The first rays of morning sunlight slipped through the thick drapes of Celeste's lavish room, casting a soft glow over the tousled sheets. Sorin lay awake, his gaze drawn to Celeste as she slept beside him. Her hair spilled across the pillow, and the gentle rise and fall of her bare shoulders beneath the sheets struck him as vulnerable, a side he had never seen from the fiercely confident woman who usually dominated any space she entered.

  He hadn’t intended for things to go this far. Carcose’s warning replayed in his mind, along with Zane’s cautious advice, but at that moment, all he could see was the incredible woman lying beside him, someone whose wit matched her striking beauty. Celeste’s dark lashes rested against her cheeks; her expression softened in sleep, her usual edge replaced with a peacefulness that made him smile unconsciously. His hand reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face, hesitating for a moment as he wondered if he was letting himself get too close, too caught up.

  Yet, despite the warnings, he felt a surprising warmth as he looked at her, an undeniable pull toward her confidence, her ambition, her mysterious allure. He wondered briefly if anyone else knew her like this and saw her with the same quiet admiration he felt at that moment.

  As the first gentle rays of dawn crept over the bed, Celeste stirred, her eyes still closed as she slowly stretched, a quiet smile tracing her lips. Sorin watched as she moved, her body languid and graceful beneath the sheets. She tilted her head, slowly opening her eyes to find him watching her. A mischievous smirk curled on her lips as she propped herself up on one elbow, her gaze trailing over him.

  “Enjoying the view?” she murmured, voice husky with sleep.

  Sorin’s mouth curved into a smile. “Very much,” he replied, his hand reaching up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Didn’t think you could look any better, but here you are, proving me wrong.”

  She chuckled softly and leaned toward him, her lips brushing against his in a soft, lazy kiss. “Careful with that flattery,” she whispered, her voice low, “I might start believing you.”

  He responded with a deeper kiss, his hand slipping to the small of her back, drawing her closer. Celeste melted into him, her body relaxing against his as they shared another slow kiss, both still drowsy in the soft morning light. She pulled back just a little, a glimmer of playfulness in her eyes as her fingers traced light circles over his shoulder.

  "You know,” she whispered, her lips a mere inch from his, “last night, you definitely surprised me."

  Sorin smirked. "Is that so?" he murmured, letting his fingers trail along her spine.

  She hummed, her expression softening as she rested her forehead against his. "I don’t usually let anyone surprise me, but... you might be an exception.”

  The comment stirred something within him, a warm feeling that caught him off guard. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. They lingered like that, exchanging light kisses and whispers, caught up in a moment that felt too genuine to be dismissed.

  Sorin’s hand rested on her cheek as he looked into her eyes, a question lingering on his tongue, though he wasn’t sure what it was. Instead, he leaned in for another kiss, savoring the way she melted against him, the warmth of her laughter mingling with his own.

  “Shall we go for another round?” he murmured, his voice quiet.

  Celeste arched an eyebrow, her fingers tracing a line along his jaw. “Tempting,” she whispered, her eyes dancing, “but then I might make a habit of this.”

  “Would that be so bad?” Sorin asked, his lips brushing hers, a part of him not wanting this moment to end.

  She leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. “It wouldn’t, but we both have obligations we must attend to.”

  She was right, and Sorin knew it, so he sighed.

  Celeste slipped out of bed and moved toward her wardrobe, casting Sorin a playful glance over her shoulder before she began to pick out her clothes. Sorin shamelessly watched her naked form from the bed, enjoying the sight. She selected a fitted crimson dress, the fabric rich and deep and would accent every line of her figure. The sleeves were trimmed in black lace, giving a touch of elegance. Sorin couldn’t help but be distracted from the dress as she held the dress away from her body to examine it and caused her breasts to be put on fool display.

  Celeste turned and saw Sorin staring. With a slow, teasing smile, she held his gaze as she stepped into the dress, taking her time to pull it up over her hips, her movements deliberate. She swayed her hips ever so slightly as she fastened the back, tossing her hair over one shoulder to reveal the smooth line of her neck. The dress flowed down her legs, stopping just above her knees, and a slit on one side showed a tantalizing glimpse of her thigh whenever she shifted her weight.

  She fastened a slender black belt at her waist, adjusting it with graceful fingers. Her final touch was a pair of high black boots, which she laced slowly, her gaze drifting over to Sorin with a sly glint.

  Sorin felt a rush of desire, the intensity almost catching him off guard. He clenched his fists briefly, willing himself to keep his composure. With a smirk, Celeste looked over at him as if knowing exactly what was on his mind, her eyes twinkling with satisfaction.

  Sorin stood from the bed, facing away from Celeste so she would not see the effect she had on him. He focused on his own clothes, pulling on the outfit he had worn the day before, giving his collar a quick adjustment, though he couldn’t help but catch one last glimpse of her. The rich red fabric seemed to glow in the morning light, and she wore it like she knew its effect on him.

  "As much as I hate to say it, it's time that we depart ways," she stated, her voice light but her gaze as intense as ever.

