The Book of End's End: Fighting Dogs- Chapter 12-13 (Patreon)

Chapter 12

“Stop fidgeting.”

The surgeon spoke with an iron tone, one Crow had heard before in his school teacher back at Selsis. It compelled him to remain still for all of a second, then an irritated hiss replaced it as his pained twitches returned.

“Sorry.” He mumbled. The apology only served to draw a sigh from the old woman.

“You’d be sorry if you were receiving treatment from one of my idiot assistants, those girls would probably stitch your head to a shoulder if you moved this much.”

“Is there a reason I’d be treated by them?”

The question dragged a wicked smile across her face.

“Aye. We’ve been a bit overtaxed this last day. More injured contestants than the last two Sieves combined, and three quarters so many doctors. A lot have been thrown to the apprentices.”

Crow suppressed a shudder as he felt the pain of needle piercing flesh return, mouthing a silent thanks to the Teary Eyed Goddess.

“I’m finished.” The woman said, standing back and nodding to herself as she eyed Crow’s shoulder. “Give your arm a move and tell me how it feels.”

He did as instructed. Tentatively at first, then quicker and farther. In moments Crow’s arm was moving almost to its usual limits, and without even a twinge of pain. A firm grab from the doctor stopped him from testing it more.

“Easy there boy, don’t overdo it.”

Crow grinned as he turned to the woman.

“Why not? It doesn’t hurt at all!”

He’d heard tales of magical healing, Galad had even shown him something of its effects once or twice, but seeing grazes be undone at a touch hadn’t prepared him for such an immediate difference. Even feeling the proof, he found it difficult to believe his arm could have been mended so easily.

“It doesn’t hurt because the thread I used is numbing the flesh around it while you’re healed. That won’t make it any harder to tear or sprain if you jerk it around before it’s finished.”

Crow quickly let his arm relax, carefully lowering it to one side as the doctor’s grip opened.

“That being said,” she continued, “The fact that you’re able to move it so much at all is evidence that the suturing is fine.”

He wanted to ask what suturing was, but it was far from the most pressing question.

“How long will it be until I’ve fully recovered?”

That earned him a snort.

“Every year I get this, a dozen contestants all worried they’ll be at any kind of disadvantage by their next task. Don’t worry, boy, you won’t be asked to compete for two days at least. That’s time enough for your recovery to finish.”

Crow couldn’t imagine the aches disappearing from his body so quickly as that. His disbelief must have been clear, for the elder continued.

“I did say your treatment was magical, no? It won’t regrow an arm, but you’re lucky enough not to need it to. By the end of the day your stitches will fall out and you can rub away the ointment I applied to your bruises.”

“One day will be enough to heal me?”

“One day will be enough to mostly heal you.” The doctor corrected. “The day after that, you’ll still be recovering more quickly than usual from the residual effects of… well, all the things I used to treat you. Just don’t fight any oigral and you should be fine.”

He’d thanked her before leaving. It seemed to Crow that the staff of the medical wing were eager to see his back, though a glance at the people lining outside to take his place let him realise why.

The Crux had seemed large when he’d gazed upon it from afar. Sitting at the centre of Udrebam and peering at him over the tops of buildings, like the central jewel of a crown. To his amazement its scale had only grown as he entered it.

The sight had stunned Crow so much he’d almost been hesitant to go in, even after receiving such strong urging from the Sieve’s attendants.

It had taken him the better part of half an hour to find his way, long enough that he’d worried about missing Astra’s meeting in the delay.

Leaving was little easier; the snaking corridors still confounded his sense of direction, testing his tender legs with their length.

When he finally escaped into the frigid world outside, it relieved him enough that Crow barely even noticed the greying skies or slashing winds. To his surprise, the grim weather brought a comfort to him.

Like the weather in Selsis, he realised.

The streets were no less busy than they’d been when he first walked through them; cobbles and slabbed stone in place of mud or grass, glimpsed only as occasional grey flashes between the million legs shuffling atop them.

