Sorn¡¯s gaze flicked upward, tracking the trajectory of the attack. There, perched atop the ice wall, was a man from the Spear Clan, one Sorn had never seen before. His posture was confident, his eyes locked on Oden with a determined glint. He appeared to be in his mid-twenties, and his arms were crossed as he stared down. His pendant, however, was absent, and there had been no sound to alert them of his presence.

    "Looks like we¡¯ve got a climber," Oden said. There was no reply from the Spear. Instead, the man merely formed another spear beside him, his gaze never leaving Oden as it too was shot down by an invisible force.

    Sorn was taken aback by its lack of speed. It was sluggish, and Sorn believed it to be easy to dodge. He glanced at Oden, who seemed to share the same assessment. With barely a second thought, Oden threw the first spear back at the man.

    The two spears collided midair, shattering into a spray of frozen fragments. The climber blinked, his eyes widening in surprise.

    But Oden didn¡¯t give the Spear the luxury of time. In the blink of an eye, he loomed over the man, hurdling the tall wall in a single leap. His eyes, cold and predatory, locked onto the climber, and before the man could move, Oden brought a small ice axe down between his eyes, brutally crushing his skull.

    In the same motion, Oden vaulted over the wall, his body disappearing over the edge. The top of the ice wall now dripped with blood. Sorn stood frozen, his eyes following the legs of the lifeless body that dangled over the side. The man had been an enemy, he was among the people who desired to kill him. However, as the blood pooled below, Sorn couldn¡¯t shake the hollow ache that spread through his chest. The death had been pointless, the man had died for nothing, and the entire scene was just pitiful. He wanted to vomit, to do anything to get rid of the repulse burrowing in his soul.

    "Hey, what are you doing?"

    Sorn blinked, snapping out of his trance. He turned to see Oden standing right beside him. Blood was splattered across Oden¡¯s chest. "You can¡¯t be zoning out like that. Anyone could just sneak up and kill you."

    Oden¡¯s gaze followed Sorn¡¯s, eyes narrowing as they landed on the body hanging over the wall. He let out a sigh and clapped a heavy hand on Sorn¡¯s shoulder.

    "You¡¯re going to see a lot more of that," Oden said. "Snap out of it."

    Sorn nodded, pulling himself together. "Yeah, I got it. Sorry." He pinched his arm, hoping to jolt himself back into the present. Oden studied him quietly for a moment. Then, without a word, he reached down and picked up his pendant. The harsh, grating sound echoed through the air as he lifted it. Sorn flinched, and Oden joined his pendant with a new one, completing the perfect circle.

    "He left it on the ground before climbing up to try to surprise us," Oden explained. "To his credit, it almost worked. He just wasn¡¯t strong enough."

    ¡°I see.¡± Sorn supposed that with the task complete, Oden had no reason to hang around. "Are you leaving now?"

    Oden hesitated before answering. "I did say we should gather people." His voice faltered slightly. "But¡ª it¡¯s a race. I¡¯ll tell you this though. If we meet again later in the stages, we¡¯ll need to talk about something I should¡¯ve told you earlier. The short version is that my goals have changed."

    The next moment hung between them for a heartbeat longer than it should have. "Alright, stay safe, Oden."

    "You too." Oden¡¯s eyes darkened briefly. "Also, you should look behind you."

    Sorn turned just in time to see a girl skidding across the ice. She was a good distance away, about twenty meters at the other end of the corridor. What caught his attention immediately, though, was the pendant she wore. The pendant made no sound as the girl moved, perhaps it was because she had frozen it, as the pendant was encased in a thin layer of ice as it dangled from her neck.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    Sorn felt  Oden¡¯s presence disappear, the Marauder now likely searching for a way out. That left Sorn to deal with the newcomer alone. And luckily, the pendant the girl wore was exactly the kind he needed.

    The two locked eyes. Sorn''s fingers twitched as wisps began to form around him, but the girl¡¯s next move was swift. She extended her arms, two sets of ice claws erupting from her hands with a crack of cold air.

    "Hey, black hair boy!" The girl¡¯s short blue hair was messy, standing out in sharp contrast to her pale skin as she came to a halt. Her voice rang out in the cold air. "What¡¯s your name?"

    Sorn blinked, caught off guard by the question. He hadn¡¯t expected it, and it took him a second to process.

    "Me? I¡¯m Sorn."

    "Great. I¡¯m Zoe, second in charge of the Claw Clan." Zoe flashed a grin. "And I¡¯ll be taking your pendant now!"

    With that, she sprang into action. She leaped toward a nearby wall, claws extended to about a full meter, then bounded off it, bouncing effortlessly between walls as she closed the distance between herself and Sorn.

    "I¡¯ve never heard of the Claw Clan," Sorn said, eyeing her carefully as she closed in. The girl was good, her speed on par with his own. He didn¡¯t feel panicked, but he knew he couldn¡¯t let his guard down.

    "Do you wanna learn?" Zoe¡¯s voice had a playful edge, even as she swiped at him with her claws. Sorn ducked under the strike, his leg sweeping out in a quick arc to trip her up.

    "Not really," he replied, already preparing for a decisive blow. But as Zoe fell, her position shifted. With a flick of her wrist, her claws shot out again, striking the ice beneath her. Her old claws disappeared into the air as new ones extended, pushing her up into the air with surprising speed.

    Now about five meters in the air, she aimed another strike at Sorn.  He dashed forward, narrowly avoiding the brunt of the strike, but one of her claws still caught him, slashing deep into his shoulder. Pain flared through his body, and he winced, momentarily stunned by the sting. He hadn¡¯t taken her seriously enough before, and now he was paying the price.

    "Gotcha!" Zoe¡¯s grin widened.

    In an instant, Sorn surged forward, using her previous technique against her. Bouncing off the walls of the corridor with maximum utilization of his ability, he rocketed upward, closing the gap between them. Zoe tried to jab him midair, but Sorn moved his face to the side before, landing a blow to her stomach with the full force of his momentum. The sound of impact was sickening and she was sent hurtling toward the ground.

    Sorn landed beside her, breaking the fall with his feet as he planted them firmly on the ice. He stared down at Zoe, who groaned in pain, her blue eyes wet with tears as she clutched her stomach. Blood dripped from the edges of her mouth, a sight too akin to one Sorn had just forgotten.

    ¡°Sorry.¡± The apology left him before he could stop it.

    Zoe stirred, trying to sit up. Sorn immediately pressed her down.

    ¡°What are you doing?¡± he asked, his voice firmer now. ¡°You can¡¯t do that in your condition.¡±

    She glared at him, her expression full of frustration. ¡°What are you doing? Do you think you¡¯ve won just because of one hit? Do you truly believe you¡¯re so far above me that you now have the right to pity your enemy? Are you trying some sick attempt to humiliate me?¡±

    Sorn didn¡¯t waver, only pushing her down harder. ¡°No, I just won. And I don¡¯t want you hurting yourself any more than you already have.¡±

    Zoe stilled, staring up at him as if she had just encountered the most peculiar person in the world. Then, with a sharp sigh, she let her head rest against the cold ground.

    ¡°Of all people to lose to, it had to be an outsider and a  wimp.¡± She reached for her pendant, the ice surrounding it disappearing. Before Sorn could react, she shoved it into his hands. ¡°For your stupid kindness.¡±

    She groaned lightly, though she tried to stifle it. Sorn felt a twinge of guilt. No doubt the strike had broken a few of her ribs.

    ¡°Stop pitying me,¡± she said. ¡°You have no idea what you¡¯ve done.¡±

    ¡°What I¡¯ve done?¡± Sorn echoed, confused.

    Zoe forced herself upright, swatting his hand away when he tried to stop her. ¡°I said I¡¯m fine.¡± She paused, taking a deep breath. A small, bittersweet smile formed on her lips.

    ¡°Me and my brother, Zachary, made our clan not long ago, just the two of us. Our mother was the first person to have the Claw ability, but she passed recently, just a year ago. She couldn¡¯t make a name for herself. So we decided together that we had to give her a legacy. She was a great woman, she always dreamed of super big things. But our father left her alone with us two, and she had no choice but to raise as alone¡±

    As she spoke, there was something different in her expression, something Sorn hadn¡¯t seen from her, or really anyone yet. It was a look of soft, quiet longing. Nostalgia and hope filled her eyes.

    Hope that he had just shattered.

    ¡°Don¡¯t look so glum, idiot,¡± she said, her voice lighter. ¡°If I lost this easily, maybe I didn¡¯t deserve it in the first place. Besides, my brother is way stronger than me. He¡¯ll make sure to win for us¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not glum,¡± Sorn retorted. Truthfully, he felt a little bad, but he wasn¡¯t about to admit it. Instead, he looked down at the pendant she had given him and then connected it with his own. Then he shook it.  The sounds that had once rung out from them were now silent. He wrapped the chain back around his neck, then turned back to Zoe. She had shifted so that her back was resting against the wall, her breath slowly steadying.

    Sorn crouched down, facing away from her.

    ¡°What in Seraph¡¯s name are you doing?¡±

    ¡°Just get on,¡± he said, not looking at her.

    ¡°Why would I¡ª¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t move until you get on. And then we¡¯ll both probably lose.¡±

    She hesitated. Her lips pressed together like she wanted to argue. Finally, she sighed and shifted her weight forward, wrapping her arms around his back.

    ¡°You¡¯ll be safer in one of the outer buildings than here in the middle,¡± Sorn explained as he started walking.

    ¡°You¡¯re going the wrong way, idiot.¡±

    ¡°Ah.¡±

    At least they didn¡¯t run into anyone else.

