8

  The Trials Begin

  The bronze gates of the coliseum groaned as they creaked open, their sheer size and weight a testament to the arena’s ancient and enduring might. Alyc felt her breath catch as sunlight flooded through the widening gap, illuminating the expanse within. The arena stretched before them, vast and imposing, its sand-covered floor glinting under the twin suns.

  The towering walls rose high, their surfaces carved with depictions of past trials figures locked in combat, divine beings overseeing mortal endeavors, and champions standing victorious. Each detail seemed to pulse with history, the echoes of battles long since fought still lingering in the air.

  As the Emberfall company crossed the threshold, a hushed awe fell over the group. Alyc’s gaze swept upward, taking in the endless rows of stone seats that spiraled toward the heavens. Even with the coliseum yet to fill, its size was staggering. It felt alive, as though the walls themselves were watching, waiting for the trials to begin.

  The procession moved with a deliberate pace, their footsteps muffled against the sand. Leading the way were the King and Queen of Emberfall, their regal forms a beacon for the company. Behind them marched the competitors, their movements purposeful and steady, their expressions set with a quiet resolve.

  Durk walked just ahead of Alyc, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. Though his face betrayed no emotion, Alyc could sense the weight of his thoughts. He had trained many of these warriors, prepared them for this exact moment. Now, they were stepping into the arena where all their lessons would be tested.

  As the group reached the center of the coliseum floor, a voice from the escorts called out, instructing the competitors to separate from the main party. Alyc’s heart tightened as the five stepped forward, breaking away from the company.

  Bregund Forwart, slender and quick, glanced back briefly, his sharp eyes meeting Durk’s before he disappeared through an archway. Vienna Hast followed, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword, her expression calm and unreadable. Behind her strode Brook Browner, his massive frame an imposing presence, yet his shoulders carried a quiet confidence. Magra Broost moved like a shadow, silent and composed, her dark eyes focused ahead. Finally, Prigo Crest, his air of smug assurance undiminished, gave a faint nod in Durk’s direction before vanishing with the rest.

  “Remember your training!” Durk’s voice rang out, firm and steady, cutting through the silence that had settled over the company. “Remember why you’re here. Emberfall stands with you always.”

  The competitors didn’t turn back, but their postures straightened, their steps surer as they passed through the archway. Durk’s words had landed where they were meant to, and Alyc saw the pride in his eyes even as they disappeared from view.

  Alyc’s gaze lingered on the archway long after they were gone. Her heart swelled with a mix of joy and worry. She thought of the stories her father had told her of past champions, of the strength and sacrifice it took to endure these trials. These five carried not just their own hopes but those of an entire kingdom.

  Durk turned, his expression softening as he met Alyc’s eyes. “Come on,” he said quietly. “We’ve got our place to take.”

  As the escorts led the remaining members of the Emberfall company toward the western side of the coliseum, Alyc stole one last glance at the empty arena floor. The sand shimmered under the sunlight, and the air buzzed with a tension that promised challenges yet unseen.

  Though they had stepped into the coliseum, it felt as though they were standing at the edge of something far greater. The trials hadn’t begun, but already, Alyc could feel their presence looming, waiting to test every soul who dared to step forward.

  The western section of the coliseum was a marvel of craftsmanship, carved entirely from rich red stone that glowed warmly under the twin suns. The polished seats gleamed, their smooth surfaces curving seamlessly to accommodate the shape of the arena. Alyc ran her fingers over the armrest of her seat as she settled in, the stone surprisingly warm to the touch, as though it held the memory of sunlight long after the stars had vanished.

  Her gaze drifted upward, following the soaring walls of the coliseum. They stretched impossibly high, their vast surfaces adorned with banners bearing the sigils of Emberfall and Selenia. The crimson and gold of her homeland’s emblem fluttered proudly beside the cool grey and blue of the rival kingdom. Between the banners, carvings depicting past champions and battles climbed toward the sky, their intricate details telling stories of triumph, sacrifice, and the divine trials of years past.

  The arena floor spread out before her like an open book, its sand gleaming faintly under the light. Etched into the ground were symbols whose meanings were a mystery to Alyc, their sharp lines and curves hinting at something ancient and powerful. Here and there, faint scars marred the sand darkened patches and shallow grooves left by battles that had tested the mettle of countless warriors.

