I'm feeding ya'll with 6 chapters today. (Patreon)

SO, I have been a bit late on getting you a few chapters of the new and improved Better Dead I am taking to trad. Why? I am nervous. That simple. 🤷 This draft has not had a prose focused edit and the information conveyed hasn't been fine tooth combed.

That being said though...

I do think it could be neat for you all to see. This is my pre-editor draft that an agent said was good enough to shop around once I finish it. Plus, I can now receive feedback from you all on a sizable chunk of the story. That is right, I WANT TO HEAR FROM A HORDE OF BETA READERS!

If you come back at me with, "missing comma here"--- thank you but not exactly helpful at this stage.

Some thing with names and mechanics of the world. A lot of placeholder is here.

Feedback more about character and plot though would be super helpful, so please provide as much as possible.

That all being said, enough preamble. Enjoy chapters 1-6 of "Better Dead"

Chapter 1 - Advent 

Shouts and chants from the fervent masses echoed up from the streets below, the loudest among them clearly carrying over the roar of the airship’s engines. This high up, their faces blurred together, flickering in the torchlight. Candles danced in their cupped hands, turning the streets and alleys into rivers of firelight. Each snaked its way steadily towards the prominent spires of the Magisterium's Sanctum.

They’d taken an airship across the ten kingdoms; all that way from his home Kingdom of Hume to the continent's capital in peace, but the trip now ended above fire and riots.

Mikael leaned heavily on the railing, his head swimming from the alcohol and altitude. What drove them? What fueled their fervor? Was it hope or despair? His thoughts blurred as he tried to make sense of it all.

“Mikael, did you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Mikael answered Kameron. “You're sure she did it in his sleep?”

Kameron nodded, joining Mikael, his lord and friend at the railing. “Cost several pretty pennies, but I trust my source. She’s a killer.”

Mikael closed his eyes, wishing he could force his stomach to unclench. “Doesn’t mean she’ll do it again, right?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Not necessarily,” Mikael repeated, the uncertainty gnawing at him.

Kameron’s one crystal blue and one brown eyes followed Mikael’s gaze to the source of the commotion below, making him curse. “War’s over, and still there’s no peace. Why won’t the Grandmaster let your father do what he does best?”

Mikael muttered, “You don’t sic the dogs on your own people.”

Kameron shrugged in disagreement, his expression uncaring.

Exhaling with a dry heave, Mikael swallowed down a renewed wave of nausea. He had been at war with his body ever since they had departed, and so far, it showed no signs of surrender. Silence stretched, leaving only the wind and the roar of the airship drifting over the city. Soon, they would be at the Magisterium. There would be a few hours of solitude and then the trials would begin.

Finally.

“You sure it’s just the booze?” Kameron asked.

“Stop,” Mikael snipped. “Just give me a minute.”

“Sure.” Kameron clapped him on the back, his hand trembling from the chill that prickled Mikael's skin. “The thing is… you can heal off booze. Can’t say the same for nerves. Never seen you not clear up a hang over with–”

“Can you not, p—” Mikael lost the fight with his stomach.

Wiping bile from his lips, Mikael felt his shaded spectacles slip down his face. Blindly, he fumbled for them, leaning forward. His finger brushed against the frame, stretching, nearly hooking around the edges, before Kameron yanked him back, and the glasses tumbled from his grasp to the earth below.

“Gods, Mikael! I refuse to be the last person seen with you before you fall to your godsdamn death.” Kameron tugged at Mikael’s jacket collar, covering up the black eyes he’d inked along Mikael’s collarbones this very morning. “Careful, yeah?”

“It’s more suspicious to try and hide them, Kam.” Feeling a tad more sober, Mikael felt confident enough to pull back from the railing.

Kameron proffered a kerchief, which Mikael accepted gratefully, wiping spittle and sweat before letting it, too, fall to the earth below. “Thanks.”

“You’d do the same,” Kameron lied, not that either one of them cared.

“That was my favorite pair,” Mikael murmured, moving to sit against the railing, resting his head against the cool metal. “Getting them colored took… ages.”

He took a drink from the glass of water Kameron offered, rinsing and spitting over the side of the airship.

“Think you’ll be able to come back upstairs?”

Mikael nodded, powering a minor healing talisman to further clear his head. “Give me a moment.”

Kameron hesitated. “Promise no more leaning over the railing?”

Mikael raised a thumb in a commoner’s salute, “Promise.”

“You might’ve ruined someone’s night down there, so… yeah. There’s that.” Kameron smoothed Mikael's collar down over the ink again, checking its progress. “Still needs some time,” he mumbled before turning away. “Right. I’ll go.”

As Mikael watched Kameron march up the spiral staircase to the hatch, his form strong and confident, he couldn't help but appreciate the sight. He tugged his jacket tighter around him, his fingers tracing the intricate embroidery with a sense of familiarity and comfort. The fabric was worn, but it held memories, a reminder of home.

These past few days had been a blur of noise and activity, privacy a rare commodity as they journeyed to his Rite. Now, for a precious few minutes, he found himself alone below the gondola, the quiet space a welcome respite from the endless chatter above. The distant murmur of voices filtered down, but down here, it felt muted, almost dreamlike.

He closed his eyes, letting the gentle sway of the gondola wash over him. His senses tuned into the creak of the wood and the soft hum of the engine above. In this moment, he could breathe, the weight of the upcoming Rite pressing less heavily on his shoulders. He savored the stillness, knowing it would be short-lived.

Despite everything, Mikael enjoyed the noise of the crowd below. Their voices were powerful—raw and beautiful, a symphony of pain and protest. It was the sound of people finally expressing their struggles, and it filled him with hope. Even if they didn't see him as an ally, he recognized their potential.

Born from a severed Magus, Mikael’s talent had been stunted from birth. The inherited curse was a shadow over his early years, a constant reminder of his limitations. Yet, it wasn't as crippling as his father's affliction. With his father's unwavering guidance and relentless determination, he learned to navigate and overcome the obstacles of his cursed inheritance.

Mikael still remembered the day he graduated—it was the very month the war ended. The timing felt like a cruel twist of fate, leaving him without the opportunity to prove his abilities on the battlefield. Instead of valor and victory, Mikael was left with an untested talent, honed in practice but never in the crucible of war.

With the Centuries War done, life as a Magus chafed almost immediately. Without the constant threat of combat, Mikael’s duty was to dedicate his life to research. He focused on attaining the rank of Master as quickly as possible for greater freedom. Within two years of graduating, he was so successful in his specialization that the Grandmaster herself sponsored him for this year’s trials—the youngest ever. Aside from one other contender.

Parker godsdamn Veros.

As long as Mikael dealt with her, he could carry the family’s name and mantle into a new era. The thought gnawed at him, the hope that Father might finally be proud of how he bore it. He hated that lingering part of himself that still craved his father's approval, the same part that had endured his harsh words and heavy hand. Yet, here he was, driven by the need to prove himself, even if it meant confronting the dark legacy his father left behind.

“Mikael!” A voice called from above.

Looking up, he squinted, unable to make out the figure silhouetted against the faesferes lights within the gondola. The lights cast a warm, ethereal glow, typical of the talent-powered technology now dominant in the post-war resource-rich economy. Just like the faesferes, most of their technology ran on distilled talent, its soft, persistent burn a constant reminder of the magic interwoven with their daily lives.

“Yeah?” he called over the engine.

“C’mon! Radio says we’ll be there in less than an hour! You can’t spend your final minutes sulking alone!”

“Alright, yeah, I’ll come up.” He tossed another lazy thumbs up.

The door shut, and his moment of peace was over. The sound of glass shattering below echoed in the night, burning any chance of it returning.

It doesn’t mean she wants to kill me.

Standing back up, Mikael was surprised by how much the world tilted.

Not sober.

With Kameron in mind, he held tight to the railing on his way up the stairs. His weight did shift dangerously back once, nearly sending him back down the stairway. Getting to the top, he ran fingers through long dark hair before tugging his jacket straight. He said a prayer to his ancestors to let him avoid anymore of his father’s drunken friends, full of warnings for what was to come, and to just let him slip peacefully to the bar. More than anything, he wanted to get to his rooms quietly, go rinse off and finish preparing—

“Hail the Reaper’s Heir!” Hollered Kameron as the door opened.

Dozens of glasses raised at Mikael’s return.

Forcing a smile, Mikael lifted a fist in acknowledgment, a bitter reminder of the legacy he was trying so desperately to reshape. Stiffly, he began making the rounds of socially required final goodbyes before their arrival.

The faces of his close and distant family—both supporters and skeptics—fused together against a backdrop of white tablecloths and low-burning spheres. Their expressions ranged from admiration to wary support. Having retained none of the dozen or so felicitations, Mikael finally navigated through the crowd and lay his elbows on the bar, dreading the second phase of what was to come, after–if he attained the rank of master.

Many of his familial co-conspirators had counted themselves among his father’s inner circle. Right up until he began slipping, Mikael’s aunts and uncles had bowed to Gavin’s every word, but years upon years of living severed from his talent had finally allowed time to catch up to the head of the house. Their willingness to scheme along with Mikael had been born out of a painful necessity, one they still feared retaliation from Gavin for.

The entire flight had been tense due to their agreement, casting a chill over what was meant to be a celebratory time for the house. Festivities had started early in the morning while Mikael was still in his room. Those unaware of their coup were buzzing with anticipation, hopeful for his possible rise in rank to Master.

I’ll just put him out to pasture… there will be no viol–

Kameron’s clap on his back nearly knocked the glass from his hand.

“Already acting better than Magi, eh? Fancy yourself a Master already?” Kameron’s breath was cloying.

Mikael took a step back, saying, “I think I’m going to lie down for a minute and change before—”

“Oh, c’mon, Mikael.” Kameron pulled him close, arm around his shoulder. “We're only a few minutes out.”

“What?” Mikael muttered, glancing out a nearby window. He swore under his breath. The pastel palace of the Magisterium loomed large on the horizon, its towers gleaming in the night. The building, home to the Council and the Grandmaster, was vast enough to be considered a small city. Nestled within the capital of the Magisterium’s nation-state, they were entering the very heart of magical power and research. “I need to go,” he said, urgency creeping into his voice.

As he moved to put down his drink, Kameron took it from his hand out of reflex. “The Rite doesn’t start ‘til the afternoon, yeah? They’ll do all those rituals beforehand and make you feel right as rain. Heal you up top to bottom. We can go to a part of the city not on fire and—”

“Kameron,” Mikael glanced down, his voice low and urgent. “It’s now or never.”

“Oh. Fine, alright.” Kameron held up his hands in surrender. “Are you sure you want to try this?”

“If she’s a killer, then I need a backup plan.”

“Alright,” Kameron relented. “Just make sure to reimburse me this time, alright?”

“Jackass,” Mikael muttered, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

Exiting the gondola, Mikael took the stairs up to his private rooms, stumbling into the medium-sized, minimally furnished space. The swaying of the airship made it feel even tighter. The room was lit by a single faesferes lantern, which swung gently as the ship was pushed by the wind.

Moving quickly, he closed the door behind him, muffling the noise of the ongoing celebration below. He stripped off his jacket and crossed to the washbasin. Pouring water from a pitcher, he watched the liquid splash against the basin’s surface, its soothing, rhythmic sound momentarily easing his anxiety.

Scrubbing away the remnants of bile and sweat helped clear his mind, the cool water washing away the physical and mental grime. The refreshing sensation cut through the lingering fog, bringing a moment of clarity. He grabbed a fresh towel and dried his face, catching a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror above the basin. The reflection staring back at him was tired and messy.

His body was a testament to years of relentless hard work and discipline. Muscles rippled under his skin, not for vanity, but from countless hours of rigorous training. His shoulders were broad and powerful, a foundation built from a lifetime of merciless combat training designed by Lord Blackwood himself. Every inch of him bore the marks of a regimented diet, each muscle group honed to precision.

The beauty of it all was marred by countless scars, calluses, age. Only twenty years old, Mikael looked ten more than that despite the slowing effects of his talent. When he’d collapsed as a child, his father had simply cast a healing spell before pushing him back in the ring.

All for a war that’s over.

Mikael reached up, gently examining his latest experiment.

The black eyes inked on his collarbones stood out starkly against his pale skin, a constant reminder of the patience, risk, and research that had led to this moment. Even as a graduated Magus, certain discoveries were reserved only for Masters. However, independent spell discoveries were impossible to outlaw and this particular experiment was coming down to the wire, the final twist to the spell inspired by a sailor he’d watched loading their airship last night.

In hindsight, embedding a spell into a part of the body, rather than an object, had been remarkably simple. Flesh couldn't be imbued with magic directly, but something embedded into the flesh could be. While piercings could be removed, ink couldn’t. Symbols held power, and when handled correctly, that power could be utilized for talent’s most interesting potentials. For this to work, though, no residual talent could be allowed to pollute the skin. Meaning he had to wait for the blood to stop oozing on its own.

Gingerly, Mikael rubbed the red, irritated skin. The ointment had fully absorbed into his flesh. It was time to proceed to the next step.

Drawing from the well of distilled talent at his hip, he channeled its power into a complex series of curses, holding back from casting them as he reached for a talisman of his own design. In his pocket, prepared to be embedded, was a statue of a man screaming, carved from marble. He brought it close to his face, marveling at the remarkable detail for the hundredth time.

With a deep breath, Mikael focused on the final steps. The talisman in his hand grew warmer, responding to the flow of talent from his wells. His body thrummed with the effort, muscles tensing as he directed the energy through the intricate pathways he had devised. The screaming man was a conduit, a memory of years of research, his frozen agony a necessary catalyst for the spell's completion.

With a final surge of power, the ritual concluded. The energy settled within his chest, now fully charged and ready for use. He felt a momentary drain, the exertion leaving him momentarily lightheaded, but the satisfaction of a completed spell filled him with a grim sense of accomplishment. The energy was stored in him as well, only needing to be replaced after the curse was cast. He felt a connection deep within his core, a merging of his own essence with the spell’s framework. The air around him shimmered only for a moment, charged with the latent power waiting to be unleashed. Mikael could sense the spell’s structure, a complex weave of energies that required perfect alignment to function correctly.

This was the magic he had mastered, a blend of inherited knowledge and personal innovation. The true price of sustaining greatness, as his father had always wanted him to understand. He had developed it after studying some of the spells Kant had created for the war. The Grandmaster had rejected many of his father's proposals, deeming them unnecessarily brutal and unjustified even for war. For the screaming man, he had added his own debilitating justification. Only minutes later, the ritual was complete.

Carefully, Mikael mastered his emotions, remembering the devastating consequences if he was forced to unleash what he made. From this point forward, a spell of his own creation could be embedded in his flesh, ready to be cast at a moment's notice.

With his personal wells nearly drained of talent and needing his spares for when the trial commenced, he had no way to test if everything had worked. There wouldn’t be another opportunity until he was face-to-face with Parker.

“This certainly was… reckless.”

Yet necessary.

Putting on a fresh shirt and darker coat, Mikael turned to open the door.

Kameron was waiting with more water. “Did it work?”

“Not sure. Do I look presentable?”

Kameron looked down, giving him a once-over, exaggeratingly nodding in approval while gesturing with a flask pulled from his jacket. “Stone faced and peachy as ever.”

Mikael refused the proffered flask, straightened his back, and squared his shoulders. Together, they made their way to the main deck.

Remnants of the celebration were being cleaned up by a staff who’d been well-trained to tune out and keep their eyes down. Mikael's bags would be packed and sent to his new room within the hour, so he only had to focus on what awaited him across the walkway on the landing platform.

Magisterium guards lined the gangway, greeting the arrival of another member of House Blackwood. Noble life was all about serenity, presentation, and perception. Misinterpreting polite courtesy as love or loyalty would be a catastrophic mistake.

Mikael fastened his top button as his right foot hit the walkway, returning his fellow guards’ salutes. Though he was their lord's son, many of them had graduated at equal rank within the Magisterium. It felt right to leave them with a final impression of humble camaraderie before his Rite. These eight men and women had saved him more than once from misguided radicals too afraid to target the legendary lord himself. Their loyalty and bravery had always been a shield for him, and he wanted them to know he valued them as equals.

Approaching the captain of the guard at the end of the walkway, Mikael startled him with a clap on the shoulder, more affection than he could ever remember showing the man who had been responsible for so much of his training. The memories of him shattering Mikael's nose and breaking his limbs never faded, but neither did the remorse in the captain’s eyes; only obeying orders. His long mustache had long ago gone gray, his life slipping by as he faithfully escorted Mikael. He was a lovely man when Father wasn’t around.

“Thank you, Roderick.”

Roderick allowed a small smile. “We’ll return in three days' time, m’lord.”

Mikael saw Roderick trying to hide a grin, his nose wrinkling. “M’lord may want a proper shower before seeing his father or the Grandmaster.”

“Oh, no.” Kameron groaned from behind. “Too late.”

Mikael turned at his warning, looking towards the end of the small procession awaiting him. To his amazement, the Grandmaster of the Magisterium stood tall, her gold robes trailing behind her. Aging slowed for all unsevered Magi, yet despite living for over a thousand years, Elara Thalor’s face had only just begun to wrinkle—remarkable by any standard. Faint strands of gray wove through her red wrist-length braids, adding a touch of elegance to her timeless appearance.

Despite all her grandeur, it was the boy standing at her side who stole Mikael's attention.

“Sebastian!” he whooped with a grin, dropping his guard as he only would for his brother.

Sebastian ran for him, forgoing a regimented greeting to barrel through the door between them and crash into Mikael's waiting hug. Mikael lifted the boy high, delighted to see how little he’d changed. He had been gone for the last seven months, in the middle of his first year of official Magi training. Normally too weak to gain entrance, Father had pulled strings to get him admitted. He was on a special curriculum designed to accelerate his progress, focusing on higher-level sciences instead of practical talent. Judging by his letters, Sebastian had thrived away from home.

Dropping him down, Mikael ruffled his curly black hair. “Well, by the gods, you might have hit a meter and a half. What do you think, Kam?”

“We’ll have to send for a ruler immediately.”

“Shut it.” Sebastian pushed Mikael, carrying a little more muscle than the last time he’d seen him. “Like you’ll ever come close to two.”

Dropping to one knee, Mikael lowered his voice so only Kameron and Roderick could hear. “Has Father visited you since he arrived?”

Sebastian nodded. “Just this morning. We—uh—caught up.”

“What do you mean?”

Sebastian took a step back with an exaggerated exhale. “Yuugh, Mikael, your breath. You smell like an alley cat.”

Mikael tried to hold Sebastian’s eye to pry out whatever he was hiding, but the metallic-tipped end of a cane tapped the ground between them.

“I wonder which is more difficult to train, a Blackwood or an alley cat?”

Looking up, Mikael saw Kameron bowing to the Grandmaster, who had followed Sebastian, leaving a confused retinue of attendants behind. The Grandmaster looked down at the two of them with a fond expression, though a hint of concern perpetually pinched her eyes. For most of Mikael's life, he’d had the privilege to watch The Grandmaster pull the strings of the world through war and into peace. Her reign stretched across centuries, far longer than even his father’s elongated life.

The Grandmaster’s letters over the years, punctuated with the occasional formal meeting, such as now, filled a maternal gap in Mikael's heart. He was fortunate enough to have plenty of memories with his mother, but when she’d died giving birth to Sebastian, Elara had begun looking after the both of them from a respectful distance. The Grandmaster had done it for political reasons, sure, but her words had always been sage and available when needed.

Draining another small bead of talent from the well at his hip, Mikael healed away whatever he could of the haze clouding his mind before mirroring Kameron’s bow. “Grandmaster.”

She gave him a knowing smile, waving away the guards to give them room. Kameron understood the signal and slipped out as well.

“Judging by the state of you, it would seem you’ve found a cure for the nerves you wrote of.”