    For a while, there was only silence between them. Then Zoe spoke again.

    ¡°You know, when I heard rumors about you, I didn¡¯t think much of them. But I always figured you¡¯d be a pretty bad person.¡±

    Sorn raised an eyebrow. ¡°Why¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Just seemed more likely.¡±

    ¡°I see.¡±

    The conversation ended there. Neither of them felt the need to say more.

    When the outer house finally came into view, Zoe tapped his shoulder. ¡°You can drop me now.¡±

    Elementals healed fast, even broken bones could mend in minutes. She slid off his back and landed lightly on her feet, rolling her shoulders as if testing herself. Then she turned to Sorn, eyeing him with curiosity.

    ¡°At several moments there,¡± she mused, ¡°I could¡¯ve killed you.¡±

    ¡°If I thought you would, then I wouldn¡¯t have helped you,¡± Sorn replied.

    Zoe continued to study him for another moment. ¡°I know you just beat me, but since I want you to win, after my brother, of course, I feel obligated to give you some advice.¡± She leaned in slightly, her expression sharpening. ¡°You can¡¯t be so trusting. Especially not here. If you keep this up, you will get stabbed in the back.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± Sorn averted his gaze for a moment. ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡± Then he looked back at her. ¡°Will you be alright?¡±

    Zoe waved a hand. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about me. I¡¯ll try to find another pendant, but I¡¯m pretty sure I¡¯ve already lost this race. So worry about yourself now, okay?¡±

    ¡°Okay.¡±

    Sorn gave her a final nod, then turned toward the building. His mind had already shifted focus to the Third Stage. He wasted time here, but he¡¯d make sure not to waste anymore. He was confident that Oden and Crystal would be waiting for him below. He had no intention of disappointing them.

    He stepped inside. The room was identical to the one he had started in. At the center of the table, there was a small slot. Without hesitation, he placed his pendant inside.

    The floor opened beneath him.

    For a split second, there was nothing. Then he fell.

    The scream tore from his throat before he could stop it, as he descended to the Third Stage in a long ice pipe.

 18. Frozen Finger

    Sorn awoke with a start. The room he found himself in was unfamiliar, and the air was almost suffocating. Thick mist filled the room, causing Sorn to be unable to see much of anything. The last memory he could grasp was of falling into a dense fog, and then he fell unconscious. He immediately stood up, suddenly worried. How much time had he wasted in sleep? He bit his lip in frustration. A flood of weariness pressed down on him, but when he shook it off, trying to focus his mind on the goal.

    The good news of this situation was that all his previous fatigue was gone. The constant strain of recent adventures late into the night had left him exhausted. He let out a slow breath, piecing things together. Perhaps this was an intentional reset point. This conclusion made the most logical sense to him, as nothing else could explain his sudden loss of consciousness.

    His thoughts turned to the present situation. Lyra, the second oldest of the Council, was a woman shrouded in secrets. She had shared victory with Varian in the last Tournament, the two of them bound by an alliance. Normally, this would concern Sorn, but Oden told him that many rumored that the two recently were in a state of discourse. This theory was supported by Lyra¡¯s choice to vote against Sorn¡¯s execution in the trial. She was still full of contradictions. The woman was born of the Outskirts, unbound by clan, yet she was gifted with such talent that it had brought her to the Council, an honor even clan elites could only dream of.

    The ¡°Silent Chord¡±, as she was often called. It was said she wielded music like a weapon. Sorn¡¯s fingers reached instinctively to his neck, finding the pendant there. He held it in his palm, feeling the small circle of ice he had acquired from the previous trial. He gave it a tentative shake and then heard a sound.

    This was unusual, as in the previous stage, the pendant made no noise. Now, an unnatural buzz violated his ears. It invaded his head, filling his mind with a thousand rushing thoughts, each one colliding with the other in a chaotic storm. Sorn immediately crouched, his hands pressed to his skull as though to hold it together.

    The mist had begun to thin. Something unusual stood at the far end of the room. He could not see it clearly, but it was there. His heart hammered in his chest, as he could no longer keep listening to this buzz. He stopped shaking the pendant, and the buzz cut off immediately, filling the room back with silence. Unfortunately, the mist grew thicker in response, obstructing his vision as it reverted to its original state.

    Sorn reached out, and he could now barely see his hand cutting through the murk. Then he started to walk in the general direction of that strange thing he¡¯d seen before but to no avail. He couldn¡¯t find direction in this unsettling chamber.

    Seeing no other choice, Sorn steadied his breath as he prepared himself for the upcoming endeavor. His fingers, slick with sweat, grasped the pendant once more. He began to shake it, pushing aside the gnawing strain that tore at his mind. Then, he saw the shadow. It was tall, perhaps as tall as Bjorn. Its shape was vague, a shifting mass of black and indigo. Even standing so close, Sorn''s mind, unsteady from the strain, couldn''t quite lock its form into focus.

    Then the figure snapped its fingers.

    The buzzing stopped instantly, and the room fell into an immediate stillness. This time, the mist remained in its thin state. Sorn stood in the sudden silence, struggling to recalibrate his senses.

    Now that his mind was a little more clear, he could see the figure properly. It was not remotely humanoid. There was no face, nor any other discernible features except for a long, twisting mass of tendrils spiraling from its top. Its arms were unnaturally thin and branchlike, with long brittle fingers attached to its wrist.Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    The creature moved aside without a sound, revealing what was behind it.

    A Rabball was encased in a jagged prison of ice, perched delicately atop a podium of stone. The creature¡¯s round body gazed upon Sorn innocently, two black dots looking back at Sorn¡¯s pupils. His mind, still reeling from the aftershocks of the pendant¡¯s effect, struggled to register the sight. Everything felt surreal, like a fever dream he could not wake from.

    He stepped forward, toward the Rabball. But before he could reach it, something blocked his way.

    Another podium. A circle of ice, a larger version of the pendant around his neck stood before him. He stared at it, confused, trying to make sense of this place. And then, without warning, the figure was beside him once more.

    A cold sensation brushed against him. The figure¡¯s misty fingers passed straight through his head. He couldn¡¯t move after that moment, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how desperately he wanted to.

    This is freezing, being frozen, being turned to ice, everything is so numb, my bones are chilled, my muscles are petrified, my skin is falling apart, everything is heavy, I can¡¯t breathe, I can¡¯t breathe, I can¡¯t breathe, I can¡¯t breathe¡ª

    He could breathe.

    The freezing grip that had seized him released as suddenly as it had come. The numbness melted away, leaving behind only a strange, disorienting absence. Sorn stood there, his heart hammering in his chest. The cold had vanished without a trace as if it had never been there in the first place. It felt wrong. Everything in his body told him that the experience had never been real at all, and while he remembered the event, he could not properly recall or understand it.

    His gaze snapped to that thing standing motionless beside him, its hand still pressed flat upon the top of the podium. It gave Sorn no attention or recognition. Sorn hesitated, then mimicked its gesture. His hand hovered over the icy surface, unwilling to go through that feeling, whatever it was, again.

    Another shadowy figure, an exact imitation of the first, materialized beside the Rabball. Without warning or hesitation, the figure jammed its fingers into the Rabball¡¯s head. The Rabball suddenly shrieked and Sorn recoiled, as the sound reverberated in his mind. It was the same as before, a sound he¡¯d hoped he¡¯d never hear again. The sound emitted by the first pendant he had acquired in the previous trial.

    Then, the figure removed its fingers, and the Rabball ceased its screech. It sat in that same spot, once again staring at Sorn.

    The shadow beside him stirred.

    ¡°To pass¡­ you touch¡­. when glow¡­¡±

    The words were slow and disjointed, as though the creature had never learned how to speak properly. It was both unnatural and unnerving.

    The large pendant glowed again. Sorn reached for it, his hand hovering for a moment before he pressed it. The screeching sound filled the room as he shut his eyes tight, fighting the rush of panic that tried to claw its way up from his gut. Ten long seconds passed. Then, the sound stopped.

    Sorn turned toward the shadow beside him.

    ¡°Do you truly expect me to keep doing this?¡± he asked, frustrated.

    But the figure remained silent. Sorn wasn¡¯t sure it had even heard him, or if it even could hear. It stood there, still and faceless, a being of emptiness.

    The large pendant flared up, a light blue glow encased around the podium. This time, Sorn braced himself. He would not flinch. He stood in front of the podium defiantly, no longer willing to participate in this sick game. To his surprise, instead of the insidious touch of the figure¡¯s fingers, there was nothing.

    Sorn opened his eyes.

    The room had changed. The mist was gone, and the shadowy figures had vanished. The only things that remained were the podiums and the Rabball still trapped in the cage.

    The pendants of ice, which had hung heavily around his neck, were also gone. The absence was a small relief from the overwhelming feelings stirring through his soul; an aftereffect of the strangest trial of them all. He glanced to the left and saw a pair of doors in a corner of the room.

    As Sorn ran towards the doors, he tried to make sense of the trial. What had he been meant to prove? Was it a test of empathy, perhaps? To see if one could put another¡¯s suffering before their own? It was still so peculiar, and so many parts of it didn¡¯t make sense to him.

    He didn¡¯t dwell on it long. The doors stood before him, waiting. He pushed open the doors and stepped outside.

 19. The Spears Stage

    The sky was vast, and the air was crisp. Below Sorn stretched a colosseum of ice. On a floating platform of ice stood Varian with some members of his First Division arrayed behind him. Sorn recognized Jaron among them, he was engaged in conversation with a woman and a large man. He¡¯d seen the large man at the trial in a passing glance, but he had never seen the woman before.

