13

  The Final Trial

  The coliseum buzzed with electric anticipation, the roar of the crowd a living thing that filled every corner of the massive arena. Alyc sat perched on the edge of her seat, her fingers gripping the smooth, warm stone. Around her, banners bearing the symbols of Emberfall and Selenia waved in the breeze, their colors bold against the clear blue sky. Below, the competitors both those still vying for victory and those already eliminated stood in a solemn line. Each of them bore the weight of what had brought them here, and the sacrifices made along the way.

  Suddenly, a brilliant light erupted at the arena’s center, washing over the competitors and the crowd. Alyc shielded her eyes, blinking as the Divine Council materialized behind the warriors. Their arrival was breathtaking, each figure radiating a unique, almost overwhelming presence. Venta’s robes swirled like storm clouds, Felrum’s towering figure exuded strength and permanence, and the Seer, ethereal and luminous, seemed to glow with an inner light.

  The Seer stepped forward, her silver eyes surveying the crowd. As she raised her hands, the noise in the coliseum faded to a perfect hush, as if the world itself paused to listen. Alyc’s heart pounded as the Seer began to speak, her voice steady and melodic, filling the vast space with ease.

  “One hundred and fifty years ago,” the Seer began, her words imbued with the weight of memory, “Divinia faced its darkest hour. A great evil, known only as Malathrax, descended upon our world. Its purpose was unknowable, its destruction absolute. Malathrax did not wage war as men do, nor did it seek conquest. Instead, it turned the heavens themselves against us.”

  The Seer paused, her gaze sweeping the silent crowd. “Faen and Tulo, the twin suns that bring us light and warmth, clashed in a fiery collision. Their brilliance turned destructive, raining flames upon the lands and scorching the skies. Lees and Zae, the twin moons that guide us through the night, were drawn into the chaos, colliding and shattering into fragments that plummeted to the earth. The heavens, once a source of stability and life, became a harbinger of death and ruin.”

  Alyc shivered, her imagination conjuring the scene. The thought of Divinia torn apart by celestial forces sent a chill down her spine.

  “In this chaos,” the Seer continued, her voice tinged with sorrow, “the people of Divinia cried out for salvation. And the gods answered.”

  The mention of the gods sent a murmur through the crowd, but the Seer raised a hand, silencing it.

  “Solarios, the blazing god of the sun; Lunarious, the serene goddess of the moon; and Terranus, the steadfast god of the earth, descended from the heavens. Their combined might was greater than any mortal could comprehend, yet even they struggled against the magnitude of the destruction. Together, they wove the Celestial Barrier, a divine shield that encased Divinia and separated the suns and moons, halting the chaos and saving our world from annihilation.”

  The Seer lifted her arms, her voice rising. “To create the barrier, the gods sent forth twelve beams of celestial energy, each representing a fragment of their power. These beams spiraled out, binding Faen, Tulo, Lees, and Zae to their rightful paths. But their work was not finished. These twelve beams became more than light; they became the Divine Council, twelve immortal entities tasked with preserving the balance of our world.”

  The crowd murmured in awe, the magnitude of the story sinking in.

  “With the heavens restored,” the Seer said, her voice softening, “the Divine Council descended to the highest peaks of the Ignis Luna mountain range. There, they built Solaria, the shining kingdom that would stand as a beacon of hope and vigilance. For five years, the Council worked tirelessly, not just building a city, but forging a unity that would bind all the kingdoms of Divinia together.”

  Alyc glanced at the competitors below, their faces solemn as they absorbed the story. The arena seemed to hold its breath as the Seer continued.

  “But peace is never eternal,” she said, her silver eyes gleaming. “Dreamweaver, Oniri, was plagued by visions of a future shadowed by flames. In her dreams, she saw the return of Malathrax, the heavens aflame, and Divinia teetering on the brink of ruin once more. She foresaw armies clashing beneath darkened skies, and she knew the world must prepare. From her dreams, the Trials were born.”

  The Seer’s voice grew firmer, each word imbued with urgency. “Every year, champions from the kingdoms of Divinia come to Solaria to prove their worth in these sacred Trials. The victor is granted Divinity an extension of life and a fragment of celestial power and joins the Divine Army, the force that will stand between Divinia and the shadows when they rise again. These Trials are not a game, nor a contest for glory. They are a crucible. From them, we forge the warriors who will safeguard our world.”

