The grand hall fell silent.
“You will have many decisions to make inside the Sanctum,” the Arbiter said. “No longer will the Crucible’s magic dissuade you from fighting one another. The choice to progress alone or together belongs to each of you.” They paused, allowing the weight of those words to sink in. “But know this simple truth, champions: Without unity, you will fail.”
“I shall take my chances,” said Paelin.
“So be it,” replied the Arbiter, and Elyria thought the layered voice sounded disappointed. “Paelin Saltwillow, do you commit yourself to the Arcane Crucible, to pursuing the truths and challenges held within?”
“I do.”
“Do you consent to be marked by the celestials, binding yourself to the Celestial Sanctum?”
“I do.”
“And do you do this, knowing that once you step through the Gate, you shall not return until the Crucible is complete and its prize claimed?”
“I do.”
The Arbiter raised their arm, their hand remaining hidden within the billowing sleeves of their robe as they touched Paelin’s forehead. “Then I crown you a champion of the realm. Go forth and enter the first trial with the blessing of the celestials.”
Cheers rang out from the crowd of spectators. Paelin didn’t glance back as he strode toward the Gate and walked straight through. The Gate glowed, the curtain of light within blowing on some otherworldly breeze, and he was gone.
Gael went next. “See you on the other side,” she said to no one in particular before stepping through the curtain.
One by one, the champions came forward. One by one, the Arbiter called their names and branded them with the magical contract that bound them to the Celestial Sanctum.
The dwarf, Thraigg Ironfist.
Cyren Tenrider, the blue-haired fae, though not before sending a sinful grin in Elyria’s direction.
Leona Blackwood, the human trio’s leader, followed by those miserable redheaded siblings, Belis and Belien Larkin.
Tenebris Nox, the nocterrian from the jail, and their crimson-skinned compatriot, Dissidua Pyr.
Elyria’s brow shot up when a sylvan woman who had been tucked against the far wall approached. Zephyr, the Arbiter called her. No surname. She was petite, equipped only with a small dagger sheathed to her thigh and a belt full of pouches and pockets and clinking vials.
No cheers or sobs rang out from the crowd as she met the Arbiter. She’d come alone, and Elyria couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing here. Was the lure of glory so great it reached even the sylvans in their forests? Zephyr bit her lip as the Arbiter branded her forehead, but that was the only sign of any potential hesitance before she stepped through, and Elyria had to admire her gentle confidence.
It was a quality that couldnotbe ascribed to the two human champions who went through next, hooting and hollering as they waltzed through the Gate.
Then, finally, it was that obnoxious, judgmental knight’s turn. He finished conversing with the nobleman Elyria had noticed watching their earlier confrontation. The noble clapped the knight on the back before leaning close and whispering something in his ear. The knight nodded, and there was a vulnerability in the expression on his face that,against all reason, made Elyria’s heart clench.
“Cedric Thorne,” called the Arbiter as he approached, and that heart-clenching feeling was quickly snuffed out as Elyria stifled a snort. How a name so plain could simultaneously sound so pretentious, she wasn’t sure. She supposed it fit him.
“Convenient, isn’t it, how easily a name can be used to disguise the truth?”Her own words from earlier came back to her, rattling around in her mind. She wasn’t sure why. She grinned to herself as she recalled what the knight—whatCedric—had said back.
“What truth? That you’re not the dark butcher everyone knows you to be?”
Dark butcher. Nowthatwas an epithet Elyria could get behind. No more of this Revenant shit. It was all too clear that moniker had taken on a life of its own.
“Best of luck, Sir Thorne,” Elyria said smoothly as the knight stepped away from the Arbiter. “Do try not to die in there.”
He looked at her with the strangest expression, somewhere between murderous and astonished. But Cedric Thorne said nothing as he walked through the Gate.
Elyria took a trembling breath. Only Kit remained now.
She had lingered, Elyria noticed. Hung back. Elyria’s chest felt tight. Had her pleas finally gotten through to her? Or perhaps the change in plans, the Arbiter’s declaration—warning?—had thrown her?
Kit’s stunning, mismatched eyes met Elyria’s. There was pain in them.