  “Indeed it is,” he replied, finally steadying his breath, but he could not resist asking the question that was on his mind. “When will we do this again? When will I see you again?”

  “Move on from the first portion of the Ranking Tournament, and we will see if I feel the urge to spend another night with you,” Celeste said in an alluring voice.

  “You know how to tempt a man. Your wish is my command,” Sorin said while taking her hand and bowing over it to kiss it, attempting to act like a charming nobleman.

  “Ha, you are such a flatterer, Sorin. Careful, or I will lose interest. I like men that pose a challenge, not ones that bend to my every whim. Although those men do have their place and purpose in things,” Celeste responded.

  “That they do; not every man can be hardheaded and stubborn, or we wouldn’t have a hierarchy within the world. That would lead to a fair bit of chaos,” Sorin agreed.

  The two of them made their way out of Celeste’s suite of rooms. In the hallway, they bid each other goodbye one last time before parting ways.

  As Sorin stepped into the courtyard, he realized that Celeste had done it yet again. She had stranded him without a carriage to ride back to the academy. He cursed, knowing she had done it on purpose. He contemplated asking the Enforcers if they would give him a ride back to the academy but immediately threw out the idea. The Enforcers wouldn’t waste their time on some lowly Acolyte begging for a ride to a place he could easily walk, given the time. So Sorin sighed and began to walk.

  Sorin made his way into the bustling Warbringer Academy mess hall, his mind still lingering on his morning with Celeste. She may have been a princess of sorts in the city, but behind closed doors, she was anything but. It made him crave her as images of her dominated his thoughts. Sorrin reached the table where Tytus, Diego, Jackson, and Torrid were already seated, eagerly eyeing him as he sat down.

  “So,” Tytus began with a smirk, “did you really think you’d come back after being out all night with the Overlord’s daughter and not spill every detail?”

  Sorin gave him a measured look as he reached for his plate, taking a casual bite. “Let’s just say Celeste knows how to keep her company entertained,” he replied, trying to keep his tone nonchalant.

  Diego gave him a knowing look, crossing his arms. “Come on, that’s not going to cut it. You had to’ve done something impressive to keep her attention this long. She’s known for dropping guys the moment they get boring.”

  “Oh, trust me,” Sorin said, grinning slightly. “She doesn’t get bored easily.”

  Jackson nearly choked on his drink. “By all the Gods, I never thought I’d see you—the guy who’s all serious training and spirit cultivation—actually caught up with someone like Celeste.” He leaned closer, his eyes wide. “So, how was it?”

  Sorin gave him a playful shove back. “Nothing to report that you don’t already know.”

  “Nothing?” Tytus laughed. “Come on, we’re your brothers in arms. You expect us to believe nothing happened after she dragged you into the Overlord’s castle?”

  Torrid, looking at Sorin with narrowed eyes, cut in with a furrowed brow, “Celeste... she kiss you?”

  Sorin chuckled, nodding, while Torrid’s expression immediately transformed from mild confusion to admiration. “Sorin is good man. Celeste see it too.”

  “I wouldn’t say that’s exactly why she’s interested,” Sorin replied, trying not to sound too smug. “But, sure, Torrid. Let’s go with that.”

  Diego nudged him with his elbow. “So... is it serious?”

  Sorin hesitated for a moment, recalling Carcose’s warning about Celeste. He shrugged, managing a half-smile. “Let’s just say she’s... very persuasive. And as far as serious goes, well,” he looked around at the faces of his friends, “I guess time will tell.”

  Jackson sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “You know, when I signed up for this, I didn’t expect to be the only one in this group not surrounded by beautiful women or royalty.”

  Tytus raised his cup, grinning. “Then here’s to Sorin for raising the bar so high none of us mere mortals can compete.”

  They all laughed, clinking their cups together in a toast.

  The morning of the Ranking Tournament dawned clear and bright a few days later, a crisp breeze stirring the Warbringer Academy’s flags as students gathered in the courtyard. The air buzzed with tension, excitement, and a hint of fear. The entire academy had come out in full force: students clad in uniform, teachers in their robes or armor, and Headmaster Zane Warbringer himself standing on a raised platform at the courtyard’s center, gazing down on the rows of neatly organized platoons of students.

  Sorin stood with his friends with Vestian on his shoulder, each one brimming with a fierce sense of purpose. Their platoon was led by none other than Professor Lyra Valen, the healer who had worked on Sorin during his hearing. Her severe gaze swept over her students, and despite her calm demeanor, her posture radiated confidence, silently urging each student to stand tall.

  Zane raised a hand to quiet the murmurs, his commanding voice echoing throughout the courtyard. "Today, we do not simply fight for ourselves. We fight for our academy, for its honor, its legacy, and its future. This Ranking Tournament is not just a competition—it is a proving ground."

  He let the words sink in, his gaze passing over each platoon with an intensity that seemed to drill straight into the soul. "Each of you competing has trained long and hard, honing your skills, perfecting your powers that have been bestowed upon you by the Gods of the Dark Pantheon. Today, you will put it all to the test and prove yourself worthy of your God’s favor. You will face friends, foes, and everything in between. And only those who show strength, skill, and resilience will claim the glory that waits."