    Sorn was now on the fourth trial, the trial of the Spears.

    Stairs of ice stretched down before him, and he began to descend carefully. As he descended, he counted fourteen others. Among them, with relief, he recognized Crystal and Oden.

    As Sorn¡¯s foot hit the second-to-last step, a man descended abruptly, halting right in front of him. His frost-covered hair was neatly parted to the side, and his azure eyes glinted with anticipation. His posture remained stiff and he had a disciplined manner about him.

    "Hello, Sorn," he said. "I am Faron of the First Division. Your number is fifteen. Please remember it well, and congratulations for making it this far." His tone was both polite and brisk. "You must wait along the edge of the arena until you''re instructed otherwise."

    Sorn nodded in reply, his mind still grappling with the shift in the atmosphere, the memory of those shadowy fingers breaking through a bit more than he¡¯d like to admit. Faron stepped aside, revealing someone else that was waiting for Sorn.

    A chill ran down his spine as recognition struck. Scorpius stood there with his arms folded over his chest, his eyes still closed. The absence of his tail made Sorn feel momentarily at ease, but that uneasy sense of danger never quite left. He knew well enough that Scorpius could bring it out faster than he could blink.

    "Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d see you here," Sorn said, unsure of how confrontational he should be.

    "Congratulations to you as well," Scorpius replied. Neither of them said anything else, and the silence began to stretch, only adding to the strange tension.

    "Move aside, tail boy."

    Oden swept past Scorpius with a casual shove, his faint smile giving off a lighthearted air. He stopped in front of Sorn, clearly unbothered by the encounter.

    "I¡¯m glad you made it," the Marauder said.

    Before Sorn could respond, Crystal, who had appeared right beside him from nowhere, startled him with her voice.

    "Hey, what number do you have?"

    Sorn blinked. "Huh? Oh, fifteen," he answered.

    Crystal nodded. "I expected so."

    Sorn¡¯s brow furrowed slightly in confusion.

    "We¡¯ve been getting numbers based on the order we arrived," Oden explained. "Not sure how they¡¯ll factor that into the next stage, but I¡¯m guessing Varian will go for something simple. Probably just a round of orderly fights."

    Curiosity got the better of Sorn. "What numbers did you guys get?"

    Oden let out a sigh. "Ten," he said, his voice laced with resignation.

    "Three!" Crystal piped up, her face lighting up, clearly pleased with her draw.

    "She hasn¡¯t been letting me hear the end of it." Oden rolled his eyes, his hand brushing through his very short hair ¡°I¡¯m almost ready to throw her off the platform just to get some peace."

    Sorn glanced between the two of them. "I didn¡¯t know you guys were so close."

    "We all grew up in the Academy together," Crystal said. "So we¡¯ve all known each other for a long time.¡±

    "I don¡¯t like talking with non-Marauders," Oden grumbled, folding his arms, "but she doesn¡¯t leave me alone."

    "Hush, number ten. Your number is too low to be among us."

    The voice was sharp, and the owner of it strolled into the center of the group without care, her pigtails bouncing with every confident step. Her posture screamed entitlement, and the arrogant smirk on her face only reinforced the feeling. But when her gaze landed on Sorn, she raised an eyebrow.

    ¡°What number do you have?¡± she demanded.

    "Fifteen," Sorn replied neutrally.

    Her face scrunched up. "Disgusting," she looked at him as if he were a stain on the ice.

    Sorn blinked, caught off guard by her reaction. "Thanks, um, Aira?".

    "Aria," she corrected. Then, she turned away with a dramatic flourish. With a snap of her heel, she pivoted, her back to him as she began walking off with an air of superiority, as though she had just graced them all with her presence.

    Crystal, watching the scene unfold, let out a small sigh. "She won¡¯t admit it, but I think the last trial took a big toll on her."

    Before anyone responded, Aira¡­ or rather, Aria, returned, striding back toward him with purpose.

    "Didn¡¯t you say you have something to say when the outsider gets here?" she asked.

    Oden suddenly turned his attention to Sorn. The change in him was subtle but noticeable. He lowered his head slightly.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    "Yes, I did," Oden began. "Originally, I wanted to use you as a way to take down the Spears. This entire time I¡¯ve thought of you as a tool... when I should¡¯ve treated you like a companion. I apologize for that"

    Sorn had long suspected as much. He was acutely aware of how Oden perceived their relationship since the trip to the Frost Archives. And while it wasn¡¯t a surprise, hearing it said so plainly made something in his chest tighten.

    "I see," Sorn replied. Truthfully he was more curious about what had caused Oden to speak those words now. What had caused such a sudden change? "Don¡¯t worry about it," Sorn added, trying to keep the conversation as simple as he could.

    Oden smiled as he took a step back and surveyed the group. Scorpius had long vanished, and no one else seemed to be around besides the four of them. Oden¡¯s eyes darted around one last time, scanning the perimeter. A group of Spears were gathered not far off, but they were out of earshot.

    "Alright, listen up," Oden said. "I¡¯m telling you all this because I trust you. As of right now, I¡¯m the only Marauder here, along with Sorn. I hope Serene shows up soon, but she already knows this story, so it¡¯s not a big deal. What I¡¯m about to do is immensely risky, and I need you all to help me."

    Sorn gave a slight nod. Crystal chimed in immediately with an enthusiastic, "Sure!" Aria, however, just shrugged indifferently, her eyes unfocused. "I¡¯ll do whatever Crystal does," she said.

    Oden nodded. "I¡¯ll keep this brief. For your sake." He hesitated for a moment, then exhaled and continued. "I grew up with my father and little sister until I was seven. That¡¯s when she was kidnapped. It happened on a strange night. I don¡¯t remember much about it, even though I often dream, but that¡¯s not important. There¡¯s one thing I¡¯ll never forget. Among those who took her, there¡¯s one guy I recognize in my head better than I recognize anyone else. It was Varian."

    Now having a bit more attention to his words, Oden pressed on, his voice tight as he spoke. "After that night, my father only said one thing. ¡®I¡¯m sorry.¡¯ And that was all. Over and over again. I tried to get my mom from the Outskirts, thinking maybe she could help him. If there was anyone who could comfort him, it was her... but by the time we got back, it was too late. My father had already taken his own life."

    Aria, who had initially been distractedly scratching her ear, now stood upright. Both Sorn and Crystal were also listening attentively.

    Oden turned to face Sorn directly, his gaze sharpening. "You asked me once, Sorn, what my goals truly are. Everything I¡¯ve done, every choice I¡¯ve made, it all goes back to that day. I made it my mission to take down Varian, the Iron Stag, and his clan. I need answers. Why my sister? Why so many others?" He paused for a moment, his voice lowering again. "If you look where you¡¯re not supposed to, you¡¯ll find countless stories of missing women or women who just die out of nowhere. And those who do survive? Almost all of it is covered up. But one story stands out, alongside my sister¡¯s kidnapping. The former heir of the Chains, Fiore, the ''Blooming Flower¡ª''"

    "My mother died when I was very young," Crystal suddenly interrupted, her mind drawing a potential connection that she didn¡¯t want to make.

    Oden¡¯s gaze softened, as he pressed that statement. "And have you ever heard stories of a queen passing away or even of a queen at all? Has anyone told you about who your mother is, where she¡¯s from, how she met your father?"

    Crystal¡¯s eyes flitted down to the ice beneath her, avoiding his gaze as she muttered, "I guess I just never questioned it after a while, my father always got sad when I mentioned my mother, and no one else had any answers for me."

    Oden nodded, his face growing darker, "I know this is a lot to take in right now, and it¡¯s probably overwhelming, but my goals have shifted. Do you remember the Prophecy?" He didn¡¯t wait for an answer. "¡®To those wading through a sea of darkness, the roots of the throne must keep your gaze.¡¯ That line sounds like it should be symbolic, something that needs interpreting. But I think it¡¯s literal."

    Sorn remembered that line being one of the more interesting ones. Perhaps he should¡¯ve paid more attention to the Prophecy, but the events after had unfolded so quickly, that he hadn¡¯t even gotten a chance to memorize any lines.

    Oden continued, "The Marauders have known for years that a secret room lies beneath the throne. The problem is, we can¡¯t just waltz in there with the Royal Guard lurking about the Palace. But," his eyes flashed suddenly, "in this final trial, my uncle will be operating the Palace. He¡¯ll set the game in motion, and that will give us the chance to slip in and find what¡¯s hidden there. I¡¯m convinced all the corruption is orchestrated by the Varian and the upper echelon of the Spears. And even better, fate is on our side. Just like the Prophecy said, ¡®The order will crumble.¡¯"

    Aria¡¯s lips quirked in amusement. "That line sure made Varian mad."

    Crystal displayed more of a serious expression. "I¡¯ll make sure to assist you," she said simply.

    Sorn gave a moment of thought to the situation. To him, there was an element about Oden that always gave him comfort. Despite all the previous doubts, he was confident in his next words "I¡¯ll help," Oden¡¯s motivations were clouded before, and at many times Sorn had felt he couldn¡¯t fully trust the man, but he still had always believed in his sense of righteousness. And for that alone, he would always follow Oden.

    The conversation drifted aimlessly after that, with Crystal and Aria taking the lead. Their voices rose in light banter while Oden tossed in some occasional comments. Sorn¡¯s thoughts traveled elsewhere, his gaze sweeping the arena, noticing something odd.

    "Keilan isn¡¯t here," he said.