A hundred colours caught the dim, cloud-broken light. Zoric red and Xion gold, yet others too. Whites he knew to signify the Taikan Empire, then the dark blues of the Great Have Empire seated in Arcane. All worn as ribbons or hastily sewn patches.

He’d seen a similar display upon arrival, having taken the better part of a day to realise what it. Less than half the crowds had been adorned by them, then. The number seemed to have doubled since.

A shoulder caught his own, nearly spinning Crow. By the time his stumble turned back to a walk, he found himself engulfed in yet another crowd.

They cast him one way, then the other. Moving him like a ribbon, tossed in all directions by ill-tempered winds.

His jostling grew so great that Crow began to worry it might agitate his wounds or dislodge his slate. Neither happened, but the fear remained with him until he was spat back out by the indifferent masses.

Crow found himself fighting the tides of flesh for the rest of his journey, but the struggle was soon pushed to the back of his mind. The awe that swept over him left no room for it.

Udrebam’s buildings had left him speechless when he saw them first, and beholding them once more did little to dull the feeling. They were like mountains in their stature, works of art by the impossible symmetry about their designs.

Not for the first time he wondered how each had been made. Surely over time, a generation perhaps, with many thousands of labourers working hours every day.

Before he knew it, the journey had slipped him by. Miles disappearing underfoot, half an hour gone in a blink.

He saw a familiar face; fifty feet from the ground, carved from granite and frozen in an easy smile. Gilasev Menza’s statue. Heart of Cyan Square, and just the landmark Crow had been looking for.

It was a relief to see that the masses of people thinned around it, a greater one still to find them willingly part as he squeezed through.

Astra sat at the base of the statue, legs crossed and head resting against the stone. Her eyes were closed, face lax, and Crow knew from a glance she’d entered the half-sleeping state of relaxation she claimed so important to concentration.

He almost felt guilty pulling her from it.

“Crow!” She gasped, leaping to her feet as he prodded her. The flush of her cheeks told him everything.

“You were asleep.” He grinned.

“I was meditating.” Snapped Astra, wiping the drool from her mouth’s corner with perhaps half the subtlety she aimed for. “And you’re late.”

They bickered for minutes more, though Crow could tell the argument meant no more to her than it did to him. It was nothing but a touch of normalcy, grounding them amid the titanic city and calming frayed nerves.

“This cold is going to kill me,” Astra said with a shiver. “Let’s find somewhere to get away from it for a while. I don’t really care where.”

It wasn’t difficult to find a temporary sanctuary from the weather. Udrebam seemed to have a restaurant or cafe on every street, and few were as crowded as the pavements.

Quickly settling on one of the emptier establishments, they took their seats far from the ice of windows or opening doors.

“I didn’t think I’d ever be caught this far from my bed.” Astra grumbled as they sat, rubbing her hands together to bring warmth where the sun gave none.

“You’re the one who suggested we meet here.” Crow noted, finding his own fingers stiff and slow in the anaesthetising air.

“I suggested we meet in the only landmark both of us would remember.” She countered, rather more defensive than Crow would have expected. “Though I’d probably have just given you my address and let you find it yourself, had I known it’d be this bloody cold.”

“You can call this a learning experience then.” He fought the grin that crept over his face at her irritation.

“Let’s change the subject.” Astra growled. “If I think about this weather much longer I’m going to start gnawing my fingers off.”

“The Sieve.” Crow began without pause, meeting his sister’s eye. “How did things go for you in the first stage?”

The question seemed to light a blaze behind Astra’s eyes, all hint of frigidity or discomfort melting before the unerring warmth of pride he saw within her.

“Smoothly, I’d say.”

She spoke slowly, almost carefully. The way she always did when trying to find the best way to loose whatever boast was worming its way up her throat.

“It turns out we overestimated its difficulty.”

Crow knew his sister had done no such thing. She’d been convinced from the start her power and skill would claim an easy victory, that the obstacles of the first stage would be but a pebble in her path.

He didn’t say as much, knowing from experience that reminding Astra of her bragging would only lead to a flustered and defensive answer.

