It was like time slowed down. Lilieth could feel the wind graze her skin as she ran towards Sibeiya. Something inside her burned, and she longed to fuel that feeling.

  Putting as much power into her swing as she could, she—

  A thunderous chime rang across the arena.

  “—And that’s time! Fighters, disengage immediately!”

  Camille’s voice echoed, reverberating through the stone floor.

  Just like that, both fighters stopped in their tracks—their weapons just inches away from each other—leaving only gusts of wind to finish the journey they began.

  Lilieth looked around cautiously. The once filled arena was now strewn with groaning bodies, staff members running in and collecting them on stretchers. She hadn’t realized that the majority of the other fighters had already fallen. Lilieth wasn’t usually so inattentive.

  “What a spectacular first round! And with that, we have our sixteen participants for the single battles! Let’s hear it for those proceeding to the next round!”

  The crowd roared. Lilieth let out a breath that she had been holding in and lowered her blade. Sibeiya did the same, twirling her spear around and disengaging.

  The two of them walked separate directions without saying anything. No words were needed between them.

  “...”

  Lilieth could feel her hand trembling, unsatisfied. Begging for more.

  No. Be patient.

  “First up, a fan favorite from previous festivals: Grits!”

  The crowd cheered as the half-highlander stepped towards the center of the grounds, sword in hand and barely looking out of breath. He had a determined but grave look on his face. Afterwards, Phaedon joined him, though he was announced with his surname omitted. The two didn’t look at each other.

  Sibeiya was called, and she stood on the opposite side of Grits.

  “Another new contender: Lilieth!”

  There was a surprising amount of cheers for her. She didn’t think she stood out much during the first round. She stepped up next to Phaedon, as far away as possible from Sibeiya. She didn’t know if she could control herself if she was any nearer.

  “Surprised you joined,” Phaedon spoke, staring straight ahead.

  “I was wondering that, too,” Grits added.

  “I have my reasons.” That was all Lilieth needed to say. They didn’t pry much either.

  “And our next challenger is Gaeus! A round of applause please!”

  A large man stepped up next to Lilieth, his shirtless body riddled with tattoos. He looked over Lilieth and glared at Phaedon, showing a wide toothy grin, sans a tooth.

  “Remember me, asshat?” Gaeus growled.

  “Can’t say I do,” Phaedon replied listlessly, still not bothering to look.

  The large man chuckled slowly. “Oh, you will. You will.”

  Lilieth shuffled uncomfortably, being stuck between them.

  Albus joined the line next to Sibeiya. Then, Niko next to Gaeus. The Healmage looked exhausted—bruised all over—but was somehow standing victorious. She wasn’t able to get a good look of his fighting style, but it seemed he at least knew how to fight.

  “And next up, a representative of Edhel Institute’s College of Brass—who was supposed to be here commentating with me—Sandrine!” Camille announced with hesitation and annoyance in her voice.

  Sandrine, on the other hand, seemed perfectly cheerful as she waved at the crowd. She didn’t line up with the rest of them, for whatever reason.

  The other contestants were people Lilieth didn’t recognize, but she did remember some of them fighting ... and she remembered how badly she wanted their skills. Their techniques.

  She’d learned a wide variety of styles from Spearman’s tutelage, but most people used their abilities differently from one another, and Lilieth found that she wanted them all.

  That’s right. Something was missing. Something that shouldn’t have been gone was gone.

  So, all she needed to do was fill that hole in with everything.

  Until she was no longer hollow.

  Until Lilieth Lasvenn was whole.

  A thirty-minute break was scheduled between the first and second rounds, the latter being the start of the one-on-ones. Lilieth sat inside one of the waiting rooms, staring intently at the bracket displayed on a board in front of her.

  Her first opponent was a woman named Fani. She was well-known, having participated in three previous Relic Festivals. Blessed, yes—a First tier Elementmage, apparently—and a better swordswoman than most.

  The battle between them would be the first to take place—and surprisingly, she didn’t feel nervous. Had it been the her of the past, she’d be a shivering wreck right about now. Her in that moment though? She knew that Fani was just a stepping stone—unimportant, save for the things Lilieth could get from her. She was a skilled fighter, but nothing really stood out about her from what Lilieth knew. Still, there was no telling what value she could extract from Fani.