It was Mikael's turn to wave Sebastian away.

“Nerves?” Sebastian whispered behind a cupped hand as he passed.

Mikael dusted the back of his head, watching as he moved to help the servants unload his bags, oblivious to their discomfort.

“Yes, Grandmaster.”

Elara smiled. “You both have Gavin’s face, but Mira’s heart.”

“But wasn’t my mother the one known for her beauty?”

“I’m an honest ruler, Mikael.”

Smiling at the break in formality, Mikael accepted her embrace before walking back inside with her, out of the wind. They were given a wide berth, with Sebastian bustling ahead alongside Kameron while the remaining attendants left them in the uncomfortable public privacy they’d all grown used to. The Grandmaster’s slow pace only worsened the effect, the gentle tap of her cane on the marble floors counting every step.

Not that any of it phased her. This was her every moment. Weaver of a thousand spells, the Grandmaster never slept or ate. All she did was rule.

“Your father failed to be here.”

“He tends to avoid large gatherings.” It wasn’t a lie, just not the whole truth.

“Take that mask off, Mikael. We both know he avoids me.”

Looking away, Mikael let silence serve as his answer. This part of the palace was newer than other parts of the ancient building; designed to accommodate confiscated Eurotian technology into their faesferes-dependent systems. Although the cost of their conflict with the foreign enemy would affect generations, many of their machines abandoned on battlefields or in retaken cities were now understood and, in many cases, being improved upon.

“I know I’ve only arrived, but I’m afraid I must ask a favor.”

“Oh?” The Grandmaster gave away nothing.

Descending from the tower, they took the wide winding steps together. Mikael always found his brief encounters with the Grandmaster to be some of the most profound moments of his life. He wanted to repay her in some way, but instead, he found himself scheming.

“Father has been showing signs it may be best for him to soon retire from his rule. I’ve been inspired by your success. I want to try and find the same peace within my house. If you hear of upheaval, I’d ask—”

Her raised ringed hand silenced him. “Mikael, my duty is to the people. Not the houses.”

Mikael maintained his guard despite the immense relief washing over him. He wouldn’t have to send a flurry of letters tonight, and that was as good a blessing as he could hope for. “Thank you, Grandmaster.”

“While you may not have seen a battlefield, Mikael, I fear for your future.”

“How do you mean?” He asked.

“For longer than most can remember, we have been united by the terror of war. Terminal grudges have been held in check for generations due to a foreign threat. I hardly know where blades are pointed in my own court anymore. I’ll do whatever I can to keep those with power in line.”

This wasn’t what Mikael had expected to hear. While the war had officially ended years ago with the retreat of the Eurotian Emperor, fanatics loyal to the invaders had kept fighting, clinging onto fortifications throughout the kingdoms. Civil wars had consumed many of the lands already scarred by the conflict. If grudges existed, surely they would have been had out. This Rite was supposed to be the first summer of peace.

“Still,” she continued, unaware of Mikael's consternation, “if change were to come to the Blackwood house, at least I’d know where one blade lay.”

Her implication hit him. Father had given everything for the kingdoms' sake. In the final years of the conflict, when the Eurotians were retreating from the continent nation-wide, Gavin Blackwood had been severed from his natural talent by a cursed blade meant for the Grandmaster. His final act of service had elevated him from a war hero to a savior. Assuming his position was Mikael's goal, but doubting his loyalty insulted their generations of service to the Crystal Throne. Dozens sharing Mikael’s blood, dead. It was an insult to his entire familial line.

“Father’s affliction hasn't resulted in any resentment you may have imagined. I understand the council has developed a habit of moving behind your back, but—”

Realizing he’d traveled the last two steps alone, Mikael turned to see Thoral looking down, her face expressionless.

“Careful, Magus,” she said, letting the silence linger, a reminder that even Mikael's long leash had its limits.

Slowly, she moved to join him, eyes frozen. 

“I apologize, Grandmaster.” Mikael averted his gaze in shame.

“I’ve watched you grow into a hard man, Mikael.” She moved past him, her cane faintly tapping down the stairs. “So I know better, but it would be good for you to remember people see what you show them, regardless of reputation. Whether it be a worthy successor or a drunkard.”

It was a fair reprimand. “I’m ashamed to admit I lost my battle with fear, Grandmaster.”

They settled back into their walk, the tension easing with each step.

“You are strong, Mikael.” A ringed hand squeezed his shoulder. “I only hope you prove ready. It was a joy to see you perform so magnificently in the trials, but the finals are rarely so straightforward. Some whisper I'm irresponsible for letting you compete—failing to see what can be learned through the trials themselves.” She paused, her eyes softening. “I know you needed this because you’re still young, not in spite.”

Mikael's heart glowed. “Your endorsement meant everything.”

In order to enter the trials to become a Master, as with even entering the Magisterium to train in the first place, a Magus had to find an existing Master willing to sponsor their run. When Father had refused Mikael in the spring, one letter to the Grandmaster had been all that was needed for her to step in on his behalf.

“Gavin can be overly harsh and…” she exhaled heavily, “we need new blood with a strong voice wanting to be heard.”

“Reuniting with old friends, is he?”

“Rather generous,” she moved to hold Mikael's arm. “Gavin has been staying busy since he arrived. I believe he’s met with nearly every councilman.”

“Hm.” It would be improper to ask, but certainly the Grandmaster’s network would—

“It seems Gavin has managed oaths of secrecy. Despite how much he’s changed they all still fear him. He still has his… aura.”

“I’m sorry, oaths?” Mikael asked.

“Bound in talent, yes. Not a soul can tell me what’s going on.” She looked at Mikael, her eyes softening the way they did whenever she saw his mother’s face in him. “Powerful men lose their bravado with age. They look to avoid productive confrontation in favor of whispers and schemes.”

“I—I’m sorry I haven’t written these last few weeks, but Father doesn’t make a habit of letting me in on his… plans.”

Her brows furrowed. “That’s part of what concerns me.”

It wasn’t unusual now that Mikael's training was over, but given how he’d misrepresented their relationship over the years, her concern was understandable.

“Grandmaster, I’m sure whatever he’s doing—”

“He won’t quietly accept retirement, Mikael, and now he’s blatantly maneuvering under my nose without even trying to hide it.”

As they reached the bottom of the tower, Mikael paused, taking in her words.

The Grandmaster turned to face him. “We’ve had to ban the press from writing of him or inquiring after his condition, and now he’s been openly scheming. I’m relieved you’ve already begun a transition. The keys to power can be… fickle. It’s best to stay ahead. It’s why I adopted the papers from the Eurotians. Better to control what’s already taken hold then to try and destroy it. Keeps them…” she looked beyond the walls in the direction of the riots “Well, it was a concession.”

Concepts of governing had largely been withheld from Mikael’s education, his Father focusing more on survival in all situations leaving much of his book learning either to focus on talent or his own curiosities.

Gods, I haven’t even been here for more than ten minutes.

“So you already—”

She turned, continuing to escort him toward the magus rooms. Mikael took it as a sign to collect himself and reconsidered his words. “How can I be of service, Grandmaster?”

“Some of the councilmen would like to send a team of well trained specialists to keep an eye on him. To make sure he doesn’t suffer from his rather rare affliction unnecessarily.”

Our doctors are… No, she said ‘specialists’.

For years, Father’s condition had descended from harsh to abnormally cruel. The fire in his eyes was always burning now, fueled by delusions and drink. Gavin Blackwood was a broken man, set to inevitably lose a war to the ghosts of his past as his mind slipped away. Most nights servants had to restrain him, screaming in dreams he couldn’t wake from. Kameron had called it ‘battle fatigue’.

“No, Grandmaster.”

She held his eyes.

“After the Rite, he’ll be kept safe at home with the privacy he is due.” Mikael felt himself crumble inside. “He’ll be informed of his retirement celebrations the day after I assume the rank of master by his advisors. It is my duty to protect him and his dignity as he prepares to join all our fathers and mothers.”

“You provide an opportunity for the future.” The Grandmaster hadn’t missed a beat, mercilessly plunging a hole in Mikael’s bold stand. “Gods, you continue to exceed my expectations, Mikael, but what happens if you don’t come back a master? What about when he learns of what you’ve planned? I came to you tonight to tell you that I’ve ordered your father to accept my envoy, but I won’t do it without your blessing.”

And what if word gets out?

Every Blackwood was a viper, all wriggling over one another for power. It had only been after Father’s deterioration became unavoidable that Mikael had been able to rally any form of support for his assumption of the house mantle, but if he was seen allowing a direct line from the Grandmaster onto House Blackwood estates, it would cripple his chance to ever be respect enough to assume the house ever again.

“I’m ready to return and handle my family regardless of my rank within the Magisterium, Grandmaster.”

“Ah.” She softened slightly, a tension leaving her shoulders. “So, you believe the decree too then.”

There had been an all but confirmed rumor that the Grandmaster might rescind the requirement for a confirmed combat kill to rise from the rank of Magus to Master. No proclamation had come from the Magisterium to counter the papers declaring their support for the possibility. Most candidates, including Mikael and Parker, chose to submit in duels rather than kill this season of trials in anticipation of a change that felt long overdue.

“Is it official?” he asked.

She smiled at the elation on Mikael's face. “Nothing has been sent to the press."

Though troublesome, Elara found it invaluable to allow and even subsidize the press as a tool of mass communication across the entire continent, one left behind by the Eurotians. What the invaders lacked in talent, they made up for in inventions, and the universal access to information was perhaps their greatest contribution made only possible by their superior printing press.

Now, the Grandmaster would end a bloody tradition and send a signal through the papers to the Ten Kingdoms. For the first time, Mikael saw why she put up with the immense cost of the presses being housed within the Magisterium’s capital city. Her voice could cross borders faster and louder than any king's.

“Incredible,” Mikael said. “I’m honored to be a part of it.”

“You and Parker.” She tapped her cane. “Two finalists the Magisterium is blessed to receive.”

“Me and the ‘People’s Pride’.” Mikael exhaled in agreement. She scoffed in amusement at Parker’s moniker. “You allowed two anomalies this year.”

“Yes,” she agreed. “And clearly I was right to do so.”

“Clearly.” Mikael smirked.

“If you truly believe you’re ready to take on the rest of your… kin, then I’ll let your house be.” She relented. “Gods have mercy on Parker if you are ready for that. The Master’s of the Magisterium will be lucky to have you.”

The rank wasn’t just a proof of skill; it was a hard-won badge of honor, a testament to years of grueling physical and emotional training, study, and dedication. Masters were agents of destiny, able to influence kingdoms and travel the world without question. Which was exactly why Parker was such a controversial figure for him to be going up against.

Parker had gained fame through back-page stories about fighters in the pits; pits Mikael had fought in, too, though not entirely for fame.

A remarkable talent, absolutely, but how or why that had spun into her being a figurehead for a political movement, Mikael still had no idea. As could be expected, her rhetoric was radical—borderline revolutionary—but he didn’t entirely disagree with much of what she stood for. Major changes were needed, but Parker had no experience with real power—the kind Mikael had been tutored in for years.

It was his responsibility to provide a measured response to the issues that allowed someone like Parker to exist. The Grandmaster’s decision to let a Master sponsor the girl into the trials without any Magisterium training was beyond him, but her impact had been monumental. A moment in history in itself. A moment that needed to end.

“I’m honored to be proving myself against someone like her.”

Mikael's words made Elara the happiest he’d seen her yet. Arriving at a guarded hall to the finalist’s rooms, she brought him in for a final embrace. “You continue to impress, Mikael.”

Then she and her retinue left Mikael there, with only the door guards to the general magus quarters for company.

“Gentlemen.” Mikael passed between them, giving a half-hearted salute.

The faesferes light-strips along the walls had been turned low to reflect the hour, already low on power due to the general lack of magus staying in the palance. With most duties suspended, all but a necessary few would be out in the secure parts of the city enjoying their coin and prestige.

In fact, light only flickered beneath one door in the long hall near the very end, next to Mikael’s assigned room.

Parker Veros had arrived before Mikael. Not surprising—this city was her home. But it amazed him that after all these years and legends, she was so close, resting just hours before their confrontation. From under her door, a faint humming drifted into the air, a slow, wandering tune that tugged at Mikael.

Mikael stood outside her door, hesitating as he considered knocking. The thought of facing the woman Parker had become since their brutal bout in the pits years ago gnawed at him. Back then, he was just a Magus in training, and she was a scrappy street kid riding a wave of victories. The scar she’d left on his scalp itched with the memory, a reminder of their violent encounter.

He shook his head, dismissing the idea. Now wasn’t the time. Turning away, Mikael headed for his own quarters.

When he pushed open the door to his room, the emptiness was almost a relief. The trunk was already stowed beneath the slender bed, and Sebastian was nowhere to be seen. The boy must have seen how tired he really was. Mikael silently thanked his ancestors for Sebastian’s thoughtfulness.

Barely mustering the energy to strip off his clothes, Mikael crashed onto the bed, the cool sheets a welcome comfort. With a wave of his hand, he summoned his familiar, a spider who crawled into the world from under his flesh. “Keep watch,” he murmured, the command slurring as sleep swiftly overtook him.

The spider scurried to its post as Mikael's breathing deepened.

Chapter 2 - Preparation 

A razor-thin blade rested in Mikael's palm, its presence both mesmerizing and revolting. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from the hilt etched with crude angular script. Dozens of forbidden runes, imbued with powers of theft. Plunge it to the hilt into anyone capable of wielding talent, and it would begin permanently stripping them of their talent—the very ability to cast magic permanently. Its danger went beyond death and could be felt for eternity. Mikael knew this all too well—a weapon of this exact type had been responsible for his father’s severing and his own stunting, weakening House Blackwood’s name.

He had discovered the negator hidden in his trunk when getting dressed, its contents otherwise untouched except for the appearance of this sinister blade. If caught with it in his possession, he would be removed from the trials and forced before the high council to await judgment. Talismans like it had been banned ever since the war ended—not just for trials, but for any Magi to possess without direct orders from the council. 

For a fleeting moment, he had assumed this was some depraved move by Parker to avoid facing him again. As the other remaining finalist, she could have planted the negator and then placed an anonymous tip with the Magi assigned to security. She’d attain the rank of Master uncontested—the first from the slums in history to rise so high. All while Mikael was tossed in a cell with no chance of beating her down again.

Yet there was no sound of guards trumping across the floor, no sudden burst of his door as a raid of Magi stormed in to subdue him. All was silent.

That left only one other option: Father had slipped the cursed blade into his belongings.

He doesn’t believe I can win.

Not only that, after smuggling the blade into their combat, he’d have to kill Parker or else be worse than banished for using such a weapon. Father wanted him to kill her despite the coming change of rules. It was insanity.

A knock at the door jerked Mikael from his trance. He cursed, dropping the negator into his trunk and closing it with a bang. 

"One moment!" His voice sounded strained to his own ears.

"Mikael?" Sebastian's knocking remained insistent. "Father is asking for you."

Of course he is.

Looking around his quarters in a panic, Mikael double-checked that everything else was as he’d left it. His estate had paid for a few extra niceties—a soft rug, a feather mattress, and a couple of additional Luck talismans on the walls—all of which he’d put aside to sleep on the same mattress as the rest of the Magus. Tradition dictated that once the Rite of Masters came down to the final pair, the two Magi must stay in matching quarters; simple and devoid of distraction. Mikael didn’t want that blemish, even if only he would ever know it.

He checked under the bed for any more ‘gifts’ before sliding his trunk back in place. His heart pounded, the fear of another planted trap gnawing at his nerves.

“Let me get a shirt on,” he called.

There was only two hours to go before the ceremonies began. He had almost no time to figure a way out from Father’s insane ploy, and now he was summoning him.

Simple, effective, exactly how Father liked to move.

Mikael tucked his white tunic into black trousers before donning a coat embroidered with the traditional Blackwood red. He’d been stripped of his personal talismans by a duo of Magi waking him earlier that morning for inspection, making the wool hot despite the talent at work in the palace. The headquarters of the Magisterium was kept cool, yet Mikael still sweat without what he saw as protection. Even a few hours without his collection of stored spells left him feeling naked, like a rat under the shadow of a circling hawk.

The Magi had arrived just after dawn, their stern faces illuminated by the faint light filtering through the tall, narrow windows of his quarters. Without preamble, they announced that all finalists' talismans were to be inspected for illegal magics. Mikael's heart had pounded, wondering if it was too late to cover his chest.

The inspectors handled each talisman with meticulous care, their gloved hands moving with practiced precision as they filled a small chest with his pieces. Bracelets of earth handling, a thick necklace of charms containing vicious traps, figurines covered in runes of power for a dozen other attacks, and his wells of distilled talent—each infused with his own legal spells and painstakingly maintained. The inspectors murmured to each other in low voices, their expressions unreadable before setting off for their labs. 

Now, as he donned his coat, the absence of his talismans left him sweating despite the cool air. The wool felt suffocating, the palace’s talent-powered climate control offering little comfort.

And now I must present myself to the hawk.

He had to face his father with nothing more than a simple wand stuffed into his boot. A poor substitute for the power he normally wielded.

There was another way.

He found himself tracing the eyes on his chest unconsciously. Shaking his head, trying not to overthink, Mikael drew the negator from his trunk and stuffed it behind his wand. It was slim enough to slip in with ease.

He was relieved the inspectors hadn’t said a word about his new eyes. As far as he could tell, the two Magus had seen his chest tattoo without batting an eye, assuming it was just some mistake of youth.

Mikael felt a bit less powerless as he moved for the door.

Sebastian was waiting just outside the threshold, nervously bouncing on his feet, steadfastly ignoring the guards posted on either side.

"Do you think Father will be mad I waited for you? Should I have gone back? I just wanted to see you before—"

Mikael squeezed his shoulder, turning him around and leading him down the corridor, waving off a white and gold uniformed guard.

“No, Seb.” He pulled him in for a side hug, missing the days Sebastian asked for rides on his back. “I think he’ll be focused on me today.”

“Right,” Seb agreed. “Uh, do you need anything?”

“Only to hear how your studies have been. C’mon, you’ve hardly written—no, don’t start—I understand how busy you are.” Mikael forced joy into his tone, doing his best to keep the perpetual anxiety from surfacing. “Just get to it! fill me in!”

Their footsteps echoed off the stone walls and floor, quickly absorbed by dozens of woven tapestries. More than a few of the heroes depicted during the Great War bore their family's signature raven hair. Despite himself, Mikael found it difficult to focus on Sebastian’s excited rambling. His mind kept drifting to the depictions of Blackwoods working for countless generations, showing unbroken devotion to the preservation of the Ten Kingdoms during and before the Eurotian invasion.

A weight he felt with every step.

He made sure his eyes skipped past cousin Lily’s mother. Much had been done to cover her cowardice, the tapestry lining the walls unearned, yet necessary for the Blackwood name to avoid scandal. It wouldn’t have done for one of the most promising Magi of the entire house to be seen speaking out against the war, coming dangerously close to suggestions of treason with her talk of giving up lands for peace with the full support of her outlander husband.

Taking after her parents' traitorous ways, Lilly was now often seen in the company of Parker.

Like mother, like daughter.

Sebastian and Mikael navigated past countless Magi on duty, going about hundreds of tasks, personal or otherwise. Each cast long, colorful shadows—a simple magical twist to complement the high stained-glass windows of the Grandmaster’s palace. Combined with the faesferes lights pulsing along the walls, there was nowhere else in the world with a more colorful display.

As one of the few centers of power physically untouched by the invasion, many rare spells and talismans were commonplace here, enhancing the ancient grandeur of its living crystal walls. Mikael forced himself to focus on Seb, catching the end of a rant about an unreasonable professor who wouldn’t let him travel outside the Motherrealm.

“-infinite worlds, Mikael. Infinite.”