  She turned to the competitors, her gaze piercing. “Remember this: you do not fight for yourselves. You fight for all who call Divinia home. The gods saved us once, but they have entrusted us to save ourselves. The Skyburst was a warning. When the shadow returns, Divinia will call upon its champions.”

  The coliseum was utterly silent, the gravity of her words pressing down on every soul present. Above them, the twin suns and moons shone, their light a reminder of both the gods’ power and the fragility of the balance they maintained.

  Alyc sat frozen, her chest tight with emotion. For the first time, she truly understood the enormity of the Trials. This wasn’t just a competition; it was a preparation for the survival of their world.

  Beside her, Durk leaned forward, his voice low and solemn. “These Trials aren’t just for today, Alyc. They’re for the tomorrow we may not live to see.”

  Alyc nodded, her eyes fixed on the arena. Her admiration for the competitors swelled, mingling with a new and profound respect for the Divine Council and the gods who had saved Divinia. The story of the Skyburst wasn’t just history it was a call to action, a reminder of what was at stake.

  The coliseum seemed to hold its breath as the Seer stepped forward, her luminous silver eyes scanning the crowd. The tension in the air was palpable, a mix of excitement and dread rippling through the thousands of spectators. Alyc leaned forward in her seat, her heart pounding as the Seer lifted her arms and began to speak.

  “Champions of Divinia, the time has come,” the Seer announced, her voice resonating like a chime across the vast arena. “After days of trials testing strength, skill, endurance, and the indomitable spirit of our competitors, we now arrive at the final test the duel that will decide this year’s champion of the Trials.”

  The crowd erupted into cheers, the sound echoing through the coliseum and shaking the very stones beneath their feet. The banners of Emberfall and Selenia waved proudly, their colors a vivid splash against the bright sky. Alyc felt a shiver run through her as the Seer raised a hand, silencing the throng.

  “This is no ordinary duel,” the Seer continued, her tone grave. “The combatants standing before us have proven their worth time and again. They are warriors who embody the resilience and strength of their kingdoms. Now, they will face one another in a test of skill and resolve. This trial will end only when one admits defeat or can no longer continue.”

  From her place on the Divine Council’s platform, Venta, the Skywatcher, gestured gracefully, and the stone floor of the arena began to shift. The ground smoothed itself, erasing the scars of previous battles, creating an unblemished stage for what was to come.

  Alyc’s gaze shifted to the Divine Council as they moved to their elevated seats overlooking the arena. Their forms radiated power, their presence a reminder of the sacred nature of the contest. Even the eliminated competitors, who had endured their own trials, took their places in the stands. Prigo, as smug as ever, lounged with the King’s entourage, but his gaze was fixed on the arena. Alyc couldn’t shake the unease his presence always stirred in her.

  “In this final duel,” the Seer declared, “we will see the culmination of their journeys. Jesta Valance of Selenia will face Vienna Hast of Emberfall.”

  The coliseum erupted once more, cheers and chants rising like a wave as the two competitors stepped forward. Jesta moved with the predatory grace that Alyc had admired throughout the trials, her piercing gaze locked on her opponent. Vienna’s walk was no less composed, her sharp eyes scanning the arena as though already calculating her next move.

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  The two warriors met in the center of the arena. For a moment, they simply stood there, their eyes locked, the air between them charged with unspoken understanding. Then, as the crowd quieted, Jesta extended her hand. Vienna took it without hesitation, and they shook a gesture of mutual respect that earned a fresh round of applause from both sides of the coliseum.

  From her seat, Alyc felt her chest swell with admiration. “They’re incredible,” she murmured, her voice barely audible over the noise.

  Durk, seated beside her, nodded. “This is what it means to be a warrior,” he said. “Strength tempered with respect.”

  As the two competitors stepped back to their positions, the Seer’s voice rang out one last time, her words clear and commanding.

  “Let the final trial begin!”

  The coliseum erupted once more, and Alyc felt the world narrow around the two figures in the arena. The air was alive with anticipation, every eye fixed on Jesta and Vienna as they readied themselves. This was it the moment they had all been waiting for.

  The arena floor seemed to vibrate with energy as Jesta and Vienna began circling each other, their eyes locked in an unflinching stare. The crowd, moments ago a roaring wave of cheers, had fallen into a tense silence. Every person in the coliseum was transfixed, their anticipation as palpable as the heat radiating off the sunlit stone.

