The cheers for Grom Stonehand were deafening, a sudden, explosive release of tension and disbelief that echoed across the Colosseum. Nobles who had hedged their bets on the dark horse dwarf roared with delighted vindication, clutching their inflated purses. Those who had wagered heavily on Silas, the King’s champion, grabbed their heads in frustrated disbelief, their complexions pale beneath the blazing sun.

  High Seer Jabara was not cheering.

  She stood alone in the elevated gallery, her focus narrowed beyond the chaotic, celebratory frenzy. Her gaze was locked onto the dwarf—Low—who was now performing a clumsy victory dance over the pulverized husk of Silas.

  How had the dwarf won that fight?

  Jabara was one of the few individuals present who could truly perceive the invisible threads of à?? woven through reality. She could still sense the fading, heavy residue of the Void, a black stain clinging to the arena sand. But she could also sense an unknown à?? signature, one she had not felt from the dwarf at any point during the tournament—a powerful, clean Green à?? that had been momentarily layered over the dwarf’s own frantic kinetic energy. It was like finding a single, perfectly formed leaf pressed inside a lump of coal.

  Just as she was about to take a careful step forward to survey the arena for any lingering physical clues, she sensed the King's heavy, expectant gaze on her.

  Jabara sighed internally. She realized he was waiting for her to announce the winner, to make the victory official and move on to the ceremony. She could not afford to delay. King Rega was already growing tired of her subtle resistances and silent disapproval; she couldn't rock the boat by openly questioning the miracle victory of the final match.

  She raised her ornate staff, drawing on her own deep reserves of wind à??. The air crackled around the bronze tip, and the wind carried her voice, amplifying it until it bellowed over the receding roar of the crowd:

  “Winner of the Sunstone Tournament! Grom Stonehand!”

  She held the staff aloft for a moment, fulfilling her duty. She would have to come back later in the night, once the palace was silent and the guards were lax, and use divination to find out exactly what had happened.

  Jabara couldn't help but be a little relieved at the dead body of Silas. The followers of Iku's plan must have intended Silas to win and take a place of influence near the King. Their immediate plan did not account for this embarrassing defeat, no doubt. But just because one pawn failed didn't mean they wouldn't try again. They had waited in secret for a thousand years; it would be ludicrous to think their grand schemes hinged on this one user of corrupted à??.

  She watched as the undead attendants, the King’s grotesque servants, shambled out onto the sand to clean the arena for the ending ceremony when the prizes would be given out. She saw them begin to pick up Silas's body, which was little more than a withered husk.

  Standing directly among the undead was a man draped in black robes with a shock of vibrant, unruly orange hair. It was the necromancer Njiru.

  Jabara’s composure faltered slightly. She had not yet spoken to him since his sudden, bewildering reappearance in the capital. She was still deeply uneasy that this man was not still rotting in the deepest dungeons, serving the life sentence she had implicitly condemned him to.

  She watched as he commanded the undead attendants, his voice a dry rasp, ordering them to be extra careful with the body of Silas. Just what was he going to do with that? Nothing good, she was certain.

  Njiru, as if feeling the intense pressure of her gaze, turned his head and looked directly up at her gallery.

  Jabara gave a short, formal nod of acknowledgment. The necromancer simply stared back, his expression flat, as if wondering if he should even bother to acknowledge her presence.

  Jabara decided to use the moment as an opportunity to bury the hatchet, or at least attempt diplomacy. She lowered her voice so only the wind à?? could carry it over the distance, soft yet clear.

  "Njiru," she said.

  "Don't," Njiru said back, his voice cutting through the space between them, cold and devoid of warmth. "You are the reason I ended up in that cell. Do you realize how much they torture inmates in the royal dungeon?"

  Jabara frowned, genuinely pained. "I did not know. I was asked by the King to use divination on who was disturbing the graves. I simply pointed them in a direction; I did not know it would be my old friend, Njiru."

  "Friends?" Njiru scoffed, a dry, bitter sound. "And what friend does not even attempt to get my sentence reduced?"

  "The punishment would have been death," Jabara insisted, trying to defend her long-ago choice. "I appealed for you to face imprisonment instead."

  "And how was a decade of torture better than a quick death?" Njiru asked, turning his back to her and gesturing to his undead workers. "My workers are done, High Seer. I bid you good fortune."

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Njiru left, marching out of the arena with the ruined body of Silas and his shambling undead retinue.

  Jabara watched him go, the heavy truth of his accusation settling over her like a mantle of shame. She silently wondered if he was right. Maybe she should have just let the King kill him. The old Njiru was a nuisance; the new one—a resentful servant under King Rega’s twisted rule—could be a true, unpredictable danger.

  The prize ceremony was next, and she had a winner to present.

  High Seer Jabara stood at the edge of the observation gallery, her eyes scanning the newly swept arena floor. The blood and dust were gone, but the heavy residue of Silas’s corrupted Void still clung to the air—a dark, sticky memory of power. She was waiting for the final preparations for the prize ceremony, her mind racing over the impossible victory.

  "What do you need, Zuberi?" she said, her voice dry, never turning around. She had felt the minute shift in the ambient à?? when he approached.

  Diviner Zuberi stepped up behind her, his movements smooth and practiced. "Can I not speak to a fellow seer?"