  A ripple of cheers and applause rose from the crowd. Sorin felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The fire he’d kindled in his heart, that drive for power and control, blazed brighter than ever.

  Zane’s voice grew even louder, filled with passion. "Today, the eyes of Cestead are upon us. Every strike you land, every challenge you face, every moment you stand your ground is a testament to the Warbringer name! Go forth and earn your place in history. Fight for fame, glory, power, and for the honor of your academy!"

  With that, Zane Warbringer raised his fist into the air, and a wave of fierce cheers echoed across the courtyard as the students roared back in reply.

  The march of the Warbringer Academy through the city was a grand spectacle, like a parade of disciplined warriors, each step in perfect synchrony. The students moved as one, an unyielding force making its way through the streets, and the sheer presence they exuded held the attention of all who had come out to witness the march. Crowds lined the sidewalks, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the famed academy students. Children waved from atop their parents’ shoulders, eyes wide with awe, while adults whispered among themselves, some cheering, others murmuring with apprehension. Vendors hawked their wares along the streets, and the occasional passerby paused mid-conversation, their attention inevitably drawn to the procession.

  Flags bearing the Warbringer emblem fluttered proudly in the breeze along the streets, and as they approached the castle’s grounds, Sorin could feel the weight of expectation settle over them. The rhythmic cadence of boots on cobblestone was nearly hypnotic, punctuated by the distant sound of drums from nearby spectators, who tapped along to their march.

  When they neared the City Overlord’s castle, the other academies appeared on the road, their own synchronized formations converging like rival armies. The Warbringer students held their ground, eyes forward and unfaltering. Then, with a powerful call, they came to a halt at the edge of the lawns that stretched before the City Overlord’s grand castle. Shouting in unison, they moved into parade rest, their voices merging into a single echo that vibrated through the grounds.

  A massive dias had been erected on the expansive lawn before the castle, surrounded by a strong perimeter of Enforcers with gleaming weapons and sharp eyes. Atop the dais stood the City Overlord, Aldric Marrowvale, and beside him, his daughter, Celeste. Both were dressed in finely crafted armor, but the similarities ended there.

  Aldric’s armor was dark iron, with silver embellishments that caught the light, highlighting the overlapping plates that spoke of years of skill and refinement. His breastplate was adorned with the insignia of his office—a silver hawk with its wings outspread, symbolizing his rule over Cestead. His expression was stern, focused, with no trace of softness as he looked down over the assembled students from the city’s competing academies.

  Celeste, on the other hand, wore armor that was both elegant and deadly. The plates were sleek and fitted, sculpted with a near-sinister grace. Intricate designs traced along her vambraces and breastplate, faintly luminescent, giving her a spectral air. The colors of her armor, a deep, gleaming obsidian with dark purple accents, contrasted strikingly against her light complexion. Her gaze was sharp and intent, and as Sorin glanced up at her, he felt his heart quicken—she looked both beautiful and fierce, a vision of strength and elegance that made him wish to be on that dais with her if only to stand at her side.

  As the Warbringer Academy came to rest, the other academies continued to arrive in a similarly regimented fashion, each forming up on the lawns before the dais.

  The students of Silverblade Masters approached with the calculated precision of soldiers. Their silver-embellished uniforms caught the morning sun, glinting as they took position in flawless alignment. Their march exuded an air of quiet arrogance, one that seemed almost unbothered by the fierce competition. Sorin’s eyes caught a glimpse of Aric, his expression set, his gaze as cold as tempered steel.

  Next came the Stormhold Academy contingent, their uniforms trimmed with hints of deep blue and silver. Their arrival was thunderous, nearly shaking the ground as their massive presence was felt, some even carrying faintly crackling weapons that hinted at their academy’s elemental prowess. The Stormhold students held a defiant confidence, their faces set as they sized up their competitors with challenging stares.

  Then came the Darkplight Institute, their students draped in midnight black with deep red trim. They held themselves with an almost eerie composure, their eyes scanning the crowd, moving with a swift and silent grace that seemed otherworldly. They stood in position, eyes intense and calculating, as if plotting each move of the upcoming battles well in advance.

  Finally, the Valoria Academy approached, clad in darker hues of green and silver. Their demeanor was rigid and orderly, their movements crisp. Sorin noticed that they held themselves with the precision of highborn soldiers, their eyes locked forward and shoulders squared, exuding discipline and unyielding determination.

  Together, all five academies created a formidable sight, each standing in their respective formations before the City Overlord and Celeste. The city’s energy felt electrified, with students brimming with anticipation, the citizens murmuring from the sidelines, and the anticipation of the battles to come hanging thick in the air.

  The courtyard fell silent as each of the academy headmasters took a step forward, following the tradition that had defined Cestead’s Ranking Tournament for generations. Each headmaster stood before the dais, their expressions solemn, and bowed with respect to the City Overlord before beginning the ritual-like introductions.