“I noticed you didn’t seem very hurt afterwards,” he said instead. “But those cuts and scrapes hardly made it seem easy.”

The observation set a glint in her gaze.

“That’s because I didn’t find very many enemies capable of hurting me, though there was a giant snake that gave me some trouble.”

Her wording furrowed his brow, planting a question that almost asked itself.

“Did you not form a team for the first stage?”

He’d suspected there were differences between the challenges he’d faced in the Sieve and those thrown at contestants in other parts, but it hadn’t so much as crossed his mind that any would forego the teamwork that had been so crucial for those at his side.

“I did,” Astra clarified. “Though I can’t say my teammates were as… effective.”

“Not up to your great standards?”

“Shut up. I mean they were squabbling, incompetent idiots who could barely even look at one another’s backs without putting a knife in them out of reflex. Not to mention that they all had magic better compared to a spark than a mystic.”

Crow found an uncomfortable, fleeting familiarity in the description, quickly stifling it.

“They were really of such little help?”

A pause, then Astra sighed and shook her head fractionally.

“Well, they were of assistance, obviously. We all knew our little alliance couldn’t stand, and I wasn’t exaggerating when I said they were weaker than me by far, but still… Four extra mystics was nothing to scoff at.”

"Cannon fodder has its uses.”

Astra laughed. Crow found a strange comfort in the sound, even after only a day without hearing it.

“I think I’ve spoken enough about my own experience, what about you? How in the world did you exhaust your entire magic reserves and end up in the condition I saw yesterday?”

Crow’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth, yet he found Astra’s innocent curiosity impossible to leave unsatisfied.

He answered her. Speaking of his meeting with Unity and Ethi, their trek through the stage and the various challenges they faced, the wounds and beatings accrued by its end. He left out nothing, save that which he couldn’t bear to voice- whether for the pain of recalling it or the fear of seeing her reaction. His abandonment of Ethi remained unspoken.

“Pit.” Astra breathed, staring at him with an emotion Crow found impossible to identify.

He said nothing, nor could he bring himself to hold her eye for long.

“Crow, I’m sorry…” Continued his sister. In a moment the sadness in her voice vanished, barbed anger replacing it. “I should’ve been there to get through with you.”

“It was my fault you weren’t,” He said quickly. “I’m the one that wandered off and got us separated. Pit, we likely would’ve been separated anyway even if we’d entered together.”

Astra said nothing, the directionless anger still burning bright in her silence.

“It didn’t even put me at a disadvantage in the end.” Crow continued. “I didn’t see a single other team of mystic siblings as I competed, certainly none that made an obstacle of themselves.”

That, if not his first assurance, seemed to soften Astra. Though only by a shade.

She still said nothing, and Crow fell silent himself for all of a half-dozen heartbeats as he thought of what might part the curtains of her foul mood.

“How does it feel to compete though?” He asked, forcing a smile to show enthusiasm he didn’t feel.

Relief made his expression genuine as he saw the corners of Astra’s own mouth curling up to match his.

“Amazing.” She answered, a giggle leaving the word unstable- delight and wonderment mixing in her voice. “Do you remember the stories we used to hear about mystics and Immortals?”

He certainly did. Just the mention brought back memories of Gilasev Menza and the Dragons Three or He’aran and the Pit Lion and Rack Spackle’s escape from the Butchery. Children’s stories, and absurdities, but ones he’d somehow grown nearer to through his presence in the city.

Saying as much to Astra painted a smile across her face.

“How many of them had this sort of thing in common?” She asked. “Trials and tests and such. Pit, how many feature people catching the eye of powerful mystics and being taken in as students? I’m on the same tracks all those legends were. We both are!”

Crow found her excitement contagious. Just seeing the elation in his sister brought back memories to all the hours they'd spent speaking of how she’d storm the Sieve, her plans and backups, critiques of the strategies used by phenoms past, or simply just whichever indulgences she’d first spend her bottomless stipends on after being noticed and sponsored.

Even so, he found the extent of it disquieting.