  She heard footsteps coming from the next room, then Phaedon Bertrand entered. He stopped in front of the board and grimaced. His matchup was with the man, Gaeus, who taunted him earlier. For some reason, he wasn’t wearing his identification bracelet.

  Lilieth and Phaedon didn’t talk very much, so she barely had any idea who the man was aside from what she read about him. The Bertrand name was quite young as a noble house compared to the others of Artemest. The previous demarchos of the Drakonyra district died alongside his heirs, and Lysandros Bertrand was lucky enough to have seized the position.

  From what she’d read, the Bertrands were stationed near the marchlands, far from Artemest. Lysandros moved to Drakonyra, and, only a few years later, became demarchos. It was an absurdly quick rise in power, and it was all thanks to the wyvernscale armor they produced—far better quality than their predecessor.

  “Fani’s a tricky one,” Phaedon broke the silence. “Not that strong physically but quite slippery.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Lilieth asked, annoyance in her voice. She wasn’t there to make conversation.

  Phaedon furrowed his brows at her. “Just giving advice. Thought you’d be the type to appreciate it, but I guess not.”

  “You didn’t strike me as the type to like giving advice,” Lilieth responded.

  Phaedon huffed and leaned his back against a wall. There were multiple waiting rooms, all inside the coliseum building, and each of the sixteen was given one to rest in. It was a wise move, not forcing the fighters into a single room, else a fight would start prematurely.

  “So, you’re Lilieth then?” Phaedon said, doing stretches. “You seem to already know who I am.”

  “Yes,” she answered. She wasn’t in the mood to socialize, but she did feel it a bit unfair that she never told him her name. “What are you doing in someone else’s waiting room?”

  “I’m free to go wherever I like, and you don’t own this room. I’m avoiding my room for now, and everyone is practically a stranger to me, so I thought I’d look around”

  Lilieth sighed with exasperation. “It seems like you’re more of an enemy than a stranger to at least one of them.”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Tch, what? Grits isn’t deserving to be called even that.” His response caught the young mage off-guard; she was referring to his first designated opponent with her remark, that Gaeus person.

  “What’s up with you and Grits anyway?” she asked, unable to hold back her curiosity. “I know you two fought in the festival before, but surely there has to be something more there.”

  Phaedon scoffed. “Nothin’ substantial, that’s what. Just can’t stand his guts is all.”

  “Doesn’t seem that way to me.”

  “Mind your own business.” Phaedon turned his gaze away, and it was clear to Lilieth that there was something there—something he didn’t want to talk about. “What’s your deal, anyway? You’re always with them going to that forest. You another of that hermit’s students?”

  “... What’s it to you?” Lilieth replied. It seemed fair, considering he evaded her question, too.

  Phaedon presumably accepted that as he shrugged and allowed the silence to stretch on.

  Then, another set of footsteps approached. Phaedon’s face morphed into one of sheer coldness and vexation as an older, well-dressed man walked in, suit lined with gold.

  He stopped, looked at Phaedon, and opened his palm, revealing an identification bracelet. “Leaving this in the privy is juvenile even for you, son. Did you think it would fool me?”

  Phaedon clicked his tongue. “I saw you in the stands. I knew you’d try to find me.”

  “Once again, you’re joining these petty games,” the man who Lilieth assumed was Lysandros Bertrand said, pacing around the small room, completely ignoring Lilieth.

  “I told you you couldn’t stop me,” Phaedon finally said. “You can’t pay the organizers to drop me out of the festival either.”

  The demarchos exhaled. “Indeed, I cannot. The Guild isn’t easily swayed by coin.”

  “So, what in Lye’s hells are you doing here then?” The venom in Phaedon’s voice was potent.

  Lysandros turned to him, as if inspecting the heir. “I’m here to give you one last chance to drop out of your own volition.”

  Lilieth didn’t want to pry into whatever personal business the two had with each other, but she couldn’t help but listen. Considering Phaedon’s rebellious attitude, she’d already guessed that he wouldn’t have had a good relationship with Lysandros, but it seemed like the demarchos didn’t even approve of Phaedon’s participation in the Relic Festival.

  “Or else what?” he asked.

  “Or else you will continue to fight, and you will be defeated—yet another humiliating loss on your record. I’m giving you the chance to spare yourself the shame.”

  Phaedon scoffed, proudly displaying a defiant grin. “Keep dreaming, old man. You know you can’t stop me, so you’re getting desperate, and let me tell you, I am enjoying the show you’re putting on.”