“I hear you Seb.” Mikael was going to be thrown into one in mere hours. “But wouldn’t it be a bit unfair to put that responsibility on his shoulders? It’s your life. What would happen to him if something were to happen to you?”

“Yeah, but I…”

He trailed off, shy as they approached the palace's guest wing.

A final pair of talentless guards—barrenmen, as they were called—stood with swords at their hips, scrutinizing Mikael's seals before beckoning him and Sebastian through heavy gold doors engraved with charms. As they entered, Mikael's lingering headache dissipated, sharpening his senses. The Grandmaster spared no expense for her guests, only his anxiety remained.

Dozens of servants bustled around them, desperate to finish cleaning rooms before their occupants returned to prepare for the trials. They bowed and curtsied in their white coats, showing Mikael due respect as one of the two finalists for the Rite, before resuming their work. Some sneaked extra glances as he passed, the noble prodigy who had shattered so many records, only to have nearly all of them taken from him by the People’s Pride.

After eleven months of competing in hundreds of tests of will, knowledge, and skill, Mikael was the second youngest finalist in the history of organized magic. Second only to Parker godsdamn Veros.

She’d been born with more natural talent than had been seen in a millennium, even among the noble families. Many spoke of their final trial as her last hurdle before joining the ranks of the Masters. Because of the uncertainty surrounding her candidacy, Parker's participation in the trials had sparked months of controversy. Despite Father’s tantrum over it, Mikael hadn’t minded the Grandmaster’s ruling to allow her to compete. But Parker seemed to have been created solely to overshadow his every achievement.

"You're thinking about her again," Sebastian's voice broke through Mikael's thoughts.

"I'm thinking about the competition, Seb."

"No, you get pale when you're nervous. Red when you think about Parker."

Embarrassed, Mikael dusted the back of Sebastian's head, doing his best impression of their father. "Hush!"

Sebastian wasn't old enough to comprehend what was on the line. All he knew was that his brother had risen to notable status among the Magi and was destined to face off against the woman whose own rise dominated headlines.

To Father, she was a threat.

Mikael squared his shoulders, taking a long breath before raising his hand to knock.

Sebastian stepped back, an apologetic look in his eyes. "I don't think Father wants me for this, actually. So—uh, I’ll check the preparation rooms. I think your talismans should nearly be ready."

"I'll be fine," Mikael assured Sebastian with a heavy smile. "I’ve asked for you to be the one who helps with my armor. No one else ever gets the shoulders right."

Sebastian beamed before regaining a facade of a detached younger brother. “Well, of course. Can’t have it on wrong today.”

“Of course,” Mikael agreed.

“You don’t—ah…” Sebastian faltered, losing confidence.

“C’mon Seb, I’m pressed for time.”

Shy, even with Mikael, Sebastian looked down. “You aren’t going to kill her, right?”

Mikael scoffed, lowering his voice in case Father was listening. “You know damn well times are changing. Trials aren’t going to be like that anymore. It’s why so many have come to see us off. The start of a new era, yeah?”

“Yeah…” Sebastian finally looked Mikael in the eye. “I’ve just got this feeling.”

"I get feelings like that too. But that’s all they are—just feelings.” Mikael crouched down significantly. Sebastian was short even for a Blackwood. “Try to look at the balance.”

“Balance?”

“Exactly,” Mikael encouraged. “See, all those centuries of war, sacrifice, blood, and conflict; well, it all had to be for something, right?”

“To defend our shores,” Sebastian answered automatically, exactly as the textbooks told him.

“True, but what’s the first rule of magic?” Mikael asked.

“All talent must find balance.”

“Well sure, that’s the literal meaning, but when you get older,” Mikael lowered his voice, “you realize talent controls everything in the world around us.”

“It does?”

“The world itself seeks balance, Sebastian,” Mikael whispered conspiratorially. “And you were born just after we all paid a huge price to make it safe once again. Lucky you. Now, it’s up to everyone to make sure we get the most bang for our buck.”

Sebastian looked at Mikael, confused, and he didn’t blame him. Mikael, too, was getting lost in his metaphor.

“Bud, I’m telling you, you were born at the right time.” Mikael thumbed towards the door. “Unlike Dad, you get to ignore those feelings sometimes. Don’t forget that, alright? No matter what he says.”

Sebastian's brow furrowed, considering.

Screw it, just ask him now.

“Now, Seb, you are going to have to get better at listening to me.”

“Why’s that?”

Mikael made a show of cleaning his nails. “Once I’m a Master, I get to choose an apprentice.”

Jumping ahead of Mikael asking, Sebastian nearly tackled him with a hug. “You waited long enough to ask!”

Mikael laughed, uncaring if their father heard. “It’s fun to keep you in suspense.”

Sebastian kissed his cheek before bounding down the hall, leaving Mikael alone with the half-forgotten servants.

In the distance, Mikael heard an echoing, “Thank you for asking, by the way!”

"You'll be an amazing Magus, Seb," Mikael whispered after him, feeling a moment of joy at how innocent Sebastian still was. Brilliant for ten years of age, the world needed more kind hearts like his among the Magi, regardless of what the veterans thought. They hadn’t always been soldiers, and now, they didn’t need to be. If Mikael took his brother on as an apprentice, he’d be able to peacefully take custody of the boy without a public scandal, finally freeing him from Father’s control. 

Sighing, Mikael pulled himself up to his full height before knocking.

"Come," was the near-immediate response.

The door swung open on its own, revealing an aging man decades past his prime. His hair was thinning at the temples, and liver spots dotted his scalp. Deep, jagged wrinkles tugged at his hazy eyes, making them appear sunken. The toned, strong arms Mikael remembered from childhood had withered to little more than sinew and bone, replaced with loose, mottled skin and protruding veins. His fingers were gnarled, the knuckles swollen and discolored. Silver glimmered as he sipped from an iced drink, exposing many teeth capped or replaced, with the remaining few stained and decayed.

Before the Eurotian invasion, few Magi had focused on wielding talent as a practical weapon. During the war, Mikael's father had revolutionized the art of mass murder through magic. Earning the moniker ‘Kant’, after an abandoned god of death, Lord Gavin Blackwood became the most prolific inventor of spells in history, nearly all designed for the battlefield.

Amplifying his legacy, Gavin liked to test the spells himself before teaching them to his disciples, pushing many to begin using his moniker as an actual name. Some went so far as to claim he was the most prolific butcher of Eurotians in history, their foreign guns and cannons no match for his near unparalleled talent.

Until it had been severed; erased.

You could see the weight of it all in the way Father stared into the flames, his gaze glazes over, looking without seeing. Yes, he was the Grandmaster’s Savior, a war hero—Kant. But none of those labels stopped the staring. While his name was sung, those who met him couldn’t see anything but the cripple.

The door slammed shut, and Mikael stood at attention, hands clasped behind his back, eyes down.

“You asked for me, my lord?”

Gavin removed an ice-filled glass from where he'd placed it against his forehead, stirring it as he pointed toward a painting of a fleet of Eurotian ships burning above the fireplace.

“Amazing how many sailors never learn to swim.”

There was a palpable weight felt when people like Gavin spoke. Perhaps it was something you earned when you altered history, or maybe he’d been born with it. As a much younger child, Mikael had scared Sebastian silly by convincing him that the power in Father’s voice came from the souls of the men he’d killed. Nothing but a childish way to frighten a younger sibling.

Facing him now, it was hard for Mikael not to believe his own lie.

Still pointing, Gavin said, “Does she think I enjoy seeing it again?”

Mikael dared not answer the question, afraid to blaspheme the Grandmaster. Besides, Gavin wasn’t interested in his reply, just his attention.

“No, she wants me to remember…” Gavin took a slow sip. “They say when we first met the Eurotians, they saw us as a threat—not for our rulers or talent, but for our art. Art. Bollocks, of course. They coveted our magic.” He let the glass slip from his fingers, clattering on a side table. “You found it then? The lengths I had to—”

He turned, finally taking Mikael in. A ringed hand rose, pointing toward Mikael's boots. “Did you not bring it with you?”

An edge of danger undercut the question.

“Yes, my Lord.” Mikael quickly leaned over, pulling the blade out enough to reveal it hiding behind his scorpion tail wand.

“Good. Her people were searching my things. I had Sebastian drop it last night. Told him it was a gift for you. And I suppose it very well is.” The last part he added as an afterthought, not noticing its impact on Mikael. His stomach twisted at the idea of Sebastian being forced to carry a negator. Suddenly, his question about killing Parker made more sense, as did his insistence on helping with the bags.

Father likely handed Sebastian the cursed thing without any warning as to what it truly was. Sebastian likely obeyed without question just to avoid the anguish of being around his only remaining parent. No matter how many times Sebastian proved himself, Gavin refused to acknowledge him as much more than someone to run errands servants couldn’t.

As the second-born, Sebastian had been stunted by their father's severing to a far greater degree. Over the years, they had only found a handful of talismans he could activate, none of which were useful in a fight. To Father's disappointment, Sebastian continually remarked that he preferred books anyway.

Mikael realized, with a start, that his father was still speaking.

“–questions asked. You must be sure to drive it into the hilt.”

There it was. Kill Parker?

While Mikael was willing to admit he resented her, he had no desire to kill the girl during their trial. Humble her before the Magi, yes, as an example to the people of their proper place. Remind them of all that the noble houses had done to make them safe.

Murder, though, was beyond him.

“Father, I—”

Transporting himself through a violent shimmer so that he stood directly before Mikael, Gavin emerged chest nearly pushing his son back, a black staff gripped tightly in white-knuckled hands, dozens of half empty vials of distilled talent tinged at his hip, the only substantial power left to him. “You will put a permanent end to the girl. Do you understand?”

Mikael dropped to one knee. “Yes, my lord.”

Kant rapped his knuckles against the staff with three fat silver rings. They’d been taken from the corpses of dead Eurotian generals, just before his severing. “Good boy.”

He moved to the drink cart, the clatter of glass cutting the air.

“Didn’t even send the good stuff,” he tsked. “I’m telling you, Mikael, pay attention to the smaller slights in life. Carelessness is intentional. It’s incredible how transparent people really are. Even our Grandmaster. She tried to present me with a captured Eurotian red and blue, like we’d ever want another of those damned flags on our land.”

Mikael winced again.

Gavin scoffed, wrenching joy into his voice. “C’mon son, it’s your big day! Where’s a smile? I just handed you your victory over her.” He made a show of sticking his tongue out at the taste of his next swallow. “Masses and their false idols. You’ll be the one to sever her filthy blood.”

“It’s not legal.”

He froze, tension dulling the air.

Mikael bowed further in anticipation.

Sweat broke out along his neck and spine, but the pain he expected didn’t come; only the soft step-step-tap of his father’s approach.

“Speak freely.”

Shocked, Mikael looked up at the lack of iron in his father's words, almost meeting his eyes before catching himself.

Gavin's eyes narrowed at the silence. “Explain yourself, Mikael.”

“Father, I’ve defeated Parker before. I know I can crush her without having to make her a martyr.”

It was the best defense he could think of with so little warning, the chance of making her something larger than she already was. Killing Parker would be a terrible cruelty to the people behind her. The Grandmaster didn’t want this barbaric tradition to continue for this very reason. Bloodshed didn’t need to be a requirement of survival anymore. While Mikael wouldn’t be reprimanded for doing it, could even call it justified, the celebration of the change would be forever ruined.

Not to mention, Mikael would forever be remembered as the man who extinguished her potential.

Determined to for once, win over this father, Mikael pushed on.

"In the months since graduation, I’ve mastered talismans that Magi sixty years my senior struggle to control or power. I’ve done what’s required for consideration and defeated scores trained by the greatest of your generation. I’ve caught the attention of the Grandmaster without taking any shortcuts. Killing someone so popular unnecessarily could risk—"

The stench of alcohol came heavy as Gavin bent down, hand resting on Mikael's head. A finger caressed a scar along his scalp, barely visible through his hair, a reminder of the difficulty of dealing with Parker the first time.

“You and your unnecessary risks. She’s already killed someone before, has she not? In their sleep, no less.” He clapped Mikael's shoulder. A sign to stand at ease. Mikael rigidly obeyed, his father's words ringing alarm bells in his head. “Yes, you’ve impressed. And I am proud of you, son. See, I was afraid like the rest of the Magi, you’d grown soft despite my efforts.” He sighed, a sound ladened with gravitas. “Can you believe my relief when Kameron told me of your little scheme? That estate you picked out for me, very nice.”

Mikael wanted to vomit. He knew. His vision swam as panic seized him, mind only able to imagine what his father might do next.

Don’t let him see.

“Relax, Mikael. Gods, this is exactly what you still don’t get. I’m proud, boy! Touched even. That you’d care enough to try yourself against me.”

A memory of Kameron’s insistence of continuing the night out drinking floated through the fear, his disappointment at seeing the Grandmaster to escort Mikael. 

Father continued, “Plus, we know, the council agrees. Everyone has wanted me out of here since…” The blade lifted from Mikael's boot, floating into Gavin's hands. He remained silent for too long, holding the same tool that had stripped so many years from him.

He started, smiling wide enough to show each silver crown. “Sooo, I agreed. As long as she doesn’t pass that silly decree of hers. Which she agreed to last night, as long as I accepted that obnoxious envoy to watch over me in retirement. Easy enough to sweep away. This morning the council agreed to stage a veto so she can keep her facade of having a soul. Nasty rumor she knew would be able to work over me. Fortunately, my incompetent son provided an out by mistake.”

The reality of his response to Mikael’s maneuvering sank in. The color drained from Mikael's face as his body went numb.

“I thought you were ready to crush the competition.” Gavin tilted Mikael's chin up with the negator. “Hm, Mikael? Where is that fire I so enjoyed seeing in you? Did you not understand the scope of this trial?”

Mikael felt the tip begin to draw blood beneath his chin. A chill creeped into his blood, causing him to start back.

Gavin caught Mikael by the shoulder, pulling him close enough to see the veins in his eyes.

“That! That disgusting look in your eye. That’s what we can’t afford—can never afford! The Kingdoms don’t need virgin guardians afraid to take life.” Half empty vials clattered at his hip at his frantic motions. “Do you feel no shame that she has already proven herself while you haven’t? Nothing?”

Releasing Mikael, Gavin stepped back—exasperated; his mania gone as fast as it had appeared. Silently, he refilled his glass with water from a vase.

“Stop with the trembling boy.” He took an exaggerated drink. “See? Like from a spring. Thank you for showing me which advisors need purging. Only half warned me of your attempt. Hm. I expected two thirds. Your trip was slow. It gave us all here plenty of time to work with these new hands.”

The glass clinked on the table, empty.

“Do this, and you'll become a Master with power, the kind that can truly change the world. And I swear on my blood, I will do nothing but support you,” Gavin said, turning back to Mikael. “Just give me this one assurance. One life, Mikael, and I’ll leave the council. I look forward to coming home and running the estate full time. I’ve been needing to spend more time with Sebastian anyway. Your mother…”

He trailed off, confusion contorting his face. “Your mother.”

Trying to take advantage of his father’s momentary laps. Mikael put a fist to his chest and bowed to hide the panic on his face. He had to get out, leave. “Yes, my lord.” 

Before he could even begin to turn for the door, Gavin Blackwood snapped back into the moment. “No.”

The word was cold, void of emotion. Mikael knew what would come next.

Gavin held out his hand, demanding Mikael's own. When Mikael hesitated, Gavin seized him by the wrist, his grip like a vice, pulling back the sleeve with a rough yank that made Mikael wince.

“Father!” Mikael protested, his voice tinged with a mix of fear and desperation.

“This will hurt.” It was the only warning Gavin gave before pulling a talisman from within his sleeve and pressing it to Mikael's exposed flesh. The moment the talisman touched his skin, Mikael gasped in pain as a razor-thin line sliced down his wrist, the searing agony shooting up his arm. Sharp clinks of glass filled with talent were sharp in the air as Gavin held Mikael’s arm in place, the blood sucked up by the button-like talisman, leaving Mikael feeling drained and violated. Gavin rolled the negator into Mikael's arm with one smooth motion, before pulling his wand away. “The wound will be tied off, undetectable in just a few... ah, there it is. Same way this very blade was smuggled so close to me.”

The pain lingered, throbbing and raw, as the skin knit itself back together, leaving an invisible, subsurface wound. Mikael's breath came in ragged gasps, his body trembling from the shock. His father ignored his suffering, continuing with cold detachment. “Don’t worry, it can’t hurt you unless it’s stabbed in. Useful trick requiring a few extra runes. You’re not the only one with interesting discoveries.”

Gavin tugged his son’s jacket back in place, tapping his chest once on each side.

Mikael met his father's eyes, numb, his spirit crushed. The clock struck the fourteenth hour. He had less than an hour and a half to report to the underground preparation chambers. His mind swirled with a mix of pain, and resentment.

Not liking what he saw in Mikael's eyes, Gavin yanked him closer again, his fingers digging painfully into the raw healing. Mikael winced, a cry of pain suppressed. “This is an order from the forever lord of your house, boy. Do it.”

He’s done pretending.

Silently, Mikael rested his hands on his father’s, gently pulling them from his collar. The touch was tender, a stark contrast to the violence he had just endured. His voice was a whisper, heavy with unspoken agony. “I understand, my lord.”

Not waiting to be dismissed, unable to handle any more of his father's poison, Mikael turned to leave, his legs shaking, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Son.”

Mikael's hand hesitated on the door, his body tensing at the sound of his father’s voice.

“I promise, you’ll see. Once you see... you’ll understand. They start fires, fighting against us. I’m a father to them all, whether they want it or not. There is a reason so many betrayed you for me.” Gavin’s eyes drifted again, unconsciously fidgeting with the wedding band hanging from a necklace. Despite his distant expression, a firmness remained as he said, “I’ll give you one. Kameron’s staying in lavish quarters I provided three doors down.” Gavin nodded down the hall. “He was promised protection from retribution. Before you have my permission to join your Rite, show your deformed pet there is no protection from a scorned Blackwood.”

Mikael's stomach churned at the command, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. Anger and betrayal intertwined with the pain in his wrist, a constant reminder of his father's ruthless control. He nodded stiffly, the weight of the situation pressing heavily on his chest.

Without hesitation, Mikael turned down the hall, not needing to wave away the guards who moved aside at his approach. The use of talent in an unsanctioned fight with another Magus was punishable by expulsion from the Magisterium. This would be personal in more ways than one.

The door bounced off the wall from Mikael’s kick, the top hinge springing loose. Kameron scrambled from bed, a servant screaming as she pulled the sheets close around her.

“Whoa! Hey! HEY! STOP!” Kameron barely got his pants on before Mikael was on him.

Keeping his hand open, Mikael slapped the larger man with enough force to put him on the floor. Blood sprayed onto the thick white carpet as the servant fled the room.

Kameron tried to roll away, throwing a weak kick that Mikael caught on a raised shin. Grabbing Kameron by the face, Mikael lifted him before walking to the wash basin and throwing him down. Kameron screamed once before being submerged in the perfumed fluid. The fight in the man was easy for Mikael to control, getting a better grip before bending Kameron’s arm in a way it shouldn’t, forcing his mouth back under.

Mikael held him there until the slaps and kicks weakened before throwing him back down to the ground.

Gasping, Kameron was foolish enough to raise an open palm, a lash of flame coming for Mikael’s head. 

Easily deflecting the attack, Mikael seized the energy of it with a lash of spirit from his personal reserve of talent before slamming the flame back onto its original caster, leaving oozing burns over the man’s torso. Kicking his friend back to the ground, Mikael dropped a knee to his chest, driving a painful wheeze from the still-gasping man. “You’ll have to tell them you had an accident, Kam.”

Open palm slap after slap rocked Kameron’s head from side to side, spittle and blood covering Mikael's stinging hands before he finished. Each slap changed which color of eye pleaded with Mikael.

