The crisp air of early spring carried an edge of tension as Kael stepped onto the tournament grounds. The coliseum that had been carefully prepared for months loomed ahead, banners stretched across its stone arches in vibrant shades of emerald and silver. It wasn't the same as the training fields, nor the practice halls of the academy. Here, every step forward was toward judgment, toward proving one's worth before the entire student body and the council of instructors.
The crowd moved in tides, students filing through the great gates in clusters of chatter and nervous laughter. Kael kept to themself, steady breaths measured, every motion deliberate. They had faced hardship before, loss before, yet something about this day carried a weight unlike the others.
It was then that they felt it.
A presence. Subtle at first, like the shift in pressure when a storm is about to break. Their gaze lifted instinctively, drawn as if pulled by a tether they hadn't known existed. Amid the mass of students walking toward the gates, Kael's eyes locked with another's.
The world blurred. For a heartbeat, the noise of footsteps and voices dimmed, drowned out by the sudden, unshakable certainty that this person mattered more than any trial awaiting within the coliseum. Their fated mate.
The stranger—no, not a stranger, never truly—paused as well, their brow furrowing, lips parting slightly as though they too had been caught by the same unseen current. Kael's chest tightened. It wasn't like the warmth Rys had once brought, nor the bittersweet ache that followed his loss. This was sharper, undeniable, a recognition carved into their very core.
But then the coliseum's horns sounded, cutting through the air. The spell of the moment cracked, reality forcing itself back into place. The tournament was about to begin.
Kael stepped closer, enough that their voices could be carried in the chaos. "You feel it too."
The other gave a brief nod, hesitant but steady, their voice low and resolute. "Yes. But not now. Not yet."
Kael exhaled, relief and frustration tangled into one. "The tournament first."
"Then, when it's over," their fated mate agreed, eyes lingering with the weight of a promise.
Neither reached for the other's hand, neither dared linger too long. Instead, they fell into step—separate, yet tethered by something neither could deny—as the sea of students carried them forward into the coliseum.
---
The coliseum roared to life as the procession began. Students poured into the arena floor, the sheer number of bodies staggering even for those accustomed to the academy's scale. From the towering stone balconies, instructors and council members watched, their expressions severe, expectant. Above them, fluttering banners bore the crest of the academy, its flame-and-shield sigil gleaming in the sunlight.
A voice boomed, amplified by spellwork, echoing across the vast dome. "Today begins the Second Tournament of this academic cycle! You will face trials of body, mind, and soul. Each of you stands here as both competitor and potential—potential to rise, or potential to break."
The crowd shifted uneasily.
"You will be judged by criteria made clear: power, efficiency, creativity, perception, fortitude, adaptability, composure, and above all—showmanship. Only those who embrace all will rise. The rest will fall."
The declaration was met with cheers, jeers, and the restless thrum of anticipation. Kael glanced briefly toward the one they now knew was bound to them. Their fated mate didn't look back this time, focused on the voice that dictated their coming trials. The bond pulled, but restraint held.
The opening rites unfolded with precision: a display of spellwork from the senior council members, a symbolic striking of the ceremonial gong, and the release of a great illusory phoenix, wings stretched wide as it soared above the crowd before vanishing in sparks of gold.
Then came the command that sealed the day's weight upon every heart present.
"Competitors—prepare yourselves. The gauntlet begins with the breaking of the wall. Raw power, endurance, efficiency, and creativity will decide who climbs, and who collapses."
Kael tightened their grip on the leather straps of their bracers. The wall awaited, as immovable and merciless as fate itself.
And fate—Kael knew now—was watching from across the arena, waiting for its own moment to strike.
---
The arena floor shifted, stone trembling as panels slid apart. A deep grinding sound reverberated through the coliseum as massive slabs of granite rose into place, forming a jagged barrier that stretched across the expanse like a mountain's spine. Cracks and ridges gave the wall texture, but its scale alone made it daunting—forty feet high, thick as a fortress. At its base lay scattered obstacles: weighted chains, boulders, uneven terrain deliberately designed to sap stamina before the climb.
"First challenge," the announcer's voice rang. "Break the Wall. You will be judged on Raw Power, Efficiency, and Creative Application. Show us what lies beyond brute force. Show us ingenuity, persistence, and resolve."
The gong thundered.
Competitors surged forward. Some rushed headlong at the wall, striking with hammers of steel or fists coated in arcane flame. Others searched for cracks or handholds, darting like lizards up its surface. The coliseum roared as successes and failures alike unfolded—stone shattering under mighty blows, bodies tumbling hard to the ground.