  “It’s breathtaking,” Alyc murmured, her voice barely audible amid the hum of the growing crowd.

  Durk, seated beside her, nodded but said nothing. His sharp eyes scanned the arena, his expression a mix of admiration and vigilance. Even now, he seemed to be studying the space as if preparing for an unseen battle.

  Alyc turned her attention to the eastern side of the coliseum, where the Selenians sat in orderly rows. Clad in their kingdom’s signature grey and blue, they looked every bit the picture of unity. There was a quiet elegance in the way they carried themselves, their posture straight, their movements measured. Alyc could see no trace of tension or hesitation in their ranks.

  Her gaze shifted to the group of Selenian spectators closest to the competitors’ entrance. Their faces were calm, their expressions carefully controlled. There were no visible signs of anxiety or unease, only an air of quiet confidence. It was a stark contrast to the looser camaraderie of the Emberfall company, where laughter and the occasional murmur punctuated the growing anticipation.

  Alyc studied the Selenians closely, trying to glean some insight into their competitors. Were their warriors just as calm and composed? She thought of the figures she had glimpsed during their arrival, wondering what kind of challenges they would present to Emberfall’s champions.

  “Impressive, aren’t they?” Durk said, his voice breaking through her thoughts.

  Alyc turned to him, startled. “Who?”

  “The Selenians,” he replied, his tone neutral. “They’re disciplined, I’ll give them that. But don’t let their composure fool you. Even the best masks can crack under pressure.”

  Alyc nodded, her eyes returning to the eastern stands. “Do you think their competitors will be better than ours?”

  Durk’s expression softened as he regarded her. “It’s not about who’s better, Alyc. It’s about who wants it more. These trials don’t just test strength or skill. They test resolve. And resolve comes from within.”

  His words settled over her like a weight, grounding her thoughts. She turned her focus back to the arena, letting the grandeur of the space sink in.

  The noise of the crowd began to rise as more spectators filled the stands. To Alyc, the coliseum felt like it was alive, the collective energy of the people breathing life into its ancient walls. She could hear the excited murmurs of those seated nearby, snippets of conversation speculating on the trials and the competitors who would face them.

  Alyc’s gaze drifted once more to the arena floor, her thoughts returning to the faint scars etched into the sand. Each mark represented a moment of struggle, a clash of wills, and the echoes of those who had fought for glory.

  “Do you think this place remembers them?” she asked suddenly, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

  Durk glanced at her, a faint smile touching his lips. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s not the place that remembers, but the people who tell their stories.”

  Alyc considered his words, her fingers brushing against the stone armrest. The arena felt like more than just a battleground it was a monument to the past and a stage for what was yet to come.

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  As the crowd continued to grow, the atmosphere in the coliseum shifted. The hum of conversation turned to a buzz of anticipation, a collective energy building as the time for the trials drew closer. Alyc could feel it in her chest, a mix of excitement and nervousness that seemed to mirror the emotions of everyone around her.

  She glanced at Durk once more, finding comfort in his steady presence. Whatever lay ahead, she knew he would face it with the same unshakable resolve that had carried him through countless battles.

  The coliseum, vast and unyielding, seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the moment when the trials would begin.

  The coliseum fell into an unnatural silence. The cheers of the crowd, the murmurs of conversation, and even the faint rustling of banners ceased as if the arena itself had commanded stillness. The energy in the air shifted, growing heavy and expectant, like the moment before a storm.

  Alyc felt her heart pound in her chest, the tension gripping her as she scanned the arena floor. Without warning, a shimmering light began to form at its center, expanding and twisting like a spiral of stars pulled from the heavens. The crowd watched in rapt silence, their collective breath held as the light grew brighter.

  Then, in an instant, the light coalesced, and twelve figures stood in its place. The Divine Council had arrived.

  They seemed to emerge from the very fabric of reality, their forms both ethereal and solid. Each member radiated an aura that was distinct yet harmonious with the others, their presence commanding awe and reverence. Alyc’s breath caught as her eyes moved from one divine figure to the next, the enormity of their power overwhelming.

  At the forefront stood the Time Keeper, adorned in shimmering golden robes that seemed to flow like liquid sunlight. Intricate clocks and gears floated around them, ticking softly as if marking the passage of eternity. Their face, ageless and serene, bore the weight of infinite patience.

