His vision waned as flames of unimaginable heat spiraled around the crusader’s head, singeing the tips of his long, alabaster hair. He took a deep breath of that overwhelming air, focusing his soul. White winds circled around his arms as he slowly, steadily, hypnotically waved them near his chest, calling upon his power.

  [Frigid Wind]

  With a snap, the flames froze over in an instant. In a blur, the white haired man kicked out in every direction, shattering the frozen flames and launching glacial shrapnel into each and every enemy that surrounded him.

  The soldiers, their armor shattered, dropped to their knees, and then to the ground. Lifeless. The snowy haired man looked out onto the battlefield, his eyes resting on his opponents, then back to his slain comrades that littered the ground behind him. He closed his eyes, offering a quiet prayer of thanks to those that got him this far.

  “Blessed be the Father of Frost and those who return to his side.” Chilly air flowed from his lips.

  The white haired man, clothed in the finest of silken robes, covered by outstandingly ornate dragon skin leather armor, opened his shining silver eyes as he turned towards his enemy. The lady of flames that stood behind a mass of soldiers, each wearing blood-red and black armor, cackled.

  The man squatted down, ice and snow orbiting his ankles, then jumped straight into the air, his fist aimed for her throat. She answered his charge with her own; flames danced around her legs, shifting from bright red, to yellow, then finally resting on blue. She flew into the air, her orange hair alight, meeting her opponent halfway.

  The video paused just as the two clashed. The words HIGHLIGHT REEL cut the screen in two, bringing in another scene. The next battle highlight shown was between two sword wielders. A massive rocky great sword swung through the air, deflected by a thorn riddled rapier.

  The clacking of cutlery colliding with porcelain, the clinking of wine glasses, and the rumbling of a hundred conversations filled the massive dining room. Not a single chair empty in that massive hall, that is until the host sitting at the head stood up. The man wore a bright silver dress coat with cerulean accents. His golden hair and beard trimmed to absolute perfection and a large pendant, a sapphire shaped like a water drop, swung from his chest. He cleared his throat and the room immediately hushed.

  “Shall we raise a glass. To those that fell before us. And to the one who Ascended.” The man held up a large crystal goblet filled to the brim with a deep purple liquid. Every other member of the dinner rose from their chairs, copying him; except for those two who sat at the farthest end of that terribly large table. Those two brothers were not so quick to rise to their feet.

  “May he make his name known throughout the Realms Above. Just as he and his Champion are already known throughout the whole of Bascensia.” The audience cheered. The blonde man grinned. “It reminds me of a story he once told me. About…”

  “What a bore.” Said the smaller, slimmer of the two brothers, choosing to ignore the rest of the pompous man’s toast. “How many decades do you think this charade will last? Two or three by my estimation.” He said, shaking his head.

  The much larger brother, who had already finished off the toasting libation and reached across the table for the next, shrugged. “Can never be sure with Randavian. No telling how many generations flew by during his last speech. And that was his daughter’s wedding. Pfft, The foppish prick,” he said as he grabbed two full cups of the wine. He held them both, softly jiggling them in the hopes of determining which held more before giving up with a shrug and drinking from both.

  “Wonderful. And how much bigger is this event than that?” The slimmer said, while he looked around the room, aiming to source a place to discard the drink. He detested the foul fermented fruit, never understanding how his brother could stand such a bitter drink, let alone enjoy it.

  After finding a target—a navy flower vase filled with the most gorgeous white flowers—and tossing the cup’s contents into it, the slimmer brother focused his attention on the men and women who stood at the forefront of the table. Those who sat near the head were the most likely to be chosen. His theory from the last couple of times sitting at this table. But he had a good feeling about tonight. A great feeling.

  A chorus of “Here Here’s” filled the air in the grandiose dining hall, signaling the end of Randavian’s ever so rousing speech. The larger brother rolled his eyes as he looked at the woman who sat to the left of Randavian. An olive skinned beauty with long raven hair, wearing a charcoal colored dress. Her eyes wet with admiration.

  “Oh, Carahn, she used to be such fun before throwing in her lot with that dandy. Look at those tears. Like a crocodile cutting onions, that one.” He said, grabbing another drink from the table with a huff.

  The slimmer brother nudged his sibling. “Get over it already. She left.”

  The larger brother growled, then downed another glass.

  The dinner party went on, each of the many pretentious people in the room stuffed their faces as the seemingly never ending feast marched on. Guests chatted, laughed and sang together. The thin brother watched on as his sizable and more charismatic sibling made his rounds with the women of the event, before ultimately being shooed off by a host of husbands when his inebriated brother hit on their wives and daughters. The slim brother wasn’t interested in any of the others at this gathering. He had but one reason to even attend this banquet.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  He kept his attention on the servants scurrying frantically as they made sure each and every possible thing was perfect for the sacred guests. Then his eyes dialed in on the one he was searching for. A servant in finer clothing than the rest carried a small, worn leather-bound book. His destination was the ostentatious man at the head. The slender brother focused his hearing, blocking every useless conversation, focusing solely on the Randavian and his head servant. He slithered closer to the front.