“Being on the same tracks isn’t the same as being on the same level, you know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Astra asked, suddenly bristling.

Crow was scarcely sure himself, tripping on his tongue as he answered.

“It means you’re fifteen, like me. Measuring yourself against stories starring the greatest mystics in history is far from healthy.”

“I’m not comparing myself to them.” She answered quickly. “But… Pit, Crow, we’re where half of them started!”

Suddenly he felt guilty for even chipping away at her joy. He smiled with her again.

“We are.”

They talked for minutes more about Mirandis’ greats, the conversation seeming to take years from the world and leave them children again.

For just a moment, Crow found his mind clearing of all the great worries that had weighed it down. Then Astra’s eyes focused, ecstatic whimsy giving way to careful severity.

“Crow, why did you enter the Sieve?”

It was a question he’d expected for a month, ever since he told Astra of his plan to join her in the competition. The only surprise was that it had taken her so long to finally ask.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.” She answered; no hesitation, no uncertainty. “We had a plan, didn’t we? I’d go to the Gilasev Institute, or some powerful mystic’s domain, get myself trained for two years. You’d stay at home and make sure mum was provided for, then enter the Sieve once I was finished with the Institute so we could switch. Both of us agreed to this years ago and it hasn’t changed since. But here we are.”

“Here we are,” He muttered in agreement. Seconds passed by with an agonising slowness, and Crow swirled the acrid taste of his own deception around. It was bitter on his tongue.

“I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.”

Astra’s stare betrayed neither anger or acceptance. Crow had hoped to see both.

“Don’t apologise. Just don’t keep things from me, why are you entering the Sieve so suddenly?”

Crow said nothing, dropping his gaze and biting his tongue. After a few moments of silence his sister’s chair scraped against the ground.

“Fine then. I’ll be going now, this is the address I’m staying at.”

He looked up to see her sliding a piece of paper across to him.

“Goodbye Crow."

Chapter 13

Udrebam’s stadium had escaped comprehension when Crow last found himself within it.

He’d registered it was large, such a thing would have been impossible to miss no matter his condition, yet the structure’s true gigantism had somehow failed to truly sink into his addled mind.

He saw it now, though.

It towered no less than any of the slim, rectangular buildings he’d been so awed by on his way to meet Astra. So tall that the night might have snatched its top away from view, were it not rimmed by arclights.

Even with that, it was the structure’s breadth rather than its height that took Crow’s breath away. At only a glance he found himself certain the stadium could fit a hundred of the comparably tall blocks within its area. A thousand, even.

I was amazed at seeing people in the numbers I did before. It shouldn’t surprise me that those crowds warrant buildings of this size, at least.

No matter how much consideration he gave it, the sight still seemed impossible. Something had to be at fault. Things of such scale simply didn’t happen, not in the real world.

Realising he’d stood unmoving for the better part of a minute, Crow snapped his focus back to the present and forced his eyes from the stunning sight ahead. He began to walk, still a half mile from the looming stadium, and tried to keep himself from thinking of the masses it would surely hold.

The air had grown colder still than it was in the day, and he was almost grateful for the distraction as he pulled his light jacket tight around him. For all the shivering, Crow couldn’t help but glance back up at his destination as he approached.

At a quarter-mile he saw colours shining at different points, distinct even amid the stadium’s holistic glimmer. Halving the distance once more revealed a skeletal framework protruding from the curved tops, reaching at least a dozen fathoms inwards and forming a concave overhang.

It wasn’t until Crow was a mere hundred paces away that he was able to make out anything of the walls’ material.

That it was made from simple, dark stone was almost a disappointment. Its proportions made mere rock seem a mundanity.

He studied the structure no more than that, for the people bustling around it quickly stole his attention.

There were too many to count at a glance, any approximation would be by the thousand, but Crow could gauge their numbers enough for a chill to touch his spine at the sight.

Whatever the second stage holds, whether it be hounds or butchers, please don’t force me to move through another crowd like this.

Crow’s discomfort had barely time enough to fill his chest with ice before he found it tripled, for almost as soon as he was among the waiting people, a voice cried out and a strong hand thrust his arm into the air.