  Lysandros’ expression didn’t shift. “Very well then. Suit yourself.”

  The lord tossed the identification bracelet to Phaedon and left as quickly as he came, leaving the two contestants in the room confused. The heir, in particular, looked concerned, as if he was surprised that the confrontation ended so quickly.

  Then, from another door, a worker appeared. “Miss Lilieth? It’s time.”

  Lilieth nodded and stood up, taking a deep breath. She gave a glance towards Phaedon.

  “What?” he said, having composed himself already. “It was none of your business. Go.”

  The young mage followed the worker out and was told to wait near one of the gates. It was a wide, dark corridor, the only source of light being from outside the gate itself, where the arena waited under the brightness of the sky. The contrast was so strong that she could barely see outside, though she could hear it clearly: roaring cheers from the crowd and the announcer riling them up. Camille had just finished explaining the rules, which were much the same as before.

  “I hope you’ve prepared yourselves, people of Artemest, because our first one-on-one bout is about to begin! In one corner, we have an old favorite! Participating in her fourth festival, will she be able to reach the semifinals like she did last time? Give it up for ‘Fani the Eel’!”

  The crowd’s cheers got louder. Lilieth’s face scrunched up. “The Eel?”

  “And in the other corner, we have a new face! Don’t be fooled by her small size; she might be a contender to look out for!”

  That was unnecessary, Lilieth thought with annoyance.

  “Everyone, remember the name: Lilieth!”

  One of the workers gave her the cue to make her entrance, and the young mage stepped out, letting the sun’s heat embrace her skin.

  Once her eyes adjusted, she noticed that the fighting grounds were covered in weapons. Swords, spears, battle-axes, daggers, knuckledusters, you name it—dozens of weapons were strewn about, either impaled on the ground or lying on it, like a graveyard of steel. She remembered one of the rules: fighters were allowed to pick up any of these weapons and use them however they wanted, likely to mix things up.

  She arrived at the center of the arena, where “Fani the Eel” was waiting. She was a Krysanthian woman of slender build, hair cut short, and a remarkably punchable grin. She played around with the shortsword in her hands, as if making light of Lilieth, not seeing her as a threat the same way anyone else in the free-for-all would have.

  “The Gods have blessed me with an easy victory, it seems,” Fani said, jeer unhidden in her voice. “A child as my first opponent?”

  Lilieth said nothing to her.

  Fani laughed. “What, cat got your tongue, little kid? Or are you just paralyzed with fear?”

  She still said nothing. The young mage could see Fani’s eye twitch ever so slightly despite the air of control she was trying to maintain. The insecure type.

  “Alright, fighters, stand on the marked spaces please!”

  Lilieth and Fani moved to the pre-drawn red circles on the inner ring of the arena, keeping them a fair distance apart. “The Eel” started jumping in place, doing light stretches.

  Lilieth simply cranked her neck.

  “It looks like we’re ready to go! Fighters! On my mark! Ready?”

  A long silence passed, everyone in the stands freezing in anticipation.

  “Begin!”

  Fani moved in, running towards Lilieth who stood there, unmoving. She hadn’t even unsheathed her sword when the woman reached her. A malicious smile spread across the Eel’s face as she swung her shortsword with great speed. Lilieth moved, dodging each and every strike, jumping away to keep herself out of Fani’s range.

  “What’s wrong, kid?! Can’t lift your own sword?!” Fani laughed. “Maybe you should’ve brought one your size!”

  There was laughter from the audience. Clearly, Fani was the comedian type, always looking to say something witty. Lilieth didn’t yet unsheathe her sword. She simply watched—observed.

  Every move Fani made. The way she swung. The way she moved her feet in an almost staccato rhythm. The way she twirled her arm when trying to make a feint. The movements her eyes made before every attack. The way she overswung just slightly every two or three strikes. The way she disengaged every ten-or-so swings to catch her breath. The way she seemed to get irritated when none of her slashes landed. The way her attacks got more and more frantic the more annoyed she got.

  Lilieth observed, and she memorized it all.

  “Godsdamnit!” Fani screamed at her. “Fight back, you coward!”

  As Lilieth expected: by not engaging with her, she made Fani feel like she was being made light of.

  It reminded her so much of Roald Isenholt, who bore the title Fimbulwinter—a boy with an ego as fragile as ice and was just as transparent. She wondered if these tactics would work on him.