  The Headmaster of Warbringer Academy, Zane Warbringer, was first. Dressed in a regal dark uniform with armor gleaming in the morning sun, he took a powerful step forward, his gaze steady and unyielding as he addressed the crowd.

  “I am Zane Warbringer, headmaster of Warbringer Academy, sworn to the art of battle and the honing of warriors. I hereby enter my academy in the Ranking Tournament of Cestead and vow that our students will fight with valor, honor, and the might our name bears. We will claim victory not just for our academy but for our heritage as warriors.” His voice echoed across the courtyard, carrying the weight of his words, and he stepped back with a final bow.

  Next was the Headmistress of the Silverblade Masters, Seraphina Arcsteel, a woman of tall stature with piercing blue eyes and a commanding presence. She approached the dais with a measured grace and bowed deeply.

  “I am Seraphina Arcsteel, Headmistress of the Silverblade Masters. Our blades have been tempered in the fires of mastery, and our resolve forged through discipline. I enter our students into this Ranking Tournament so that they may show the city and all who witness their dedication to skill, precision, and the legacy of the Silverblade.” Her voice held a tone of pride, unbreakable and unwavering. With a final glance across the assembled students, she returned to her place.

  The Headmaster of Stormhold Academy, Gaius Thunderfist, stepped forward next, his broad figure emanating strength and the air of untamed power. He lifted his head high as he addressed the City Overlord.

  “I am Gaius Thunderfist, headmaster of Stormhold Academy. Our students have braved the elements and learned to wield the forces of nature itself. I enter Stormhold into the Ranking Tournament so that our students may prove their mastery of strength and resilience. Let the storms we command be a testament to the power we bring to these grounds.” His voice was deep, like rolling thunder, and he gave a curt, respectful nod before stepping back.

  Finally, the Headmaster of Valoria Academy, Lucien Everheart, a tall man with a dignified bearing dressed in a richly embroidered uniform, approached the dais with calm authority.

  “I am Lucien Everheart, Headmaster of Valoria Academy, where discipline and heritage are prized as dearly as strength and skill. I enter Valoria Academy in the Ranking Tournament so that our students may prove their worthiness through unwavering control and precise, calculated might. They will fight not only for victory but for the pride of their lineage and Cestead.” His words rang with conviction, and his gaze was steady as he inclined his head to the City Overlord before returning to his place.

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  With all headmasters having spoken, City Overlord Aldric Marrowvale stepped forward, his commanding figure casting an impressive shadow from the dais over the assembled students. The air grew charged with anticipation as he raised his arms to quiet the murmuring crowd and began his address, his voice a resounding baritone that carried over the entire assembly.

  “Citizens of Cestead, students, teachers, and those whose lives are dedicated to the honor of the academies—today, we gather in the spirit of tradition, skill, and the pride that has made this city a beacon of strength and excellence,” he began, his voice ringing with strength and pride. “This Ranking Tournament is a rite of passage, an event that does not merely display strength but forges it through trial, testing the bravery, skill, and determination of our finest.”

  He paused, sweeping his gaze over each academy, meeting the eyes of students and teachers alike. “Each of you will enter the arena not only to prove your individual skill but to bring pride and glory to the institution you represent. This tournament will push you and challenge you to your limits, and it is through these very challenges that you will grow. Know this: the Ranking Tournament is not just about victory on the battlefield. It is about embodying honor, discipline, and loyalty to your fellow students, to your academy, and to this great city.”

  The onlookers remained rapt, caught by Aldric’s words as he continued, his voice resonant with gravitas. “In the days to come, the tournament will progress from the team battles that will occur today for the Acolytes and tomorrow for the Disciples before culminating in individual duels that will test both spirit and skill. This is not a mere competition but a proving ground. Those who rise to the top will do so because they possess a fierce dedication to honing their craft. Let this tournament show us which of you will bear the title of Cestead’s strongest, most dedicated warriors in our young generation.”

  The crowd murmured in agreement, the excitement building as Aldric’s words lit a fire in the hearts of the students.

  “Let it be known,” he intoned, raising one arm to emphasize his words, “that in this city of academies, we recognize that strength is earned. That glory is not inherited but won in the heat of competition. The path to victory may be grueling, and few will see it through, but those who do will earn not only their place in Cestead but a legacy that will inspire future generations.”

  A hushed silence followed his declaration, the tension mounting as he looked over the eager faces below. With a firm nod, he concluded, “With that, I formally recognize and welcome each academy into the Ranking Tournament of Cestead. Fight with honor. Fight with valor. And may each of you prove yourselves worthy of the title of champions!”

  As he lowered his arm, the gathered students and spectators erupted into applause and cheers, the sounds echoing across the castle lawns as the tournament officially commenced.

  The City Overlord held up his hands, and the jubilant cheers gradually died down. With a clear, commanding voice, he spoke, “Now, I introduce the man responsible for overseeing this year’s tournament. Many of you know him, and those who do not soon will: Commander Varin Drakonis.”