  To the Time Keeper’s right was the Tideweaver, cloaked in flowing blue robes that shifted like ocean waves. Water rippled around their feet with every step, and their gaze carried the depths of the sea calm yet unfathomable.

  Next stood the Warden of Light, clad in radiant white garments that shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Their very presence seemed to banish shadows, illuminating the truth of all it touched. The Warden’s steady, piercing gaze spoke of clarity and unwavering justice.

  Beside the Warden was the Voice of the Earth, a grounded and steady presence. Their attire, woven from living vines and earthy tones, seemed to connect them directly to the land. Alyc could almost feel the pulse of life radiating from them, as though they embodied the heartbeat of the earth itself.

  The Keeper of Shadows lingered on the fringes of the group, their form partially obscured by the swirling darkness that clung to them like a cloak. Their movements were deliberate, their features veiled in mystery, leaving Alyc to wonder what lay beneath.

  In stark contrast was the Seer, who stood at the center of the council. Her ethereal beauty was mesmerizing, her silver eyes gleaming with the knowledge of all that was, is, and could be. Her presence alone seemed to calm Alyc’s racing heart, even as it filled her with an unshakable sense of being seen.

  The Harbinger stood solemn and still, their dark robes a stark reminder of the inevitability of death. Their expression, though somber, carried a quiet reassurance, as if guiding all who looked upon them to accept the cycle of life and what lay beyond.

  To their left was the Stoneheart, a towering figure clad in armor that resembled unyielding stone. Their every step seemed to reverberate through the ground, a symbol of resilience and defense. Alyc couldn’t help but feel a sense of safety in their presence, as if nothing could break through their shield.

  The Skywatcher stood tall, their robes swirling with patterns resembling storm clouds. A staff topped with a miniature cyclone rested in their hand, and their piercing gaze seemed to sweep across the arena like a gust of wind, leaving no detail unnoticed.

  The Lifebringer radiated vitality, their robes of green and gold catching the light in a way that made them seem alive. Their presence was warm and nurturing, a reminder of growth and renewal even in the face of struggle.

  The Flamebearer stood apart, their fiery red armor flickering with embers as though it had been forged in the heart of a volcano. Their blazing eyes burned with intensity, embodying passion and destruction in equal measure.

  Finally, there was the Dreamweaver, a surreal figure whose flowing robes shifted colors like a living aurora. They moved with a dreamlike grace, their presence a beacon of imagination and endless potential.

  The crowd remained silent, their awe and reverence palpable. Even the most restless spectators seemed frozen in place, their eyes wide as they gazed upon the gods of Divinia. Alyc’s chest tightened as the divine energy of the council washed over her. It was as if their very existence pulled at the core of her being, leaving her breathless.

  “They’re magnificent,” she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else.

  Beside her, Durk sat unmoving, his expression unreadable. Yet his grip on the armrest of his seat tightened ever so slightly, the only sign that he, too, felt the weight of their presence.

  As the shimmering light around the council faded, the Seer stepped forward. Though her voice was soft, it carried effortlessly through the vast expanse of the coliseum, as if spoken directly into the hearts of all present.

  “People of Divinia,” she began, her tone calm yet commanding, “welcome to the Trials of Valor. Today, we honor the bond between mortals and the divine. Today, we celebrate the strength, courage, and unity that bind us all.”

  The crowd remained silent, hanging on her every word. Alyc felt a shiver run down her spine as the Seer’s silver eyes swept across the arena, pausing briefly on the western and eastern gates.

  “Let this day remind us of the Skyburst,” the Seer continued, “the cataclysm that tore our world apart but also brought us together. From that chaos, we forged a new path, a new unity. And so, these trials are not merely tests of strength or skill they are a symbol of our shared will to endure, to thrive, and to honor the legacy of those who came before.”

  As her words settled over the crowd, Alyc found herself gripping the edge of her seat. The silence of the arena now felt different heavier, charged with the anticipation of what was to come.

  The Seer raised her hands, her silver eyes glowing faintly. “Today, you will witness the courage of champions. And tomorrow, their legacy will shape the world. Let the Trials of Valor begin.”