“A wrist slate! This one has a wrist slate, he’s a contestant!”

The crowd changed as water did to steam, taking only moments and terrifying Crow all the more for it.

Hands came to rest upon him from all sides, gripping and pulling him almost to the ground. In an instant he was being thrown forwards, bodies parting before him.

Were it not such a disconcerting shift to the chaotic mess he’d glimpsed from afar, the ease with which he was allowed to pass might have set a smile on his face.

He was practically thrown at the door staff, struggling to remain standing as he stumbled before them. Their eyes met his, then flickered to the slate around his arm. It took perhaps a heartbeat for their silent decision to be made.

Two attendants stepped out from behind the men, gesturing for him to follow them before disappearing back into the stadium’s entrance.

It didn’t seem he had any option besides following.

Oil lanterns were slotted along the walls around him, casting unsteady light and spasmic shadows, seeming feeble next to the constant glare of magic.

Neither attendant said anything as they walked, nor did they even glance at him. He may as well have followed in the wake of golems rather than men.

They made the comparison more apt by far as the corridor stretched on. The fatigue racking Crow’s battered legs seemed not to touch them, discomfort either imperceptible or absent altogether.

Just when Crow considered asking for a rest, the men stopped. He nearly walked into their backs following suit.

“Follow the passageway before us.” One of the men said, voice as inexpressive as his face. “It will lead you to your seating area. Enjoy your night.”

Crow mumbled a hasty goodbye to them, then hurried on his way down the passage.

The burning in his legs grew greater; every step fighting him to be taken. Seeing seats just fifty paces ahead was a greater relief than he'd expected.

Few seemed occupied, at least from where Crow stood, and fewer still held two people next to one another. As he neared them it became clear why.

All were lined with silk, velvet or some other fabric Crow had never possessed the means to grow familiar with. Spacious as armchairs, an overhang protected all of them from the elements. Just nearing the first let Crow feel the touch of magical warmth swelling from it.

He swept a gaze around, looking for some hint of where exactly he ought to be seated. Flushing at the thought of being caught within an area so fine, when his allotment was surely far from it.

Instead of staff or signs, however, he found himself glimpsing the smiling face of Astra peeking out from a dozen rows up.

She gestured for him instead of calling, but Crow understood all the same. He quickly made his way upwards and onwards, scaling the steps that bissected seats and rising to her level in moments before walking along to sit down beside her. From their elevation, every row ahead could have been occupied by a giant without compromising his view.

“I was starting to worry you’d gotten lost,” His sister said. It relieved him to see she bore no anger or hung-up irritation from their discussion earlier.

“That would’ve been a neat trick,” Crow grunted as he leaned back in the seat. His legs burned wonderfully. “Considering the size of this place.”

“I’ve learned to temper my expectations of you.” She answered.

Crow turned back to the stadium at large, finding that he could view even to the side opposite him. It seemed ridiculous. Surely something ought to stop such an unbroken gaze.

But nothing blocked his sight, save for mudying by mist and night at the far end. Not hills, not trees. Looking so long ahead sent his stomach stirring.

How on Mirandis was this place built?

Even with mysticism, it seemed impossible.

Minutes passed them by, though neither he or Astra made any great efforts to quicken time’s flow with conversation. Whether his sister still held some remnant of her previous grievance or was simply as tired as he, Crow couldn’t tell.

As if to combat their silence, the stadium grew louder around them.

People slowly filled in seating sections far from them, animating them with the infinitescimal motions of swarming ants. The sounds preceding them were unlike any Crow had heard before.

Deep, almost buzzing. Persisting in a way no human speech could, and seeming to assail his ears rather than merely reach them.

It was like hearing a hive of bees, he realised. Individuality washed away by a scale no single life could hope to make themselves known on. Persons melted into people.

His ears were pained before long, the sound chewing at his tolerance like boots ruined by hard use.

“It’s amazing isn’t it?” Astra asked.