  A tall, powerfully built man with sharp features and a scar stretching across his left cheek stepped forward onto the dais. His posture was unwavering, his armor a dark silver emblazoned with the insignia of the City Overlord's elite guard, marking him as a seasoned warrior. His short, silver-streaked hair and piercing gray eyes gave him an imposing air, and his movements were precise and controlled. With a voice like steel, he addressed the gathered students, his eyes scanning the crowd with a scrutinizing gaze.

  “Competitors,” he began, his tone unwavering, “today marks the beginning of your journey in the Ranking Tournament. Let me make one thing abundantly clear: this tournament is not just about raw power or skill. It’s about adaptability, resilience, teamwork, and determination. If you lack any of these qualities, you will be swiftly eliminated.”

  He looked out at the rows of students, his expression stern. “The tournament will be divided by Rank,” he continued, “to provide an even field for all competitors. Acolytes will compete in their own bracket and Disciples in theirs. No team will cross ranks in competition; each will face challenges against peers of comparable skill. This division ensures that every competitor has a fair chance to prove their worth. Today will be the first stage of the competition for the Acolytes, while the Disciples will take place tomorrow.”

  He took a measured step forward, his gaze intense as he spoke. “Your first test will take place in the forest to the north of the city. Each team of five will be transported to different points within the forest. Once there, you must do whatever it takes to survive and eliminate the other teams until only ten teams remain. When a horn sounds, it will signal the end of this stage of the competition. You will seize fighting. However, during the competition, you will not have the luxury of sitting back or waiting for others to fall — everyone’s goal is the same, and no one is safe. Consider every competitor outside of your team a potential threat.”

  A murmur rippled through the students as they digested this information. Commander Drakonis raised his hand to ensure they were focused on him again before continuing. “While I expect everyone to use the full extent of their abilities, there are strict rules against killing. Anyone found attempting to kill another competitor will be immediately disqualified, face expulsion, and likely further consequences from their academy.”

  He scanned the crowd, letting the weight of his words sink in. “However, I won’t pretend injuries won’t happen. You will be pushing each other to your limits. Injuries are inevitable. For this reason, healers from each academy will be stationed throughout the forest. They will monitor those who are critically injured and, if necessary, step in to save anyone unable to defend themselves any longer. If they or any of the other staff deem you too injured to continue, you will be eliminated and escorted from the forest.”

  “Your primary objective,” he continued, his voice hard as iron, “is to eliminate other teams by inflicting enough injury or restrain them so they can no longer continue. Knock them out, bind them, exhaust them, whatever it takes to remove them as competition. If you are eliminated but at least one member of your team survives to the final ten, you will still move on to the next bracket. But don’t expect anyone to pull punches — this forest will be unforgiving, as will your competitors.”

  Commander Drakonis paused, allowing the seriousness of his words to settle over the crowd before he continued. “Now, let me be clear about a few final rules.” He held up a hand, ticking each point off on his fingers. “First, there will be no cooperation between teams. Anyone caught colluding with other teams will face immediate disqualification. You fight for your academy, for your team, and yourself. Second, all equipment and weapons must be your own; nothing hidden or provided externally.”

  He looked over the gathered students one last time, his expression unreadable. “This tournament is about rising to the occasion, about proving to yourself, your academy, and this city that you deserve your place here. Fight with honor, defend your teammates, and may the strongest among you stand victorious.”

  Commander Drakonis stepped back, giving the floor to a new figure on the dais. She was a tall, graceful woman with flowing silver hair that shimmered in the light as though woven with threads of starlight. Her robe was dark indigo, embroidered with symbols and arcane patterns that seemed to shift subtly with every movement, glimmers of runic energy highlighting her sleeves and hem. Her eyes were a piercing shade of violet, and they held an unreadable depth as if they could see straight into a person’s soul. She radiated a quiet intensity, a reminder of her affiliation with Mysterium, God of Arcane Mysteries and Forbidden Knowledge. Her demeanor was both otherworldly and commanding.

  She inclined her head slightly, her voice both melodic and powerful as she addressed the crowd. “Greetings, competitors. I am Lyssandra Voss, a follower of Mysterium. My role today is to ensure you are delivered to your starting locations for the first stage of this competition. The arcane arts of teleportation, which I specialize in, will place each team within their designated area in the forest, along with healers and Enforcers. They, too, will be transported across the grounds to ensure your safety and uphold the integrity of the tournament.”

  She scanned the faces of the competitors, her gaze lingering on some with particular interest. “Acolytes come forward,” she said, extending an arm in a sweeping gesture.

  Sorin exchanged a glance with his team, excitement, and tension filling the air. They stepped forward, joining the other Acolyte teams from Warbringer Academy. Tytus’s frown deepened as he looked around at the large gathering. “Just realized,” he muttered, “how are the others even going to watch this thing?”

  Jackson smirked knowingly. “They’ve got it covered. There’s a follower of Caligo, the God of Lies and Illusion, working with a follower of Indest, the God of Awful Truth and Dire Predictions. Caligo’s follower creates the illusion, and Indest’s follower uses his powers to perceive events across the tournament grounds. Together, they relay it back here for everyone to watch, like… I dunno, some twisted play-by-play.”

