The shattered orbs had barely finished raining sparks before the arena shifted again. The marble floor trembled, and with a grinding of stone, new shapes began to rise from beneath the arena. Pillars of jagged rock thrust upward in uneven rows, some no taller than a man's knee, others soaring twice a person's height. Veins of faintly glowing runes crisscrossed their surfaces, pulsing as if alive.
A hush rippled through the crowd.
The announcer's voice boomed across the dome:
"Second event—The Gauntlet! Competitors must cross the field, overcoming obstacles and reaching the far side. Spells may aid you, but beware—illusion and trickery are woven into the very stones. Endurance, adaptability, and wit shall determine who prevails.
The crowd stirred with anticipation. Students craned their necks for a better view eager to see who would fall and who would thrive.
The first competitor, a wiry boy from the First Circle named Rennal, sprinted forward. At first it seemed easy—he leapt from one low pillar to the next with surprising agility. But midway, the runes flared, and the pillar he landed on suddenly wasn't there. He crashed into empty air, slamming hard against the stone floor. Gasps rippled across the stands as the arena's wards pulsed, cushioning the blow enough to keep him conscious. Still, he limped badly when he rose, clutching his ankle.
"Too fast," Brinn muttered. "Didn't think it through."
The next, a clever-looking girl with a braid down her back, advanced more cautiously. She cast a glowing tether of light from one pillar to the next, using it as a rope to swing forward. For a while it worked, until the tether itself shimmered, eaten away by illusion. She tumbled forward, landing in a heap. Groans rolled across the stands.
Another competitor, a bulky boy whose shoulders looked better suited to carrying barrels than casting spells, growled as he charged in. He simply smashed each pillar with his fists as he went, forcing a brutal path. The crowd laughed and cheered for a moment—until the runes flared brighter, and the pillars multiplied, weaving a shifting maze around him. Disoriented, he charged straight into a false wall and rebounded, sprawling flat on his back. The laughter turned to mixed jeers and pity.
"It's not just a test of magic," Alex realized aloud. "It's about knowing when not to use it."
"Exactly," Elya murmured. She hadn't taken her eyes off the course, her expression unreadable.
A thin boy named Taron stepped forward next. He smiled at the crowd, bowing with exaggerated flair before casting three copies of himself. 'Illusion Magic'. All Four Tarons darted into the maze, confusing even the announcer for a moment. The crowd leaned forward eagerly. They were about to experience a spectacular show.
But the arena was not so easily fooled. As soon as his illusions stepped onto the pillars, they dissolved into smoke. The original Taron froze, hesitated, then made a desperate jump—straight into empty air. He barely managed to conjure a cushion of wind before hitting the ground.
Brinn groaned. "And that's why you don't try to out-trick a field designed by Magisters."
One by one, more students attempted the Gauntlet. A handful reached the end—panting, scraped, but triumphant. Most failed somewhere along the way.
Then came Helen Marrowfield.
The murmur rose at once, as if the entire arena inhaled together. She stepped onto the field with the same measured calm as before, her staff resting lightly at her side.
"Competitor—begin!"
Helen did not run. She stood still, her eyes narrowing as though she were tracing invisible lines no one else could see. The pillars ahead shimmered faintly, runes pulsing in different rhythms. After a breath, she moved—not fast, not slow, but steady.
At the first gap, she tapped her staff once. A thread of energy snaked outward, not lashing forward but sliding low, brushing the surface of each pillar in turn. Wherever it passed, illusions wavered, thinning like smoke. The path cleared itself before her.
"She's reading the course," Brinn whispered, wide-eyed.
Sure enough, every step she took was deliberate, each movement confident. The pillars that had vanished beneath others' feet held firm for her, while the ones glowing false crumbled harmlessly before she touched them. She never stumbled, never hesitated. By the time she reached the far side, not a single misstep marred her progress. She hadn't even broken a sweat.
The roar from the crowd was deafening.
Elya's expression gave nothing away though her eyes narrowed in focus. She said nothing.
Brinn let out a low whistle. "Yeah… she's definitely going to be a problem."
In the VIP section, Abby Marrowfield remained perfectly still, her posture flawless, every gesture deliberate. A faint nod, almost imperceptible, marked her satisfaction. She didn't rise, she didn't clap; those were the gestures of the unrefined. But within the taut lines of her expression and the slight tilt of her chin, there was unmistakable pride. Helen had set a standard and Abby Marrowfield—Lady of the Marrowfield house—was pleased.