Crow turned to see that his sister was staring out just as he had, an expression he could only imagine was close to his own widening her eyes. There was none of the discomfort, though, none of the yearning for home. Selsis had always been too small for Astra.

“Amazing isn’t the word I’d use.”

The more he took in the sight, the more he found himself shaking where he sat.

So many people have gathered, and I’m to compete against the best mystics among them?

He chewed on the thought as he waited for the proceedings to begin, and there was no small amount of time to wait for. The stadium’s unused space seemed inexhaustible, the tide of bodies endless.

But even an ocean could run dry. The stands were soon bustling in their entirety, low noise of distant excitement swelling and flattening to a constant stability.

That, too, was quelled minutes later. Silently, wordlessly, with no intervention from the staff or attendants- at least not that Crow could see. As if all present had unanimously agreed to bite their tongues.

He soon saw why.

Streams of light arced through the air like sunbeams, casting perfectly circular patches where they touched the ground and rapidly shifting along it.

They converged in seconds, shining on the entrance of a tunnel and drawing a curtain of impossible blackness across its depths through contrast.

A moment later, Crow felt his mind cast into a haze as the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen strode from the darkness.

She was tall, well over six feet, with skin the colour of varnished bronze. Her hair was black enough that it seemed wreathed in the shadows she’d emerged from, eyes a gold so unbroken and brilliant as to nearly glow in the light’s embrace.

Her face was a sharp one, yet no less breathtaking for it. And Crow recognised it almost at a glance.

“That’s Karma Alabaster!” Gasped Astra, excitement burning in her voice like a sun.

It didn’t surprise Crow. There were few people in the world he’d seen his sister half as obsessed with as the Princess of Taiklos, even with the woman’s rise to prominence being so recent as four years.

Though few would have squealed like Astra did.

Lavastro fought her face with every step.

She felt it tugging as she moved, muscles contorting like an eel held slick and loose in her hands. Struggling to twist downwards into a grimace, or to send her lips curling upward with disgust.

Still your thoughts. Seize your emotions. Master yourself.

Repeating the mantra did little to still Lavastro’s rebellious features, but she felt herself calm somewhat. It was only a short orientation. There was little reason to let herself be riled up.

Walking out into the glare of the lights, the audience’s roars hit her like the blow of a hammer.

“Princess!” They cried. “Alabaster!”

How she hated those names.

Princess, as if she were some Unixian bint with an empty head and authority handed to her by nepotistic whimsy. Alabaster, the colour of Taiklos, one accepted by the denizens of Unix for its symbolic purity and innocence.

Both words a scalpel, cutting from her true titles all connective tissue tethered to the nation she’d earned them from. Elevating her through ignorance to the level of near-civilised.

She swallowed her bitter bile, knowing it was neither the time or place.

Lavastro stopped walking as she reached the arena’s heart, waiting for the ruckus emanating from all sides of her to die down. It took the better part of a minute before she could so much as hear her own thoughts.

“Good evening, Udrebam!” She called out, injecting every scrap of positivity she could manage into the greeting.

She’d timed her words right; just late enough for impatience to grow and be quelled, just soon enough that it quickly instilled silence as a million faces leaned nearer still to hear.

“Let me be the first to welcome you all to this year’s Sieve, I’m sure it will be one to go down in history!”

Clapping answered that, sporadic and diffused throughout the titanous mass of people. Like music in her ears.

“Now, I’m sure some of you will be wondering what exactly it is that I of all people am doing presenting a Unixian event. Believe me, I’m almost as confused as you are.”

It was almost the truth. Lavastro had taken some time to piece together why she’d been offered her position in spite of recent animosity. She could almost taste the faceless crowd’s uncertainty, even with her presence announced beforehand.

“To cut the story short, I’m here as a show of good will and comradery between our nations.”

Lavastro forced as genuine a smile as was possible in the presence of so much silent scrutiny, continuing with a flourish.

“And it’s my honour to take part in this great event, hosting it for such fine people as you.”

It almost brought a wince to her face, hearing her own voice form such blatant fabrication. On a regular crowd Lavastro would surely have gotten away with it, yet the people before her were Unixian. At least half were likely Solifates, one in ten devoutely so.