  Tytus raised an eyebrow. “I guess we’ll be the stars of that little show, then.”

  Jackson shrugged. “If we survive long enough, yeah.”

  Sorin turned and looked at Vestian, making eye contact with the familiar. He could not bring Vestian with him as the familiar was far too weak and could be injured.

  “Sorry buddy, but you can’t come with me this time. Go to Zane; he will take care of you.” Sorin said to Vestian. Vestian squawked in protest, but after some prodding and promising of extra food, when he came back, Vestian took off. He flew towards Zane and landed on his shoulder. Zane turned towards Sorin when Vestian landed on his shoulder and nodded solemnly toward Sorin. His communication that he would take care of Vestian and Sorin should focus on the competition was clear.

  Around them, the other Acolyte teams were assembling; their faces steeled with determination and focus. Warbringer Academy had a strong presence among the teams, though the five academies each fielded about ten teams, bringing the total to nearly fifty teams.

  Lyssandra waited for the crowd to settle, her eyes narrowing slightly in concentration as arcane energy began to gather around her hands. Her voice echoed across the assembly. “I will now begin the teleportation sequence. Each team hold onto one other. Healers and Enforcers, ready yourselves.”

  Sorin clasped his teammates, a faint pulse of a dark red spirit shimmering around them as Lyssandra prepared the spell. With a few elegant movements of her hands, a swirling portal of light and shadow materialized, then enveloped them entirely. In a flash, Sorin and his team found themselves in the depths of the forest, standing in the heart of the first battleground.

  The teleportation released them with a sudden, gut-wrenching jolt. Sorin stumbled forward, blinking rapidly as the world spun and tilted around him, his stomach turning in protest. Around him, his teammates looked equally disoriented; Tytus gripped his staff like an anchor, Jackson wobbled a little and muttered something about never wanting to do that again, and Torrid simply groaned, leaning on his sword as though it were the only thing holding him upright.

  "Shake it off, everyone," Sorin said, clapping each of his teammates on the shoulder to help them snap back. As he rubbed his own temples to clear the lingering dizziness, they gradually pulled themselves together, each one taking in the forest around them with cautious, wary eyes.

  Jackson squinted up at the dappled sunlight filtering through the sparse canopy above them. “Not good,” he muttered. “We’re in a thinner part of the forest. There is too much open ground here, and there are not enough shadows for you to play with, Sorin.”

  Sorin scanned their surroundings, immediately seeing the sense in Jackson’s words. The trees here were younger, spaced widely apart, and the forest floor was blanketed with golden light. His abilities would be limited in such a bright, open area.

  “We need to get somewhere darker,” Sorin agreed, his gaze shifting toward the deeper woods where shadows hung thick under an older, denser canopy.

  “Let’s go then,” Tytus said, already starting to move.

  With a quick nod, Sorin motioned them into formation, and they set off at a brisk jog. They moved quietly, weapons drawn and senses sharp, each step taking them further into the shadows that would give them an edge.

  After about fifteen minutes, they reached a deeper part of the forest. Here, the trees stood like ancient sentinels, their branches interlacing overhead to create a natural ceiling. Moss and vines crept over gnarled roots, and only faint slivers of light managed to pierce the thick foliage. The air was cooler and carried a damp, earthy smell, the perfect setting for Sorin to make full use of his powers.

  Sorin stopped and motioned for the others to spread out. “Jackson, keep watch,” he whispered. “You’re our eyes and ears. Tytus, prep a few small spells; I want you ready to disorient anyone who tries to ambush us. Diego, stay close to Torrid, just in case they come from all sides. Torrid… hold the line like always.”

  Torrid nodded with a grunt, already sizing up potential choke points between trees where he could hold off attackers.

  They quickly settled into their positions, each one strategically placed around a cluster of thick roots and twisted trees. Sorin crouched low, using the shadows to almost melt into the background. His gaze swept the forest as he strained his senses, his heart racing with both anticipation and determination.

  “Now,” Sorin whispered to his team, his eyes gleaming in the dim light, “we wait.”

  What happened next was incredibly anticlimactic. They waited for a few hours with little to no action. The only happening of note was Torrid deciding he needed to relieve his bladder on a nearby tree with little respect for propriety despite the protests of everyone else.

  After nearly three hours of tense waiting and hushed complaints, Sorin’s group was shaken from their stillness by the unmistakable sounds of a nearby skirmish. Shouts echoed through the trees, followed by a series of low, rumbling booms that sent flocks of startled birds scattering from the treetops. The snapping of branches and desperate footfalls grew louder, accompanied by labored breaths and the sounds of someone grunting in pain. Sorin motioned for his team to stay still, each of them pressing closer into the shadows as they watched the scene unfold.

  The first group to come into view were three ragged, battered students fleeing at full speed with desperate, panicked expressions. The leader—a short, wiry girl with a shaved head and a jagged cut across her left cheek—wore the dark green and silver uniform of Stormhold Academy. She clutched her left arm to her chest, which was twisted at an odd angle as if broken. Her face was set in a fierce grimace, but the pain in her eyes betrayed her fear.