“You’re dumber than I thought to think he would protect you from me.” Out of breath, Mikael stood, spitting on Kameron. “He’s always wanted to see me truly go after someone. I never thought I’d give him the satisfaction. You’ll pay for giving him that too.”

“So strong, perfectly trained, of course.” Wheezing, Kameron showed Mikael his bloody teeth. Mikael wiped his eyes before kicking him in the ribs, eliciting a pained cry. “He promised me an education, a scholarship into the Magisterium,” Kameron belted.

“How long?” Mikael asked, his voice hardening.

Kameron averted his eyes.

“How long, Kameron?” Mikael managed a near-perfect impression of his father’s commanding tone.

“He paid my father to have me play in the gardens with you when we were boys.”

Mikael forced a mask of stone over his face, the same expression he wore as a boy when his father’s beatings had gone too far. “If I make it back, he’s still letting me take over.”

Kameron’s eyes widened, clearly seeing a promised future die before him.

“Yeah.” Mikael nodded, moving for the door. “You and your family are banished. I rescind any and all claims the Blackwoods ever had on your kin. If I see you on our lands again, I’ll break you. Do you understand?”

Kameron fell back to the floor, tears of his own shimmering in the artificial light.

Mikael turned to leave, mask cracking.

“Wait.”

He paused, looking over his shoulder one last time at his friend.

“You’re dumber than me if you really think he’ll ever let go of the council. He… said things when he rambled.” Kameron let blood drip from his lips. “There’s nothing he won’t do, Mikael. Nothing.”

Mikael left him there, a new kind of hurt weighing in his heart. He shouldn’t have been surprised; it was an area his father excelled at.

Chapter 3 - Partings

The underground chamber was vast, large enough for two crews to work in solemn silence, returning inspected talismans to Parker and Mikael without getting in each other’s way. Like the thousands before them who had come so close to the rank of Master, they were separated only by a carpet made of faesferes light embedded into the stone floor. In this place, house and station meant nothing; candidates sat eye-to-eye.

Soon Mikael and Parker would be allowed unsupervised time to exchange final words, as peers. Some considered it a mercy, a chance for closure before only one emerged victorious. Failure here didn’t always mean death, but it left a black mark on any record. Stories told of Magus with confirmed qualifying kills still making death pacts here to avoid the shame of returning to the Mother Realm in disgrace. To come this far only to fail would mean starting over, reentering trials with a target on one’s back for having come so close to greatness. With Parker’s ascent reliant on the momentum of her supporters and Mikael’s journey overshadowed by doubts about his own stunted talent, neither of them could afford such a blow.

The "People’s Pride" sat staring at Mikael, her bright amber eyes piercing through his. She had grown since their last bout, solid muscle built over the slender youth he last remembered. Many of the scars she bore were fresh and red, the thickest marring from her chin to collarbone. Part of her legend was refusing complete healing, always leaving a mark for all to see. She was a stark contrast to Mikael’s narrow, hawkish face without a blemish despite his childhood. Everything about her was bright and sun colored, while Mikael could only be described as pale and clean. The spring colors of the armor being worked onto her only enhanced the clashing effect, a near opposite of Mikael’s house’s deep Blackwood red and charcoal.

The only thing they shared was the set of their jaws and nervous wide eyes.

They were bound by the same goal, driven by the same fate. The world saw them as opposing forces, but in truth, they were two sides of the same coin, each advocating for a new generation not born for war, but for what comes after. Sitting there, Mikael realized that if Parker Velos hadn’t been the one thing standing between him and freedom, he would have been excited to witness her rise as an indicator of the change to come.

He had ached for this day—a shot at escaping from under his father’s thumb—but never in his wildest dreams had he envisioned an opponent quite like her, nor how his father would move to ruin it.

As a servant moved to return a chain of talismans around Mikael’s neck, she noticed his tattoos and adjusted his collar to cover them, showing no sign of sensing what they truly were. With all of his talismans cleared, they were being returned with council-approved spells for the duel.

Would they be enough?

In the years since their time sparring in the arena, numerous accounts of Parker shaking off hits capable of crippling a giant had made Mikael wonder. Her strength lay in direct attacks, relying on unparalleled raw talent to overwhelm opponents with unorthodox casting techniques. Yet how she had repeatedly survived hits that should have put her in the ground, witnessed by hundreds, remained a mystery.

Once the papers began printing stories of the “People’s Pride,” the ever-plenty lunatics began whispering that Parker was blessed by a forgotten god of war.

But Mikael knew the truth.

Her eyes told a different story.

Parker had been born into a different kind of pain than Mikael had, but he understood her the way a starving child understands a beaten dog. When they fought in the pits, the way she moved—giving everything at every moment—told him all he needed to know. Parker got up because it was all she knew how to do.

He stopped himself from rubbing the scar along his scalp and moved instead to help a servant loop a series of talismans into his belt.

Mikael yearned to find more common ground with Parker, dreaming of seeing her eventually rise to the rank after a few more years earning it, maybe cooling her political fire. Her radical preaching threatened a system that needed refining, not destruction. Despite respected names condemning her, Parker continued to preach that Magi should open their ranks to talentless peasants, and courts should summon any Magus over commoner disputes. Unheard-of practices even before the Eurotian invasion. The responsibility for stopping her had fallen on his shoulders.

The blade hidden in his arm itched at his conscience.

The conflict had changed, and she didn’t even know it yet.

This isn’t right.

His plan had been simple. Most of his talismans were attuned for weaker yet faster activation to counter her overwhelming power. He would overwhelm and submit her… kill her.

Though most talismans could be fatal, Mikael had never actually used one even in an attempt to kill someone. Of course, magic was dangerous, and accidents were a constant risk, but despite the required bravado, the thought of killing sickened him.

Mikael knew his father would never let him forget. Even if he followed Gavin’s orders to the letter, Kameron had been right—his father would find a way to go back on his word, to twist the situation to maintain his iron grip on Mikael’s life and his high position within the council. The realization weighed heavily on his chest, like a vice tightening around his heart. Yet the alternative—betraying his family, turning his back on everything he had known—was a terrifying prospect.

If Mikael moved against his father now, if he dared to betray the Blackwood name, he would be cast out and rejected by the nobility. Stripped of his title and lands, he would be left to rely on the Grandmaster’s mercy for shelter, a mercy that could be exploited for political gain. Would Elara trade him if the price was right? She’d already betrayed him for leverage over his father. The thought of being without a family, without a home, without the resources needed to protect Sebastian, left Mikael feeling like he was trapped at the bottom of an ocean valley.

Even if he somehow managed to gather enough evidence to have his father arrested—a feat that had never been accomplished against a sitting council member—what would be the fallout? How would the rest of the family react? They had been willing to accept a peaceful transfer of power, a quiet transition from father to son, but to prosecute the family's greatest warrior? To bring down the hero of the centuries-long war, Kant would be seen as a weakness. Others would use it as an excuse to rally support against his claim.

The fear of losing everything, of being cast out into the cold with nothing but his own wits and determination, was overwhelming. Yet the fear of remaining under his father's control, of continuing to live as a puppet to a man who had long since lost his humanity, was equally suffocating.

Mikael knew that he could not—would not—let his father win. He couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Sebastian to suffer under Gavin’s rule, of letting the Blackwood name continue to be a curse to those who bore it rather than a legacy of honor.

Why, Kameron? You treacherous bastard.

On top of all of this, soon Parker would be told this indeed would be a match to the death. If Mikael didn’t come home, would his father finally focus on his only remaining son? Would the weight of all of this find Sebastian’s shoulders?

To even get close enough to stab Parker with the negator would require direct conflict, where she had the advantage in both speed and power. This was a path of greater difficulty to a spoiled defeat. 

What would Kant do?

The answer was simple: kill Parker and whoever else stood in his way.

Mikael knew his father was the only one capable of escaping such a quagmire, indifferent to collateral damage. Gavin Blackwood had spilled blood—foreign and familial—without hesitation, only growing more ruthless with age and madness. Once merely abusive, he had become a monster, clinging to power with the conviction that only he understood the world’s dangers.

Yesterday, Mikael believed he had the pieces in place to take that power. But Gavin had not only anticipated the betrayal but used it to tighten his grip.

Frozen in fear, thoughts racing, Mikael wondered if Parker could see the desperation in his eyes.

“I think she likes you,” Sebastian’s murmur scorched Mikael’s focus, causing him to start.

“She respects me. As I do her,” Mikael growled, annoyed by Seb’s childish remark. He shifted in his seat to evade the armor digging into his torso. “The straps are a bit tight. Could you loosen the chest?”

“I think you respect her a lot.”

“I do,” Mikael admitted, choosing to ignore the implication of his brother’s emphasis. “Seriously, Seb, the leather is crushing my ribs. I can’t breathe.”

“Fine,” Sebastian began redoing the piece. “After this is all done, you two should chat. Even if she doesn’t become a Master, Parker will have just as much influence.”

“I don’t think we’ll be friends.”

“She’s the kind of person you need around,” Sebastian said, blissfully unaware of their father’s victory. “Keep your enemies close, yeah? Do you know why they say that?”

“So you can watch them.”

“Yes,” Sebastian agreed. “But Dad’s journal says more about it.”

Mikael’s eyes widened at the confession, surprising him enough to break his concentration and turn away from Parker.

Sebastian tugged the straps around Mikael’s torso, reattaching his armor only a hair looser. “It can also apply in victory.”

He tied down the final strap, careful to keep his voice low. “What if you’re the one to show grace in victory? Make them see you in a new light and work for you.” Sebastian recited, giving a light jab against the black leather. “If someone proves to be a threat worth crushing, aren’t they worth having work for you?”

Mikael found himself staring at Sebastian, impressed. His ability to not only retain but also understand complex ideas greatly surpassed others at his age.

In the distance, a bell sounded, vibrating the air even this far away.

The crew began to retreat, their work done, as the final bell tolled its last vibrato.

Realizing he had to say goodbye, Mikael pulled Sebastian in for a hug. Whispering frantically, he spoke straight from the heart.

“We’ll be better men, Sebastian. No matter what happens, I love you. You’re already a greater man than Father or I ever were.”

Before Mikael could say another word, his brother was ushered away from him—the signal to clear the tent was absolute. The last glimpse he caught of Sebastian was the look of fear for what Mikael had said.

Mikael watched as the door closed behind the last of the attendants, Father’s men visible in their watch for a brief moment, leaving him alone with the People’s Pride. Taking a deep breath, he returned his focus to her; both of them looked anything but ready for the task ahead.

She echoed the tremble in his hands with a shake in her leg.

Mikael felt the blade hidden within his flesh, itching at him to confess. There was no other way out. During the entire walk down to the underground, he had scrambled for a solution, any way to avoid what was completely out of his hands.

The blade being the very one to strip Kant of his strength was no coincidence. This victory would be Gavin’s in every way he could make it.

Revolted by the thought, Mikael made his decision.

“P—”

“It’s a bit silly, all this pomp for what should only require dirt, fists, and talent.” Parker spoke right over him. She uncrossed her legs, leaning forward. The light from the decorative orbs floating above their heads cast heavy shadows across her face. “Lilly told me to try and intimidate you. Said you were sensitive as a boy. Empathetic and overly reasonable.”

Lilly Blackwood would never be caught dead saying any such thing.

Mikael's distant cousin, the lone noble in Parker’s infamous crew, had been his rival in childhood, their petty squabbles never fully outgrown. Mikael suspected her alliance with Parker was driven by a simple truth: Parker was the only person Lilly had ever met who could outdo her in causing chaos.

“Yeah, I didn’t think that would work.” Parker continued, head cocking at Mikael’s stoney silence, “Hot hearts forge strong armor. It’s an honor to face you again, Mikael.”

Mikael’s nerves finally got the best of him. “There is nothing honorable about this.”

“What?” Parker leaned back, brows furrowing. “You still doubt my right to be here? Coming from a man who was handed his first talisman at birth. Tell me Mikael, have you ever had to survive on gutter water?”

“I didn’t mean–”

“Do you know how I got my first talisman, Blackwood?” She used the name as a curse. “I want you to take a guess.”

“Create, purchase, trade. Earn.” Mikael counted off.

“Hm. Well, I didn’t have the blood to be trained as a Magi, so I couldn't learn how to make ‘em.” Breaking tradition, Parker rose from her dais, stepping down. “You say I should’ve traded? Why don’t you educate me, then, Mikael: What did I have to trade? Earn one then? The only jobs available to me came with contracts. Did you ever have to consider selling years of your life for any of those talismans you have?”

“Am I supposed to feel bad for you?” Mikael stood as well, hating her looming over him. “The only reason you’re even able to stand here is the power in your blood. You had to fight to be here. So did everyone else.”

Parker’s eyes bulged, hand unconsciously resting on the famous dragon bone wand at her hip. “Is a Blackwood about to lecture me on—?”

“Enough, Parker. You have no idea what it means to carry our name.”

Parker ignored the caution in Mikael’s voice, instead choosing a rack of weapons set out for them to choose from. “I earned my place here without a day of Magisterium training. I do understand the weight of a name, Mikael.”

The title of, ‘People’s Pride’ hung in the air between them, unspoken.

Unclenching his jaw took a massive effort. “So how did you get it? Killing a man in his sleep?”

Parker’s head snapped to him, a bow and arrow frozen lifted from its hook. “Did the Son of a Severed go digging in the dirt?”

“What would you supporters think if they knew you–” He stopped himself from snapping, shocked by how easily Parker had gotten under his skin. Hands shaking, heart racing, if this was what Parker wanted, he was serving it to her without question.

But she doesn’t know.

She was trying to knock him off balance without understanding he was trying to warn her. Gavin’s warning about the trial being larger in scope than he originally thought echoed within Mikael’s mind.

Another problem reared its head. Would she even believe him? Did it matter, or only the warning?

“What was that?” She whistled, giving him one of her famous cheek-splitting grins that singly had driven more papers to start printing with pictures and text. “Heck of an accusation coming from the Reaper’s Heir. Does any Blackwood remember if the money or blood came first?”

Well… she had a point.

The blade began to burn under Mikael’s skin.

“It’s—” Regaining his composure, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, this isn’t—”

Her words bit right over him. “I’ll never claim to understand the pains of your life, Mikael. Don’t presume to know mine.”

Air stiff between them, Mikael closed his eyes.

Will you let me speak?

“It doesn’t have to be this way.” She spoke softly.

Mikael’s eyes shot open at the tone.

After a moment of tension between them lessened, she continued, “I am sorry for your father’s suffering.”

“Don’t be.”

…

“…Ah. I see.”

Mikael wasn’t sure if they were having a genuine moment of understanding or if she was simply one step ahead.

“He’s why I want this. So I can escape him.” Mikael had no idea why he said it, only that she was the one person on the planet who would understand. She had also been driven harder than Ten Kingdoms of trained Magi to be here. “This morning I learned that isn’t possible.”

She replaced the bow, picking up two training knives instead, spinning them with remarkable dexterity between her fingers. A ruby ring flashed in the light. “Men who come to power during war are poor governors of peace or fathers.”

“We agree on that.” Mikael was pleased by the surprise on her face. Her eyes drifted up and down his armor, taking him in.

I’m being played.

“Does it scare you how the people see me, Mikael?”

"I fear the people calling anyone their ‘Pride.’” He answered honestly. “What happens when she falls?"

Her grin widened. “What happens if I don’t?”

“Then as a Master you’ll fail to meet their expectations.” She blinked in surprise. “Your narrative has burned like wildfire, completely out of control. You can’t deliver on half of what you’ve promised even if you find some support on the council. Many will oppose you simply to watch you flounder under pressure. Parker, you’re an incredible fighter. Are you also a politician?”

“No, I am not.” She relented, a slump lowering her shoulders. “Gods, I don’t even think I want to be.”

“But you have to.” He added knowing the truth of it. 

For months, the world had all watched the politics around Parker spiral. She started small, but once her potential had been proven, people from all walks of life had begun projecting their hopes onto her. Something even those with teams of support would struggle with. From what Mikael could tell, Parker’s inner circle was composed of nothing but rejects from all over the world. It was no surprise they had lacked the tact to reign in her buzz. Parker’s over-promised potential would overshadow any change she did accomplish.

“You should’ve understood the danger of a title like that.”

"I do, Mikael," she said, defensive. "Have you ever done what you’re asking me to do? Tell people no in such a way? Not schemes, but dreams parents want for their children. Things we all know are possible if only we can face the change fully."

“Let’s say you succeed, totally. Get everything you want. So much less to the military and more to the people.” Mikael found himself captivated by what she might say. “What if the Eurotian sails return and our garrisons aren’t replenished?”

“Then they will find people with something to fight for.” She rubbed her eyes, taking an exasperated breath. “Like most men, you listen, but you are not hearing me. We agree on so much, but you assume the worst. No one understands the threat of the Eurotian more than those who still don’t have homes to go back to.”

Neither of them spoke, so Parker pushed on. “Now imagine what I could accomplish if I had your support behind me.”

Behind you?

Biting back an unproductive retort, Mikael reflected on her candidness, an echo of Sebastian’s words still ringing in his ears.

If they both somehow survived the trial, working with Parker could open interesting possibilities. While her lack of experience and stubbornness might be difficult to manage, would the people ever be as unified without her? Worse, if Mikael killed the people’s Pride, could they ever accept him as their Champion?

Mikael’s heart grew cold as he felt the paranoia of his father’s interference all the stronger. There was potential here, but Gavin had squandered it all for another cynical lesson.

“Parker, I… hope no matter what happens, your words continue to carry weight. No matter what people think of my family, I do not want life to revolve around war. You’re absolutely correct; the Masters need new blood, new voices. A Magus able to push from a new perspective will only strengthen us.”

To Mikael’s elation, it looked like he had surprised her. The smile on her face finally touched her eyes.

Speak up, you fool!

"Thank you, m'lord." The People’s Pride performed a mocking extended sidestep curtsy, her dulled blades flashing in a flourish before she tossed one to Mikael. She turned her back, retrieving a replacement for the thrown blade. A dangerous edge crept into her voice. "No matter what happens, it’s important we keep things fair. Spy for spy. Blade for… daddy’s blade."

Mikael froze, stupidly staring at the single blade in his hand. The implication of what she said hit him like a carriage.

Parker knew about the negator.

“Do you think you’re the first assassin the council’s sent?” Parker leaned in closer, eyes unyielding. Mikael felt their solitude, leaving precious moments to prepare for what was next. “Don’t worry, I know it came from your father. Severing me so he can restore himself? He does want power.”

“Restore himself?” Mikael stammered, mind halted by this obvious angle he’d been too distracted to consider. “The council doesn’t deal in assassins.”

“Oh? They stopped when the Eurotians left?” Her head tilted. “How nice of them.”

“He only wants me to prove I can… he’s sick.” Oh, I’m an idiot. Kameron’s betrayal, protecting Sebastian, winning the Rite. All of it had blinded him. 

"So are they all, Mikael. Don’t deny it—some part of you sees the truth in what I’m trying to do.” Parker’s eyes were close, pleading, burning with intensity. “You know about the Grandmaster’s decree, Mikael? We don’t need to kill one another. I don’t want to kill you.”

There it was.

“Parker, there isn’t going to—”

A noise behind him cut him off. Parker’s gaze shifted over Mikael’s shoulder. Her voice dropped, urgency lacing her words as she spoke over his response. “There’s a bright future ahead, Mikael. Fight today, work with us tomorrow. Together, we can change everything—regardless of who wins.”

“Finalists!” His father’s voice sliced through the air, commanding immediate attention. “Back to your seats—now!”

He was here. Gavin Blackwood entered the chamber, dressed in ceremonial whites emblazoned with their family’s red. Of course he used his position to make sure he was last to see us together. One last check in on what he’d set in motion.

Who did he have to bribe to get this duty?

It went against the Magisterium's dedication to appearing unbiased between finalists. There was no explicit rule, but the aura around Parker changed as she moved, suddenly on guard. 

