“But that is but a sign of the times! Word has reached us that the Emerald Host is on the march, for the Viridian Heart has chosen to migrate for the first time in a century. Elsewhere, a mana quake of unprecedented strength has sent Gold mana flooding thousands of miles north, washing over territories that can hardly withstand the assault such flooding will allow. The White Queen herself told me that the Cerulean Oracle has returned to life and begun giving prophecies! Worse, that LastRock has fallen to the Blood Ox, and our forces stream back across the Bone Plains in disarray.”
Voices arose in wonder and consternation, and Praximar raised both hands, waiting patiently for silence once more. “Momentous events! Once you have lived as long as I, you will realize that these convulsions come in waves. Years of peace and stasis followed by times of great chaos. It is in these moments that losses are suffered, yes, but also in which striking victories can be achieved. We cannot guess what the next few years will bring, but now is the time for brave souls, for intrepid warriors to stream forth from the halls of this Academy to buttress the ranks of those who have been fighting for our cause! You, Cinders and Emberlings, are the future, and hidden amongst your number are the Charnel Duchesses, the Blood Barons, nay, even the Crimson Earls and Imperators that will lead us in tomorrow’s victories. I, and every member of the Academy, salute you, and wish you the greatest success in the struggles to come!”
Scorio drew a breath of surprise and pleasure; he glanced sidelong at his friends and saw Lianshi’s eyes shining with emotion, Leonis frowning as he nodded slowly, even Naomi listening intently, reluctantly.
“But today! Today, my friends, we do not march into glorious war, but rather continue the process of refinement, of separating the wheat from the chaff, by watching you pit your best efforts against each other. Know that to lose in these fights is not dishonor; it simply means you have more to learn, and that your chance at glory remains ahead of you. But the victors shall continue forward, earning ever more accolades and attention, striving for the chance to be part of the final two teams who shall assail the Gauntlet with every House’s blessings. Fight, my friends, as if your future depended on it! Fight, students of the Academy, as if hell’s fate rested upon your shoulders, because it does, oh you brave and wondrous Great Souls, it does. Fight and show us your worth, show us your mettle, prove yourselves before the eyes of the Houses and your peers, and seize glory!”
Praximar’s voice rang out, and hundreds of voices raised themselves in cheers, crying out with charged emotion causing a flock of doves to burst out of their roosts from some high ledge and sweep across the great void of the dome, wings fluttering in the red light, to alight upon the spreading branches of a slender tree that grew out at a pained angle from the highest balcony as it reached for the light.
“He gives a good speech,” said Leonis in a low voice so that only Scorio could hear. “You have to give him that. Even if he tends to repeat himself.”
Scorio’s heart was pounding, his mind light, his body feverish with the desire to prove himself. He could only nod, eyes locked still on the distant Praximar.
“Now, students, before you infuse your crystals and lie upon your biers, Instructor Helminth would like to issue a unique challenge to those sixty-four souls who shall be fighting today.
Scorio’s breath caught in his throat as the Hell Whip stepped to the fore, her smile broad, almost cruel. “Students! As you know, Imperator Sol himself requested that Scorio and Naomi be readmitted to our class and afforded all opportunities available within the Academy. Who are we, then, to deny these two students a chance at winning the tournament? Of course, the rosters are full, the brackets complete, but here lies my challenge: which of you sixty-four wish to prove yourselves truly worthy by competing against Scorio in a preliminary bout, the winner of which will then fight again in today’s matches?”
Hundreds of heads swiveled as everyone turned to stare at Scorio, who ignored them all and only stood straighter, chin raised. A cry sounded out as a student leaped atop his bier, hand raised to the sky.
“I will accept this challenge!” His voice shook with an excess of emotion. “I accept, Instructor Helminth!”
A youth, a boy with skin as white as milk and hair as pale as morning mist. Slender, gawky, but with a searing intensity that caused him to tremble as he stared fixedly at the distant stage.
“Very well, today’s combats will begin with a qualifying bout between Etheren and Scorio.” Helminth’s voice betrayed no sense of whether she was pleased or not. “Students, honored guests, and spectators, infuse your crystals and lie upon your biers! The Archspire shall convey you to the Arena, where we shall see who shall progress and who will be left behind.”
Leonis stepped in close. “Etheren’s a Cinder, won his last fight by luck; his opponent twisted her ankle halfway through and he showed killer instinct in taking her down. He’s fast but not strong, don’t underestimate his ability to take punishment and keep getting up. Put him down hard, and don’t turn your back on him.”
Scorio nodded and saw that Etheren had hopped down from his bier and was staring through the crowd at him. Even at this distance, Scorio could see that his eyes were as pale as the rest of him. Scorio moved to the base of the bier, palmed the familiar crystal, and swept Coal into its depths. When it flared to life, he hopped up onto the broad, jeweled surface, and lay back.
All around him came the whispers of cloth and sounds of movement as almost a thousand other Great Souls did the same. Glancing down the length of his body, he saw the officials atop the stage descending to biers of their own.
Scorio closed his eyes. Lay there in the warm darkness of his own mind, feeling his heart pound. It beat steadily, as if more assured of the outcome than he was. Over and over again it pounded, until a sense of change came over him.
He was standing, on his feet, and he snapped his eyes open to see that the world had changed. He stood across from Etheren on a plain sparring circle that was a larger version of the one in which he’d dueled Feng, but this hardly held his attention.
Instead, it was the arena around him that stole his breath away; the sparring circle stood like an island in an ocean of darkness that was bounded on all sides by a vast oval wall of pale red stone that rose some thirty yards to where the first seats ringed the entirety of it, with ever more rising behind.
The sky was dark, featureless, but the entirety of the sparring circle was lit by a pale and clear light that banished all shadows. The floor was composed of rough flagstones that might have been cut coral, and no retaining wall bound its circumference. It had to be some forty yards across, with nowhere to run, no features to use against his foe.
Etheren stood tall and resolute on its far side, jaw clenched, pale eyes focused on him with something akin to rage, perhaps hatred.
The arena was so vast that the thousand souls that had manifested on the stands to watch only took up the lower few rows of seating; above them stretched endless empty benches that culminated some hundred yards above the first. How many would it take to fill such a space? What sort of events had been held here in the past that something so vast was needed? The very scale of the arena was intimidating, and Scorio tore his gaze away from the spectators, their faces small and blurring into each other, to center himself and once more meet Etheren’s gaze.
“The rules are simple.” Helminth’s voice rang out from an invisible source up on high. “Anything is allowed. Victory takes place when your opponent yields, touches the ground outside the ring, or is rendered unable to fight. This being a mystical space, you have no need to fear unleashing your full abilities upon each other; no injuries will remain when you awaken. The fight will begin on the third chime, interfering in another combat will immediately disqualify you from the tournament, and there will be one bout. Good luck, contestants.”