Kael advanced at a measured pace. They could feel the tug of their fated mate somewhere to the left, already weaving through the chaos. But Kael's focus tightened on the wall before them.
Power, efficiency, creativity.
Kael inhaled, centering themself. Then their voice broke into the air—measured syllables, deliberate cadence:
"Stone breaks when flame bends,
Strength and skill as allies—friends,
Through the wall, one ends."
The haiku sealed, energy pulsed through their palms. Fire licked along the cracks in the stone, not in a wild blaze but in precise streaks, seeking weakness rather than consuming at random. Kael pressed forward, driving both hands against a section where fire and stone met in tension. With a sharp thrust, the weakened rock fractured, breaking away in chunks that tumbled down with thunderous impact.
They didn't rush. Efficiency mattered. Stamina conserved now could mean survival later. Each strike was measured, each spell carefully cast with rhyme-bound precision, widening the breach just enough to carve a path.
Others weren't so restrained. A towering upperclassman bellowed as they rammed shoulder-first into the granite, cracking it wide but staggering with blood dripping down their arm. Another conjured a spiral of water that pressed against the wall, only for it to fizzle where fire-based wards countered the attempt. Cries of frustration, cheers of triumph, and gasps of pain mingled in the din.
Kael wiped sweat from their brow. The breach they had formed wasn't enough to shatter the wall entirely, but it didn't need to be. Creativity rewarded alternatives. Slipping through the opening, they began scaling upward, using footholds carved from their own strikes.
Halfway up, a tremor shook the wall. Another competitor, to their right, unleashed a shockwave of brute force that nearly dislodged Kael from the stone. They clenched their jaw, fingers scraping into the rough surface until the rumble passed.
"Adapt," they muttered under their breath.
Releasing one hand, Kael crafted another haiku, each line snapping in rhythm against the pounding of their heart:
"Air bends, bodies sway,
Weightless steps shall find their way,
Stone yields, I obey."
Wind coiled at their feet, lending them balance, allowing leaps from hold to hold where before they had clung tightly. The risk was greater, but the efficiency surged—they ascended faster, conserving raw strength while channeling finesse.
At the summit, Kael hauled themself over the edge, chest heaving, sweat soaking through their tunic. The roar of the crowd surged, applause and cheers for every competitor who managed the climb. Looking across, Kael spotted their fated mate standing at another section's crest, equally breathless but radiant with the fire of triumph. Their eyes met again, brief but charged with unspoken recognition.
The announcer's voice thundered once more. "Those who endure, those who break and climb, prove themselves worthy of what awaits beyond the wall. Rest briefly—your next trial looms."
Kael leaned back against the stone, heart pounding with more than exertion. The wall had been conquered, but three more trials loomed. And through them all, the bond tugged, unyielding.
---
The arena reset swiftly. The jagged wall crumbled away, sinking into the ground as if it had never been. In its place rose a forest of glasslike pillars, shimmering with shifting light. The edges blurred, bending vision in strange ways, until the field became a labyrinth of mirrored corridors stretching farther than seemed possible within the coliseum's walls.
"Second challenge," the announcer declared, their voice echoing strangely through the distortions. "The Veil Maze. Here, clarity of perception, mental fortitude, and time efficiency are the keys. Illusions will cloud your path. Not all threats will be real, but not all dangers will be false. Find the exit, and you may yet stand unbroken."
A low murmur rippled among the competitors. Some flexed their fingers nervously, others muttered preparatory incantations. Kael exhaled slowly, steadying themself. Physical exertion was one thing—illusions, however, tested something deeper.
The gong rang.
Kael stepped forward. Immediately, the world shifted. The glasslike walls refracted their reflection into dozens of images, some mimicking perfectly, others lagging behind or moving on their own. It was like walking into a hall of memories, distorted and untrustworthy.
They moved cautiously, fingertips brushing against one of the walls. It rippled like water, sending their reflection into fragments that reassembled into a twisted grin. Kael's stomach tightened.
"This is a test," they reminded themself aloud. Their voice steadied their heartbeat.
From the corner of their eye, Kael caught a familiar figure. Rys. Laughing, alive, waving them forward. The ache in their chest threatened to pull them off course. They clenched their fists, forcing breath through their lungs. "No. You're gone."
The illusion flickered, twisted, and collapsed into shadow.
One step at a time, Kael pressed forward. Every corner presented something different: family calling their name, friends in peril, enemies from childhood daring them to fight. Each vision tried to drag them backward into regret or forward into reckless action. Kael repeated the truth in their mind—none of this is real, none of this is here.
