7. The Proving #2
Gods, the stars sang as they fell.
They plummeted toward me, each one a separate heartbeat of raw, undiluted power. High and wild as they slammed into my outstretched palm with enough force to shatter bone. I could taste starfire and eternity, could smell smoke and cosmic dust—ancient and terrible and mine .
The rush of it threatened to tear me apart. To remake me into something other.
And a treacherous, damning thought slithered through my mind as starlight flooded my veins: This is what I was born for. This is what I am.
Every sense sharpened to painful clarity—I could count the reflections of each star on the mirror-bright floor, could hear hearts stuttering in chests, could taste power and possibility on my tongue.
I should have been incinerated. Should have been reduced to ash and memory. Instead, their light poured into me like molten gold, merging with the magic already burning through my veins.
I looked up at the Aesymar and smiled with every ounce of arrogance I possessed.
The silence that followed was absolute. The Legends themselves had gone motionless on their thrones, and for one perfect moment, I let myself believe I had won.
That this would be enough.
Drakor stepped forward and began to clap. Slow, measured applause that somehow managed to sound mocking.
"What a valiant display of power," he called out, his voice carrying the particular tone one might use to praise a child's finger painting.
Drakor's smile widened, and his expression curdled my relief. It was the kind of smile that preceded very bad things.
"However," he said, letting the word hang in the air, "there’s still no blood on the floor."
Understanding hit, and it was like being gutted with a dull knife.
This wasn’t a simple display of our powers.
This was a culling.
And I—arrogant fool that I was—had just painted the biggest target imaginable on my back.
Well. Fuck.
The god gestured flippantly, as if encouraging us to continue with our little slaughter for his amusement. The other contestants stood frozen for a heartbeat, processing what he'd just said. What it meant. Then, slowly, inevitably, several pairs of eyes turned toward me.
The first move came before I'd finished processing the new reality.
Vines erupted from the arena floor, wrapping around the legs of the closest contestant, and yanking her down.
She screamed once before thorns burst from the vines, tearing through flesh and silencing her forever.
Thick black sap leaked from her wounds as blood pooled across the floor, staining the white stone in crimson.
The killer turned toward me next, his face twisted with determination. "Sorry," he said, "but I'm not dying here."
Fuck. Need something. Need ? —
Power exploded through my palms. Wild. Violent. My bones ached with the force of it. Light poured between my fingers, too bright, too hot. I tried to push it away—shield, blast, anything—but the power gripped back, claiming my hands as its anchor.
It writhed, twisted, condensed, and something solid materialized.
A sword.
Pure starlight given killing form.
Vines shot toward me, these armed with thorns the size of daggers. I stumbled backward, raising my sword instinctively. The blade cut through the plants like they were paper, but more kept coming.
Just as the vines surrounded me, the fire-wielder came at him from the side, flames roaring from her hands. He screamed as the fire consumed him, the smell of burning flesh filling the air.
Screams of agony tore through the arena as one of the other contestants slammed into the marble floor, another scarlet puddle leaking out.
I doubled over, bile rising in my throat. So much blood. So much death. Just like in the cave, just like?—
No. I forced myself upright, hands shaking as I gripped my star-sword. The woman blessed with fire was standing over a burning corpse, flames still dancing around her fingers. She turned toward me, her face set with grim determination.
We stared at each other across the blood-soaked arena as she took a step towards me.
The energy blast came from nowhere. A concentrated burst of pure force that slammed into the fire-wielder's chest with a wet, terrible sound. She crumpled instantly, her flames guttering out as she hit the marble floor.
I spun around, star-sword raised, and found myself facing the last contestant. Energy crackled around his hands.
"Nothing personal," he said, already moving.
The first attack came fast. I got my sword up just in time, the blade absorbing the impact, but the force still sent me sliding backward. My arms screamed with the shock of it.
Another blast. Another desperate block.
I was going to die here. Unless I killed him first.
The thought hit me like ice water. I'd never killed anyone. Never even wanted to. But as another energy blast charged between his palms, survival instinct kicked in.
I had to move. Had to?—
He hesitated. Maybe rebuilding his attack, maybe just catching his breath. I didn't care. This was my chance.
I lunged forward, star-sword raised, every muscle in my body screaming as I closed the distance between us. He saw me coming. Started to raise his hands. Too late.
The blade was inches from his throat when the horn sounded. Both my opponent and I froze, our eyes snapping towards the Legends.
One of them had raised her hand.
"You have both proven yourselves exceptional," she announced, her voice like honey. "Congratulations, Thais and Vance. Next group."
I was breathing hard, my whole body shaking from adrenaline and terror. The Legends looked vaguely amused but were already losing interest.
No. I couldn't let this opportunity slip away.
"Wait!" I screamed, terrified that the same magic that had brought me here was about to whisk me away. "Please!"
Every gaze snagged back to me.
"Please, I must speak with you!" I begged, walking toward the thrones on unsteady legs, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity despite the bodies I was passing.
Their eyes followed my movement, and I found myself making brief eye contact with Xül. The intensity of his stare sent lightning through my veins—he was the most intimidating presence I'd ever encountered. I couldn't hold his gaze, so I turned toward the one who had stopped the fighting.
She simply raised a perfect eyebrow.
"There has been a mistake in the calling of the blessed," I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. "My brother has been brought here based on assumption, but I must request that you let him go. He has no powers."
Murmurs rippled through them.
"I believe the Aesymar would not allow the murder of someone unable to defend themselves," I continued, letting desperate sincerity bleed into my voice. "Someone who has not been blessed shouldn't be allowed to participate. This has all been a misunderstanding."
"How touching," another of the Legends drawled, examining her nails. "The devoted sister, willing to risk everything for her beloved brother."
"Oh, Elysia," Nyvora said with a laugh. "The sentiment truly does warm my heart. How sweet the love of siblings can be."
Hope fluttered in my chest. If they loved a story, maybe this could actually work. It would only make them look more just and merciful if they spared an innocent life.
"What do you think, Miria?" Drakor asked, his gaze shifting to the woman who had stopped the fight. "Any thoughts on sibling devotion?"
Miria pursed her perfect lips, but she did not answer him.
Drakor trained his eyes on me. And when he smiled, it was like watching a leopard bare its teeth.
"How about we meet this brother of yours?" he said, his voice carrying the bored tone of someone suggesting tea. "Bring him in."