The eastern part of the Lusterian Palace shone with a beauty that was out of this world. Crystal chandeliers hung like frozen stars, shedding rainbow-colored light over marble floors that had been polished to a mirror sheen. Tapestries depicting ancient wars adorned white stone walls. Gilded columns framed archways, revealing manicured gardens beyond towering windows, where fountains danced under the sun's golden gaze.
Captain Thorne's boots echoed as he led the group through endless corridors. "The Royal Champions' quarters," he declared, his voice crisp with authority. "Each of you gets a private suite, plus access to training grounds, common areas, and a personal armory."
Jace tried to focus, but the weight of countless eyes made his skin prickle. Servants, guards, and nobles lined the halls, their whispers trailing him like ghosts.
"That's a champion? Him?"
"Goddess of Desire? Never heard of her."
"He looks like he's lost."
The words stung, each one a blade twisting in his chest. Jace kept his face blank, but inside, he burned. Why me? He wasn't like the others—Tor's hulking strength, Kael's arcane brilliance, or Dren's golden charisma. He was just… Jace.
"Hope the furniture's warded against vermin," Dren quipped, his flawless smile aimed at a gaggle of swooning noblewomen.
Jace's fists clenched, but before he could respond, Zara's voice sliced through the air. "Careful, Dren. Arrogance has killed more heroes than demons. Prove your worth before questioning others."
The corridor fell silent. Even the staff froze, stunned by her sharp rebuke. Dren's smile twitched, a flicker of irritation breaking his perfect mask. "Just a jest," he muttered, but his eyes glinted with malice.
"It's fine," Jace said, though his voice trembled with suppressed rage. You'll see, Dren. I'll show you what this 'vermin' can do.
As they walked on, Kael drifted closer, his piercing gaze fixed on Jace. "Your aura… it's wrong," he murmured, low enough for only Jace to hear. "Distorted, like a reflection in rippling water. What magic did your goddess grant you?"
Jace's heart raced. "I don't know what you mean," he said, forcing calm.
Kael frowned, undeterred. "It's layered, fractured. Not like ours."
Before Jace could deflect, Tor's massive hand landed on Kael's shoulder, nearly buckling the mage's knees. "Leave him be," Tor rumbled. "The gods chose him. That's enough."
Kael hesitated, then fell back, though his curious stare lingered. Jace exhaled, grateful for Tor's intervention but uneasy under the scrutiny.
******
Dawn broke over the palace's martial courtyard, a vast arena ringed by weapon racks and gleaming armor stands. Sergeant Major Aldric, a grizzled veteran, barked orders. "Basic combat assessment! We need to know what you're capable of."
The champions shone. Tor's practice blade moved with devastating precision, each swing a lesson in raw power. Kael summoned flames and frost, turning drills into spectacles. Elliot's daggers danced with lethal grace, while Zara's swordplay was a study in control. Even Dren, for all his arrogance, fought with effortless skill.
Then came Jace.
The sword felt alien in his hands, too heavy, too unwieldy. His footwork faltered, his stance full of holes. Every strike missed its mark, weak and clumsy. Sweat stung his eyes as he lagged behind, his breaths ragged.
"He's a liability," Dren said during a water break, his golden hair untouched by the morning's exertion. "Dead weight will get us killed."
Zara nodded, her voice heavy. "I don't doubt the gods, but this… feels like a mistake."
Jace's cheeks burned, but before the criticism could escalate, a voice boomed from above. King Aldren stood on a balcony, his presence commanding silence. "We will Judge the champions by their results, not their beginnings."
The words were firm, final. Training resumed, but Jace felt the others' skeptical glances.
******
That evening, the champions gathered around a fire pit in the barracks courtyard for a "team-building" exercise. The crackling flames cast long shadows, but the mood was tense, more funeral than feast.
Jace sat apart, staring at the sparks spiraling into the starry sky. Today's failures replayed in his mind, each one a reminder of how out of place he was.
"Mind if I join you?" Tor's deep voice broke his thoughts.
Jace blinked, surprised. The giant warrior stood nearby, holding a leather pouch and two wooden cups. "Sure," Jace said, scooting over.
Tor sat, the stone bench groaning under his weight. He offered the pouch. "Dried fruit from the Northern Reaches. Eases the pain of hard training."
Jace took a piece, its sweet-citrus tang surprising him. "Your homeland?"
"Mountain country," Tor said, pouring mulled wine into the cups. "Builds strength." He handed Jace a cup. "Do you believe you can handle this? The mission, the demons?"
Jace sipped the wine, its warmth spreading through him. He glanced at the others as they talked among themselves. "Honestly? I don't know if I'm strong enough. Or skilled enough. But yeah,I was chosen for a reason. I'll handle it. I have to."
Tor's hand rested on Jace's shoulder, gentle despite its size. "That's what counts. Keep at it. The gods chose you for a reason."
The warmth of Tor's words eased the ache in Jace's chest.
"Well, isn't this sweet," Dren's voice cut in. He sauntered over, his perfect features twisted in a sneer. "The giant and the goblin, bonding over delusions."
"Dren," Tor warned.
"No, it's fine," Dren pressed, leaning closer to Jace. "With a face like yours, no wonder your goddess is Desire. Only divine pity could make anyone want you."
Jace's control frayed, rage and humiliation surging. Around the fire, the others watched, tense.
"Enough," Zara snapped.
But Dren wasn't done. "At least the demons will laugh themselves to death when they see you—"
Jace's cup flew, striking Dren's temple with a crack. Wine splashed across his face, his hand touching the spot and coming away red. Shock flickered in Dren's eyes, then fury.
"You little—" Dren lunged, but Tor rose, his bulk a towering threat.
"Next one who throws something, I throw them," Tor growled.
The air crackled with tension. Dren froze, his composure shattered. Jace looked at him with pure anger.
"We're supposed to be a team," Elliot said, his voice cutting through the silence. "How do we face demons if we're fighting each other?"
Dren muttered something about "weak links" and stalked off, wine dripping from his hair. The group dispersed, the exercise a failure. Jace sat alone, staring at the dying fire. He'd stood up to Dren, but the golden champion's hatred was now a blade at his back.
******
Lila stood on her balcony studying the stars, their patterns a cryptic language that offered no comfort tonight. The question gnawed at her—who was Wart's patron goddess?
Soft footsteps on stone made her turn. Zara jumped down from the roof.
"You're troubled," Zara said, joining her at the balcony's edge.
"His goddess," Lila murmured, not needing to name who. "I've searched every text, every scroll. No divine signature matches what I sense around him. It's like she doesn't exist."
Zara moved closer. "You'll drive yourself mad with questions that have no answers. Not tonight."
"But what if—"
"Lila." Zara's hand found hers, fingers intertwining. "What if the sunrise doesn't come tomorrow? What if the palace crumbles? You can't carry every uncertainty."
The scholar's breath caught as Zara stepped behind her, arms encircling her waist. "Some mysteries," Zara whispered against her ear, "are meant to unfold in their own time."
Lila leaned back into the embrace, feeling some of the tension ease from her shoulders. "And if he's dangerous?"
"Then I'll be watching." Zara turned her gently, silver eyes meeting green in the moonlight. "I promise you, I'll keep close eyes on him."
Their lips met in a kiss. When they parted, Lila's worries hadn't vanished, but they felt manageable.
"Stay tonight?" Lila asked.
Zara's answer was another kiss, deeper this time. "You know I can't."