Still, the deeper they went, the more subtle the deceptions became. Sounds whispered at the edge of hearing—footsteps, breaths, even a soft laugh that belonged to no one they trusted. Once, the walls closed in until Kael gasped for air, convinced they would be crushed, only for the space to expand again as they pressed their palms to their temples.
They paused at a crossroads where three paths stretched forward, each identical. Mirrors showed their reflection—except one version blinked when Kael did not. Their jaw set. With deliberate precision, they murmured a haiku under their breath:
"Truth shines through the haze,
False eyes stumble in the maze,
Light guides through the phase."
A soft glow spread from their fingertips, illuminating the true path while the others dissolved into shadowy dead ends. They followed without hesitation.
Time pressed on. Kael's breath grew ragged. The illusions never ceased—some subtle, some overwhelming. At one point, they were certain they saw their fated mate trapped in chains ahead, crying for help. Kael's heart lurched, but something in the cadence of the voice didn't match. They forced themself to keep walking, whispering, "You're not real. They're stronger than that."
It was the hardest moment so far—to ignore the image of someone their soul already knew—but they pressed forward, clinging to trust in instinct.
Finally, light split the horizon. A gate shimmered ahead, the true exit, and Kael stumbled toward it with renewed strength. Crossing through, the maze dissolved behind them like smoke in the wind.
The coliseum roared. Competitors emerged at different times—some shaken, some weeping, a few unconscious and dragged by attendants. Not everyone endured the illusions unscathed.
Kael bent forward, hands braced on their knees, chest heaving. Across the arena, their eyes found Elowen again. They, too, had cleared the maze, though the exhaustion was plain on their face. Yet when their gazes met, something steady lingered between them, an anchor that refused to break even in the storm of deceptions.
The announcer's voice rose once more: "Those who walked through shadow and found light—rest now. One trial remains."
Kael straightened, sweat dripping down their temples. The wall tested their body. The maze tested their mind. The final challenge would test something far more personal.
And Kael already felt the faint stirring of fear.
---
The arena floor was cleared once more. This time, the transition was slower, heavier, as though the coliseum itself hesitated to reveal what was next. From the center of the grounds, a massive gate rose—arched and carved from black stone veined with silver. Its surface shimmered with a mist that shifted and pulsed, almost like breath.
The announcer's tone carried weight. "The Waking Gate. To pass through, you must face not monsters of claw and tooth, but those born of your own heart. Fear will adapt to you. Resist, adapt, and hold composure—or falter and be swallowed whole."
The crowd quieted. Even among spectators, whispers carried unease. Everyone knew: this was the trial that left scars unseen.
Competitors approached in staggered order. Kael's turn came before they were ready, though readiness might have been impossible. Each step toward the gate thudded against their ribs like a drumbeat.
As their palm brushed the surface, the mist swallowed them whole.
Darkness. Silence. Then—
A sudden roar of fire. Kael stood in the middle of a battlefield, the sky split with lightning, the ground shuddering under collapsing stone. Bodies of those they loved lay scattered: Rys, Anya, even their father. Each turned toward Kael with empty eyes.
The first wave of fear clenched like a vice. Kael's breath hitched. They're gone because of me. I failed them.
The battlefield flickered—then shifted. The academy towered above them, but flames engulfed its spires. Students screamed within. A voice echoed, cruel and familiar: You couldn't save them then. You won't save them now.
Kael staggered, palms pressed to their temples. "This isn't real."
The Waking Gate answered. The illusions adapted, weaving sharper edges. Now the flames parted, and there stood Elowen—bound, suffocating in shadows that grew tighter the closer Kael stepped. Their chest burned with the instinct to run forward, to free them.
"Not real!" Kael shouted, their voice hoarse. They forced themselves to stop, heart hammering. Every part of their being screamed to intervene, but their mind clung to the lesson: the maze had tried the same trick. This was fear, not truth.
The shadows dissolved, only for new horrors to bloom. The battlefield warped into Kael's childhood home, familiar walls rotting, collapsing. In the corner—something far worse. A mirror.
Their reflection was not themselves. Not neutral, not shifting—but their cursed form, the grotesque reality only they could see. The warped figure reached out, voice rasping: This is what you really are. No one could love this. Not even fate itself.
Kael's breath faltered. Their curse—always lurking, always clawing—struck deeper than any illusion of fire or shadow. They felt bile rise in their throat, shame curling around their ribs.
But then, memory answered. Rys's final words. Their father's steadfast presence. Elowen's steady gaze after the maze. All anchors that reminded Kael of something larger than fear.