  Beside her, a lanky boy with a wild shock of dark hair stumbled forward, his blue eyes darting frantically as he clutched at his side where blood seeped through torn fabric. He, too, was from Stormhold and had an air of scrappy resilience, but he was clearly on the verge of collapse. The last of their group was a taller boy, broad-shouldered with a face covered in grime and scratches; his breathing labored and uneven. He clutched a jagged staff, using it to support himself as he staggered after his companions, his uniform streaked with dirt and blood.

  Their pursuers burst into view moments later—four students from Silverblade Masters Academy, each moving with a predatory confidence. At the front was a slim, graceful girl with silvery-blonde hair pulled back into a braid, her green eyes cold and focused. She wore a smirk as she closed in on her quarry, her silver sword gleaming in the dim light as she held it poised to strike.

  Following closely behind her was a hulking young man with arms like tree trunks, his dark skin glistening with sweat as he grinned with a sadistic eagerness. His weapon was a massive, double-headed axe that he swung with terrifying ease, the blade already flecked with the blood of their fleeing opponents.

  The third Silverblade Master was a wiry, dark-haired boy with a crossbow strapped to his back and a belt full of throwing knives. His expression was almost bored, his eyes half-lidded as if the chase were an inconvenience rather than a thrill. But his hands moved with practiced precision, and he casually tossed a knife that nicked the leg of one of the fleeing students, who stumbled with a cry.

  The last of the pursuers was a tall, lean girl with pale skin and intense gray eyes. She wielded a long spear, the silver tip gleaming wickedly. Her face was expressionless, but the predatory gleam in her eyes spoke volumes as she drove the fleeing trio onward, each strike with her spear prodding them like prey.

  As the injured Stormhold students stumbled closer to Sorin’s group’s hiding spot, the tension among Sorin’s friends grew. Sorin’s hand clenched around the hilt of his sword, his eyes narrowing as he waited to see what would happen next. The students fled past, practically brushing against the dense foliage where they were hidden, and the Silverblade Masters followed only a few paces behind, completely focused on their hunt.

  “Do we engage?” Jackson mouthed, his face tense as he shot a look toward Sorin.

  Sorin nodded, his gaze never leaving the Silverblade Masters as they drew closer. The time for waiting was over.

  The moment the battered Stormhold students fled past their hiding spot, Sorin’s team launched into action. With a silent signal, Torrid surged forward, his massive shield held before him like a battering ram, barreling into the retreating students and sending the injured girl with the broken arm sprawling to the ground. She let out a strangled cry as Torrid swung his enormous sword in a heavy arc, sweeping it across her comrades, who barely had time to react. Tytus followed up immediately, summoning a gust of wind that swept through the clearing, disorienting the Stormhold trio as they tried to rise to their feet.

  As the wind howled, Diego unleashed Death’s Embrace, channeling dark energy into his scythe. His strikes cut through the darkness with an eerie glow, landing with brutal precision on the Stormhold boy clutching his bleeding side. The boy barely had time to scream before Diego’s scythe sliced through him, leaving him crumpled on the ground, paralyzed, and writhing in pain.

  Jackson cast his Phantom Army spell. Illusionary warriors appeared from the shadows, surrounding the final Stormhold student, who panicked and swiped his staff wildly. The student, now completely overwhelmed, stumbled backward. While the student was distracted, Jackson lunged forward, knocking him out with a single strike to the head. The Stormhold students were down within seconds, leaving Sorin’s team free to deal with the Silverblade Masters.

  The Silverblade leader with the silver sword let out an angry shout as he realized what was happening, raising her weapon with a look of cold fury. "Who dares to interfere with us?" she sneered, pointing her blade at Sorin.

  “Guess you'll have to find out,” Sorin replied with a smirk, gesturing for his team to spread out.

  The silver-haired leader dashed forward, her sword flashing as she activated Echo of Blades, a power that created afterimages of her weapon. She attacked Sorin, her strikes forming an intricate web of slashing illusions and real blows. Sorin raised both swords to meet her, moving fluidly between the attacks, his experience discerning illusion from the truth from constant practice against Jackson showing its strength. He ignored the afterimages and focused on the true path of her blade. With a quick, precise move, Sorin locked her sword between his blades and sent her stumbling back with a powerful shove.

  Meanwhile, Torrid clashed with the huge, axe-wielding Silverblade, who swung with terrifying force. His Raging Bull ability caused him to move with incredible speed toward his opponent. Upon appearing before his enemy, he unleashed a blow with enough power to shatter bone. The Silverblade Master met him with his axe and deflected the attack. Torrid let out a guttural roar, slamming his shield into his opponent and knocking the axe-wielder off his feet. With the Silverblade on the ground, Torrid brought his sword down in a brutal Colossal Slam, sending a shockwave through the forest floor and leaving his opponent crumpled and motionless.