  "Seer?" Jabara scoffed, finally turning to regard him. "I have yet to see you divine anything. When I left for my year-long meditation, you were just an à??weaver, making sure there weren't cobwebs by the altar. How far you've come. Promoted to à??seer. And the title of Diviner."

  Zuberi smiled, a pleasant, empty expression. "Yes, I have been quite fortunate since your departure."

  He glanced down at the arena, specifically where Silas's corpse had been moments before. "It is a shame that the dwarf won. I had wanted Silas to be incorporated into the Kings forces, you know."

  "That wouldn't have gone the way you think," Jabara said dismissively. "It is good that he cannot be used that way. The corrupted à?? Silas wielded was a threat to all."

  Zuberi laughed, a short, sharp sound devoid of humor. "You think the King really wanted to use him? He was waiting for the Green à??born to kill him in the tournament."

  Jabara stared at Zuberi, her mind clicking through the implications, a cold knot tightening in her stomach. "He wanted his corpse."

  "Of course." Zuberi's smile widened, revealing something sharp and unsettling. "Now Njiru has a plaything to make into an ultimate soldier, and now the King believes he has found his Green à??born."

  Jabara laughed, a bitter, genuine sound of disbelief. "The dwarf? That is no Green à??born. I doubt it’s even a dwarf."

  "No," Zuberi said, the casualness in his tone contradicting the weight of his words. "The King already knows it is a disguise. But he seems convinced the dwarf is the à??born and aims to prove it during the ceremony."

  Jabara’s thoughts raced. She had felt notes of Green à?? in the arena, powerful and clean, momentarily overwhelming the corruption. Could the dwarf have been hiding it? Was it a poorly executed disguise layered over an ancient truth?

  High Seer Jabara stared at Diviner Zuberi, the silence between them charged with unspoken accusations and half-truths. Zuberi’s smooth smile held too much calculation. He clearly knew more about the inner workings of the King’s new regime—and possibly the mysterious, dangerous Iku followers—than he let on.

  "And what exactly does the King even want with the Green à??born?" Jabara asked, pushing past her rising unease and maintaining the focus on the immediate threat.

  Zuberi tilted his head, his eyes flickering towards the royal box where King Rega sat, beaming at the still-cheering crowds. "I don't believe the King even knows," he admitted, his voice dropping slightly. "The à??born is simply another variable he doesn't have control over, and he doesn't want that in his kingdom."

  He gestured vaguely at the palace walls. "Not now, when the kingdom's existence is barely hanging on, pulled from the brink of where the old King left it. The Green à??born is a force of chaos and life, High Seer. And chaos is an insult to Rega's absolute rule."

  Jabara's gaze sharpened. She watched Zuberi closely. Was he trying to goad her into anger? To make her admit she suspected him and the new regime of orchestrating the coup d'état that brought Rega to power? She wouldn't fall into his game. She kept her expression neutral and steered the conversation firmly back to the dwarf.

  "And what if the dwarf isn't the à??born? What then?" Jabara asked, crossing her arms, letting her staff rest against her shoulder.

  Zuberi shrugged, a gesture of careless indifference. "I'm sure the King has a backup plan. He always does. It can be difficult to tell just what he has planned, High Seer; you'll do well to remember that."

  The veiled threat—or perhaps, warning—was clear. Jabara realized she had learned all she could from him for the moment.

  "Leave me, Zuberi. I have grown tired of you," Jabara said, her voice cutting and final.

  Zuberi's smile vanished, replaced by a cold satisfaction. "I shall go," he said, offering a mocking half-bow. "But it doesn't take divination to the Orisha to tell that the King will grow tired of you, High Seer, if he isn't already."

  With that, Diviner Zuberi turned and walked away, leaving Jabara alone to stare at the arena.

  The final, taunting words of Zuberi echoed in the empty gallery: "...the King will grow tired of you, High Seer, if he isn't already."

  Jabara stared at the gilded podium being arranged below, her composure shattered. Zuberi's casual confirmation—that the King knew Grom Stonehand was a fake and intended to expose him as the Green à??born—meant the prize ceremony was a trap.

  She didn't believe the dwarf was the à??born. The dwarf's frantic, kinetic à?? was too raw, too primal, lacking the clean, life giving resonance she'd briefly sensed. But that didn't mean the dwarf didn't know the à??born. Grom must have witnessed something, perhaps even been protected by the true power. The undeniable presence of a foreign Green à?? signature in the arena after the Void orb dissipated proved an unseen variable had been at play.

  If the dwarf was exposed now, their life would be forfeit, and more importantly, the King's curiosity about the Green à??born would only sharpen. Jabara needed answers, and the dwarf needed a warning if they were to survive long enough for her to complete her full divination tonight.

  Jabara turned away from the blinding light of the arena. She pulled her ceremonial robes tighter, casting off the detached skepticism she usually wore. Time for political caution was over; this required direct action. She moved swiftly through the palace corridors, following the fading trail of the Green à?? residue that Leonotis had left behind when he vanished.

  The trail led her not toward the grand guests' wing, but to a small, isolated suite reserved for tournament contestants. She stopped before the door. She knew the dwarf was inside, perhaps tending to injuries or basking in their temporary victory.

  Jabara raised her hand, ignoring the lingering, nervous hum of her own protective à??.

  She stopped just before the door and knocked.