JAX POV
Today was one of those days I detest.
Today was the day all the Gifted challengers…from the lowest ranks to the highest…were arriving in Brasshall. The Trials of Iron Spire had begun.
Another year of dealing with the endless parade of elites, wannabes, and political pawns. Another year of forced smiles, polite nods, and eyes everywhere, measuring, judging, calculating my every move.
I could feel it already… the tension in the air, thick and sticky, like blood mixed with dust. The streets around the arena would be crawling with warriors, spies, and magicians, each trying to prove themselves, each trying to outshine the next.
And me? I had to wade through all of them, as usual, keeping my temper in check while reminding everyone I wasn't just another challenger. I was the Enforcer of Verlis.
The thought made my jaw tighten.
Great. Another year of proving what they already feared….and envied.
I ran a hand through my hair, brushing it back as I walked toward the gates. My boots clicked against the stone floor, steady and deliberate. No one would mistake my confidence for arrogance. That was a luxury the king allowed… if you were sharp enough to wield it.
I inhaled deeply, tasting the mix of sweat, dust, and nervous energy. Another year, another trial, another battle. And somehow, somewhere in this chaos, my betrothed would be there too.
I clenched my fists. Let's get this over with.
I stood among the other high-rank Gifted, my posture relaxed but my senses alert. Around me, they jostled for position, whispering, preening, trying to seem impressive.
Down the long line stretching before the gates, I watched those eager to compete at the Trials. Bright eyes, hopeful faces, unaware of what awaited them. If only they knew…
Most wouldn't make it past registration.
Every year, the test was different. A new trial devised to weed out the weak, the reckless, and the undeserving. And this year, the king had ordered it to be brutal. No mercy. No hesitation. Every challenger would be pushed to their limit… and beyond.
I could feel it in the air…. fear, excitement, ambition. Some would fail before they even had the chance to draw a sword. Others would stumble under the weight of their own arrogance.
I crossed my arms, letting a small, bitter smile tug at my lips. It was fascinating, in a grim sort of way, to watch them line up, imagining their defeat before it even began.
The king's orders were clear… the Trials were not for glory. They were for survival. And in Brasshall, only the strong… or the clever.. would endure.
I shifted slightly, scanning the crowd. My attention caught on the movements, the subtle shifts in posture, the nervous flicker in some eyes. My instincts hummed like a live wire. This year… it would be interesting.
I watched as they moved forward, one by one, into Brasshall.
Some cried, trembling as the gates swallowed them. Fear clawed at their faces, wet streaks cutting through dust and sweat. Their hands shook as they clutched weapons or charms, desperate for something… anything… to protect them.
Others smiled, too eager, too confident, strutting like they already owned the Trials. Some glanced at the ones crying, sneering, thinking bravery was measured in arrogance.
I could feel it all…hope, fear, pride, desperation..mixing in the air like smoke. It was intoxicating, in a way. Reminded me why I'd earned my place here, and why so many would not survive it.
A bitter laugh escaped me, quiet enough not to draw attention. Fools. They think this is a game. They don't know the rules… or the king's cruelty.
I shifted my weight, keeping my eyes on the line. Every small movement mattered. Every glance, every twitch of a hand, gave away weakness. The Trials didn't reward charm or luck. They rewarded survival.
And for most, survival ended before it even began.
I let the crowd flow past me, not touching, not interfering. Observation was key. Patience. Power. They would learn soon enough…
They strolled in, one after another, presenting their passes. I collected each one, reading their thoughts as I did… checking for tricks, lies, or… assassins. My second assignment today, besides surviving the Trials, apparently included making sure no one tried to kill the king before it even started.
Fuck, I muttered under my breath. Being inside other people's heads was never pleasant. Some were monstrous… dark, vicious, plotting murder or worse. Some were perverted, ogling in ways that made my teeth grind. And some… were just stupid. Mindless chatter echoing with nonsense.
"Next." I called, holding out my hand for the next pass.
And then I looked up.
There she was.
The lady who had stolen from me. The one who had moved like smoke and vanished like a ghost in the market. Standing here in Brasshall, calm and composed, as if she owned the place.
Judging by the crest on her chest, she was no doubt a noble.
My jaw tightened. I had expected many things in the Trials. Assassins. Cheaters. Brutes. But her? I hadn't expected her to show up.
Her gaze met mine, and I could see the shock on her face. She stumbled backward, nearly losing her balance.
My eyes burned into hers.
I tried to read her thoughts. Nothing. Blank.
I frowned, confused. Nothing? Her mind was unreadable…. like stone.
"You just got here… and you're about to get yourself killed," I said, voice low and cold.
She hesitated under my stare. I could tell she was nervous. Good. Let's see how long that lasts.
"I don't have all day… hand me your pass," I added, my gaze locked on her. Still nothing. No hint of her thoughts.
I glanced down at the pass she handed over.
I couldn't believe my eyes.
"You're a Duskbane?" I asked, shocked.
"Yes," she muttered softly, voice small but steady.
I swallowed the surge of disbelief. My betrothed… Faye Duskbane. Daughter of the notorious Malric Duskbane… that scumbag whose reputation made my blood boil. And now, his daughter happened to be a thief.
I stared at her coldly, my mind racing and yet… eerily still.
"Welcome to Brasshall," I said, letting the words drip with ice. "I hope you don't die too early."