“Listen, there won’t be a decree,” Mikael hissed, desperation creeping into his voice.

But Parker had already turned, obedient to the command, possibly mistaking his warning for mere speculation.

Gavin’s fury was palpable as he approached, grabbing Mikael’s arm just as he tried to sit.

“Have you no respect?” Gavin’s voice was a venomous hiss, dripping with disapproval.

Mikael tried to explain, “We were supposed to conv—”

“You were supposed to stay on even ground, Magus Blackwood,” Father cut him off, the scolding tone burning through Mikael’s composure. Even at twenty years old, the shame of being chastised by his father in front of Parker turned his cheeks a furious red.

Gavin’s gaze shifted to Parker, deliberately not addressing her by title. “I’ll cleanse you first, Parker. Once we’re finished, you are to report to the upper chamber. The council will be waiting to deliver your final blessing.”

Parker nodded, a blush coloring her cheeks as she took her seat. Gavin positioned himself between the two of them, staring at the ceiling as if gathering himself for a difficult announcement. But Mikael knew better—he had witnessed this false performance too many times to be deceived by it.

“Magi, this isn't easy for me to say,” Gavin began, his voice taking on a rehearsed gravitas. “The rumors are true. The Grandmaster attempted a decree that no Magus would be required to kill another to rise to the rank of master.”

Mikael noticed Parker tense at the word "attempted," her eyes flicking toward him for answers. The lack of reaction from him deepened the frown on her face, her brow furrowing. Mikael barely registered what his father said next, his attention focused on the hardening expression in Parker’s eyes.

“It is with a heavy heart that I must say the council overturned the decree with a near unanimous vote,” Gavin continued, his voice dripping with feigned sorrow. “I voted against it for the sake of you both, but was in a small minority. Tradition will hold for yet another year. Both finalists must take a life before attaining the rank of master. As neither of you is permitted to leave the palace grounds before the trials end, the only legal opponents left for you are each other.”

In less than a second, Parker’s expression shifted from shock to betrayal, finally settling into a cold fury. Mikael could see the accusation in her eyes—she believed he had been toying with her all along, perhaps even acting as a willing assassin.

Gavin turned to Mikael, his tone too heavy with concern. “Are you willing to continue?”

Mikael hesitated, his gaze locking with Parker’s. Her lips thinned, and her eyes bore. It seemed impossible to betray someone you were destined to kill, yet guilt stabbed through Mikael. He wanted to deny what was in her eyes, but the truth was, he had hesitated too long. The moment for honesty had passed, and there was no redemption in the path that lay ahead.

“Yes,” Mikael finally answered, forcing himself to meet her gaze, refusing to look away.

Gavin turned his attention to Parker. Her response was clipped, filled with cold resignation. “Exactly as expected.”

Satisfied, Gavin approached Parker, chanting softly as he drew on a vial of distilled talent at his hip. The aura of restoration radiated from the talisman on his chest, a ritual meant to heal any lingering injuries or sickness in both finalists. It was a formality to ensure that they entered the trial at their best, though the gesture felt hollow to Mikael.

When Gavin finished, he dismissed Parker with a wave, turning his focus back to Mikael. Using the excuse of checking Mikael’s equipment, Gavin ignored Parker as she descended from the dais and exited the room. The heavy wooden door creaked open, and the distant roar of the gathered audience flooded into the chamber. Mikael stupidly wanted to call after her, to say something, anything, but his father’s presence loomed over him, his chant beginning with feigned intent.

As the door closed behind Parker, muffling the noise of the crowd, Mikael felt a sickening churn in his stomach. His father’s voice broke the silence with a sigh. “Well, she’s definitely going to try and kill you now. Seems both of you have more metal than I thought.”

Mikael barely noticed when the aura around his father sputtered and faded, the well of talent at his hip prematurely drying up. Disgust welled up in Mikael, though whether it was directed at his father or himself, he couldn’t be sure.

This time, Mikael didn’t need to force the strength into his voice. “I won’t use it.”

His father’s response was immediate and violent. The back of Gavin’s hand exploded across Mikael’s face, the rings on his fingers slicing through flesh and spraying blood across the stone chamber. A high-pitched ringing filled Mikael’s ears, and as his father’s rage twisted his features. Cold. Don’t let him see you hurt. Gavin grabbed Mikael by the collar, lifting him off the seat before slamming him back down. He shouted words Mikael couldn’t hear through the ringing in his ears.

“Great. Now I’ll have to heal that too,” Gavin muttered, seizing Mikael’s hair by the roots. “Even if she breaks her neck tripping on a root, you will plunge that blade into her chest before she draws her final breath. Do you understand?”

“I—” Mikael tried to respond, but his father raised a warning finger in front of his nose, oblivious to the talent surging through Mikael’s veins.

"Mikael, listen carefully," Gavin spoke slowly, each word dripping with contempt. "If you don't follow my instructions, it will be Sebastian who suffers the consequences."

Absorbing abuse had become second nature to Mikael—the beatings, the impossible tasks, the lectures designed to break him. It had all become so terribly rote. But this? This was different. Gavin had never used Sebastian against him in such a way.

If Parker wins, there will be no one to protect him.

It was Gavin’s final ploy, forcing Mikael to do what he had already resigned himself to. Slowly, Mikael unclenched his hands from the white-knuckle grip on the armrests of his seat. He touched his lips, tracing the three gashes bleeding across his cheek.

Gavin, unsatisfied, gripped Mikael's chin, wrenching his face upward until their eyes locked. Those black eyes, so much like Mikael's, now bloodshot and burning with a ruthless intensity, bore into him. Gavin’s face, paler than Mikael had ever seen. The unspoken demand hung heavily between them, and with a numbness that seeped into his very core, Mikael finally whispered, “Yes, Master Blackwood.”

Gavin patted Mikael’s cheek twice before lifting the white stone attached to his hip. “Now top off this well for me. Don’t worry—just enough to fix that lip of yours. We don’t need to bother with the rest.”

His tone implied that it was Mikael’s fault, that some failure on Mikael’s part had pushed Gavin to hit him, and the blood now staining Mikael’s armor was an embarrassment unto himself.

Something inside Mikael broke.

Hypocrite. Liar. Abuser. Hateful bastard.

Mikael couldn’t tear his gaze from the blood on his fingers. If he went through with this one last task, he might be free of Gavin’s official rank, but it would mean full submission. This lie would give Gavin power over him until the end. Gavin’s crime today would become Mikael’s burden to bear forever.

Trapped, Mikael saw only two options: return victorious or leave Sebastian in his father’s hands.

But hate and anger churned within Mikael, and determination won out. There was only one way forward.

Mikael straightened to his full height, towering over his father with a defiance that left no room for doubt. The blood trickling down his chin would not go unnoticed; it would be noted, investigated, and recorded. After such a public display, the council and Grandmaster would be forced to provide answers. It was a visible stain that demanded scrutiny, ensuring Parker could prove her innocence with the simple truth serums reserved for scandals of this magnitude.

“What are you doing?” Gavin tried to push Mikael back down into the chair, but Mikael easily pushed past him, deliberately wiping the blood from his fingers onto Gavin’s robe.

“I will do as you ask, Master Blackwood,” Mikael said, his voice steady.

“Mikael, come back—”

Gavin reached for Mikael’s wrist, but Mikael was faster, batting his hand away. Still, Gavin continued to advance.

Flaring his power, talent coursing through his talismans, Mikael screamed, “No!” pushing his father back hard. As he landed, many of the vials around his hip shattered.

Gavin’s face contorted with fear, aging him even further. Mikael relished it. Gavin finally understood what Mikael was doing, and it terrified him.

Stop playing his game.

“You are no father to me,” Mikael couldn’t stop the words, a mask of stone falling easily into place, voice empty.

Gavin opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"You want me to kill? Then I’m dead to you." Mikael lost some control, voice sinking into disgust. “I’m taking Sebastian. If I return, I will take him and every soul on this continent will know that I forsake inheritance and title because of you and my contempt for the rot, not in your mind, but soul. You don’t deserve the name, Blackwood. And if I don’t come back, if I die, know it is by your doing, not hers.”

“I made our legacy!” Spittal flew with Gavins defiant whine.

“You cursed us with it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with finality. Gavin Blackwood, the man who had ruled with an iron fist, was open-mouthed, tears beginning to fall. The power he had wielded so ruthlessly drained away.

“Mikael… Mikael! Mikael, please!”

Mikael turned and shoved open the heavy door to the underground chamber. The roar of the waiting crowd slammed into him like a tidal wave, the vibrations rattling his bones. As he stepped into the blinding sunlight, the warmth on his bruised and torn skin felt almost like a blessing, a reminder that he was still alive.

He stood tall, refusing to let the weight of the moment drag him down from where he earned. The truth was etched into his skin, written in his blood for all to see—a testament to the battle he had fought and the resolve he carried into this final trial.

Thousands filled the marble heart of the palace, their eyes fixed on the two finalists who would determine the course of history. The Grandmaster watched from her low dais, her scowl deepening as she took in the sight of Mikael’s bleeding face. He grinned bloody teeth at her.

The councilman sent to complete the ceremony had clearly failed in their duties, and the crowd knew it. Whispers would spread. Questions would be asked. 

Eyes shifted toward the council members gathered around the stairs to the monolith. Every member was present, except one. The tension was palpable, a collective breath held in anticipation of what was about to unfold.

To the rising cheers of the crowd, Mikael walked across the pristine white sand toward the monolith, a towering structure twisted upon itself, casting long shadows over the arena. As he ascended the steps, his gaze locked on Parker, already kneeling in prayer. The council's chants echoed through the air, a chorus that celebrated the first full continental Rite in over a century.

This was more than just a contest between two Magi. It was a clash between tradition and change, between the commoner and the heir. This moment was not just the culmination of a day’s events; it was a symbol of the larger struggle that had led them all here.

Mikael knelt beside Parker, the weight of the moment pressing down on him like a heavy cloak. The ring began to vibrate, the air within its curve rippling with anticipation of the trial to come. The council’s chants surged to a crescendo, filling the space with a sense of impending fate.

Mikael and Parker rose together as the council’s spell reached its zenith, poised to step into their final trial. Above the monolith, the sky split, revealing a sight that defied reality.

Chapter 4 - Trial 

Mikael stepped into an unfamiliar night as the swirling crystal portal snapped shut behind him, silencing the crowd's roar. The wet grass brushed his fingers as the echoes of the arena faded into the dense trees surrounding him.

He was sealed within a reflected realm. The final trial had begun. He was alone, and Parker Veros was hunting him.

Yet, Mikael couldn’t help but smile.

Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the scents of the gray and black forest. The charcoal-colored grass was illuminated by a black star burning in the sky. The air was thin but fresh, with moisture hanging like morning dew.

This reflection was peaceful, with a gentle breeze rolling over the tall grass. The light was faint, casting spider-like shadows across dark tree trunks. Everything was a near mirror of their world, but the endless rolling hills were empty. No life existed here, only the two of them under a sunless sky.

Focus!

In this reflection, Mikael and Parker were free to hunt each other for days, while mere moments passed back home. The council would monitor their deadly encounter, able to sense when only one soul was left in this splintered world. This mirrored realm allowed their full power to be unleashed without fear of more towns turning to ash.

Away from prying eyes, Mikael dropped into a squat, letting relief wash over him. In days, maybe hours, he’d either find Parker, or she’d find him.

But right now, with time essentially frozen back home, he was safe. After tonight, he’d have no way of knowing if Parker was leagues away or just a few steps out of sight. But today—or, night? He was alone. He couldn’t change a damn thing aside from resting for what was to come.

That night, after finding a hidden clearing under a cliff, he slept soundly on a bed of grass, stew from rations provided by the Magisterium boiled in water pulled from the air with talent filling his stomach. Dreaming of a summer orchard he hadn’t seen in years carried him into the morning.

Waking, he felt the weight of the hunt return in full. There was smoke stretching to the horizon, a dark plume rising against the sky. With no other directional marker available, he decided the fire was rolling over what he’d consider eastern hills.

It wasn't a random choice. When lost, proper orientation could mean the difference between life or death. He didn’t want to risk wandering aimlessly and wasting precious time and energy. Every step had to be deliberate, every direction chosen with care. The fire's location gave him a reference point, allowing him to maintain a course and avoid dangerous backtracking.

It only took an hour for him to confirm the fire wasn’t natural. The giant plumes of smoke that further darkened the forest as the day went on spoke volumes of Parker’s desire to draw him in. It was too great a coincidence—he was being extended an invitation.

Parker wanted a fight and she wanted it now. This was a blatant attempt to ruin any positioning he might have taken up by altering the terrain.

Moving toward what he judged to be the center of the blaze, he answered her summons.

Everyone expected him to lay traps and lure opponents into carefully placed talismans. A boring and predictable strategy that many weaker casters never overcame, only ‘mastered’.

Learning to use his traps offensively was how Mikael had earned his way here. As quickly as Parker could cast, he could plant destruction. Through feigned retreats and constant pivoting, no one could keep from stumbling against him.

Once the smell of smoke began to sting, he poured talent into his charm-covered necklace. As the hills behind him blurred into the clouds, the charms glowed with power, ready to be planted.

Every hundred steps, he pulled his ruby-tipped wand from his boot and scored the trees around him with air before planting a charm. These simple traps were designed to transfer the dormant talent stored within the charms into a myriad of active spells, waiting to be triggered. He was setting the field, preparing to sweep Parker’s feet on her advance and allow him to overwhelm her. 

Planting his third charm, he found himself whistling along with a bird before the impossibility of the sound registered. No souls existed outside the Motherrealm, large or small. Life was not possible here, only lifeless reflections.

He dropped into a squat, laying flat against the tree. Clutching his wand to his chest, he pulled a black disc from his belt, and the wave of fire stored within.

Why birds?

Of all the ways talent could affect change onto the world, sound was one of the easiest. Requiring hardly any talent at all, a Magus of any strength could cast vibrations well out of sight.

For Parker? He wouldn’t be surprised to learn she could summon sound over leagues.

He was focusing on the wrong part of the move.

Why tell him she was close?

To pin him down, but to maintain a sound, one had to continually channel talent. It was hard to find a single soul, even in a desert such as this. But to the right spell, talent would resonate like a struck bell.

Seeing the weakness of her approach, he tore a pin from his shoulder, dropping it to the forest floor. Stored talent triggered with a small push from his own. Energy pulsed through the ground.

His fingers rested on a nearby root, waiting for a response.

None came.

It should have been impossible. Unless Parker had happened to have jumped at that very moment, her contact with the same earth as his divination should have–

She’s in the trees.

Looking into the sunless sky, no silhouette caught his eye.

Silently he rose, backing from his charm. Discovering planted traps like these took time, but could be done with enough patience. No matter what, he needed to move. Parker wanted him still, waiting for her mobile ambush.

Pulling a solid black statue of a small crying boy from his belt, he crushed it, activating the illusion within, before tossing the pieces well off.

A shadowy figure coalesced by the tree where Mikael had fled, soft cries emanating from the decoy. Though a simple illusion, it had proven disturbingly effective in the past. The pitiful sounds of a wounded child pleading for help tugged at even the most hardened soldier's instincts, breaking their focus—even when they knew it was nothing more than a cruel trick.

With roughly an hour before the phantom child would stop its steadily escalating cries, he began making a wide circle. Summiting the tallest nearby hill, he turned to survey the decoy, using a fallen tree as cover. As expected, the smoke had grown too dense to see anything further than a few meters. The solution was simple.

Pulling one of three vials from his belt, he dipped his fingers into the liquid distilled talent. Smearing the fluid across his eye, he began a chant of sight. Learned from an old war mage, it was the start of his understanding the importance of information in combat.

The full spectrum of light revealed itself as his heart began to race with effort. Like never before, this reflected reality revealed itself to him. Beyond the returning rolling hills, he watched light play through the smoke, bent and weakened until the very core of the inferno revealed itself.

He’d expected a blaze—a hill or two on fire, near enough to explain the smoke in the air. Instead, endless walls of fire scourged every hill in sight. The sight reminded him of the stories Father had shared, of battles fought where entire landscapes were consumed by magic-fueled infernos.

My gods.

Looking to his self-assigned north and south, black flames stretched into oblivion. The entire world was burning. What he’d taken as a signal fire had grown to a raging inferno. A prison herding him in a singular direction.

Parker had known he was near and spread chaos to put him on his back foot. It was working. She’d limited the directions he could attack from, likely hiding in the desert smoke with some prepared filter allowing her to move undetected.

He had two choices, fight his way through the flames and exhaust himself while giving away his exact location, or run in the direction Parker wanted.

The birds had gone silent.

He should have been able to hear the amplified cries of his decoy by now, but Parker must have destroyed it.

She was close.

Skin prickling, instinct drove him to move. Listening to the feeling prevented him from losing that very moment. A spinning steel disk slammed from above into where he’d taken cover, spinning fast enough to slice into the earth with a splash of grass and dirt.

Jolted by panic, he acted without thought. Unleashing the fire stored within his talisman, a circle of flames exploded outward.

A cry of pain came from his left. Silhouetted by his flames, Parker’s form shimmered above him despite an effective invisibility spell. She struggled to maintain focus, but the spell broke from her control, and she fell to the forest floor.

He tore a talisman of wind from his chain, ready to smash Parker into the trees. But before he could act, a portal opened behind her, swallowing the People’s Pride. “Coward!” he screamed.

Yanking a vial from his belt, he smeared a liquid web around his mouth. Meant to purify poisons in the air, the filter worked just as well for the rapidly building smoke. He wasn’t foolish enough to think that was the end of it. Running to the line of traps he’d set in the valley below, he held his wand like a knife, ready for any attack.

To his surprise, it came from head on.

Just as he reached his first trap, Parker erupted from the forest ahead with a blood-curdling scream on her lips. Swinging an ax he’d never seen her with before, a wave of electricity spasmed from it.

For a brief moment, he felt a mix of admiration and dread. Parker was known for being unpredictable, her tactics often catching even the most seasoned Magi off guard. But this was mightier than anything he'd anticipated. The ax, crackling with power, was a new and dangerous variable.

Instinct kicked in. He braced himself, ready to counter her assault. The traps he’d meticulously set now felt like his only lifeline. Parker's scream echoed in his ears, a chilling reminder of the stakes of their battle.

Simple.

If she hadn’t swung from such a distance, maybe he wouldn’t have been able to handle such power

Raising his wand, Mikael blasted the ax, turning it into a blurring projectile faster than any arrow back the direction it came with nothing but deftly woven air.

Her reaction was instant, vanished again through a portal, snapping out of existence as the spear launched past where she'd been.

Parker was testing him, cautiously keeping her distance. It was the right counter, the longer she waited, the more Mikael had to show his hand, but the throw was too slow. 

Shouting in frustration, he raised his wand and blasted air at perceived motion to his right, but only hit empty space.

There was still time to plan.

He fled through the tall grass, positioned himself between two of the traps, eyes perpetually scanning high and low. If he wanted to live, he had to go on the offensive. To do that, he had to pin her down. That damn portal hopper essentially made that impossible.

It had to be a remarkably crafted talisman to be able to locate an exact position and open so q–

Another use of the smoke finally clicked.

If the hopper had been made for rapid use, maybe you didn’t need to choose a location and it only opened a set distance away.

She’d been in the trees. Falling above her previous position and using raw wind to control her descent was a clever strategy.

With only his theory to go on, he got to work. The next three talismans he activated created noisy illusions of large men sprinting toward any source of talent aside from his own. They would only work if the other source was within a few dozen meters, but… there.

Two of his illusions veered sharply to the east, deeper into the flames. Parker was planning her next prod at his defenses, right where one of his traps was already laid.

Smashing into the smoke, he cracked a vial from his breast pocket. The liquid inside glued itself to his arm as he poured, fat globules of silver ready to be activated.