  The Seer stepped forward, her luminous silver eyes sweeping across the coliseum. Though her voice was soft, it carried effortlessly to every corner of the vast arena, as though the very air bent to her will.

  “People of Divinia,” she began, her words calm yet commanding, “welcome to the Trials of Valor.”

  Alyc shivered as the Seer’s gaze seemed to meet hers for the briefest of moments. She felt both exposed and comforted, as though the Seer had seen every part of her and deemed it worthy. Around her, the crowd was utterly still, captivated by the ethereal presence of the divine.

  “We gather here today,” the Seer continued, “to honor the courage of mortals and the unity forged in the fires of adversity. These trials are not mere competitions. They are a testament to our collective will, our shared strength, and the enduring bond between the mortal and the divine.”

  Her voice carried a weight that pressed against Alyc’s chest. She leaned forward slightly, unable to look away.

  The Seer raised her hands, her silver eyes glowing faintly. “Let us remember the Skyburst, the cataclysm that tore the heavens and shattered the balance of our world. It was in that darkness, in the chaos of destruction, that the gods intervened. Together, they wove the celestial shield, restoring order and giving rise to the unity we now celebrate.”

  The arena remained silent, the weight of her words hanging over the crowd. The Seer’s tone softened, her expression almost wistful. “The trials are a continuation of that unity. They are a bridge between kingdoms, a celebration of resilience and cooperation. Today, we honor the champions who will step forward to face the challenges ahead, and tomorrow, their strength will shape our future.”

  As her speech ended, the western gate began to creak open, drawing the crowd’s attention. The Seer turned toward it, a serene smile on her face.

  “From the kingdom of Emberfall,” she announced, “I present to you your champions.”

  The first to step through the gate was Bregund Forwart, his slender frame radiating confidence. His movements were fluid, his sharp gaze scanning the crowd as though taking everything in at once. “Quick of mind and body,” the Seer said, her voice reverent. “He is a master of speed and composure under pressure.”

  Next came Vienna Hast, her expression calm and calculating. Her dark hair was tied back neatly, and her hand rested lightly on the hilt of her blade. “A mind as sharp as her weapon,” the Seer said. “Intelligence and strategy are her greatest tools.”

  Brook Browner followed, his broad shoulders and easy smile drawing a few cheers from the crowd. His laughter, though brief, carried a warmth that seemed to contrast with the tension in the arena. “Strength unmatched,” the Seer said. “But it is his heart that sets him apart unwavering and true.”

  The fourth competitor, Magra Broost, moved with a shadow-like grace that drew whispers from the crowd. Her dark eyes scanned the arena with quiet intensity, her presence commanding yet elusive. “A silent force,” the Seer intoned. “Deadly and unpredictable, she is a mystery even to her opponents.”

  Last came Prigo Crest, his confident stride and faint smirk exuding charisma. He raised a hand in acknowledgment of the crowd, his striking appearance drawing murmurs of admiration. “A warrior of skill and charm,” the Seer said, her tone steady. “His blade is as sharp as his wit, his presence commanding.”

  The crowd cheered as the five Emberfall competitors stood in formation, their expressions resolute. Alyc’s chest swelled with emotion as she watched them, their strength and determination a reflection of her homeland.

  The eastern gate opened next, and the Seer turned her attention to the Selenian competitors.

  “From the kingdom of Selenia,” she began, “I present to you their champions.”

  The first to emerge was Jesta Valance, her movements as quiet as a whisper. Her piercing gaze and lithe frame made her presence both commanding and elusive. “The master of shadows,” the Seer announced. “Her cunning and precision are unmatched.”

  Jorgen Brash followed, his stocky frame and rough hands hinting at his roots as a craftsman. His scythe sling was strapped to his back, a weapon of his own invention. “An innovator and a warrior,” the Seer said. “His mind and strength work as one.”

  Bex Trylon stepped forward next, her silvered hair glinting in the sunlight. Though older than her peers, her calm demeanor and weathered features spoke of experience and resilience. “The steadfast warrior,” the Seer intoned. “Her years of service have made her a beacon of strength and wisdom.”

  The fourth competitor, Morrow Coswo, carried his bow with a quiet confidence. His movements were fluid, his focused gaze scanning the arena like a hawk. “The master archer,” the Seer said. “His precision is unma