    Oden shrugged. "Out of everyone who hasn¡¯t made it yet, I¡¯d expect Keilan to be here. I say that even while knowing my beloved cousin has yet to arrive."

    Crystal had a disturbed look on her face following that comment, her gaze flicking toward the doors. She didn¡¯t speak, but something in her eyes hinted at concern.

    And then, on cue, the doors above them creaked open, revealing two figures emerging into the daylight. Serene and Zacen, two of the brightest young stars among the Marauders, and certainly the top prospects to carry the future of their ranks.

    "Ah," Oden muttered, but before he could say anything else, Aria, with her usual lack of hesitation, darted forward.

    "Hey, Serene! Want to know what Oden said about you?" she called out, a wicked grin on her face.

    Oden, eyes wide in sudden realization. "You¡ª" he started running after her, leaving Sorn and Crystal alone together.

    Sorn, feeling the uncomfortable stillness settle in, awkwardly turned to Crystal. "Um, so how¡¯ve you been so far?" he asked.

    "Oh!" Crystal suddenly exclaimed, and Sorn followed her gaze. His heart sank in his chest as he saw what she was looking at.

    Out of yet another set of doors, Keilan appeared, stepping into the light as the nineteenth to arrive. His usual air of unshakable confidence was replaced with something Sorn had never seen before. He had a kind of trembling uncertainty. For a fleeting moment, Sorn almost felt a twinge of sympathy for the royal child. Keilan had always worn his arrogance like a cloak, but at this moment, that cloak felt a bit frayed.

    Sorn viewed Keilan as a man who was above everything. Or at least he was someone who pretended to be. But there he was, shaken and far more vulnerable than Sorn had ever seen him.

    Crystal offered a brief, cheerful farewell. "Good luck, Sorn!" she said with a smile before walking off toward her brother.

    As she departed, Keilan¡¯s gaze locked onto Sorn, and his expression shifted into something cold and predatory. They stood there silently for a prolonged moment.

    Sorn felt as though his most complicated relationship was with Keilan. He hated him for his allegiances and hostility, and he just didn¡¯t like him as a person at all. He hadn¡¯t known him for long, but even from their limited interactions, Sorn could find nothing redeemable about the man. And between all that, was Crystal, a sister and friend. She was more than likely aware of the bad blood between them, but she never brought it up.

    Keilan¡¯s gaze broke first. He turned his back to Sorn without a word, and Sorn too looked away.

    For some minutes, Sorn stood there alone, staring out over the horizon, his thoughts wandering. From this height, the floating colosseum was at the same altitude as the Spears¡¯ Goblet. Looking down, everything felt so small.

    It was a strange thing, to be at the center of all this spectacle. The Tournament was an event that excited the public, yet they had no part in it. They could not watch, nor could they participate. Were they pleased with just seeing the winners? That seemed truly stupid.

    "What are you smiling about?"

    A kick to the back of his knee sent him stumbling off the edge of the floating arena. He turned to see Aria standing there with a mocking smile. He noticed then, that something in her attitude had shifted for some unknown reason. She wasn¡¯t nearly as hostile as she had been the first time they¡¯d met. If anything, she almost seemed approachable. This was, of course, putting aside the fact the still evidently disliked him and thought he was worthless for another unknown reason. But to Sorn, this was progress. He was also more charitable than he¡¯d generally be, as he often found himself being captivated by the girl¡¯s strange charisma.

    "I wasn¡¯t smiling," he said, trying to sound casual.

    As he said this, another figure emerged from the doors. The Marauder Zalen, Zacen¡¯s younger brother, came striding out. His arms were raised high in an exaggerated cheer. Oden, Serene, and Zacen joined in, raising their arms to mimic his gestures, all of them caught up in the moment.

    It wasn¡¯t even seconds before Varian himself descended from his vantage point, still perched upon the ice platform. "Silence!¡± he waited, and immediately every voice died down. He then continued his voice now a bit lower. ¡°Partner yourselves with the nearest person to you."

    Sorn looked around, and his eyes landed on the only person nearby. Aria met his gaze with another look of disgust.

    "Ugh!" she exclaimed, staring at Sorn as if he should¡¯ve never been born.

 20. Nurtured Enemy

    All the participants stood in pairs on floating ice platforms that were suspended just above the arena¡¯s edge, arranged in a large circle. The colosseum was an enormous expanse, stretching over a hundred meters across. At the center of the gathering, Varian stood, accompanied by Faron. The other First Division members had seemingly disappeared.

    Sorn stood still beside Aria, her eyes locked onto Varian. He felt a flicker of relief, for her gaze had shifted from the brooding self-pity she had worn since their pairing.

    Sorn¡¯s gaze drifted to his left. Three platforms away, Oden and Crystal stood together. Near them, Keilan stood on the platform next to them. He had seemingly composed himself fully. Sitting right next to Keilan was a young boy, his face pointed firmly downward. Sorn blinked, disbelief passing through him.

    Of all the people he expected to make it this far, Kaen was the least likely. Yet here he was, sitting idly beside Keilan as if he didn¡¯t have a care in the world. Sorn then realized that he hadn¡¯t seen Kaen come after him in the race, which meant Kaen had likely beaten him. The realization left Sorn feeling proud of the boy. He had no idea how, but the boy had managed to overcome his expectations and make it here.

    Before he could dwell further on the thought, his mind grasped at something else. Varian had just said there were twenty competitors. He had only seen four follow him in. Serene, then Zacen, then Keilan, and then finally Zalen. That meant there was one more person that he had missed. Had it been Kaen?

    Sorn returned his attention to Varian, who had begun speaking again.

    ¡°As you know, you all have been numbered,¡± Varian announced. Beside him, an elderly woman held up an icy speaker to Varian¡¯s mouth. It projected his words, allowing everyone nearby to hear. It was reminiscent of the bird heads that the Emperor had used during the Prophecy. ¡°This stage will see the first twenty who finished the race engage in a series of one-on-one battles. The ten victors will proceed to the next round. There is no time limit to these bouts, but I will end any fight at my discretion. Your sole rule is this: you must not kill any Ice Elemental. Should you do so, there will be consequences.¡±

    Sorn felt a ripple of unease as the eyes of several Spears turned toward him, giving him sideways glances and sneers.

    Varian continued. ¡°You are all invaluable to us. To our cause. We require your strength for the Promised Day.¡± He glanced at a few, lingering on the faces of the Spears in particular, before going on. ¡°We¡¯ve predetermined the matchups to ensure fairness. As the Order dictates, if you win, you are worthy.¡±

    If you win, you are worthy. The words filled the faces of many with eagerness. They had made it this far. Their confidence and work had bore fruit. Now nothing could stop them besides their lack of combat ability.

    ¡°The matchups will be as follows: The highest number will face the lowest. We will then move upward and downward from there. For example, the one who placed third will face the one who placed eighteenth.¡± Varian then fell silent, nodding toward Faron, who cleared his throat and stepped forward. The old woman moved the speaker towards his mouth, and he began to speak.

    ¡°The first matchup will be between those who placed tenth and eleventh. If your number has been called, raise your hand.¡±

    Sorn¡¯s gaze snapped immediately to Oden, who stood tall, arm pointed to the sky. The Marauder¡¯s eyes were fixed on the opposite platform, his expression a glare. Across from him stood a boy, no older than Oden himself, his uniform emblazoned with the one symbol that Sorn had grown to despise.

    "Number ten, Oden of the Marauders," Faron¡¯s voice boomed, "and number eleven, Ren of the Spears, please enter the stage and prepare to face your opponent."

    <hr>

    Oden stood before his foe. Ren, the ¡°Longspear,¡± was an opponent he wasn''t thrilled to face. The boy had been heralded as one of the future members of the First Division, his name often spoken in the same breath as Raven¡¯s. Of all the participants Oden might have faced today, few were more daunting than Ren. Moreover, Oden was a bit conflicted to see an old childhood companion standing before him in such a manner.

    Ren was older than Oden. He had lived through a total of twenty-three winters. Meanwhile,  Oden was had just recently turned twenty. They had first met when they were mere children. Ren was seven and Oden was approaching a daunting four. He remembered their hideout in the forest outside, and some words echoed through Oden¡¯s mind. Words that ceased to have meaning when he was eight.

    "When we grow up, we must lead our clans and strive for peace!"

    On Oden¡¯s shoulders rested a medium-sized axe. Ren had a long spear floating by his face. This spear was unique to Ren. Its size put even elite Spears to shame. Some of Ren¡¯s spears were said to be as long as seven meters. A spiked tip now glared at Oden, and the rod was just as long as the rumors said.

    Without warning, Ren¡¯s spear shot forward with terrifying speed. Oden¡¯s reflexes kicked in, and he dodged, swinging his axe upward. With a clean swipe, he severed the head of the spear, sending it spinning away into the air.

    ¡°Well done, you¡¯ve improved,¡± Ren remarked lightly.

    ¡°We haven¡¯t fought for over ten years,¡± Oden grumbled in reply.

    Without missing a beat, Ren summoned three more spears, each one formed in an instant, appearing out of thin air in full form. Oden studied the situation carefully, measuring the distance between them.

    When facing any skilled Spear, you had only two choices: close the gap, or remain distant and perish. Generally, Oden preferred hammers, but against someone like Ren, he had to prioritize agility. He conjured a second axe with his free hand, dual-wielding the large blades as he surged forward at Ren.

    Ren responded instantly, hurling his spears toward him. The Marauder cleaved through them mid-flight, but the spears kept coming.