  Jesta moved first, her body low and poised like a predator stalking its prey. Her blade gleamed as it slashed through the air, her attack quick and precise. Vienna stepped back just in time, her sword rising to meet Jesta’s in a ringing clash that echoed across the arena. The duel had begun.

  Jesta spun away from Vienna’s counterattack, her movements fluid and unpredictable. Her agility was mesmerizing, every step calculated to keep Vienna guessing. She darted forward again, her blade flashing toward Vienna in a flurry of strikes.

  Vienna met each blow with calm precision, her movements deliberate and steady. While Jesta sought to overwhelm with speed, Vienna countered with measured timing, her sword a shield that deflected every attempt to break through her defense. The clash of steel created a rhythm, their duel a symphony of skill that captivated the audience. It was not brute force that defined their battle, but an intricate dance of strategy and finesse.

  Jesta feinted left, her blade darting toward Vienna’s side. At the last moment, she twisted her wrist, aiming for Vienna’s exposed shoulder. But Vienna was ready. She stepped into the attack, angling her sword to parry and using the momentum to push Jesta back. The crowd erupted in cheers as the warriors broke apart, their gazes intense, their breathing quickened.

  Jesta’s eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a faint smile. Adjusting her stance, she began weaving unpredictably across the arena floor. Alyc watched with wide eyes as Jesta moved with such lightness it seemed as if her feet barely touched the ground.

  “Look at her,” Alyc whispered, her fingers gripping Durk’s arm tightly. “She’s like a shadow.”

  Durk didn’t take his eyes off the fight. “She’s trying to draw Vienna out. Watch what happens next.”

  Jesta lunged again, but her movements were deceptive, her blade weaving an intricate pattern that forced Vienna onto the defensive. For a moment, it seemed Jesta had the upper hand. Her strikes came faster, her blade a blur as it moved in and out of Vienna’s guard. But Vienna’s calm demeanor never wavered. She waited, her blade intercepting Jesta’s strikes with unwavering precision. Then, as Jesta overcommitted to an aggressive swing, Vienna stepped into the attack, angling her body just enough to dodge the blade and deliver a counterstrike aimed at Jesta’s exposed side.

  Jesta barely avoided the blow, leaping back with a grace that brought gasps from the audience. Her smile widened, her breath coming in quick bursts.

  Vienna shifted her grip on her sword, her stance tightening. She pressed forward, her strikes growing more assertive as she sought to break Jesta’s rhythm. Jesta backpedaled, her agility allowing her to evade Vienna’s precise strikes. But Vienna’s persistence was relentless, her attacks coming with an efficiency that forced Jesta to react faster and faster.

  The crowd’s tension rose as the duel reached a fever pitch. Vienna’s blade narrowly missed Jesta’s shoulder, and in a desperate bid to regain control, Jesta leapt onto one of the low stone formations that dotted the arena floor. From her elevated position, she launched herself at Vienna, her blade descending in a powerful arc.

  Vienna sidestepped at the last possible moment, raising her sword to parry and twisting her body to deliver a sweeping kick that caught Jesta off balance. Jesta hit the ground and rolled, coming up on one knee with her blade raised defensively. The crowd erupted in cheers, their applause a thunderous wave of approval for the display of skill.

  Alyc was on the edge of her seat, her heart pounding as she watched the fight unfold. “They’re incredible,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the noise of the crowd.

  Durk, seated beside her, nodded slowly. His eyes remained fixed on the arena. “This is what the Trials are meant to show,” he said. “Not just strength, but discipline and heart. They’re fighting for more than themselves.”

  Alyc glanced at her father, his words deepening her admiration for the competitors. She turned back to the fight, her gaze locked on Jesta and Vienna as they circled each other once more. Both warriors were breathing heavily now, their movements slowing as fatigue began to set in.

  Jesta darted forward suddenly, aiming a low slash at Vienna’s legs. Vienna jumped back, her own blade slicing through the air toward Jesta’s exposed arm. Jesta twisted, the blade grazing her armor but failing to land a solid blow. She retaliated with a spinning strike that forced Vienna to backpedal, her foot catching slightly on the uneven ground.

  Seizing the moment, Jesta pressed her advantage, her blade whistling as it carved through the air. Vienna ducked beneath one strike and sidestepped another, her movements deliberate as she waited for an opening. The sweat glistened on both their brows, their breaths coming in heavy puffs as the fight wore on.