A shout of surprise gave her position away as one of his illusions found her. Following just behind, he found a bewildered Parker staring at his sentinel disappearing into the shadows now that, after completing its task, had continued on its run aimlessly.

She turned back just as he took aim, aligning one of his beads of silver with her head. Flicked by his middle finger, the fluid streaked into a knife, ejecting with the speed of a crossbow bolt.

She wasn’t wearing her ring.

Two more were on its tail before the first passed through what had revealed itself to be a fairly rudimentary illusion of Parker, dissipating as his knives ruined the spell.

A glint of red from above, sharp in the monochrome world.

Fear moving faster than thought, he blindly fired his four remaining droplets upward. All four were swept aside by Parker with a blast of air, a wand of her own slashing wildly.

His attack had interrupted whatever she’d been preparing. Half-formed tendrils of some orange fluid melted from the air, raining in harsh control to the colorless world.

He recovered first, blasting Parker with air before pulling the last charm from his chain and sending it into his stream of wind.

Already falling, Parker tried for another portal, but the fishhook-looking trap deployed first.

Collaborating with Sebastian, the spell had started as a joke. A way to cover a lordling they didn’t like much in endless seafoam. Seeing potential, he’d found a way to get the material to harden as it expanded.

Just before she vanished, he saw the fluid drench Parker as it began to froth.

He had seconds to find her.

Now or never.

Nearly exhausting his natural talent, he raised his wand and pulled a torrent of wind, clearing the air above from its smoke.

There!

Coated from head to toe, Parker’s statued form became an indistinguishable blob as the fluid finished its expansion, hardening into a cement trap tough enough to withstand several grenades. She’d just so happened to land directly in the tree he’d planted one of his favorite inventions.

Cutting her down with a slice of water pulled from the air, he activated the trap within the trunk.

The moment the cement slab slammed to the forest floor, a hypnotic lullaby began to play. Over-enchanted to a ludicrous degree, if anyone but him heard just three notes of it, they would be rendered blind, deaf, and dumb. Even if Parker managed to crack her tomb before suffocating, within a second, she’d be helpless to his counter.

He began working on a secondary measure.

Hurling a talisman of three overlapping symbols into the air, it cracked, spewing several tubs worth of lava into his waiting net of air. Positioning the lethal shower above Parker, he worked it, preparing to drop it at the faintest sign of a crack.

There was no such warning for what came.

Not air, pure force slammed into his chest, cracking what felt like several ribs. He was hurled into a tree, stunned by the force of the explosion.

Molten rock rained from above.

It wasn’t until a sizable chunk began melting its way into his padded armor that he recovered enough to act. A feeble shield was all he could manage as he tore his ruined outer armor off, leaving only a padded jacket underneath.

He was depleted, completely drained of talent. There wasn’t enough left in him to activate a single talisman. If Parker struck, he would be reduced to feet and fists.

Groaning, he managed to rise, searching for her next attack. Too weak to summon his wand, he was reduced to leaning down to pick it up in trembling fingers.

Nothing came.

Walking forward, he found what should have been Parker’s grave. The cement was split open, a shock of force having torn it in two. Whatever spell Parker had used, the power of it was great enough to decimate the tree containing his trap. Only a few branches scattered about remained as evidence of its existence.

Yet, there was no Parker.

If she’d died, the council maintaining a link to this reflection would have felt one of the only two souls extinguished. Parker was alive, but where?

He couldn’t stay and find out. If she did return, he’d be obliterated with only wells of distilled talent to rely on. Slower to cast from, Parker would crush him before he solidified anything to hamper her assault. While he was burnt dry, she would have plenty of reserves left. If anything, he was surprised how little Parker had put out in this encounter.

This had been a test, the People’s Pride attacking with caution to see what he had in store for her. By simply trying to get him to show his hand, Parker depleted over half his talismans.

Yet, she wasn’t here. Instincts told him he’d hurt the hand she’d poked him with.

A message had been sent both ways.

“Let’s call it a draw,” he said as he rose. Turning, he ran for the hills to the west. Behind him was an ocean of white fire and scorched earth; a boundary of Parker’s creation herding him in one direction; away.

Chapter 5 First Encounter 

(Three Years Prior)

Magi fighting pits were the worst-kept secret in the world. Everyone, even those outside the Magisterium, knew of their existence. Talentless commoners flocked from leagues away to watch, place bets, and revel in the spectacle of their guardians beating each other senseless with magic. Even some Masters observed, scouting for promising apprentices. Those few with the power to stop the practice turned a blind eye, understanding it was the only place outside regulated duels where Magi could settle scores or make a name for themselves. Permitted barbarism to account for the human need to vent and compete. 

For the masses, it was drama and conflict incarnate with the press's writing of often fictionalized rivalries to sell more papers. The scandal of a Master stepping into the rings against an upstart student last year nearly shut the whole thing down. But that would have forced the Grandmaster to acknowledge Mikael’s victory over a Master intent on humbling him. As far as the records were concerned, nothing had ever happened.

Being at the center of one of the greatest post-war controversies had significantly boosted Mikael's reputation. He should have received dozens of Master's letters offering apprenticeships, but his father's claim over him prevented any from coming.

Sitting with his crew high above the pit, Mikael ignored the two bloodied first years fighting below, neither willing to relent. His attention was fixed on the woman who had brought him here.

Parker Veros was a remarkable anomaly—a commoner with enough talent to challenge students and full-fledged Magi alike. Mikael couldn’t bring himself to believe that her potential was as great as the rumors suggested, but he couldn’t ignore the way her name had spread, rippling through his own circles. Whispers even suggested she might have the talent to enter the Magisterium on scholarship, an idea that irked Mikael.

If he could crush her rise now, he knew every mouth speaking her name would instead be praising Blackwood. With that in mind, Mikael had made sure his name was thrown into the ring tonight, slipping a few coins to ensure that Mikael Blackwood would be called next to Parker Veros.

From his vantage point, he could see her below, leaning casually against the bottom railing that encircled the fighters’ sunken pit. She was cheering on the larger of the two first-years, her voice rising above the din. Mikael watched as she hollered, jumping up with excitement as a plume of smoke erupted from the wet walls of the pit. The larger fighter had unleashed a torrent of fire far beyond what the pit’s supplied wells were designed to handle—clearly drawing from his own talent reserves and breaking the first rule of the pits.

His rival was no match for the onslaught, sent flying into the padded wooden walls before crumpling to the dirt floor, the fight decisively ended. 

Over the sound of the drunken crowd roaring, a whistle blew, followed by a half-dozen Magi jumping into the ring. It was a disqualifying move, but not an uncommon one for a first-year in their first bout. Adrenaline pushed normally level-headed people to act like savages.

Rising to his feet, Mikael joined in with the crowd’s jeering. It had been a good fight, well worth the price of entry.

Two Magi out of uniform knelt before the severely burnt victor, who was injured enough to require immediate attention. 

No one appeared worried. In a matter of hours, aside from lost hair, there would be no sign of the attack remaining. Some might even argue pushing her opponent to break the rules was worth the pain. Certainly, more would speak of the bout as a result.

Maybe he could push Parker to make a fool of herself. She always placed bets on her own victory, seeming to make a living off her winnings. An idea bloomed.

Turning from the railing, Mikael found his friends talking amongst themselves, more interested in their drinks and gossip than the fight. Only Kameron was paying him any attention, those obnoxious multi colored eyes of his locked onto Mikael.

“Oi, Mikael,” Kameron queried with hazy eyes. “Why do you have that look again?”

Mikael returned the smile. “Think I know a way to make a bit of extra coin tonight.”

Commotion from below snagged his attention. The host was stepping back in the ring, black cap stuffed with names in hand. After this next fight, Parker and Mikael would be up.

Kam joined him at the railing. One year Mikael’s senior, Kameron was days away from graduating from Master Druin’s tutelage. He had been to the pits every night this week, celebrating over the funding Mikael had convinced his father to put into Kameron’s research.

Kameron was Mikael’s favorite kind of monomaniac—the kind he wanted to help fuel his passions. During the war, countless pieces of art wrought from talent had been burned, looted, or simply lost. Kameron believed it was his destiny to recreate as many pieces as possible, pulling from whatever resources he could to do it justice. 

Incredibly, many Magi old enough to remember the original pieces spoke endlessly about Kameron’s accuracy. Some even went as far as to say that Kameron had improved the work, much to his chagrin.

Kameron squeezed Mikael’s shoulder. “Allowance not enough this month?”

“Yeah, just ‘cause you got some coin from him doesn’t mean I do,” Mikael said, straightening. “Father’s started tracking my expenses. Making something back will give me some much-needed breathing room.”

“Oh? Who are we betting on?”

“Me,” Mikael answered, pulling back from the railing. Time was limited if he wanted to get his bet counted.

Kameron’s grasp stopped him from heading to the stairs. “Whoa, whao. You’re fighting tonight? Why’d you let me drink? You know I’ve been wanting my shot at you—”

Looking back at him, Mikael cut him off, “You’ll get your shot, but tonight, I’m taking their hero.”

Kameron followed, leaving his drink on the railing. “You’re going after her?”

Mikael nodded, moving aside so a few other nobles occupying the upper floors could get by.

“That’s my boy!” Kameron let the crowd push between them before grabbing Mikael’s wrist to stop him from going down the stairs again. “Just wait wait wait wait. That’s a pretty hot thing you’re doing there, Blackwood, why don’t we milk it a bit.”

“What?”

Kameron spun Mikael to face a few nobles sneaking glances there way, shouting, “I told you Mikael would be happy to meet every one of you!”

Godsdamn it, Kameron.

Mikael spent precious minutes shaking hands on Kameron’s behalf and giving words of encouragement to the magi in training, grunting as Kameron squeezed to sit among them. Mikael remained standing.

“Tell em, Mikael! Parker’s going to be a spectacle, right?” Kameron asked, dropping his arm around a blushing girl.

“I’ve met Parker.” The girl said, scooting away from the intoxicated Kameron the best she could without being rude. “Hell of a personality.”

“I’m sure.” Mikael’s attention snapped to her. “She’s sure managed to capture people’s imagination.”

“What do you mean?” A young man whose name Mikael had already dropped asked, the only member of the group who looked oblivious to what Kameron was trying to do.

“Parker is the first fighter to get stories written about her.” Mikael answered.

“Stories are written about the pits–”

Mikael’s waved hand silenced the boy. “Results. Parker gets pieces about her. She’ll be a citywide name by next summer, mark my words. It’s good for the pits. For Magi as a whole. After tonight, I hope we have the chance to speak.”

“If you leave her intact!” Kameron raised his fresh drink stolen from the same girl he was trying for.

She gave him a reproachful look for the comment, a long brown brain clutched. “It's a tragedy when someone gets hurt in the heat of sport.”

“Don’t mind him.” Mikael cut in before Kameron could slur a response. “Kam’s thoughts have a free pass through his mouth.”

The girl giggled.

“Oi!” Kam raised an offensive gesture in Mikael's direction. “I’m nothing but a truth sayer!”

“Certainly loved telling us who you were.” It was the younger man again, apparently more aware than Mikael gave him credit for.

It was too far.

Mikael sat in the seat directly next to the lad, draping his own arm around a lean pair of shoulders pulling him close. “What did he say? Hm?”

“I uh–” The air grew thick. “He–my lord, he only said–that–ah, I’m sorry.”

“No no.” Mikael didn’t blink. “What did he say?”

“You’re one of the Blackwood boys.”

“Am I?” Mikael asked, head tilting before taking the younger Magus’ drink.

Others outside of their half circle began to notice the tension, some unconsciously stepping away while others snuck glances.

Kameron leaned in close, looking between the two, “Wait, are you not?”

Mikael nearly spat the beer. Choking it down. “Godsdamn it, Kam. I was trying to scare the boy!”

Everyone else followed Kameron and Mikael’s lead in laughing through the tension.

Rising at the sound of the audience roaring below, Mikael excused himself with a warning glance for Kameron to behave himself.

“Whoa, wait!” Kameron followed Mikael toward the stairs.

Surprised to see Kameron abandon his pursuit, Mikael paused. “Yeah?”

“Just, be careful. Alright?”

“She’s untrained!” Mikael dismissed.

“She’s undefeated,” Kameron countered, eyes creased with concern. “Don’t pull your punches.”

Mikael winked, “Remember to bring the drums.”

He left Kameron with a forced grin, moving through the throng of unwashed bodies, doing his best not to cover his nose. While the smell had been tolerable above, down here among the veterans and commoners, it was ripe.

The sounds of another ongoing fight made it difficult to hear the teller as Mikael cut in line, none willing to protest once they saw the family seal stitched into the back of his black and red jacket.

“Lord Blackwood,” the representative of the odds guild, greeted with a bow, awkwardly maintaining eye contact from his raised booth. “It’s an honor to do business with you, sir.”

“Sure,” Mikael replied, yanking the purse from his belt and slapping it down in front of the man in an ill-fitting vest and stained shirt. “Everything on me submitting whomever I go against tonight.”

From the sound of it, whoever was in the ring wasn’t trying to win a war of attrition. Spell after spell rattled the rickety building around them.

“Feeling confident tonight, my lord?” The teller made a show, trying to entice greater bets from those behind Mikael who had cut in line.

Mikael rolled his hand in a ‘get moving’ gesture. “Always do—uh—Robert.” He read the nametag, realizing he had bet with the man many times before. “Please hurry. I’d like to—”

The sound of a fireball smashing into a wall was followed by a clamoring of approval from the audience. Relief sank through Mikael as the sound of a powerful vortex built. The fight wasn’t over.

Unable to hear whatever Robert’s response was, Mikael watched the teller get to work counting his coins. Within seconds, Robert was preparing the seal for his ticket.

“Submitting?” he clarified one last time. “Not by judgment or injury?”

Mikael nodded with a relieved wink. He had made it just in time. The crowd was making the more animalistic cheers, the kind it only made when Magi were reduced to hand-to-hand combat. “Want to treat myself this week to something big.”

Robert grinned and made a show of stamping Mikael’s ticket. The volume of his voice rose high declaring, “Twenty gold and ten silver from Mikael to submit whomever he may face tonight.” before slamming the odds guild symbol stamp down hard enough to shake the countertop.

Several voices murmured in response as Mikael was handed the paper bearing a scale filled with coins on either side tilted just so to one side, but Mikael was already off, eager to see how the fight before Parker’s downfall would end.

He arrived just in time to see a rather large Magi Mikael knew, Jullian Marx, perform a clean pin on a medium-skinned man Mikael didn’t recognize. Within seconds, Jullian’s opponent tapped, summoning the Magi to end the match.

It would soon be Mikael’s time.

A fresh layer of dirt was tossed about as the host dropped into the pit once again, a sinister grin splitting his cheeks. He threw his arms wide. “As always, Jullian shows us all the importance of fists even in a magic fight, no?”

While the higher levels of the arena remained focused inward, near the ring, the Match Adjudicator received a surge of agreement.

“Are you wanting more?” the thin man asked, licking stained teeth as he listened for their response.

And they did, drinks and fists raised in anticipation.

“Well then, what should I do?” he teased, elbows protruding for an oversized blood red suit.

“GET ON WITH IT!” the people answered.

He waved a dismissive hand as he rolled his top hat from his head, papers spilling about him. Laughter echoed throughout the room as the Match Adjudicator made a show of scrambling to pick up names, malnourished figure enhancing the stumbling effect.

Only Mikael knew what the show was really for, as he had seen the bit several times before. Usually at his bidding.

Stuffing the papers back into the hat, Mikael thought he saw the moment the Match Adjudicator slipped the names he had paid to be there from his sleeve and into his hand.

Pretending to grab fresh contenders, the Match Adjudicator made a serious face, tugging his coat down, somehow signaling without a word for the audience to quiet.

“Oh my. Oh-me-oh-my. Ladies and gentlemen… are you aware we have a legend among us tonight?”

A flurry of whispers guessing who it might be rippled across the room.

He crumpled the paper in his hand, adjusting his torn coat again while patting at thick layers of dust on his shoulders. “A legend who is the son of our savior, the Reaper’s Heir, Submitter of Masters, ladies and gentlemen, it’s Mikael Black—”

His words were drowned out by the excitement Mikael’s name brought. He grimaced at the application of his Father’s title to him but couldn’t argue with its effect.

With ease, Mikael stepped forward and hopped the low wall into the arena. From above, the nobles Kameron had roused beat against the railing, drumming with everything they had. Mikael stretched his elbows wide before ducking his head and throwing his hands up and stepping heels down in chaotic rhythm to their cheering. The Match Adjudicator seized his wrist in a cold boney hand and raised it high as if Mikael had already won something. Mikael pulled away, removed his coat and shirt, and handed them to an attendant who had followed him down.

Subtly, he searched for Parker in the crowd. She was near where he had last seen her, cheering and whistling at his entrance.

Is she a… fan?

After nearly a minute, the audience went silent again, eager to see who Mikael would be up against tonight. Cranking his neck from side to side, Mikael nodded for the host to continue.

Pulling another paper from, Mikael was sure, not the hat, the host called out, “Parkerrrr VEROS!!!” 

The audience’s response to his call was the loudest Mikael had ever heard.

Slack-jawed, he watched as the whole building vibrated with excitement. Roars of approval were all aimed down to her, fists raised as the near deafening noise decided into chants of, “PRIDE!” 

Looking up, Mikael saw Kameron equally shocked at Parker’s reception, watching shoulder to shoulder with the rest of his friends and attendants.

Finally, Mikael looked at Parker and saw she was just as stunned as he was, though perhaps for different reasons. Ignoring the crowd, she stared directly at him, almost shyly, before determination set into her strong brow.

Longer than it should have taken her, Parker hopped into the arena as Mikael had, to yet another roar of approval.

Wanting to move past this ridiculous show, Mikael stepped to the center of the ring, extending his hand. It was important to make a good impression, even in this sort of situation.

Parker met him there, clasping his hand in a firm grip.

“Nice to meet you,” Mikael said, just loud enough to be heard over the ongoing cheers. “Sounds like we’re giving them what they want.”

Parker grinned. “Same to you, Mikael.”

Mikael nodded, leaning in just a touch as the Match Adjudicator attempted to restore order. “It’s an honor to face someone who’s climbed so high. I won’t make the mistake of underestimating you like others have.”

To Mikael’s confusion, something in Parker’s grin soured.

A competitive tinge pushed him to say something incredibly stupid, something he’d soon regret. “Put some money down that I’ll make someone submit tonight.”

“Oh?” Parker turned, watching her crowd, as it most certainly was now. “How unfortunate.”

“Why’s that?”

“Your cousin Lilly just ran off to bet on me.”

Mikael’s eyes bulged. Lilly Blackwood was here? And friends with Parker Veros?

Referred to by Mikael’s father as the idealistic fool of the family, Lilly had run off with sacks of coin from Mikael’s aunt's estate seeking adventure years prior. Mikael had been relieved to hear the perpetual thorn in his side had been disowned, but now—here of all places—she decided to rear her head?

Before Mikael could voice a retort, he noticed Parker was already heading back to her corner. He followed suit, watching as Parker handed off several hidden knives from her street clothes to a man who had been by her side all night.

The Match Adjudicator, having finally quieted the crowd, moved to the center of the ring, his voice amplified by one of the observing Magi.

“Neither of these two need any introduction. We all know how this works. No talent is to be used aside from these wells.”

He tossed both Parker and Mikael vials of distilled talent with wands tied with twine to the bottles.

“Yada yada yada, one round, two minutes, the wands have restricted output, no spells, only elemental, only channel through the vial wells, now—Parker!” He whirled on her. “According to the coin, the odds aren’t in your favor.”

The crowd booed, though they were responsible for her underdog status tonight, as Mikael’s single bet couldn’t have outweighed them all.