    In an instant, Oden closed the gap, his axes raised, aiming for Ren¡¯s throat. He swung low, aiming for a diagonal cut, but just as his strike would have found its mark, a spear manifested beside Ren, blocking the blow and throwing Oden off balance.

    Oden¡¯s eyes widened as two more spears appeared, one aimed for each of his eyes. He twisted his body in the hope of avoiding the attack, but Ren anticipated his move. The spears shifted, angled inward, and for a heartbeat, Oden felt death.

    With no time to spare, Oden raised his forearms, encasing them in ice, and with a grunt, he blocked the spears. The force of the impact reverberated through his bones. If this kept up, his arms would shatter like glass.

    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s why they call you the Armored Fist,¡± Ren obsserved.

    Oden gritted his teeth, catching and crushing another incoming spear with his hands. As he looked up, he noticed Ren had traversed backward. The distance between them grew, which was no surprise to Oden. The Spears relied on their reach, keeping their foes at bay and striking from afar, wearing them down until the final blow could be struck.

    Thus far, he was losing.

    The battle had not gone as Oden had hoped. He had intended to strike quickly, relying on his axes and hammers to overpower Ren. But now, he was pressed into using something he didn¡¯t want to have to display so early. This was a lesser form of a technique he had learned from Aaron, the ¡°Heavenly Defense.¡± His mentor was an old Marauder who had deserted his clan and his future position as a Royal Guard to follow Draco. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Using this ability came at a cost though. Oden could no longer summon ice structures as long once he activated his fists, at least not for a few hours. This meant that he was no longer able to cover his blind spots and his reach was drastically reduced. On the other hand, he became even more agile, and his offensive productivity was much higher than it had ever been. Also, it allowed him the potential to use his final gambit, though he wanted to avoid using that if he could. In short, he was doing something that was very high risk, high reward.

    The two continued to exchange blows, and it was soon realized that at this stage, the two were equally matched. Oden made short and effective movements, prioritizing his stamina as he could now more easily deal with Ren¡¯s spears.

    This surprised Ren, who tried to get strategic with his spear usage, aiming for Oden¡¯s blind spots, but Oden had begun to use Ren¡¯s preference of maintaining distance to his own advantage. He could always predict the spears¡¯ trajectory, and he could afford to spare a second to look behind him as it would take a few seconds more for another spear to reach him.

    Ten minutes turned into twenty, then twenty turned into thirty. The audience above had long lost interest with eyes peeling away and side conversations brewing as time went on.

    Exhausted too, were both the Spear and the Marauder. Ren had produced many spears, more than he was generally comfortable with making. Weaving through and taking down the giant spears had taken a great toll on Oden as well.

    "Why don¡¯t you just forfeit? At this rate, you¡¯ll wear yourself out in an hour."

    Ren¡¯s words rang true. Even though the Spear was fatigued, he had now begun to temper with the size and speed of his spears. This allowed him to preserve his strength and fight more efficiently.

    Oden, however, did not have a similar strategy. He could only continue to dodge for so long. Every time he tried to close the distance, Ren retreated with ease. He was too seasoned of a fighter to be caught off-guard by any card Oden played. Oden only had one option left.

    "Have you ever wondered why I left you that day?¡± Oden asked.

    Ren faltered for a moment. He didn¡¯t understand Oden¡¯s angle. Distracting him here was useless, as Ren was at a comfortable range away.

    "Huh?" Ren asked as he formed another spear, allowing it to float silently at his side. "Of course I know."

    That day was the day when the winter howled the loudest. Snow fell harder than it ever did, and the world was embraced in a sheet of white. Ren had slipped away from the Goblet, eager to meet in their secret place.

    When he arrived at the hut, Oden was nowhere to be seen. He waited, letting the hours stretch, but no one came. When arrived back through the gates, it was a pivotal scene that shattered bonds and sent ripples through many hearts. It was a scene that induced outrage, but through strategic politics, many had grown to forget it.

    The former second-in-command of the Marauders, Aesir,  had climbed to the top of the Marauder Hall. Using his signature ax of ice, carved his arm with the blade as he held his arm high. With a final scream, showed the crimson worms etched on his flesh while he shouted.

    "Death to the Spears."

    And then, with the axe still in hand, he severed his head in one final stroke, his arm still raised as he died standing.

    That night, Ren had scoured every inch of the Fortress, searching through every place he knew. Many Marauders were also on the lookout, but it was only Ren who could find the hidden places where Oden took refuge. In a single hour, Ren found him. Curled in the snow, his body a trembling ball of despair, Oden was weeping.

    ¡°Hey. Hey," Ren said softly as he brushed the snow from Oden¡¯s head, "I¡¯m sorry about what happened to your father. But you can¡¯t stay here. Everyone is looking for you."

    "Everyone?" Oden¡¯s voice was hollow. His eyes were dark, filled with a hatred that no child should possess. "You mean the Marauders. Not one of your people cares about me."

    The emotion that dripped from Oden¡¯s voice was something that Ren had never seen from him before. He stood still in that dark alley and he too, a mere child, had no idea how to process these past few hours.

    "Oden," Ren breathed, his heart heavy with confusion. "What are you talking about? I care."

    The two of them had always met in their hut to hide from the adults, to be kept away from their politics, and their schemes. In those cherished hours of complete privacy, away from all prying eyes, they had spoken of peace, of dismantling a corrupt system. They had befriended each other by sheer chance, their innocence trumping over their conditioned prejudices. But now Oden¡¯s words made it clear that perhaps his clan¡¯s efforts weren¡¯t so unfruitful.

    Oden rose swiftly, and Ren felt a tremor run through his bones. He had never paid much attention to the difference in their height but now Oden¡¯s few extra inches had never felt so daunting as the Marauder stood above him.

    "NO, YOU DON¡¯T!" Oden screamed, his chest heaving with fury. Ren stood frozen, his tongue locked in place.

    "You¡¯re a Spear," Oden spat, the word laced with venom, "just like the rest of them. You look down on us, use us for your gain, and you don''t have a single ounce of sympathy in your soul. You were born evil, and you¡¯ll always be evil."

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Ren asked. He was frustrated and he wanted his friend back. Oden didn¡¯t answer immediately. His gaze drifted, not toward Ren, but something beside him. Ren followed his gaze. To his shock, he saw a spear floating right next to him, its sharp edge glittering coldly beneath the night sky.

    Ren wasn¡¯t due to acquire his ability for another year or two, but the sight beside him betrayed that notion. His power had awakened early, and the first person it was pointed towards was his best friend.

    ¡°Wait, Oden, I didn¡¯t mean¡ª¡± Ren began, but his words faltered as he looked into Oden¡¯s eyes. They no longer were filled with a burning, dark rage. His pupils simply reflected a cold, distant fury.

    ¡°No,¡± Oden said calmly. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I understand now. I¡¯m the Marauder. I¡¯m a violent brute that needs to be subdued and controlled. I¡¯m a mere pet to raise so I can fight in wars for you on the Promised Day. And the moment I display any shred of emotion, that¡¯s when your trust breaks, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    What are you even saying?" Ren¡¯s voice cracked with desperation, but Oden offered no answer, standing silent. Ren looked back again. At his spear. If it wasn¡¯t for that forsaken thing, that one thing that was ruining everything.  He reached out, his mind screaming for the spear to disappear to just break or vanish, but he struggled to take control over his newfound power.

    And then suddenly, the spear shattered with a loud BANG! Ice splintered into jagged shards, scattering in all directions. Tiny bits slashed across both of their skins and blood began to drip from their cuts, painting the snow underneath.

    Oden didn¡¯t flinch. He gave Ren one last, bitter look. "Goodbye, Spear." The words were filled with a numbing finality. "Have nothing to do with me ever again, until we meet on the battlefield."

    And here they stood now. On a battlefield.

    As Ren re-lived that nightmare, he gave in to the sudden urge to let out what he¡¯d been holding in for years.¡°Your father was a lunatic who killed himself out of an unfounded hatred. Then all you Marauders pushed that hate onto us. And truthfully? I expected that from your kind. The same way I¡¯d expect it from mine if the roles were reversed.¡± He took a breath to compose himself, ¡°But one thing wouldn¡¯t be the same if I switched with you. There¡¯s no way I¡¯d replicate your actions.¡±

    Even upon hearing this fight¡¯s announcement, Ren had not expected he would be saying any of this. Time, he had thought, would wash away the bitterness and old memories. He had moved on, or so he¡¯d believed. He¡¯d accepted Oden¡¯s silence over the years, even convinced himself that the boy he had once called a friend was lost to him, a casualty of the world they¡¯d been born into.

    ¡°I¡¯ll admit, I was wrong that day,¡± Oden admitted suddenly.

    Ren felt a spark of frustration in his chest, and the words came flying out. ¡°Then why?¡±

    ¡°Why what?¡± Oden echoed.

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you ever apologize? Or at least say something to me?¡± Ren asked. The spear beside him wavered slightly as he spoke, his emotions heightening by the minute.

    Oden¡¯s silence dragged for a moment longer than it needed to. ¡°Because I didn¡¯t know how to talk to you again. Not until now.¡± As he said this, he began to slowly crouch, his hands pressing against the frozen ground.

    ¡°If you want to rekindle our friendship, it¡¯s too late,¡± Ren said.

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t trying to.¡±

    And then he added, ¡°Thanks for waiting until now.¡±

    Ren''s heart leapt. He hadn¡¯t given it thought yet but¡ª what was Oden doing crouched on the ground until now? ¡°Huh?¡±

    Before Ren could process his thoughts, Oden moved. In an instant, he became a blur of frozen mist. His breath emitted from his mouth like a cloud of ice, his hands also producing clouds of mist. Claws of ice, like a wild beast¡¯s, began to form around Oden¡¯s arms as he attempted to close the distance.

