I tore through the tunnels, the note clenched in my fist.

  My lungs scraped and my legs burned from the inside out, but I kept driving forward.

  Doyle’s letter had been clear. The preliminary trials for people like us began at ten.

  Was I too late?

  I needed to reach the house and check the clock.

  The tunnel walls rushed past in a blur of stone and shadow. I burst through the final passage, stumbled into the house, and skidded across the kitchen floor. The old clock above the bench ticked on, steady and merciless.

  Ten… minutes past eight.

  I still had time.

  “Doyle? Amelia?” I called. The cottage was empty. No voices. No footsteps.

  Knowing them, they would have left early.

  That meant I had time to deal with the second part of the note.

  A grin tugged at my mouth as I took the stairs two at a time, boots hammering down into the training room below, the sound echoing sharp and loud.

  Crates lined the floor.

  Dozens of them.

  Their lids lay broken or half pried open, spilling an armoury across the floor. Swords rested in careless stacks. Spears leaned against the wall. Bucklers and shields lay nested together like shed shells. Armour plates glinted under the lantern light, scratched, scuffed, and each marked by a rune.

  I grinned.

  Some of the pieces were gone. I could see the gaps where shields and fitted cuirasses should have been.

  Which meant the rest was mine.

  “You ready?” I asked.

  The blade hummed and I leapt for the first crate.

  The moment I drove the tip into the metal, it fell away like instant rust. Each time a weapon collapsed, one of the markings deepened, and sometimes fresh lines tore themselves into place beside them.

  The pressure through the hilt sharpened, urging me to continue.

  Heat crept along my forearm as ash sifted onto the floor and the sharp scent of worked iron rose into the air. Lumi steadied against my hand, guiding rather than pulling.

  I recognised some of the new runes from my book.

  Swift feet.

  Harden skin.

  Deep edge.

  Passive core runes.

  More runes appeared along the blade, but I did not know them. I only felt the blade grow lighter in my hand even as its weight deepened.

  I forced my grip tighter and moved from crate to crate, breaking down everything in sight. My vision blurred at the edges as I worked as fast as I could.

  Then it was done.

  I stood among ruined crates and grey piles of ash, the weapons and runic stock that would have taken an army to make reduced to scrap in moments.

  I had let the sword’s greed overwhelm me.

  But I did not regret it for a second.

  Power surged down the blade and into my body. The runes flared through my nerves, tightening my thoughts and sharpening the world until it felt painfully clear.

  The rush was intoxicating.

  The dagger from the other me still lay in my other hand.

  A single, quiet reminder. No voice. No hunger. Only purpose.

  I slid it into an empty sheath and fixed it to my hip opposite Lumi, hauling the strap tight until the leather creaked.

  As I was about to move, the stone door in the corner stole my attention for a split second. The Roman figure stood carved into its face, pale in the lantern light.

  I’ll come back for you.

  One last look over the wrecked crates and drifting ash was all I allowed myself before I turned and ran for the stairs.

  Doyle’s note said a package waited on my bed.

  I took the steps four at a time and burst into my room.

  My repaired noble robes lay folded across the mattress. I picked them up and quickly examined them.

  “Roy, you sly dog.” I smiled.

  The fabric had been reinforced even more than before, darkened and thickened under the shoulders, ribs and inner seams without adding any weight. The cut remained formal, but every line now favoured movement and protection.

  This was no longer clothing for a single fight.

  It was built for war.

  Lumi stirred.

  Not interest.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  Calculation.

  I grinned as I swept the clothes into my rune pouch and twisted the ring on my finger.

  The weight of the outfit settled over me in an instant, a compressing pressure tight across my shoulders and ribs. I caught my reflection and adjusted the colour through the runes the tailor had originally placed, turning the fabric down into a deep maroon.

  I smiled. “Close enough.”

  The shade matched Jerald’s colours and suited my disguised hair.

  I turned the ring once more and the battle suit peeled away.

  The sword hummed. It was time to go.

  I turned for the door, then paused when I saw a second package, long and narrow with a round base, tucked into the corner of the room.

  “We don’t have time,” Lumi said.

  I ignored him and crossed the room, tearing the wrapping away.

  Inside lay a small wooden lute. Polished wood and gold filigree caught the light along its neck. It was fit for a prince. But I could not stop to appreciate it.

  With trembling fingers, I set it aside.

  I swept every vial I had into my pouch and flew out the door. The fake soul card sat in my pocket as I sprinted out of the cottage. A few animals glanced at me curiously as I ran down the road, but I saw no human faces and no movement from the barracks tents as I passed.

  It would have been nice if someone had left me a horse, I thought.

  At least my legs were faster now. I barely felt the fatigue, and whenever soreness crept in, I downed a vial.

  I headed straight for the front gate, not the side gates this time. The trials were in the heart of the city and, at last, with the concealing runes in place, I was going in.

  Far ahead, a loose stream of people drifted toward the city while guards called out directions over the noise.

  Not one of the faces was familiar.

  This part of the city was not surrounded by a moat. It made for heavier foot traffic, wider gates inside, and far more security.

  Closer to the massive gates, the same heavily armoured guards I had seen inside the city came into view, standing apart from the rest and watching the crowd with quiet focus. They were the ones assigned to sense illegal magic.

  An old couple stood just ahead of me, chatting eagerly. They had travelled a long way for this, by the sound of it. With multiple lands required to send their aspirants here for the first time, the trials had turned into a nationwide spectacle.

  With my fake soul card already in hand, I moved into line.

  It was moving too slow.

  “What time is it?” I asked the old man beside me.

  He glanced up the road and lifted his chin toward a narrow clock tower rising above the inner wall. “Twenty past nine.”