The Match Adjudicator ignored them, continuing, “That means you choose the rules of engagement–oh?!”

Parker held up her pinky and ring finger, indicating exactly what she wanted.

Again, cheers rose as the host declared, “A divided rumble!”

Traditionally, nothing was off limits in the pits, aside from sticking to the tools provided, but Parker had declared this to be a bit of a spectacle. They would be restricted to talent only for one minute, before a bell would ring. If no one had been submitted, they would have three minutes of hand-to-hand combat to resolve the match. If both were still standing, then and only then, would the Magi in attendance be forced to declare a winner.

Was Parker insane? Already her advantage of raw talent was hampered by the restriction of the wells, but now she wanted to bring fists into it? Mikael had more than twenty kilos on her.

“Ready?” The Match Adjudicator pointed to Mikael.

He nodded.

Parker received the same question and answered with a smile.

“Then let me get the hell out of the way!”

The arena shook with anticipation as the Match Adjudicator took exaggerated overly long steps with his spider-like legs to the wall where trained Magi stood ready to contain any stray spells. He turned, raised two wooden bricks, and slapped them together.

Few could cast spells as fast as Mikael. Even fewer could hurl elements with his precision. Yet to his amazement, the torso-sized clump of dirt Mikael tore from the ground and rocketed toward Parker smashed into an already solidified shield of water, as tall as a man, protecting the people’s champion.

With a flick of her wrist, Parker sent the water hurtling back at Mikael, carrying his attack along with it. He made an undignified dive to the side. A Magi, unrestricted by the wells and elemental wands Parker and Mikael used, easily halted the attack before it could harm anyone in the crowd. Many took standing close to the arena as a test of courage despite the safety measures in place. After all, accidents did happen.

Recovering, Mikael saw Parker form a flaming ball of earth. Still needing time to rise, he stabbed his wand forward, pushing an invisible punch of air into her chin, dazing the Champion.

Blunt yet effective, Mikael turned the strike into a barrage as he rose. Fists of air battered Parker from all sides, too quick and random for her to catch on a shield.

Stepping forward, Mikael began working between stabs on a bolt of electricity to stun her, spinning greater and greater energy between his off-hand fingers.

It proved to be too great of a distraction.

His boot sank into the dirt.

Looking down, Mikael watched as a maw of rock crushed his foot.

Hollering in pain, knee buckling, Mikael nearly dropped his wand as he crumpled. With a flick of the wrist and a large surge of talent from his vial, he pulled his foot free, instinctively rolling.

It was the right move.

A blast of rock soared into the air from where Mikael had stood.

Needing a moment to find his breath, Mikael lashed out with fire, forcing Parker to craft a shield faster than he had seen anyone but a Master summon.

Still, she had to maintain it as long as Mikael sent fire her way.

By some miracle Mikael didn’t feel any broken bones as he rose. Parker was fast, determined, and holding up despite blows that had knocked out other Magi Mikael had taken down. Yet, she was smaller, lean, and kept providing openings. All Mikael needed was time and a few more critical hits. This would be a battle of attrition.

Angered at having to get up from the dirt again, Mikael kept his wand pointed, careful to maintain the weakest flame possible to keep her working. Pulling an undetectable slip of his own talent, never enough to be measured or seen by the judges—Mikael maintained the bolt sparking between his fingers too quiet to be heard over the jeering crowd.

Ready, he relinquished the flame, prepared for whatever Parker had been working on behind her shield.

A wall of air crashed into Mikael from behind, sending him stumbling toward Parker. His feet met ice, her dropped shield frozen in the soil without him noticing.

Landing flat on his chest, momentum carried him forward.

Tasting blood, Mikael blasted the ground beneath him with air, soaring above the first floor of the crowd. He found Parker looking up at him in amazement.

Now!

Lightning erupted from Mikael’s hand in a single devastating blast, connecting directly with Parker's chest. She was sent careening back into the wood behind her, bouncing to the floor.

Mikael had her.

Landing knees bent, Mikael ran for Parker. Jumping less than a meter from her, he extended his wand behind him and blasted. Launching forward, his raised knee aimed to connect with Parker’s chest, ending this.

A force seized Mikael’s foot, causing his upper body to whip forward. Bone cracked in his ankle.

Parker was glaring at him, wand raised.

They both slashed, her flames singeing skin while Mikael’s water whipped against her flesh.

On his feet, Mikael saw Parker charging at him, a spinning kick aimed for his head.

Ducking, Mikael pushed forward shoulder-first and sent Parker stumbling.

She was remarkably skilled. For having started her training so late, Parker's potential was incredible, but it was over now. Mikael stood above her, wand raised, while hers lay fallen from her grip.

Electricity lanced from Mikael’s wand, connecting to Parker as she writhed on the floor. Despite the pain she must be experiencing, she reached for her wand.

Mikael was faster, kicking it from her reach.

“Submit!” Mikael commanded.

Parker hollered, teeth gnashing as Mikael redoubled his attack, nearly emptying his vial.

“SUBMIT!”

A bell chimed.

No!

Magi spilled into the pit around them. A hand seized Mikael’s wrist, tearing his wand from his hand and thereby forcing him to end the spell.

“Enough!” Jullian was pulling Mikael away, working the matches now that his was over. “Enough, Mikael! Stop or you’ll be disqualified!”

Mikael found he had been shoved against the back wall, and Jullian was leaning against him heavily.

“Look at me!” the Magus commanded.

Mikael did, meeting accusing eyes.

“Are you going to control yourself?” Jullian’s hand seized Mikael’s chin. “Answer me!”

“Y–yes,” Mikael managed, adrenaline blurring the world. He thought he had been pushed to his limits in a duel before but never like this. His heart felt like it was about to explode and they only had thirty seconds to prepare for the next bout.

“How did you do that?”

The question made Mikael blink, afraid Jullian had spotted his tweaking the rules.

Jullian was staring at Mikael with a cross between shock and anger on his face. “Both of you… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

The bell rang again and Jullian was gone. Magi were leaping from the rings around them as Parker was still wavering on her feet, fists raised in a boxer’s stance.

“C’mon you elitist donkey,” she called out to Mikael, goading him forward.

Gritting his teeth, Mikael moved forward in answer. If he didn’t submit her in less than three minutes, all of the money he had for the month would be gone.

Mikael charged, planning on tackling her to the ground for a quick pin. Her footing was unsteady, and his weight on the dirt would—

A heel hard as rock connected with Mikael’s head from a spinning kick, hard enough to send him veering off to the side before crashing into the wall.

Before Mikael could recover, a knee slammed into his chest followed by a handful of dirt smashed into his eyes.

Only one option remained.

Mikael nearly fell forward, yanking Parker to the floor by her shirt. Slamming her down, Mikael was in no position to attack again. Desperate to recover, he rolled away.

Parker was already scrambling forward. Climbing to his hands and knees faster than he ever had before.

She collided into Mikael just as they both managed to stand, their arms tangling as he pinned her against the wall behind him.

“Hell of a bolt you managed,” Parker accused.

With his shoulder, Mikael slammed her jaw shut, smiling as he heard her teeth clack. Repeating the attack, he saw blood spill from Parker’s mouth.

“Watch what you say, gir—”

A knee slammed into Mikael’s groin.

Again.

And again.

Barely keeping his composure, Mikael swept Parker’s legs with his foot, hurling her to the ground before dropping his knee to her chest.

To his amazement, Parker caught it before him off with a defiant yell.

As Mikael secured his arm around her neck, he felt teeth sink painfully into his arm.

Yelling, Mikael rolled with her, still holding her against his chest. Facing the roof, Parker vaulted her legs to gain momentum for a devastating headbutt directly against Mikael’s chin. Her hand snaked up, seizing a fistful of hair and knotting it in her grip.

Mikael felt his scalp split as she yanked with all her might, blood immediately pouring into his eyes. She yanked again, again, tearing the skin.

Yelling turned to a scream as Mikael completed the roll, securing his arm under Parker’s chin and around her neck.

Closing the hold with his second hand, Mikael felt her release his hair, clawing against his arm as he squeezed, choking sounds barely audible over the protesting crowd.

“You lose,” Mikael growled between rattled teeth. “Submit, Parker.”

She swung her body about wildly, trying desperately to free herself. What Mikael thought would be an elbow to his ribs turned to nails raking his face.

Burying his face in her shoulder, Mikael didn’t relent.

Desperate, Parker slapped at Mikael’s split scalp, trying to pull more.

Soon she would black out. Soon Mikael would—

Her thumb rammed into his eye, hard enough to cut the lid.

Mikael’s grip slipped.

Parker got an arm between Mikael’s and her throat, taking a pained breath.

Mikael heard the crowd cheer her progress.

Angered, Mikael captured her legs with his own, but it was too late. Parker rammed her arm through. Mikael couldn’t secure the pin.

Her body disengaged from his as she writhed, an elbow cutting against his cheek.

Despite his desperate attempts to keep her down, Parker was able to slip free, both of them rising as they disengaged.

A thirty-second warning sounded with the clapping of wood.

Parker took on a boxing stance.

Mikael obliged her, assuming his own.

His right eye was blinded from the blood pouring from his head.

Parker was gassed, breathing completely out of control.

They engaged, Parker swinging a wild left hook.

Sidestepping, Mikael countered with a jab at her nose to stun her before following up with a hook of his own. Both connected, sending Parker back toward the wall he started against.

Mikael chased with a flurry of blows, most connecting with cutting knuckles.

She was nearly done, almost dropping at his third successful hit in a row.

It was nauseatingly hot in the arena. Mikael’s head began to swim, instinct alone keeping his guard up. His father had trained him in various martial arts since he was old enough to take a hit, but never before had Mikael seen someone take what Parker had and keep coming. Never had he had to work so hard for a win.

A feeble counter from Parker was caught easily at the wrist. Mikael twisted, sending her to the dirt once again. Holding the arm, he dropped his knee to her throat, his own breath coming in heaping gasps.

This had taken everything.

Gurgling, Parker lifted her lower half and managed to kick Mikael’s face. He was left with the option of either crushing her throat or letting her go. With seconds left, to win his bet, Mikael would have to cripple her, forcing medics to intervene. The equivalent of a submission.

But Mikael had pulled from his own reserves, she’d pushed him to the point of… 

I’m not him.

Parker didn’t deserve to lose so gruesomely.

Releasing her wrist, Mikael moved to pick Parker up. Seizing her by the front of her shirt, he threw her to the middle of the arena.

The bell sounded as she landed, ending the fight.

Mikael had won, but he had failed to submit Parker Veros.

Legs buckling, the air itself began to burn. The world was on fire, burning with joyous screaming faces.

Mikael searched for Parker, but only found his father glaring at him from the crowd. Still amid the swirling world, eyes set afire as all burned away. They oozed from his skull as he showed his teeth, cracked from the heat.

“Not enough, boy.”

Breaking free from the nightmare, Mikael rolled awake, finding Parker’s fire had found him. All day he had kept an incredible pace, hoping to put enough distance between himself and her trap to honestly recover, but mere meters away, the grass burned, black smoke consuming all.

Forced to flee yet again, the only other thing Mikael found himself capable of focusing on was the memory of that fight. Shame washed over him as he recalled his behavior back then. Embarrassingly cocky, Mikael had been a cheat, justifying his actions without a hint of remorse. That whole night, all he cared about was gaining attention and praise.

It had been a pyrrhic victory in every sense, one he paid for many times over once his father discovered his gambling. Even his reputation hadn’t gained much; people only cared that Parker had given him a damn good run for his money. The scene he caused in the lobby over the lost funds hadn’t helped either. Threatening the host until he agreed to have the bet rescinded. He’d kept Mikael’s initial bribe, saying his end of the bargain was kept. Without winning to cover what he’d done, Father had been beyond disappointed in what he’d seen as a public failure.

But that wasn’t why Mikael’s chest heaved now, or why panic squeezed his heart as he relived the fight.

He hadn’t wanted to stop.

In that arena, part of him had wanted to live up to his family name. Feeling disgraced being thrown into the dirt time and time again by some peasant girl, Mikael had wanted to be the Reaper’s Heir. Feeling no shame at openly breaking the rules, he had felt entitled to winning before the match even began, thinking himself some chosen prodigy, destined to dominate without effort.

He had always prided himself on being different from his father, on wanting to forge his own path, but in that arena, Mikael had felt how easily power could be seized. The thought of what he might have done if Parker hadn’t fought so hard was a humiliating showcasing of his own lack of control. His own selfish desire for power and control.

He’ll always be a part of me.

Chapter 6 Exile

An endless ocean stretched across the horizon, its waves churning violently beneath a gray sky. Jagged, glass-like rocks pierced the surface, their sharp, reflective edges glinting ominously in the dim light. Each wave surged like a monstrous hand, fingers curled and ready to drag anything down into the abyss. Parker had cornered Mikael, using the natural border against him.

Mikael’s mind raced as he pieced together her strategy. While he had sought rest for the inevitable confrontation, Parker had scouted the land, finding this barrier—a play that exploited her strengths. Even physically exhausted, she could overwhelm him with sheer power of her talent. With having herded him here, he was equally depleted, cornered, and only able to wait for her strike.

Her strategy was simple: lure him with a signal fire, let Mikael set his traps, then unleash a spell to ignite massive stretches of flame. Disoriented and forced to burn through his resources, Mikael had no choice but to run. She’d expected him to underestimate her, depended on it. She was only some street punk to him, how could he predict Parker would go for a drawn out play? 

Now, standing on the cliff's edge, Mikael was surrounded by a suffocating sky thick with smoke, the acrid scent of burning wood filling his lungs. Crackling flames came from every direction, hot enough to bring steam from his sweat, but it was the gnawing tension inside that made it hard to breathe. Parker’s ploy was topped with incessant sensory overload.

The sounds had been distant at first, nearly drowned out by the roar of the flames. But as Mikael fled, the cawing of crows grew louder and louder, gradually overpowering the morning birds. These weren’t natural sounds; Parker had amplified them to disorient and terrify. Words began to form within the screeches, distorted yet unmistakable: "Liar," "Coward," "Cheater," repeated over and over and over. A relentless assault on Mikael's mind. They echoed all around, blending into the howling flames.

Falling to one knee, Mikael desperately pulled his filter into place, his lungs screaming for the first clean breath of air in hours. He’d held off as long as he could, knowing the cost of clean breath would drain him if held onto.

Fine.

Reaching for the second last vial of inky distilled talent hanging from his belt, Mikael pulled its contents into his wand, feeling the power surge into the ruby tip. The fluid evaporated, purple and blue particles floated into the crystal. Closing his eyes, Mikael focused on the ocean’s spray behind him, the countless tumultuous waves reaching for the sky as they broke against the cliff. He connected his talent to the sea, drawing on the water already there. Expending all that he’d drawn in, he pulled, and a massive swirl of inky water lifted straight from the ocean.

In a tight spiral, the arc extended overhead before crashing into the burning forest. Flames hissed and sputtered into death, steam rising in great billows that churned within the smoke. Only when the heat had completely dissipated did Mikael relent, leaving him with only one vial of distilled talent remaining. No flame burned within fifty meters.

The world grew eerily silent.

Mikael knew he had only moments before Parker arrived. His maneuver had been an invitation. Before being forced to expend any further effort, he had to face her now. It was exactly what she wanted, but there was no other way. The cliff edge needed to become his fortress; Mikael needed enough talent in reserve to withstand whatever Parker threw at him.

He activated every charm around his neck. Each glowed before shooting off with enough force to embed themselves in nearby trees—those still standing from his flood.

With the last bit of power still within the hilt, Mikael wove together the summoning of his familiar. Mips, a small spider with more intelligence than most would give credit, appeared in Mikael’s hand, vibrating with excitement at being revived. Mikael whispered his command before watching her scurry away into the grass, hoping she remembered she was flammable this time.

Shaking off his exhaustion, Mikael tapped the bracers on his wrists, activating the transmutation spells embedded in his sweat-drenched armor. The rings, taken from a fallen stone giant, allowed him to reshape the world around him while utilizing next to no talent. Blue halos encircled his wrists, glowing beacons in the colorless world. He had intended to reveal their power only after Parker was on the defensive, but now, there was no choice. No retreat. Nothing could be held back. 

Thrusting both wrists high into the air, Mikael released a guttural challenge, his voice echoing off the surrounding hills.

Parker’s response came swift, hand beyond fire. From the cloud of her firestorm, she surged toward Mikael, a figure of fury answering his challenge. In her palm, light from a sun grew, drawn from the friction of a black cloud sea, converging from miles away into a singular point. Mikael barely registered her scream before a bolt of heat and light, like a beam from the sun, sliced through the air careening toward him.

How?

Evaporating every last drop of talent from the last vial at his hip, Mikael threw up a powerful shield of raw energy. A costly defense, Parker’s attack shattered it.

Existence became a surge of destruction. A blinding flash of white-hot light tore through Mikael’s work, the ground beneath his feet evaporating. He heard the shockwave before he felt it, a violent tremor that surged through his body, ragdolling him back through the air above the ocean. The heat was unimaginable, searing his skin as he hurtled through the air.

Time slowed as jagged remnants of earth splintered around Mikael, the world a maelstrom of dirt and debris. By some miracle, his body didn’t smash against the rocks; instead, he plummeted into the ocean. His back twisting painfully on impact with the water, forcing a shocked gasp through his lips and allowing a torrent to fill his throat. Mikael spun deeper into the depths, ears nearly bursting from the pressure

Mikael had seconds to act before panic took his mind. Only frigid water shocked him back into action. First, he had to assess whether any of his injuries were immediately life-threatening. The darkness was suffocating—the limited light from above obscured by debris-filled water. Forcing his fear into submission, Mikael methodically checked each limb, opening and closing his fingers and toes. Aside from a sharp pain in his back, he could still move.

Parker had annihilated him with a single, unrefined blast. She would be waiting for him to surface, ready to strike again. 

Sebastian.

None of it mattered. Mikael had to win.

Thankful his wand was still securely clutched in his fist, Mikael began drawing on his own reserves. With practiced precision, he drew on soul and fire, conjuring a simple light spell. The ruby glowed faintly at first, then burst into a brilliant orb of red, blazing into the colorless depths. The murky darkness retreated, revealing a sphere of visibility several meters in each direction. Shadows danced at the edges, but within the sphere, Mikael could finally see his surroundings. The harsh shapes of rocks slashed through the water at angles all around him.

Exhaling, he watched as bubbles drifted steadily in one direction. Lashing out with his wand, Mikael mixed fire, earth, and air into a perpetual thrust, nearly losing his grip on the steel rod as it dragged him toward the surface. His lungs burned, desperate for air. For the millionth time, he cursed the limitations of summoning wind—it could never provide oxygen.

A flash of light above Mikael’s head was his only warning before air replaced water, and his momentum carried him above the waves. Surfacing was just as disorienting as smashing into the water had been.

Parker was ready.

Dozens of shards of lighting launched toward Mikael, white fire trailing behind them. Feeling the familiar weight of the bracers still attached to his armor, Mikael pulled at the stone around him. His jagged shield slammed into place just in time, but it was incomplete. The imbalance of energy within the lighting caused them to erupt on impact. Cracks of light slashed across Mikael.

He had seconds.

Refusing to be distracted by the pain, Mikael focused, pulling stones in around him. A solid bubble forming, reinforced with a web of overlapping spires of water above. Sweat poured down his face as heat from an unseen attack smashed against his defenses, threatening to break through.

All of this occurred before Mikael’s feet came to rest on a wet slab of rock, slick with seawater. He gasped, coughing as he scrambled for his next move. The air was thick with the smell of burning rock and sulfur, making every breath a struggle.

Frantically, Mikael checked his belt and pockets. Most of his talismans were gone, spent or washed away, leaving him with only a few precious tools. The ground trembled as Mikael braced for the next onslaught, waves crashing against the shore blending with the cacophony of battle.