  Lilieth finally switched her stance to Zero Mind and landed a cut on Fani’s hand—not a deep one, as their blades were rather dull. Still, a bit of red did trickle down.

  Missed, Lilieth thought. She was aiming for the identification bracelet.

  Roars erupted from the crowd as they went wild, and Fani was forced to retreat further, though the displeasure on her face was palpable beyond belief. She kept hold of her sword, however, and simply switched it to the other hand, twirling it around with ease. An ambidextrous fighter then.

  The young mage felt a burning desire to take that skill. Seeing a technique was one thing, but she knew for certain that if she could somehow get a hold of Fani’s memories, then she could integrate those skills faster than if she simply mimicked the movements themselves.

  The question was: how exactly could she take memories?

  Death wasn’t a factor. She received a bit of Tethys’ memories, and she was very much still alive. Could it have been from the brief contact their hands made?

  Lilieth strode in, leaving a dust trail in her wake. Fani swung at her, but the young mage easily ducked beneath it and grabbed the Eel’s arm with her hand as tightly as she could.

  Nothing. No memories. Was the trigger something else then?

  Fani, looking confused, tore her arm away from Lilieth and disengaged yet again.

  “The hells is up with you?!” Fani growled. “Freaky kid, I’ll bury you where you stand!”

  The Eel charged in, wielding the blade with her left hand, a swing too wide. Her other hand was free, blood trailing behind it.

  What if ...?

  Lilieth moved quickly, dodging the slash and grabbing hold of Fani’s blood-soaked palm.

  “—?!”

  In an instant, experiences flooded into Lilieth’s head: a barrage of scenes, sounds, and scents, all rushing in like a raging torrent.

  Fani ripped her hand away again, and the sensations stopped. Lilieth’s mind cleared. The Eel jumped back, creating distance—something she did because she had a hard time keeping up with the prolonged chaos of melee combat.

  Lilieth rushed in, not giving her time to breath. She unsheathed her sword and swung—clumsily, slowly, invitingly, a mediocre one-handed slash with barely any power in it.

  Fani caught Lilieth’s arm easily, stopping the feeble attack in its tracks. Her injured palm pressed against the dulled blade, and the Eel winced, but her other hand—blade wielded—was free to strike, and she took the chance gleefully.

  The young mage released her longsword, letting it drop to her left hand, and twirled around.

  “Huh—?!”

  Fani was barely able to react when she was hit with four consecutive strikes. Lilieth twirled like a ballerina, a lightning fast attack that was good against multiple enemies. It wasn’t really a move she’d have used against a single person, but what mattered was …

  “But that’s ... Twirling ...”

  Fani croaked out before falling to the ground, unconscious.

  “Twirling Rose,” Lilieth whispered, though she was sure Fani wasn’t conscious long enough to have heard it.

  It was a move that Fani herself created and named ... and one she had never used in combat even once. She had practiced it over and over and over, inside her own room, where no one would be able to see—a secret move she prepared to get out of tough situations.

  “My apologies, but I’m taking it,” Lilieth declared.

  “And we have a winner!” The announcer’s voice rose with the crowd. “Amazing! Looks like this upstart is showing incredible promise! Lilieth advances to the next round!”

  Lilieth walked back to the waiting room, leaving the arena for healers to retrieve Fani and bring her to the medical ward.

  There was a ten-minute break before the next bout. Niko was going next, and she wanted to see how he fought since she missed it in the free-for-all. In the meantime, Lilieth sat down inside her empty waiting room and perused through Fani’s memories. She wasn’t able to take a lot, but she did take enough.

  She opened her palm towards the wall.

  “[Bolt: Red].”

  A small ball of flames appeared from her palm and shot towards the stone wall, exploding into a tiny puff of fire and leaving a scorch mark.

  It was the only spell she was able to take. Bolt, a beginner’s spell, along with the three basic elemental affixes: Red, Yellow, and Blue. Fani had a lot more, but Lilieth wasn’t able to take all her memories.

  Still, Lilieth couldn’t help but grin.

  Something is tearing through the farms of Windshore—something fast, ruthless, and impossible to track.

  The men who find him don’t believe him.

  A dark fantasy of pursuit, secrets, and survival.

  New chapters: Monday, Wednesday, & Friday.

  Dark Fantasy Horror Mystery Survival