They whispered a haiku, voice trembling but clear:
"Fear claws, yet I stand,
Roots hold firm in shifting sand,
Light steadies my hand."
The cursed reflection wavered, its sneer breaking into silence before crumbling like ash.
Kael pressed onward. Every step the gate threw new fears: abandonment, failure, loss. But Kael adapted. They bent, but did not break. Their pace steadied, their breathing calmed. And finally—light pierced the dark.
They stumbled out of the mist and fell to their knees, gasping. Sweat slicked their skin, but their eyes burned with a strange clarity.
Around them, other competitors emerged—some shaking, some sobbing, a few carried unconscious by attendants. Not all could withstand what the gate revealed.
Elowen appeared moments later, shoulders heaving but upright. When their eyes met, neither spoke. They didn't need to. In silence, they recognized the other's survival, the other's strength.
The announcer's voice rang out: "Three trials complete. Scores are being tallied. Soon, results shall be revealed."
A hush fell over the coliseum. The challenges had tested body, mind, and soul. Now came judgment.
Kael exhaled slowly, bracing for whatever number awaited them—whether victory, mediocrity, or humiliation. Somewhere deep inside, however, they already knew this: surviving mattered more than scoring. But even so… their heart beat fast as the moment drew near.
---
The coliseum's roar returned like a tide as the announcer stepped forward, scroll unfurled in his hands. Trumpets flared, signaling the moment every student dreaded or longed for: results.
"This marks the conclusion of the One Hundred and First Tournament! The trials of strength, mind, and spirit have ended, and your standings are decided."
The air tightened. Thousands of breaths held.
The announcer's voice carried through enchanted amplification.
"Top Ten — The Graduates."
> 1. Lyrian Duskthorn — 100
2. Selira Veyln — 98
3. Marek Thalor — 97
4. Ilyra Veyln — 96
5. Taren Solmere — 95
6. Coris Vaelith — 94
7. Veyra Morn — 93
8. Deryn Falren — 91
9. Ashir Thornveil — 90 (elapsed time: 2 hr 58 min)
10. Jorah Senvale — 90 (elapsed time: 3 hr 05 min)
A thunder of applause shook the arena. Ten more students walked away not as contenders but as graduates, free from the academy's looming demands.
The announcer let the cheers die before speaking again. His next words draped a heavy silence across the coliseum.
"Bottom Ten — The Expelled."
> 1001. Kairon Ylveth — 18
1002. Selric Noren — 17
1003. Feyra Duskwind — 16
1004. Gralen Veyth — 15
1005. Toren Hallith — 13 (elapsed time: 7 hr 12 min)
1006. Orlis Merrow — 13 (elapsed time: 7 hr 24 min)
1007. Deylin Arresh — 11
1008. Kyris Daeval — 9
1009. Fenric Morrow — 8
1010. Belarith Zeyn — 5
No cheers followed this list. The coliseum remained silent, the weight of those names pressing like stone on everyone's shoulders.
The rest—the great bulk of the academy—would receive their results privately.
Attendants moved swiftly through the competitors, handing sealed slips to each. Kael accepted theirs with a trembling hand.
They unfolded the paper, eyes scanning the numbers:
Kael Veyrith — Placement: 637th
Total Score: 47
Elapsed Time: 4 hr 36 min
Breakdown:
Break the Wall
Raw Power: 6/10
Efficiency: 5/10
Creative Application: 4/10
The Veil Maze
Clarity of Perception: 6/10
Mental Fortitude: 5/10
Time Efficiency: 4/10
The Waking Gate
Resilience: 6/10
Adaptability: 5/10
Composure: 5/10
Showmanship: 1/10
Kael exhaled. Middle of the road. Nothing brilliant, nothing shameful. They had survived. That would have to be enough.
Nearby, the stranger who had fought beside them through the maze and gate approached, her own slip folded in her hand. Her eyes found Kael's, steady as always.
"I placed 631st," she said quietly. "Score: 49. Elapsed time: 5 hr 02 min."
Kael blinked, a strange heat rising to their chest. So close. Their results mirrored each other, as though the trials themselves acknowledged something between them.
She gave the faintest of nods, a small acknowledgment, before slipping back into the crowd.
The coliseum began to disperse. Some wept, some cheered, some clutched their slips in silence.
Kael folded theirs carefully and slipped it into their pocket. The number would not define them, nor the curse that still weighed on their soul. Yet, for the first time, standing on those grounds, they felt the faintest spark of something unspoken—like destiny breathing just at their shoulder.
And they knew this was only the beginning.