    Ren¡¯s instincts took over, and he launched his spear at Oden¡¯s heart. The spear met only resistance, as Oden shredded it to pieces without breaking a stride.

    In an instant, Oden closed the distance between them. Ren¡¯s heart pounded as Oden¡¯s arm stopped mere inches from Ren¡¯s neck. Time stopped around them, and they could feel their breaths on each other¡¯s faces.

    Ren¡¯s finger twitched, but Oden pressed his arm forward, letting a single drop of blood splash onto the frozen ground below. Neither fighter moved or yielded. They simply stood in silence, unwilling to admit defeat.

    Oden suddenly felt a tap on his shoulder.

    ¡°Enough.¡±

    The voice belonged to Faron, who stood behind him now. His hands were neatly folded behind his back, his eyes filled with indifference. "Oden has won this fight," he announced. "Please return to the barrier so I can proceed with the next match."

    With a simple wave of his hand, he turned to Ren. "And you," Faron continued, "are eliminated. Please go over to that edge and you¡¯ll find the way out."

    Without waiting for a response, Faron stepped back onto his floating platform. He ascended slowly, leaving the Marauder and Spear alone once again.

    Oden¡¯s voice broke the quiet. ¡°One thing I need to correct you on,¡± he said. ¡°My father wasn¡¯t a lunatic. He was a hero until his death.¡±

    Ren¡¯s eyes met Oden¡¯s once more. "You really are a terrible person," he said, his voice like an unhealed wound.

    "I know."

    As Faron reached his desired destination next to Varian, his voice rang out again. ¡°Now, number nine, Flem of the Chains, and number twelve, Zachary of the Claws. Please enter the stage and prepare to face your opponent.¡±

 21. Sheathed in Silence

    Sorn gazed down from the edge of the arena, watching the fight unfold from his floating platform. The battle had been immensely drawn out, but Sorn had paid attention to every moment, rooting for his companion as he sat quietly. Meanwhile, Aria had barely spared the brawl a glance. As Sorn now looked beside him, Aria was fast asleep.

    The other competitors had erupted as Oden won, the final bout starting and ending in seconds. From the other platforms, voices rose in cheers and jeers alike. This awoke Aria, who sat up while rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

    "Is it over?" she asked lazily.

    "Yes," Sorn replied.

    He hadn''t expected this. The way the fight had dragged, he didn¡¯t think Oden had a chance of victory. He was consistently out-skilled until the end of that fight. And while he was happy for his friend, he found himself unsettled by his secret ability. Seeing so many secrets unfurl one after another only left him to wonder; how many other secrets did the Marauder have?

    Now, Oden stood tall in the heart of the arena. A floating platform descended to meet him, carrying him back to his place beside Crystal. As he rose, he lifted his hand, spreading his five fingers wide for all to see.

    "I¡¯ll see you at stage five." ¡ª was Sorn¡¯s interpretation of that message.

    Then, Faron announced the next matchup.

    Once again, Sorn found himself with someone to root for. He didn¡¯t have the chance to reflect much on it, but his brief encounter with Zoe had certainly left an impression on him.

    He had heard the name ¡°Zachary¡± from her once, but he hadn¡¯t needed to. The boy, self-assured he descended, was the spitting image of his sister. They shared the same sharp features and the same piercing gaze. His hair was slicked back into pointed spikes, and his youthful face was painted with an excited grin.

    His opponent, Flem, was far less interesting. Sorn was certain that if he dropped him into a crowd of Ice Elementals, he¡¯d never pick him out again. He was a forgettable presence, but he carried himself with confidence as he descended to face his opponent.

    Sorn¡¯s mind drifted elsewhere as he waited for his battle to begin¡ª who was his opponent going to be?

    He ran through the numbers in his head. He came fifteenth, and Aria was fifth. At first, he believed that she was his opponent, and his stomach tensed. Then, with a bit of relief, he realized that she was one number off.

    His gaze swept the other Elementals. If he had known the order would matter this much, he would have asked around more. But at least there was one other bit of good news¡ªhe wouldn¡¯t be facing Crystal or Keilan this round either.

    ¡°Are you not scared?¡± Sorn asked suddenly.

    ¡°Hm?¡± Aria barely reacted. ¡°Why would I be?¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s a lot of strong people here,¡± he said.

    Aria turned to him, her voice smug. ¡°And none of them can beat me.¡±

    Sorn glanced at her frail frame. He wasn¡¯t sure if she was overstating her ability, or if she was telling the truth. After everything he had seen since arriving, he wouldn¡¯t be surprised if it was the latter.

    He then turned back to the arena as the fight began.

    Zachary burst forward in a flurry of movements. His claws of ice generated on his fists¡ª small but deadly. Sorn noticed immediately that the boy¡¯s style was nothing like his sister¡¯s. Zachary was full of raw aggression. There was little refinement in his attacks, but what he lacked in technique, he made up for in his overwhelming physical capability.

    Sorn believed that Zachary could likely keep up with Oden¡¯s strange form, the same one that had overwhelmed Ren in an instant.

    Flem was struggling, his chains snapping out in rapid succession as he tried to keep Zachary at bay. But Zachary only grew sharper as the battle progressed. His attacks began to find a rhythm as he began to break through Flem¡¯s chains with far fewer strikes than before. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

    The arena had seemed far too massive for Sorn at the start. However, the two fighters traversed from one end to the other in their dance. Now, Flem was running out of space as his back came closer to kissing the ice wall behind.

    ¡°It looks like Zachary is winning this easily,¡± Sorn observed.

    Beside him, Aria gave an unimpressed side-eye. ¡°Are you stupid?¡±

    Sorn blinked. ¡°Huh?¡±

    ¡°Flem hasn¡¯t used a single technique yet,¡± she said. ¡°He has a plan.¡±

    As if on cue, a chain came straight out of Zachary¡¯s mouth.

    The shackles of ice wrapped around the Claw, constricting his limbs and locking his body in place. The moment Zachary stopped struggling, Faron¡¯s voice rang out, announcing the match¡¯s end.

    A quiet disappointment settled in Sorn¡¯s chest. They had been compelled by Zoe¡¯s story, by her desire for a dream. She had put complete faith in her brother. He didn¡¯t even want to imagine the talk the two siblings would have later.

    Flem¡¯s chains were uncoiled and fell away before disappearing into thin air. Zachary sat frozen, his gaze locked onto the ground as he processed his defeat.

    ¡°That¡¯s how it works,¡± Aria said indifferently. ¡°You only get what you want if you¡¯re strong.¡±

    Sorn glanced at her. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you sleep during this fight?¡±

    ¡°Watch your words, outsider. You¡¯re getting too comfortable.¡± Aria studied him for a moment before answering, as if deciding whether he was worth the effort. Then, she shrugged. ¡°I already had my nap, so I¡¯m well rested. And this fight was short, so it didn¡¯t bore me to death.¡± She paused. ¡°The only correct question in this situation is¡­ why aren¡¯t you taking a nap?¡±

    ¡°Huh?¡± Sorn replied, dumbfounded. ¡°Because I¡¯m not tired.¡±

    ¡°Blasphemy,¡± Aria said. ¡°You can¡¯t be the best if you never take naps.¡±

    ¡°Number eight, Homer of the Sword, and number thirteen, Neville of the Dancing Blade. Please enter the stage and prepare to face your opponent.¡±

    As Faron¡¯s voice rang out once again, Sorn recalled Oden telling him about the Sword clan.

    In distant history, the Swords had once ruled the Fortress alongside the Spears. The two clans held a monopoly over the council¡¯s seats, and for generations, they stood as equals.

    A disagreement, the details of which had conveniently been forgotten, had shattered their alliance. A battle trial ensued, and strength would decide who was right. The Sword''s head stood against his Spear counterpart in single combat, and in a fight that would be remembered for its one-sided brutality, the Sword faced utter defeat and he died with the respect for his clan.

    In the aftermath, the Swords made their concessions. Every ten years, they would offer up ten of their young to the Spears. Those chosen would be stripped from their roots, and taken into the Spear clan, where they would be raised and trained as a Spear. If they adapted, they were made warriors. If they failed, they became little more than servants bound to the very clan that had broken them.

    It was a system built on humiliation, meant to remind the Swords of their place.

    In this complicated dynamic, Homer was an exception of sorts. His reputation was built on mystery, as he had never stepped foot in the Academy or public at all. To most, he did not exist at all. But when his name finally surfaced a decade ago, the whispers began.

    The Sword¡¯s secret project.

    For years, they had hidden him, using all their resources to train him on ancient, forgotten techniques. If this had been done in a past generation, such defiance would have carried dire consequences. The contract was clear, and to withhold a Sword from the selection was to spit in the face of their sworn agreement.

    The truth was that this entire system had proven to be ineffective. No converted Sword had ever risen beyond the Fourth Division. The idea that Spears could forge warriors out of their rivals had been immensely destructive to the Fortress¡¯s military force. Ten years ago, Varian had issued a pardon, dismissing the binding terms of the agreement.

    A year later, the Swords revealed Homer. There had been no trial for him to earn his placement. The Council had simply accepted his presence and place. Since that announcement, many had anticipated this day, as an ancient clan¡¯s secret project would bring forth results.

