Chapter 10 – The Trial of Blades
The roar of the crowd hit Dillon like a physical force. The arena stretched wide before him, an oval of white sand ringed by tiers of shouting spectators. Bright banners snapped in the wind overhead, each painted with the seven-shard sigil of the Mirror Council.
At the far end, two figures stood under the shadow of a great iron gate. They were tall, confident, and carried themselves like they had stepped straight out of a story. The boy — broad-shouldered, golden hair bound at the neck — rested a long spear against his shoulder. The girl — slightly shorter, her dark hair braided with silver thread — wore twin short swords at her hips.
"The Croft siblings," Talia murmured from where she and the others watched from the side. "Tory and Victor. Champion fighters. And council favorites."
The council had wasted no time in making things interesting.
Dillon stepped forward, the heavy oak doors shutting behind him. The roar of the crowd swelled again as an announcer's voice boomed across the arena.
"Today, the Trial of Blades brings us a rare challenge! Three combatants, untested by the city's fire, against the will of the council!"
The gate behind the Crofts rattled. Then, with a grinding shriek, it rose — and the beast emerged.
It was massive, taller than a warhorse, with scales that shimmered between silver and green. Six eyes burned with molten gold, and a long tail, tipped with a jagged blade of bone, dragged furrows in the sand. Its breath came in low, rumbling hisses, the air itself tasting of copper and ozone.
Dillon swallowed hard. "That's… not a duel."
Tory Croft grinned, her eyes fixed on the beast. "No. It's better." She drew her blades in a smooth motion. "Stay out of our way, shadow-boy."
Victor didn't speak. He simply lowered his spear and advanced, his every step measured, calm — a predator closing in.
The creature lunged first, faster than its size should have allowed. Victor sidestepped, driving his spear into the side of its neck, but the weapon skittered off the scales with a spray of sparks. Tory darted in from the other side, her swords flashing, but only managed shallow cuts.
Dillon moved on instinct. He called to the shadows beneath the arena seats, feeling them rise like living smoke to coil around his arms. His heart pounded. The magic felt hot and cold at once, like ice on fire.
The beast turned on him, tail whipping forward. Dillon threw himself aside, shadow tendrils lashing out to catch the tail mid-swing. It slowed — just enough for Victor to stab again, this time striking between two plates of armor.
Blood hissed into the sand. The crowd roared.
Tory was suddenly beside Dillon, her tone sharp but not hostile. "You're better than you look. Keep its eyes on you — we'll hit the gaps."
Dillon didn't have time to argue. He sent a surge of darkness beneath the beast's feet, thickening the shadows until they clung like tar. It thrashed, bellowing, trying to break free.
Victor struck from the right, Tory from the left, their attacks now sinking deeper into the beast's hide. Dillon held the shadows as long as he could, his vision starting to blur from the strain. Finally, with a roar that shook the stands, the creature collapsed, its massive body sliding into stillness.
The arena went silent for a heartbeat… then erupted in cheers.
The Croft siblings stood over the kill, bloodied but unbowed. Tory gave Dillon a long, appraising look. "Not bad, shadow-boy. Maybe you're worth keeping alive."
Victor simply nodded once, a warrior's respect.
For the first time since arriving in Brackenreach, Dillon felt something shift. He hadn't just survived the trial — he'd earned a place in the city's story.