  “Your benevolence knows no bounds,” said a guest who walked over to speak with the head of the table. Randavian laughed as the guests piled more praise on him, then turned his head as the servant tapped his shoulder, whispering something into his ear.

  “It's time.” The slim brother said under his breath. He grabbed his sibling’s arm and pulled him back to their seats. His brother was dismayed, seeming to think he was getting somewhere with the maid he was chatting up. “Oi, hold it. She was into me.”

  “She’s paid to be into you, you dolt. Now stop, the announcement is about to be made.”

  “Don’t know why you bother worrying about it. We’ll never be picked. It's a bloody wonder we still get invited to this damned dinner.” He said, stealing a filled mug from a servant passing by.

  “But we still get invited, which has to mean something. It’s going to happen this time. We will both be chosen. I know it.”

  “Sure thing, Lu. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

  “Yes, because that is something I of all people need help with.” The slender brother rolled his eyes.

  As the two brothers returned to their seats, the crisp sound of a spoon hitting crystal resounded throughout the hall. Randavian stood up as everyone else sat down. He cleared his throat before addressing the audience.

  “I hold in my hands what we have all been waiting for.” Randavian raised the leather covered book into the air. “The Record of Ascension.”

  The slim brother licked his lips.

  “The tome that whispers our future and records our destinies. As my father before me read it, so shall I. That we may learn and honor those of us chosen for the next Trial of Ascension!” Light flashed behind Randavian, then the screen above flashed up numerous pictures and recordings of the previous Trial. Thousands of soldiers marched on various battlefields, each bloodier than the last. Then after the medley of violence, a montage of people building cities, civilizations truly, played. Crops sprung and fell, along with forests and mountains as the seasons cycled in haste. Oceans and rivers swelled, then dwindled.

  Randavian chuckled. “Or I should say who among you will also be chosen. I have already been guaranteed a spot by the last Ascended.”

  The larger brother scoffed. “Of course, the blowhard had to mention daddy dearest. Prick.” He mumbled the insult as he tore into a loaf of table bread.

  “Shush. He’s about to announce the names.”

  Randavian opened the book and took a breath. Silence pervaded the entire hall as each guest held on with bated breath, hoping their name was to be called.

  “Only those whose names I speak will be granted the Spark. To craft their nations, to guide them into battle, to counsel them in peace, and to finally raise them up at their sides with their Champions at the front. To conquer all the others.”

  “We know already, hurry the hells up.” The slim brother said through gritted teeth. His sibling put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Calm down, Lu. You’re shaking.” He whispered.

  He was right. So much anticipation had flooded and churned in his chest that he hadn’t noticed his own jittering. He couldn’t help himself; something would be different this time, he felt it in his very soul. He took a deep breath and returned his focus on the man at the head of the table.

  “Now allow me to list off the names of this millennium’s patrons and candidates. Ahem.”

  “Randavian,” he said with a smirk before listing the others. “Carahn. Jeriboim. Thrennon. Cartenien. Asmotheos. Prothea…” With each name, a person rose from their seats, everyone positioned near the head. The man’s head tilted to the side, pausing as he read the next name to himself. His eyebrows furled. “It can’t be.” Randavian looked closer at the book, then focused his attention on the two brothers who sat in the furthest seats. This is it. I’ve been chosen. No, we. We have been chosen.

  “And finally, Solaine. These are to be our contenders…”

  The rest of the man’s words died in the slim brother’s ears. The world darkened around him. His name was not called. Only his brother’s. “That’s not possible.” He mumbled. “We can’t be.” Before any other words or tears streamed from him. He felt the warm hand of his brother.

  He looked up, and his brother’s fire red eyes stared into his own.

  “I won’t participate. I’ll march up there and demand a change or forfeit right now.”

  “No, you must, else—”

  “I don’t care. We either Ascend together or not at all, Lunaire.” Solaine said to his little brother.

  Lunaire took a deep breath and then looked back at the table. Guests swarmed around those that had been chosen. Forming alliances or pleading for support, whichever would see them gain the most.

  Yet none came to his brother. Not a single soul sought to curry favor or deign to speak with his brother. A bloody contender for Ascension’s sake.

  Anger burned in Lunaire’s chest. His brother was right. They would ascend together. He would make sure of it.

  “You’re right, we will Ascend together.”

  “How?” Sol asked his brother.

  “Not sure yet. But we have a thousand years to figure it out.”