Many of the people for whom she was performing would label her a savage by her nation, a whore by her atire. Such people would have been unfazed by her clothes being more appropriate to Unixian sensibilities, nor her voice taking on a closer mirror of their own accents.

Leaving both unchanged and angering them gave her solace.

“We’re all still reeling from the exciting turn of events in the first stage, I for one certainly didn’t expect half of what we saw, and this year’s Sieve is looking to be a greater pool of talent than any other. But I’m here to tell you that things will only get more exciting from here.”

That set an emotional kettle boiling, and Lavastro gauged she had a mere five seconds before the crowd produced noise too great for her voice to carry over.

She waited four before continuing, making full use of the tension.

“I’m sure it’s no secret among you that I have friends in all continents, but today it’s my privilege to announce that one of the closest among them will be making her debut into the world of mysticism in this very event.”

Once more, Lavastro waited. Knowing that it wouldn’t take long for the people before her to begin speculating.

Barely any longer before they drew near to the obvious answer.

“Gemini Menza, daughter of Gilasev Menza and new frontier of magic, will be competing from the second stage onwards- putting her own talents, and my careful tutelage, to the test against Unix’s finest. I think I speak for all of us when I wish her the best!”

Lavastro knew for a fact that she didn’t.

Gemini was a clever girl, yet even she seemed oblivious to just how tenuous her position in the world was.

Daughter of a renegade Menza, her name had little official power tethered to it in Unix. Her father’s position as Herald of the Have Empire was the only source of his true authority, save for his almost honourary position as a Unixian Baron. Even the Heraldry was more tenuous than most, by the place of his birth and shade of his skin.

And yet the cheers Gemini’s name invoked were undeniable. Talent, Lavastro supposed, was a universal currency. That the girl had four helpings of her family’s beauty couldn’t have hurt.

But then Menzas knew all about getting by on brute charisma.

“I for one can’t wait to see how she performs. Fourteen years is little time to grow into one’s powers, but I can attest personally that any who underestimate Miss Menza are going to be unpleasantly surprised.”

There would doubtlessly be those complaining about Gem’s entrance coming so early, a full year younger than other contestants were required to be. With any luck the emphasis on her youthful disadvantage would mitigate them.

“However, as much as Gemini herself would love me to continue talking about her, I think there are matters at hand of far more import- the rules and arrangements of the second stage chief among them.”

There had been a risk of losing the crowd’s focus with her tangent, but it needed to be done. Lavastro recaptured their attention by moving to the matter at hand.

She spoke quickly, sensing the novelty of her surprise wearing thin. Conveying to the crowd all that they needed to know.

Lavastro kept an eye out for faces of interest among the insignificant, gaping Unixians. Having moved on from the areas of her performance requiring the most caution, she could afford to multitask.

“The second stage will begin tomorrow, and unlike the first it will feature teams already determined by the Sieve’s organisers- the members of which will pass or fail collectively, regardless of individual action.”

No one of any note leapt out to her, even as she touched her magic and let it flow into the ocular ability she’d grown to rely on so much. Over a hundred faces flashed through her mind in a second, a thousand more by the time she paused for breath.

It was a mere fraction of the assembled crowd, and she found no sparks of recognition leaping up from the depths of her memory.

“The scrying slates you’ve surely noticed tethered about each contestant’s wrist will serve as beacon and compass alike; enchanted by Manamicists to keep their wearers aware when they’re within the vicinity of teammates. Necessary, as the contestants will not be entering each stage as teams- nor even will they be told with whom they will work.”

She saw him then, tucked away in the middle of the contestant’s section as though he were just another aspiring mystic. Blonde hair, near golden, rosey face, near copper, and eyes greener than crushed emeralds.

“Yet another difference is the objective. Unlike the first stage, it is no longer necessary to move throughout the contest area to progress… or rather, not directly necessary. Points will be the determiner of success, measured in hundreds and thousands. Gained from defeating the various enemies and obstacles left to challenge our contestants within the task. I will warn our contestants here and now, many of these will be formidable. Powerful magical creatures, or even condemned mystics given a new chance to loose their power. Be weary.”