  Jackson was busy with the knife-wielding Silverblade, whose ability allowed him to vanish momentarily, reappearing at random points to throw knives with deadly accuracy. Jackson summoned Fleeting Illusion, disappearing just as a knife whizzed past him, reappearing behind the Silverblade. Jackson’s Illusionary Snare activated, warping the other boy’s perception, making it seem as though Jackson was everywhere at once. Confused and distracted, the Silverblade threw his knives in every direction, missing Jackson completely.

  Seizing the opportunity, Diego joined in, casting Harvest of Souls. His scythe arced through the air, releasing a burst of dark energy that disoriented the Silverblade, who staggered back as Diego closed in with a devastating sweep of his weapon. The knife-thrower fell to the ground, stunned and unable to continue.

  The final Silverblade, the girl with the spear, turned her attention to Tytus. She used her power, Infernal Lance, igniting her weapon in flames and thrusting it toward him with deadly precision. Tytus met her with Gale Force, a burst of wind that doused the flames and pushed her back. Then, as she charged again, Tytus summoned a bolt of lightning with Lightning Surge, directing it straight at her. The lightning struck her spear, sending a jolt through her entire body, and she collapsed to the ground, twitching from the shock.

  The clearing fell silent as the last of the Silverblade Masters lay defeated, leaving Sorin and his team triumphant.

  “That was a little too easy,” Tytus muttered, cracking his knuckles and surveying the aftermath satisfactorily.

  “Easy? I almost lost my head!” Jackson protested though a grin broke through his expression.

  Sorin smirked as he sheathed his swords. “Good teamwork. Let’s keep moving before anyone else shows up.”

  Sorin directed his team to the northeast, away from the recent chaos and toward the quieter edges of the battlefield. The other members of his team followed closely, each glancing over their shoulders as the Enforcers and healers moved seamlessly into action behind them, treating the fallen Silverblade and Stormhold students. Sorin couldn’t shake the feeling of surprise. Those Enforcers and healers were far more skilled than he’d realized; they had been watching his team’s every move and yet had gone completely undetected. Sorin realized just how long of a way he had to go if he was to have the power to make an impact.

  They picked their way through the thickening woods, the tree canopy above growing denser with every step. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the branches, creating dapples of light on the ground, yet it felt darker here. Tall pines and thick underbrush closed in around them, deadening the sounds of the battles happening further away. Their footsteps softened on the mossy ground, and the scent of pine and damp earth replaced the smell of blood and sweat from the fight.

  Jackson lagged slightly behind, casting wary glances all around. “Nothing better sneak up on us here… I swear, this place feels like it’s out to get us.”

  “Don’t jinx it,” Tytus grunted, moving beside him with his staff raised and ready. “That’s the last thing we need.”

  Sorin led them deeper, focusing on the direction, his mind sharp with the goal of conserving their strength and avoiding any unnecessary fights. This part of the forest was quieter, but it was far from silent. Birds flitted above, and the occasional rustle hinted at smaller creatures hidden in the brush. The quiet unnerved them, yet it was exactly what they needed.

  “This area looks like it’ll give us cover,” Sorin said, coming to a halt near a small cluster of dense trees. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to rest a bit here.”

  The team nodded, falling into a looser formation. They found shelter in the thick foliage, careful to stay on alert but grateful for a moment to catch their breath.

  They stayed still, watching, listening to the distant sounds of other teams battling it out further south. In this quiet haven, they knew their strategy was paying off—conserving their spirit, staying hidden, and holding their ground in the calm of the deepening forest. With a bit of luck and patience, they could make it to the top ten without risking multiple spirit-draining fights.

  Their luck did not continue as they heard crashing through the trees. Sorin turned and spotted a team in Valaria Academy uniform rushing towards them. They had clearly pinpointed their position. Sorin cursed and quickly examined the team. He did not know how this team had found their location before Sorin had spotted them. If he could find an identifying feature of someone on the team, he could identify which team it was and how they found them. Additionally, Sorin would know what powers they possessed based on Carcose’s information.

  Sorin studied the group while shouting for his friends to prepare themselves as an ambush was out the window. His friends drew their weapons and settled into a standard defensive formation. It was when the approaching team got closer that Sorin noticed something about a girl on the team who was charging at the front. She had a distinctive purple flower tattoo on her neck. That immediately caused Sorin to recognize the team based on Carcose’s notes, as only a single team at Valaria had a female team member with such a tattoo.

  Sorin quickly raised his voice, keeping his tone low but urgent, “Prepare for Valaria Team Three. Jackson, you know what to do—keep us updated. Torrid, you’re on frontline defense. Let’s go.”

  The others sprang into action, immediately falling into their new positions. The weeks of training and preparation for each possible team encounter snapped into place as they aligned themselves with the plan, and each moved with deadly purpose.

  The Valaria team moved swiftly, charging through the underbrush with precise strides. At the forefront, Henrie, the team’s scout and follower of Atra, moved with a knowing confidence. Henrie would have found them based on Carcose’s information. He possessed a power that could find hidden groups without prior knowledge of them. Henrie grinned as he raised his hand in preparation to use a spell on Sorin’s team.