    Now, Homer stood across from Neville.   With a single breath, weapons of ice began to generate. Floating still in the air by each of Homer¡¯s sides were a sword and a shield. Across from him, Neville remained still, and a slender needle, a weapon measuring no longer than half a meter, formed in his grasp. He raised it to his face, settling into the stance of the Dancing Blade.

    ¡°I don¡¯t see Geville winning this fight,¡± Aria said simply

    Sorn frowned. ¡°Isn¡¯t it Neville?¡±

    Aria shrugged. ¡°You can¡¯t expect me to remember someone so forgettable.¡±

    Sure enough, the fight began as Aria had expected. Homer moved first, a single step forward, and then his blade struck true. A clean cut across Neville¡¯s shoulder caused a spray of red against the ice. The Dancing Blades were supposed to be elusive and slippery, but Neville was struggling to keep up.

    Homer continued to press forward without hesitation, his swordwork tight. The Sword hadn¡¯t used his shield once. Neville danced backward, his needle flicking out, but none of his counterattacks landed. Unable to find any openings, and repeatedly being worn down with shallow injuries, Neville leaped backwards.

    Then, Homer smiled

    The Sword threw his shield mid-stride, as though he had predicted this event. It launched it toward Neville with a perfect arc. It was perfectly timed, too fast for Nevile to dodge easily, but just slow enough for Homer to catch up to his projectile and he used the ice floor to his advantage, slipping under the shield.

    Neville barely dodged the shield, trying to jump to the side, but Homer was already there. His foot swept low, cutting beneath Neville¡¯s stance, and before the boy could even react, his back hit the ground, and Homer¡¯s sword carved a deep slash across his stomach.

    The crowd roared, and Homer stood tall, lifting his blade in triumph. The once-feared Sword clan had returned, they were here to reclaim their former glory.

    Then, just as suddenly, the cheering stopped, and silence swallowed the arena.

    Homer turned, confused, only to see Neville standing behind him.

    He was pale, trembling, with blood seeping through his uniform, pooling at his feet, but he was standing. And worse yet, his needle was raised, the tip aimed directly at Homer¡¯s throat.

    "If there¡¯s one thing I excel at," Neville murmured, his voice hoarse but steady, "it¡¯s stitching myself up."

    Homer was unable to move, and the fight was announced over.

    ¡°Wow,¡± Aria mused. ¡°Beville is pretty good.¡±

 22. Mercury Interlude

    The next fight was announced not long after, between Cray of the Spears, who had arrived just before Sorn, and Jester of the Felines.

    Sorn recognized the second name, Jester was the only partial anima in the Tournament alongside Keilan.

    Among Ice Elementals, full animas were considered to be the pinnacle of ability. They were both rare and extremely dangerous. A full anima had not been born in generations, apart from the Emperor himself, who harbored the Swan. However, this tradition had recently been broken.

    The previous Prophecy, half a decade ago, said that the spirits of the anima had grown restless with the upcoming Promised Day. Draco was the first example, as he had received the Dragon, an anima that had never chosen a host.

    The only other animas were mere echoes of what once was. They were called ¡°partial animas," the dwindling remnants of legendary warriors. Partial animas were passed through bloodlines, but only two clans had successfully maintained their anima.

    The first was the Turtle who had served the Royal Guard, sworn to its cause since their creation. In the current generation, only Aran could claim any anima abilities. The other clan, the Felines, were more independent. Joker and his eldest son Jester were the two who possessed the Feline power, and for this reason, Jester was a favorite for this Tournament, as it was said Joker lost to Varian¡¯s team in the final battle of the previous Tournament.Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    Keilan was an interesting case. Many believed he had inherited part of the Wolf, though none could explain how. The Wolf¡¯s line had died out many, many years ago. Oden had his thoughts on the matter. He did not believe Keilan to be merely partial. He believed that Keilan had inherited the full anima, just like Draco. The only difference was that Keilan never formed enough of a connection with his anima, leaving him unrefined.

    The two warriors finally touched the ground and faced each other. Cray narrowed his eyes as he created a spear, but he didn¡¯t get a chance to move after that. Jester showed no pause, his transformation was immediate.

    His teeth lengthened into fangs of ice, and ice claws grew out of his fingers. His movements became erratic, and his fighting style was unapologetically reckless. Upon reaching Cray, he unleashed a barrage of ruthless attacks, leaving the Spear unconscious.

    To Sorn, it was like he was watching Oden¡¯s fight all over again, with the battle ending in only fifteen seconds. Jester now stood victorious, his fangs bared as he spread his arms The crowd erupted into cheers. However, among the Spears, there was only silence. Their numbers had been dwindling throughout this stage. Now, only one remained.

    Raven, The Playful Killer

    She stood alone at the edge of the arena, her face without expression. Once, she had stood alongside Ren on her platform. Now, he was gone.

    Sorn forced the subject aside. His fight was next.

    He twisted his fingers, biting the inside of his cheek. He felt Aria¡¯s gaze flicked toward him, but she said nothing.

    His mind raced through the possibilities. Who could be his opponent now? Not Crystal. Not Aria. Not anyone who had arrived after him. That left Raven, Kaen, Scorpius, and¡ª

    Faron cleared his throat, and the arena fell silent.

    ¡°Number six, Toren of the Dancing Blade, and number fifteen, Sorn of the Marauders. Please enter the stage and prepare to face your opponent.¡±

 23 - Mercury

    Sorn watched as the heir to the Dancing Blade descended onto the platform below. His hair, pristine hair flowed in silken waves with wavy bangs falling neatly over his forehead. In the gentle breeze, the air seemed to be alive, with every tuft acting as if it were slow dancing. Even among Ice Elementals, he was an enigma of beauty and grace.

    Not that Sorn could say the same for his personality.

    Truth be told, he felt no thrill in facing Toren. It wasn¡¯t the worst possible matchup, but neither was it one he found himself excited for. Of course, he had no desire to face Raven, especially not when the mere sight of her made his heart twist with a strange primal fear. He also didn¡¯t wish to fight Scorpius, as he felt powerless just from recalling their previous encounter.

    Toren in comparison brought Sorn some relief. Even back when Sorn had first arrived in a weak and inexperienced state, he had nearly landed a blow on him. Now, he was stronger, he was more disciplined. In this rematch, he was determined to not falter and to achieve victory.

    The moments that followed after the announcement were like a blur. His heart pounded so loudly he could hear it in his ears. Faces flickered at the edges of his vision, but they were just vague shapes to him.

    The black-haired boy could barely even register the movement of his own feet until he was at his destination. He was standing in the center of the arena, staring into Toren¡¯s condescending smile.

    ¡°"Hello, Sorn. It¡¯s good to see you again." Toren''s voice was smooth, but it was also laced with a false warmth.

    Sorn didn¡¯t reply. He simply stared at the Dancing Blade, uncertain what words he even wanted to speak at this moment.

    Toren¡¯s eyes narrowed.

    ¡°Did I not educate you earlier?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Toren groaned, dragging a hand to his forehead as if the very act of addressing Sorn was exhausting. He cast his gaze downward, shaking his head in theatrical exasperation before fixing Sorn with a look of unfiltered disappointment.

    "Is it in your blood as an outsider to be so irredeemably stupid? Or is it merely the influence of the Marauders seeping into you like rot?"

    At this point, Sorn just wanted Faron to announce the match¡¯s start.

    Unfortunately, Faron was deep in discussion with Varian, leaving Sorn stranded in the middle of Toren¡¯s insufferable monologue.

    And Toren, of course, had plenty more to say.

    "Disrespect," he declared slowly, savoring the word as he spoke it. "That is all you have ever shown me since the moment we met. And as time passes, your lack of basic manners only seems to worsen. Allow me to explain, in precise detail, how you have once again crossed the line and infiltrated my personal boundaries."

    He lifted a hand, fingers poised to count his many grievances.

    "First," he began, raising one finger, "you rejected my grace and in doing so, you suffered defeat in a trial of combat. By some stroke of fortune, you managed to stumble your way through the Council¡¯s trial, but rather than take that mercy with the humility it demanded, you allowed your lack of shame to fester. You should have submitted when the time was right."

    He paused then, taking a moment to contemplate his own words. "Ah. I must correct myself. I would not wish to appear as though I were in defiance of the Council¡¯s ruling. I apologize, truly. It was an error on my part. I shall, of course, respect their decision."

    With that, he extended a second finger.

    "Next, you made yourself acquainted with my future bride. Despite my explicit instructions that she is not for you to speak to, let alone engage with, you have continued to disregard my words entirely. A blatant insult to my dignity as a man."

    "I¡ª" Sorn began, only to be cut off.

    "Hush!" Toren snapped, his sudden outburst sharp enough to catch Sorn off-guard. Then, just as swiftly, the irritation vanished. It was quickly replaced with a smile. A bright, innocent grin, as if he had never raised his voice at all.

    "I understand your conflict completely," he explained lightly. "You are torn, are you not? Between your desire to respect my words and the innocent, unspoken love you hold for my fianc¨¦."

    Sorn blinked. He had no idea what Toren was talking about.

    "Fine!" Toren exclaimed, just as before, his voice full of exaggerated fervor. He had found a rhythm now, and once he started talking, his words did not stop. "You can have her, Sorn. You see, we have been betrothed for over a decade, yet I never wanted to marry that girl. She is loud and obnoxious beyond reason. She is not a woman I wish to begin a family with, nor one I desire to spend the rest of my days tolerating."

    Faron''s voice rang out as Toren finished his last sentence. The match had begun.

    Toren lifted his needle, leveling it toward Sorn. "So this fight shall be a battle of love. Is it not fitting? Two men, clashing in strength, to determine who shall claim the heart of the princess."