For a moment Lavastro found herself amazed at just how unassuming the child of Temporis was. It was only seconds of staring that made her realise why.

He was just that. A child.

“As has been the case in previous years, enemies are assigned value based on how dangerous they are determined to be- something decided impartially by my fellow organisers. Chief among these is, as always, the Prime Target. For those of you who aren’t familiar with…”

She looked further, feeling her thoughts and tongue detach from one another as they had so many other times. Different arms of the same mind, independent and untouching.

Deka Xenus sat just a dozen paces from the Temporis child; her dark hair bound in a bun, ebony skin bearing an unhealthy palour. Lavastro found herself doubting the decision to have her interact with Gem before the task.

No. Second guessing is pointless, what’s done is done.

She moved on from the girl, eyes still sweeping through the crowd. Words still capturing their gaze.

Crow found himself marvelling at the Taikan princess. More than her beauty, bearing or legendary presence, he was awed slack at the knowledge that anyone could face such a crowd as unflinchingly.

Astra was leaning forwards so far as to almost drop into the seat in front. Her eyes were wide and focused, catching every word and tone from the Princess. Admiration?

Worship, surely, described it best.

He studied Alabaster as she spoke, finding himself surprised by the eloquence with she did so. As if her speech were a painting, every syllable the masterful stroke of a brush.

Unusual among Taiks after all. Certainly nothing like the warring, backwards savages so many stories and anecdotes told tale of.

It was almost enough to distract him from the Sieve’s rules. Almost

Crow latched onto Alabaster’s every word, frantically searing them into his mind even as he listened for those that followed. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing his memory could store everything as well as it did images.

He wasn’t sure how long Alabaster spoke for. Long enough that the crowd grew restless, at least. Before she stopped, Crow swore he saw the woman’s eyes flick over to rest directly upon him.

It lasted no more than a second, but it was time enough for a chill to run down his back. Something about the look left him ill at ease. At once impassive and appraising.

The feeling was almost enough to keep Crow from noticing what else she said.

We won’t be entering together?

It was news as bad as he could have expected. His abilities were useless in long distance travel or scrying, any contestant with capacity in those areas would find advantage over him.

The thought weighed on him long after Alabaster’s speech concluded, stifling even the radiance of her smile as she bid the crowd goodnight. He clapped absently, along with most of the stadium, stopping only when she disappeared back into the tunnel from which she’d emerged.

“Is something wrong?”

He turned to Astra, almost feeling guilty at the concern that suddenly tainted her joy.

“No, I’m just thinking about the second stage. Can’t say I like my odds.”

He forced a smile, hoping to still her worry.

“Don’t get too hung up on that, Birdie. I’ll certainly be with you from here on out- and I don’t intend to let you go through another stage alone.”

“How do you intend to find me?” Crow asked. “Pit, what do you expect to do even if you can? We have no control over which team we end up in.”

Astra grinned. There was a ferocity behind the expression, older and wilder than he'd seen her.

“You keep forgetting, I actually planned on entering this year’s Sieve- for years in fact. I’ve learned everything I could about the previous ones, even without your memory.” Her smile widened. “And from what I can tell, familiarity has always been a big factor in team-building.”

It dawned on him then, painting across his face a grin to match Astra’s.

“You mean we’ll be on the same team?”

“I do.” She answered. “Or rather, we almost certainly will be. Frankly if someone manages to be more familiar with either of us than we are with each other, it will be through Manamis.”

“What’s our plan then?” He asked. The questioned earned a look scathing enough to make his skin itch.

“Are you just expecting me to spoon-feed you one?”

Crow said nothing, which seemed enough of an answer for his sister.

“Well, it’s not like I hadn’t thought of it already.”


Unixian Alliance Mystic Recruitment Poster, Sponsored by the Zoric Faction, Location: Udrebam. Circa 1,195 I.E.