  Jesta attempted another feint, her sword angling for Vienna’s chest before flicking downward toward her thigh. Vienna saw through the move and countered swiftly, their blades meeting with a jarring clang that sent vibrations through their arms. Jesta gritted her teeth and pushed forward, but Vienna held her ground, their locked blades trembling with the force of their wills.

  The arena felt charged with energy, the crowd’s cheers and gasps blending into a symphony of awe. Each strike, parry, and dodge carried the weight of their training, their determination, and the stakes of this final trial.

  As the battle raged on, neither competitor showed signs of conceding. They were evenly matched, their strengths and weaknesses playing off each other in a breathtaking display of skill and perseverance. Every move was met with a counter, every tactic with an answer. The fight stretched on, the tension mounting with each passing second, the outcome uncertain as ever.

  The battle had become a testament to endurance and sheer willpower. The hour-long duel had taken its toll on both warriors, their once-fluid movements now punctuated by moments of visible strain. Every swing of their blades seemed heavier, every dodge more labored, as they pushed themselves past their limits. Yet neither Vienna nor Jesta gave an inch, their determination unwavering.

  Jesta, ever the risk-taker, saw an opening or at least what she thought was one. With a shout that echoed through the arena, she lunged forward, her blade arcing in a powerful strike aimed directly at Vienna’s torso. It was a gamble, one that required every ounce of her remaining strength.

  Vienna’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t flinch. As Jesta’s blade neared, she sidestepped with a precision that spoke to her years of discipline and training. Jesta’s sword sliced through empty air, her momentum carrying her too far forward. For the first time, she stumbled, her balance faltering.

  The crowd gasped as Jesta tried to recover, but Vienna was already moving. With a swift, calculated motion, she pivoted and swept Jesta’s legs out from under her. Jesta hit the ground hard, her sword skittering out of reach across the stone floor.

  The arena erupted into cheers, the sound deafening, but Vienna didn’t pause to bask in the moment. She stepped forward, her blade steady as she lowered it to Jesta’s throat. The sunlight caught the edge of the weapon, casting a gleaming line across Jesta’s defeated form.

  Vienna’s eyes, sharp and focused, bore into Jesta’s. Despite the ferocity of the battle, there was no malice in her gaze only respect and a quiet acknowledgment of her opponent’s skill.

  For a moment, Jesta lay there, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. Then, a chuckle bubbled from her lips, surprising both Vienna and the crowd. “You win,” she said simply, her tone light, even amused. With a faint smile, she raised her hands in surrender and let her head rest back against the stone floor.

  Vienna stepped back, lowering her sword as Jesta relinquished her weapon. The crowd erupted into an even greater roar, their chants of “Vienna! Vienna!” echoing throughout the coliseum. It was a sound that seemed to shake the very walls, a chorus of admiration and triumph that surged like a wave.

  In the stands, Alyc leaped to her feet, her hands cupped around her mouth as she shouted Vienna’s name. Her voice rose above the cacophony, filled with unbridled excitement and awe. She turned to Durk, her eyes wide with joy. “She did it, Dad! She really did it!”

  Durk chuckled at her enthusiasm, a rare smile softening his typically stern features. “She earned it,” he said simply, his deep voice steady with approval. “That was a fight worth remembering.”

  Jesta pushed herself up slowly, waving off the medics who approached. She brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and walked over to Vienna, her steps unhurried despite her defeat. When she reached her, she extended a hand, her expression one of genuine respect.

  “You fought well,” Jesta said, her voice carrying over the noise of the crowd.

  Vienna hesitated for a moment, then clasped Jesta’s hand firmly. “So did you,” she replied, her tone equally sincere.

  The exchange between the two warriors earned a fresh wave of applause from the audience, their display of sportsmanship a fitting end to such a monumental battle. Together, they turned to face the Divine Council, who had risen from their seats, their ethereal forms bathed in the glow of the twin suns.

  The coliseum buzzed with an electric energy as the Seer raised her hands, silencing the crowd. The excitement of the moment shifted into reverent anticipation as she stepped forward. Her gaze swept across the arena, finally settling on Jesta Valance, who stood tall despite her defeat.

  "Let us honor Jesta Valance of Selenia," the Seer began, her voice warm and resonant. "Your valor, skill, and grace in these Trials have inspired all who have witnessed them. Though your journey ends here, your name will live on am