    Sorn moved first, hoping to get an attack in while Toren was still talking.

    Green wisps coiled around his limbs as he surged forward. His foot lashed out in a strike aimed straight for Toren¡¯s throat. But Toren sidestepped.

    Sorn smiled. This time, he could see Toren¡¯s movements.

    Toren responded instantly, a quick jab sliced through the air. Sorn leaped back, dodging the strike completely.

    "What¡¯s this? A smile?" Toren taunted. "Did my proposal excite you that much?"

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    "I don¡¯t care about your proposal," Sorn retorted, twisting away from another strike. "Keep your idiotic fantasies to yourself."

    Toren frowned. His weapon arm hung limp as he brought a hand to his face, exhaling deeply. Sorn tensed, bracing himself for another rant.

    "It appears," Toren began, "that your disrespect knows no bounds." He exhaled, shaking his head"Very well. There is no chivalry in you. You are unworthy of respect." His gaze darkened. The performative edge he once carried was now slipping away like the last warmth of the falling sun. His voice, when it came again, was colder than Sorn had ever heard him.

    "You were already beneath me as a mortal. But now, I will kill you like the outsider dog you are."

    Sorn had mistaken Toren¡¯s hand motion for a theatrical flourish, a mere petulant gesture of a man basking in his own character. But when the hand fell away, his face had changed. No that wasn¡¯t quite accurate¡ªhis face was masked.

    The ice that covered Toren¡¯s face was unlike anything Sorn had ever seen. It was not the pale frost that Sorn had grown accustomed to looking at. It was a mask of ice that shimmered with color.

    "The First Dance," Toren murmured behind his frozen veil. "The Face Changing of Happiness. Red.."

    The mask gleamed like a ruby. It was a vibrant thing underneath the gleaming sun But Sorn had no time to marvel at the thing, as Toren had begun to move.

    He was faster now, as though he had been holding back his entire fight. All of his motions were honed to be more lethal, more agile, more¡­ perfect. Toren¡¯s arm flicked out, and Sorn saw the needle a heartbeat too late. He surged his wisps to their limit, but it wasn¡¯t enough. The strike found its mark, piercing just beneath his shoulder. Pain bloomed at his side, and his head felt light. But he forced it away, shoving everything that wasn¡¯t this battle into the depths of his mind.

    Toren pressed forward relentlessly. In response, Sorn retreated, but his enemy was faster. Toren was the untouchable storm, and Sorn kept up beneath the weight of the dance, as he could only mitigate or block Toren¡¯s persistent strikes.

    To face a Dancing Blade in close combat was to beget disaster. They fought with a deadly grace, encapsulating the soles of their feet ever in ice. To fight while constantly slipping was a method of battle invented by the first Dancing Blade, and the style took years to even begin to be adequate. Being able to contort and move their body with the slightest movement of their feet made them extremely difficult to hit.

    Toren crouched low suddenly, his gaze directed at the ground. Sorn wasn¡¯t sure what had brought about this action, but it gave him a chance to breathe. Another needle of ice formed in Toren¡¯s waiting palm. He was no ordinary Dancing Blade. He was their heir. Their pride. Their radiant star, upon whom the legacy of his clan shone the brightest.

    "The Second Dance," Toren declared. "Charge of the Lion."

    In a blur of motion, Toren launched forward, his body twisting into a somersault. Both his blades spun around his side, weapons poised to carve Sorn into shreds.

    Sorn exhaled one last time, steadying himself.

    That strange ability was his only remaining option. He had resisted his urge to utilize it, for he was unsettled by the sensation it left behind. It left a foreign presence, a whisper of another soul entwined with his own.

    The memory of a white-haired man felt distant, but it was also unnervingly close. Sorn had not trusted him once. But now, in the face of Toren¡¯s merciless attitude, wariness was a luxury he could no longer afford.

    He made his choice. And he planted his foot.

    A shockwave burst outward, a surge of green unleashed. A small explosion emitted, placed right between himself and Toren¡¯s trajectory. Sorn¡¯s vision was momentarily obscured by the remnants of that explosion before him. And then, just beyond the haze, something emerald shimmered.

    ¡°The First Dance, the Face Changing of Hatred. Green.¡±

    Three jagged arms of ice lunged for Sorn. They were reaching, grasping, seeking his flesh. Toren had torn through the explosion without faltering, the blast rolling off him like a passing breeze. His mask had changed, shifting hue, and now he came with greater fury as his face was unreadable behind the green disguise.

    Sorn didn¡¯t think. He gave in to his instincts, batting one ice arm aside. He then turned on his heel, bolting toward the outer wall. He didn¡¯t reach two strides before pain seared through him. A needle of ice buried itself deep between his chest and belly. He gasped, his vision flaring white. Gritting his teeth, he twisted hard, torquing his body with everything he had. With adrenaline coursing through his veins, the ice arm cracked, breaking away as he tore himself free.

    So, you¡¯ve finally accepted me.

    The thought was not his own, but it was there all the same, as the strange thing curled around his mind. His body moved differently now. His limbs felt guided, as though a completely new will was driving him forward.

    The colosseum wall loomed before him, but he didn¡¯t slow down. He jumped onto the surface, his body perpendicular to it as he kept running. He ran upwards, his momentum continuing to drive him until he could ascend no more.

    He was now three-quarters of the way up and dozens of meters in the air.

    From this height, Toren was far below. He could just barely make out the green mask looking up at him. To the Dancing Blade, Sorn must have looked at a distant thing, a flying flicker in the sky.

    And elsewhere, too far to see but close enough to whisper, a man smiled. The world around him pulsed with green, the hues and wisps richer than ever before. White hair flowed in the air despite there being no wind to move the strands. He smiled as the surroundings suddenly died down, reverting to their original fight. The ability had been given.

    <hr>

    Among us, Mercury was the second youngest. He was a quick-fingered rascal with a devilish smile that could even the most hardened of veterans. He was drawn to the appeal of gold and gems. Not for their worth, but for the thrill of taking them. He would flit through the streets, a nimble shadow who was slipping rings from fingers and jewels from bags.

    Once, he was caught. They hung him upside-down against a wall for three nights, to learn his lesson. The eldest of us was at the forefront of this operation, he could not bear to see shame come on our family name. When they finally cut him down, he landed with a grin, shook out his limbs, and strolled off like nothing had happened. After that, Mercury was never caught again. By the time you realized you were missing something, he was already far away, laughing into the wind.

    And my family adored him for it.

    For he was Mercury, the spoiled prince loved by all. His laughter was a song, his mischief a fire in the cold. But war has a way of stripping children down to their bones, turning adolescents into beasts.

    Mercury the warrior was a far more feared version of Mercury the child thief. He was a ghost weaving between enemies. When he invaded an enemy camp, time slowed and death followed. A flick of his fingers, a whisper of motion, and whole platoons were swallowed by his explosions as they turned to nothing but char and smoke.

    But war does not play favorites, it is a damned unforgiving thing.

    He met his end at the Battle of the Patient. He jumped into the battle, reckless as ever. But this time, he was too reckless. He ran ahead, straight into the jaws of an enemy trap, and that was the last of him. There was no body to bury, no grave to mark his passing. One moment he was there, burning bright as ever. The next, he was gone.

    All we had left was his name.

    <hr>

    Sorn¡¯s eyes burned green with his wisps flaring outward, wild and unrestrained. They curled around him in great sweeping arcs, pulsing with power. They were vibrant, alive. The world itself seemed to be still. This fight, the onlookers, the overseers, even the breath in his lungs.

    It was all gone.

    For the briefest moment, there was only silence.

    Only serenity.

    So this is what it means to be Mercury.

    Then time lurched forward, and gravity pulled him down. He twisted midair, planting his foot against the very sky. He kicked off of it, hurtling toward Toren like a falling star. His opponent barely managed to slip away, but Sorn was prepared. A second kick, a shift in momentum, and he was above him once more, his foot poised to strike.

    This time, Toren could not escape.

    The impact landed clean, and an explosion followed, one that was nothing like the previous one. It was a violent burst of emerald fire that swallowed the battlefield whole. The force ripped outward, crashing against ice, and consuming the arena in a thick cloud of green smoke.

    Then, there was silence, and the minutes stretched long. When the smoke finally thinned, the sight that awaited the onlookers and Sorn, was one none of them had expected.

    There, standing in the middle of the arena, was the Iron Stag.

    Varian¡¯s grip was firm around Sorn¡¯s ankle. Earlier Sorn had hit the ground after making contact before trying to land another kick, but he had been caught mid-strike and had been frozen in place since.

    Varian was both unscathed and unshaken. Toren stood behind Varian, his mask gone as he stared around with shock in his eyes. The entire arena, especially in the area around Sorn and Varian was full of charred ice and soot. A mere student had done this. Worse still¡ªa mortal outsider student.

    Varian exhaled slowly. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He lifted a hand and coughed into his palm, and when he pulled it away, it was stained red. A cold quiet settled over him then. His gaze fell on Sorn.

    ¡°Due to my interference,¡± he said at last, ¡°you win this fight.¡±

    Then, without turning his head, his attention shifted to Toren, who stood frozen in the dust. ¡°And you may leave the arena.¡±

    The words barely registered as Varian let go and Sorn fell to the ground, his wisps flickering out. The battle was over, and his body knew it before his mind could catch up. His breath came shallow, and his limbs were heavy. He looked down to see Toren¡¯s needle still buried in his flesh, and blood began to slowly pool around his body.

    He felt one last cold sensation around his abdomen like someone was freezing it. Then he fainted.