He had to get back to his traps in the forest above.

If Mikael judged correctly, the funnel of fire had come from the split ledge, right where her first attack had found him.

His remaining weapons: wand, bracers, two spell disks, and…

The negator embedded in my wrist.

No!

Mikael ripped the spell disks from his hip, feeling their potential. Looking down, his torn-open shirt revealed a set of eyes staring back up. A desperate smile crept onto his face. There was only one answer. One way to what was his. He cracked the first charm, summoning a storm of wind and water into a concentrated sphere of energy. Stepping atop its torrent, he used the whips of wind to slash through the rock above, soaring from his creation.

Fear gnawed at him—was this enough? Would it ever be enough?

She’s a force.

Parker was ready, spell prepared, waiting for Mikael’s retaliation. Limb-sized shards of ice, licked by blue flame, glowed in the sky above, ready to fall at her command. As Mikael rode the wind up, she gave the order. Stalactites of frozen sea water the size of men fell for him.

 Mikael lashed raw air through his wand, emptying nearly every bit of power left to him into his own chest. His new eyes began to glow, pulsing with energy.

Holding his attack, Mikael focused on dodging the burning hailstorm descending upon him. Cold intense enough to sear fell all around, and explosions of ice hitting stone sent shrapnel scoring gashes along his armor. Despite the chaos, Mikael managed to evade every sharp sickle, laughing from nothing but adrenaline.

Cresting the top of the cliff, Mikael spun, hurling the churning sphere of power he’d rode up.

Parker was ready, dipping low enough to dodge the mostly harmless sphere, giving Mikael exactly the opportunity he needed. Howling with exertion, Mikael unleashed his creation.

Blacklight filled the air, all sound soaked into the shadows connecting from Mikael’s chest into the base of Parker’s skull.

A scream tore through the air, a raw, primal sound that curdled the blood.

Parker crumpled as Mikael stumbled forward, landing heavily in the muck. Vision swimming, he scrambled to his hands and knees, breaths ragged. His mind raced—was this finally it? Could he have bested her?

Mikael found her.

Parker was slashing with a dagger in each hand at empty air, a look of terror contorting her face. As Mikael watched, she begged, “No! No! Not you! No!”, hurling a knife at an invisible threat. What he had designed was working perfectly. Parker’s every movement was a flailing, desperate attempt to fend off whatever was tormenting her.

Mikael’s stomach churned, knowing the terror she must be experiencing. The curse was designed to implant a fear before bringing it to life. Mikael had pulled the creature from the mind of a boy driven mad by an illness the highest Magi couldn't figure out. The night after the child died from exhaustion, Gavin had taken him to the body to demonstrate spells banned by the Grandmaster.

Mikael’s father had spoken of planting illusions of death into his enemies' dreams, pondering how horrible the boy's terrors must have been. Those words had inspired Mikael, leading him to create a weaponized memory as his own secret project.

Implanting experience into the mind was difficult magic, requiring finesse with spirit of the highest order. Endless nights bled into months as Mikael struggled to combine this method with an active illusion. Experimenting on rats in the dead of night, Mikael’s hands trembled with both excitement and fear. The spell felt like a ticking bomb, threatening to rebound and trap him in his own creation.

Some twisted part of Mikael continually fantasized about using it on his father as revenge for all the nightmares he had given him. Each attempt left Mikael exhausted, the mental strain pushing him to the brink. He envisioned the spell as a last resort, something to use only when there were no other options—exactly the situation Parker had created.

But now, for Parker, memories of pleasant dreams had been exchanged with inescapable torture at the hands of whatever had haunted the boy. The effect was completed by an illusion bringing her new fear into the world before her and only her. She could see, smell, and hear whatever the illusion demanded—everything short of feeling.

Mikael had been so proud of his creation that he had wanted it embedded permanently in him. The process of embedding the spell into his flesh had been exhilarating, each needle prick a reminder of the power of what he’d designed, a career making spell once he unveiled it with the protection of the rank of Master.

But seeing it now, Mikael wanted to claw the ink from his skin. Now, as Mikael watched Parker writhe in terror, he questioned the true cost of his ambition. Who had it even been for? A weapon for a council Mikael now knew to be corrupt? Elara would have no interest in such a thing, and Mikael would be damned before teaching it to Sebastian. Seeing its effects on a person for the first time, Mikael was confronted with the truth: he had wanted protection—a twisted tool to have over his father now unleashed on someone far from deserving. 

“I’m sorry.”

With a tug from his wand, the sphere of power boomeranged back around, colliding with Parker. She landed amongst the charred grass, reduced to inhuman cries of anguish. Guilt gnawed at Mikael as he approached her, hearing her primal scream tear through the air yet again, out of breath from fear alone.

Parker had fallen near a tree containing yet another trap. Mikael still needed time to restore his own talent reserves to cast a spell of any substance, but he could spark a fuse.

Mips had accomplished her mission, leaping from the tree to land on Parker’s pant leg, gripping with all eight legs. Shame gnarled Mikael’s insides as he leveled his wand, trap slamming closed. Mips was a perfectly useless summon, unable to naturally produce venom. Yet Mikael had stubbornly stuck with her, for years practicing summoning her with greater and greater amounts of talent. Over time, Mikael learned how to summon her as a sponge for power. She soaked in talent pulled from the world around her, just like the waves from Parker cast in an attempt to kill an imagined threat.

“You’re the best I’ve ever fought”, Mikael took aim, closing one eye before, sending nothing more than a spark of power into Mips.

As it touched the spider, potential became kinetic. The world pulsated. The blast shattered the forest for meters in every direction. Trees that weren’t ripped from the ground simply exploded from the impact.

Mikael thought he’d gone deaf, a ringing in his ears was slowly replaced by the sounds of the forest still falling in on itself from the blast. The echoes of the blast rolled over hills in the distance, ushering in a final silence.

Panting, Mikael fell to his hands and knees, vomit spilling from his stomach. His fists pounded the dirt, the raw agony of what he had done tearing through him as the primal thrill of victory brought a cry from his lips.

The destruction before Mikael was complete. An entire hillside lay flattened, the force he had hit Parker with obliterating everything in its path. Mikael’s vision blurred with sweat and blood, the reality of his actions crashing down in an echo of the very blast he had unleashed.

Mikael’s performance had been tainted, free from his father’s influence, but ruined by his own hand.

The People’s Pride was dead. Parker Veros was dead.

By a spell that…

A chilling emptiness settled in Mikael’s chest, the euphoria of victory consumed by an expansive dread. The silence around him felt accusatory, a judgment passed by the world itself. This wasn’t a triumph; it was a massacre. Mikael wanted to tear his own skin off, to rid himself of the darkness he had conjured.

But there was no undoing it. No taking back the destruction, the life ended. The cost of Mikael’s ambition was blood and ruin, and he was left to bear the weight of it.

Had this been what father had wanted me to understand?

The sound of Parker’s ice shattering against the cliff still rose from the waves below. It had all happened so fast. His talent, like ragged breaths, had barely replenished enough to keep him going. None of Mikael’s wells contained a drop of distilled power. Destroying her had cost him everything.

A searing pain in Mikael’s hand finally registered, forcing him to drop the scorching wand.

“I’m sorry,” Mikael said coldly, finally managing a controlled breath.

Murderer! MURDERER!

“No!” He thundered, closing his eyes until the voice quieted.

Mikael found himself staring at the charred ground where Parker had stood. Her potential, her brilliance, had been snuffed out—gone. Mikael’s chest tightened. His breath hitched, looking down he watched the tremble in his hands.

Why were we made to do this?

A whistling song danced through the air around, the notes oddly soothing despite the chaos.

The portal hasn’t come.

Panic surged through Mikael, a wave of primal fear that obliterated all rational thought. He spun wildly, desperate, flames sputtering from his fingertips in a feeble attempt at defense.

Above him, Parker Veros looked down, enveloped in the complete sphere of raw talent. Within it, she hovered cross legged, all five elements undulating over one another in a mess of prepared attacks.

Without mercy, Parker lowered her shield, a wand of pure white dragon bone pointed directly at him.

A dozen spells crashed onto Mikael at once, each one a hammer blow. Bone-chains snaked around his wrists and ankles, yanking him to the ground with such force that his muscles tore. His wand flew from his grasp as blinding light seared his vision, and something cold and metallic clamped over his lips. A mercury-like fluid poured into his mouth, forcing him to swallow. The potion hit instantly, nullifying any remnants of his magic.

Then the pain began.

Red-hot irons stabbed into his chest, stomach, and throat, lifting him off the ground only to slam him back down with bone-crushing force. Again and again, the searing metal found his back as he hovered helplessly in the air, each impact a fresh agony. His screams were muffled by the fluid still trickling down his throat. Just when he thought the end had come, his restraints vanished, and the hose was ripped away from his face.

Even breathing hurt—every muscle in his body felt as though it had been pounded into oblivion. This wasn’t just an attack; it was torture, retribution beyond anything he’d ever imagined.

Parker’s voice cut through the haze of pain, cold and edged with barely controlled anguish. “Do you know what you’ve done to me, Mikael? It is… everywhere.”

Numbness spread from his neck as she hauled him up by his charred hair. As his vision cleared, he saw her—Parker, eyes blazing with a fury that hadn’t been there before, pain raw and unrestrained.

“When will it—” She slapped him, dropping his limp form to the ground before striking him again. Her eyes were wild, flinching every time they tried to meet his. “My Gods, Mikael, what is this?” Her voice cracked, and for a fleeting moment, he glimpsed the person she used to be, buried beneath layers of rage and sorrow.

His head struck the stone, stunning him. When his senses returned, he found Parker on her knees beside him, arms wrapped tightly around her stomach. Tears streamed down her face, falling to the ground in heavy drops.

“You stoney bastard, this can’t be real. He can’t be.” She was panting, eyes unfocused, rocking back and forth as she cradled herself, seemingly forgetting he was even there.

The sound of her retreating footsteps echoed across the stones, leaving Mikael alone in his failure.

Why wasn’t it ending for her? The rats had stopped their panicked sprinting after only a few minutes of terror, but he had never tested the curse on a human. His gross negligence had cursed her, forever plaguing her senses with his creation. Spells of that nature weren’t allowed in trials for a reason. When Parker finally killed him, the torment he had inflicted on her might never cease. Who would know the cure? He hadn’t even bothered to consider one.

Forgive me.

The crunch of her boots was the only warning he had before her knee drilled into his back. A sharp point pierced his skin. “When will it stop, Mikael? Every time I close my eyes—oh, gods. Tell me when?!”

A soothing aura of healing rippled through him, just enough to let him breathe without pain stabbing his chest. 

“I’m—I’m sorry,” he whispered, keeping all expression from his face, refusing to let her seem him break.

Parker rolled him onto his back with two hands, pressing the knife she’d taken from the arena dangerously close to Mikael’s eye.

“When?” Her eyes were unnaturally wide, as if she feared closing them.

He shook his head.

She beat her forehead with her free hand, a wince of panic slipping out between clenched teeth. “I still can’t do it, Mikael. I promised myself I’d never do it again. I’m not a killer! I’m not a killer. I’m not. I’m not like you.”

“Protect Seb.”

She dragged him up by his collar again. “What did you say?”

“Protect Sebastian, please.” Mikael had accepted his fate, now he had to fight for the one person who deserved it.

“Now, you ask for my aid? Now?! You embroidered degenerate.” Her eyes softened, just a fraction. “You still don’t get it? Sebastian told me about the negator.”

What?

“Did he know about the veto?” She asked, blade pressing closer.

Too broken to feel the full shock of her revelation, Mikael shook his head, desperate for her to believe him. “He would have told you.”

Flinching away from the forest, she asked, “How can I protect him?”

He spoke without hesitation. “Take him as your apprentice. Tell him I wanted you to. Tell him in your custody… he’ll be safe.” Emotion cracked Mikael’s voice as he refused to consider never seeing Sebastian again. “Please, remind him I love him.”

“I swear to you, I will… I will do what I can.” Tears seeped from the corners of Parker’s eyes. “But I’ve already submitted to take Lilly Blackwood on as my apprentice.”

No!

As long as Sebastian was under Gavin’s thumb, without Mikael, there would be no safety. Nightmare images of Sebastian forced through the same training he’d received turned Mikael’s blood to ice.

Parker’s eyes focused on something beyond him, causing her to shudder. Her grip loosened, and he slipped from her grasp, catching a glimpse of her stumbling away before crashing back down against the ground, knife landing blade down in the dirt. 

“Him! Him!” She screamed. “He isn’t real!”

Scrambling, Mikael grabbed the knife. With no talent left to him, only one path forward revealed itself. Ignoring a dozen reasons not to, he slashed the blade along his wrist on two torturous yanks before sinking fingers under skin.

The touch of metal was distinct next to bone. Ruthlessly he pulled the negator free, limply rising to his feet with streaks of blood dripping from him.

Crying out, he stumbled forward, slashing at a barely recovering Parker. 

Eyes snapping to the real threat, she moved with a smooth grace, pushing his haggard attack aside.

Again Mikael slashed, nearly falling atop Parker before she rolled away, getting to her feet as he resumed a fighting stance.

“You brought that thing in?” Parker’s voice was cold again, anger barely restrained. She pointed at his numb bloodied arm. “Do you even care that he wanted my talent? Did that even register with you? When I saw that split lip when you came out. I saw the hurt in your eyes, Mikael. I thought maybe, maybe, you’d seen beyond yourself! All of this for what it is—”

He launched for her, knowing she’d handle the slash Mikael tried to slip an elbow against Parker’s chin, but she blasted him back with air before he got within a pace.

Rolling with a groan, Mikael pushed himself to his hands and knees.

“You are a bastard, Mikael Blackwood. A careless monster spawned from a wretched man.” Parker approached quickly, kicking Mikael onto his back. Before she could say more, something caught her eye in the distance, causing her to flinch away from the shadows of the tree line. The panic in her eyes was fleeting, quickly replaced by steely determination. “But I will not kill you. You will not be the one to force me back down that path.”

He expected her to hurt him, take advantage of his weakened state to inflict revenge with her greater power for the curse he’d put upon her. Strangely, thinking all that would come next was more pain, Mikael found relief. He could endure pain, it was routine. It made sense. He’d hurt Parker and she was entitled to respond. Mikael had brought an untested talisman into this cursed place, and now she would pay the price. There was no telling if it would ever end for her—the relentless torment. If anyone learned of what he had done to her, there would be no honor left for the Blackwood name. Forever the memory of his negligence. Parker had everything she needed to ruin him completely. 

Instead, Mikael witnessed something he had never been privy to in his life: true greatness. A new moment of Parker Veros’ legend unfolded before his eyes. This wasn’t a moment destined for songs in taverns or the shelves of history, but it was all the greater for it. Groomed by a broken warrior, he had misunderstood what it meant to be strong. Yet, in that moment, true power was shown to him. 

Parker’s eyes accepted his curse, absorbing it into her existing pain before taking him in again, no anger in her eyes, only pity for what had to happen next. Neither of them knew if she would ever break free from the curse he had forced into her existence, but one thing was clear: she would keep moving forward. They were trapped in this desolate place as long as both of them lived, and while Mikael had failed, Parker stood resolute.

Mikael saw it in her eyes—she was building up to strike. Despite her words, Parker knew there was no escape for her with him alive. Even if she waited for his wounds to finish him, she understood what he’d accepted. This was his end.

Parker had earned the title of Master, while he had failed—failed before even stepping into this colorless world. Failed to bow out gracefully, to overcome the fear that held him complicit. Mikael knew he would have been a stain on the rank of Master. Every misstep, every selfish thought, revealed him as a shadow of what he should have been.

She pulled a vial from her loop of talismans, all of her wells still topped off, everything she’d thrown his way coming purely from her own talent.

A wave of healing surged through Mikael, forcing him to cry out at its explosive power. It felt like lightning coursing through his veins, knitting bones and sealing wounds with blistering speed. His body, once broken and battered, was now whole, without a scratch. The sudden absence of pain left him disoriented, mind struggling to catch up with the instantaneous transformation. To cast such a complex spell with such force required expert precision or a talisman of incredible power—something no one knew she possessed.

He rose to his knees, not understanding. The blast he had sent at her should have been enough to evaporate a dragon, yet she stood tall. The amount of talent required to completely protect from something like that… This was beyond anything he could comprehend.

Parker Veros was something more.

Mikael saw then how he’d never stood a chance. He was not ready not because he’d lost a fight, but due to something more. An imperceptible light that shown on Parker now, illuminating a future, the future she’d pave the way for.

“By the rules that should be, I defeated you, Mikael.” With a quick chant, she touched the ruby in her ring. “As a Master by right, it is my duty to punish you for the black magic you cast here today.”

“I tried.” It was a selfish, hollow defense.

“Trying isn’t good enough!” She spat. “All you did was struggle to be bigger than your father. Why, why do you protect him? Blackwood. Is that really it? All you have? Names? You may not be him, but he absolutely made you!”

Her kick landed directly between his ribs, driving the wind from his lungs. The negator was pulled from his fingers by a snarl of air before vines of earth pinned him like a rabid animal.

“The only person more venomous than a tyrant is a kindhearted fool.” Parker’s voice was cold as death, hardened. “I won’t kill you, but it is within my right to banish you from the Motherrealm.”

 Mikael watched the negator hover in the sky above him, a viper waiting to strike. 

Impossible.

She began casting, a chant whispered through a voice turned hoarse. No air twisted or warped as it had back at the ring. Instead, a shimmer began following Parker’s hands as she assumed a meditative stance.

“Don’t!”

The negator struck, sinking into Mikael’s shoulder.

A warmth Mikael had never noticed before drained from Mikael’s body as he felt something severe beyond conscious thought. His sense of the power within wells at Parker’s hip grew tenuous, harder to grasp. Talent, that delicate thread to the universe, was shriveled.

Parker let his restraints fall away, the negator still embedded in his arm.

Her scream pierced the air as he lay there, staring at the sky, stunned. The fire within him was gone, replaced by consuming grief.

The knife in his shoulder burned like a brand, draining the warmth from his body, leaving only a chilling void. He fumbled at the negator, blood causing it to slip in his grip.

“I have to know you can’t return.” Beyond his sight, he heard Parker release a sob before resuming a spell Mikael could no longer see.

“Please,” he begged, finally pulling the blade free.

“I’m sorry, Mikael.” Energy surged, crackling through the air. “I’ll do what I can for him.”

Reality bent and melted away. The rhythmic crash of the ocean warped into a distorted, otherworldly roar, while the acrid scent of fire clawed at his senses before abruptly vanishing. The once colorless hills bled into a chaotic swirl of vibrant hues, each one more intense and jarring than the last. His vision swam, the ground beneath him shifting, his stomach churning with the disorienting onslaught of sensations.

A sensation not unlike falling overtook him, even though he remained still. His surroundings shifted and warped, a dizzying blur of light and shadow. The ground pulled away from his feet, leaving him suspended in an endless void. Panic clawed at his mind as he struggled to comprehend what was happening.

A cold dread settled in his chest, gripping him with an intensity that made it hard to breathe. The true comprehension that he could never return, that he could never see a familiar face again, sank in. Memories of his life flashed before him—familiar faces, places, moments of triumph and failure—now forever out of reach. The enormity of his situation crashed home.

I’ll be gone, forever. No–NO!

He reached out, hoping to grasp something, anything solid, but his hands found only emptiness. The disorienting sensation of falling persisted, and he knew he was lost to a place beyond reach. Parker’s final move had been devastatingly effective, leaving him to the void where his voice could never challenge her victory.

Finding one reality among the infinite expanse was an impossibility without something from that world. No portal able to be reopened was needed to blindly throw someone through all that was and could be.

Void of feeling, sense, or talent, Mikael clung to one clear thought. One he regretted not voicing, for both their sakes.

He wished she’d killed him.