  Not much time left.

  He looked me over, lingering on my face. “You here for the trials, lad?”

  I nodded.

  He let out a quiet huff of a laugh and jerked his thumb toward a thinner line breaking off to the side. “Aspirants queue over there. Moves faster.”

  “Thanks.”

  I broke out of the line and ran for the shorter one.

  Before I realised it, the line moved and it was my turn.

  A tall guard stood in front of me, broad shouldered, with a jet-black beard and a clean-shaven head. His eyes did not soften when he looked at me.

  “Soul card.” His voice was flat and unhurried.

  I passed him the card.

  He studied it, then lifted his gaze to my face. Without a word, he raised one hand between us. A thin silver rune etched into his ring glinted near his palm as he drew it slowly across my chest and down toward my hip.

  Cold pressure brushed through the space between us.

  His attention shifted at once to the sword at my side.

  “You seriously competing?” he asked, sceptical.

  I could not blame him. The fake card for Sean Mitchels barely ranked above a servant.

  “Yes, sir.”

  My lungs burned as I held my breath and waited for the telltale pull, the flare of resistance, any sign that Lumi had drawn his attention.

  He glanced down at the card again.

  For a moment, something like pity crossed his face.

  “Good luck, kid.”

  He stepped aside and motioned me through.

  I managed three steps past the gate before my breath finally came back in a shaky rush.

  As I moved deeper into the city, the tight knot of caution in my chest gave way to something lighter.

  Excitement.

  The trials were about to finally begin.

  Then a colder thought cut through it.

  Where?

  Luckily, most of the people streaming into the city were here for the trials. Some would compete. Most, by the look of them, had come to watch.

  A voice drifted across the crowd.

  “Outside aspirants this way!”

  Local guards dotted the approach, guiding the crowd with practiced ease. Even they looked energised as they urged people to move.

  “Outsider trials are being held in the amphitheatre!”

  “A what?” a shabby-looking aspirant nearby asked.

  The guard sighed. “The open-air theatre,” he said, pointing. “That way.”

  I slowed just long enough to catch the rest of his directions and adjusted my path with the flow.

  Two boys about my age hurried ahead of me. They looked like farmhands, sun-browned skin, rough boots, and borrowed packs slung too loosely across their shoulders. Hope sat openly on their faces. They spoke in low, excited bursts, pointing out buildings and streets as we passed, calling out things they recognised and things they clearly did not.

  I followed a few steps behind them and listened in silence.

  This part of the city felt nothing like the market district. The road widened into a long, gentle stretch that guided the crowd forward without walls or barriers.

  Stone figures watched from the edges of the street. A swordsman braced behind a broken shield. A robed figure with one hand lifted in warning. Their sides had been smoothed by generations of passing hands.

  We crossed a low stone bridge as the sound of voices gathered ahead.

  Guards stood spaced along the far side, calling directions as the crowd funnelled inward toward the low born trials.

  A large red tent came into view at the edge of a vast open viewing bowl, the ground falling away in wide, curved tiers to form an ancient amphitheatre.

  “Aspirants this way!” a guard called.

  I wondered at how many of us there were.

  I slipped in behind the two farm boys and let the press of bodies carry me forward.

  Canvas swallowed the light.

  The space beyond was thick with hundreds of aspirants, bodies milling in loose clusters, a restless sea of dark and fair hair broken only by a single shorter red head. Most wore ordinary clothes, with only a few sporting family heirlooms or rough gambesons.

  I found them at once.

  They stood out like sore thumbs. Rob hovered near the edge of the space, rocking subtly on his heels. Amelia waited beside him, eyes steady, the air around her faintly tight in the way it always became when she focused.

  They turned and both froze at the sight of me.

  Then Rob forced his way through the crowd. “Mate, you cut it close.”

  I gave a tight grin. “It was a struggle.”

  Both wore their full kits of armour, layered with new pieces from the most recent delivery. People around them openly stared with envy and quiet admiration.

  Their soul weapons were encased in thick sheaths at their legs. That, at least, was a relief. Revealing them in a crowd like this would have sent a ripple of panic through the tent.

  Her gaze swept over me, taking in my lack of gear. “You don’t look ready.”

  I flashed her my ring.

  She smirked. “I take that back.”

  Rob’s eyes dropped to my hip. “Woah, nice dagger,” he said. “Where’d you get it?”

  “It was a gift from a friend.” I tapped it fondly. “So where are the other two?” I changed the subject, searching the crowd for Celeste or Callum.

  Rob glanced at Amelia. She hesitated.

  “They’ll be running their trials with the nobles,” she said, nerves edging her voice.

  I winced.

  “Well… let’s hope they’ll be all right,” I said.

  They both nodded.

  As outsiders, we would be tested away from the larger and more influential groups, at least for now.

  A horn sounded, and the scattered muttering inside the tent collapsed.

  At the front stood the same bent, haggard man who had greeted me on my first day in Avalon and recorded my fake soul card. Up close, I could see even more stress lines carved across his face.

  “Welcome, young aspirants,” he called, his voice flat. “Soon you will be tested, to determine who among you may join the ranks of those who have come before you.”

  Rob shot me a look that clearly said hurry it along.

  “We will assemble at the lower tier, where you may observe your fellow aspirants. Once there, remain quiet and follow your instructors as they explain the proceedings.”

  Many of the heads nodded.

  “Aspirants will be called in groups for the preliminary tests by surname, in alphabetical order.”

  Behind him, an official pulled a pale sheet from a massive, polished board.

  Names filled it.

  Hundreds of them.

  Each entry listed a name, home, and blessings, ranked by potential. Rob and Amelia’s names were instantly recognisable near the top.

  Mine sat dead last.