The announcer's voice boomed once more, carrying across the arena.
"Next competitor—Alex Valea!"
The name echoed in Alex's chest like a drum. He swallowed hard and stood, forcing his legs to carry him toward the field. The noise of the crowd pressed in on him, a wall of sound that seemed to grow heavier with every step.
"Good luck," Brinn called after him, grinning.
Elya didn't say anything—but her eyes followed him, sharp and steady.
Alex stepped onto the marble, the Gauntlet stretching before him like a broken staircase into the unknown. The pillars glowed faintly with their shifting runes, daring him forward.
The announcer's voice cut through the hush.
"Competitor—begin!"
For a heartbeat, Alex froze. His chest felt tight, his pulse loud in his ears. He clenched his hands by his side. He couldn't afford to falter. Not with so many eyes watching.
He took a breath.
Then he leapt.
The first pillar held. The second shimmered, flickering at the edges. Alex bent his knees, adjusting mid-air, and pushed off to the right, landing hard on another stone. It rocked beneath his boots disbalancing him but did not vanish.
The crowd murmured.
The next stretch came fast—a cluster of high pillars, each one glowing differently. Alex paused, scanning them. He remembered Helen's calm steps, her patient unraveling of the illusions. He couldn't replicate her precision—not yet—but maybe he didn't need to.
He closed his eyes for half a heartbeat, reaching inward. The thrum in his veins—the strange, restless pulse that wasn't wholly his own—answered. When he opened his eyes, the runes seemed clearer, sharper, like threads of light pulling at the air. Some threads were solid. Others flickered faintly, false.
There.
Alex sprang forward. His foot struck the solid stone, his hands catching the next pillar, pulling himself up in a scramble. He barely had time to steady himself before the pillar shuddered beneath him, threatening to vanish. Instinct roared through him—his palm lit with a faint flare of golden energy, not a spell he'd learned. The stone steadied, just enough for him to push off.
Gasps rippled across the crowd.
"What was that?" someone whispered from the stands.
The golden light faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Alex's hands trembling. He didn't look back. He couldn't.
He forced himself forward, pillar by pillar, every jump pushing his muscles to the limit. The illusions grew trickier—some pillars looked solid but rippled like water when he touched them, others flared bright just to blind his eyes. Once, he slipped, nearly falling. A scream went up from the students in the lower tiers. At the last second, he caught the edge of a real stone, hauling himself up, chest heaving, sweat stinging his eyes.
"Come on, Alex…" Brinn muttered under his breath, clutching the railing so tightly his knuckles turned white.
Elya hand had curled into a tight fist in her lap.
At last, the far side came into sight. The final gap yawned wider than the rest, the pillar beyond it glowing faintly red. A trap—obvious, too obvious.
Alex grit his teeth. He couldn't stop now.
He ran, pushing everything he had into the final leap. Mid-air, the red pillar flickered and vanished. Gasps rang out—he was going to fall.
But something inside him roared awake.
Golden light burst faintly around his hands.His body lurched farther than it should have, carrying him past the empty space. He crashed hard onto the last solid stone, rolling into a crouch on the far side of the Gauntlet.
For a long heartbeat, there was silence. Then the arena erupted.
Cheers, shouts, applause thundered across the dome. Even some of the nobles in the galleries were on their feet, murmuring excitedly to one another.
Alex winced clutching his side as he staggered to his feet, chest heaving, his hands still tingling with fading warmth.
The announcer's voice rang out triumphant: "An extraordinary finish from Alex Valea!"
"That's my boy!" Brinn cheered loud, slapping the railing with both hands.
Brinn was still grinning ear to ear when Alex sat back down. "You looked incredible! Did you see the crowd? Half the nobles stood up!
"Glad my near-death experience was entertaining," Alex groaned, wiping sweat from his forehead. His legs still trembled.
Brinn leaned closer, stage-whispering, "You should've seen your face mid-air. I swear you thought you were going to die."
"I was going to die," Alex snapped, then winced as he moved too quickly. "Pretty sure I left my spine back there on one of those pillars."
Elya, quiet through Brinn's antics, finally allowed herself the faintest smile. She met Alex's eyes for a beat longer than necessary.
"You did well," she said softly.
Alex blinked, heat rushing unbidden into his cheeks. He coughed into his fist. "Yeah, well… I try."
Brinn snorted. "Try not to pass out, you mean."
Alex leaned back, squeezing his eyes shut.