Page 11 of Court of Twisted Angels

I pause at the gates, studying the corruption slowly consuming my ancestral home. Using Kyrie is logical. She's already involved, already has committed to the trials. I'm not forcing her in there myself. And I have a feeling that there is something different about her that will help her get through this alive.

The fact that I can't stop thinking about the fire in her eyes when she faced me down is... problematic. But irrelevant. I have no time for distractions, not with Theron already moving against me.

7

KYRIE

Irefuse to let my composure crack as we are led to the arena. The initiation looms ahead of us, and so many of the candidates are already talking, crying, anxiously worrying.

But I'm silent.

We filter into the arena, the noise here unbearable. I refuse to look up, to see the many xaphan, demons, gorgons, and other creatures that have come to watch us die. I'm not even sure how they'll see what's happening when we're in the void, but I don't waste time thinking about it.

Instead, I stare straight ahead at the portal that the crier from yesterday is waiting next to. Two Praexa are standing next to him, the orchestrators of the games. What I wouldn't give to sink a blade into one of them.

But I don't dare. Not as I'm ushered forward, people disappearing before me with their direction. When it's my turn, I take in a deep breath but I don't hesitate.

"Step through," the crier says with a sinister smile. "And may Solas be with you."

The air shifts, crackling with ancient magic as I step through the shimmering portal. My heart pounds against my ribs, eachbeat a reminder of why I'm here - for Mother, for the medicine she desperately needs.

One moment I'm standing in the gleaming arena of New Solas, surrounded by sneering xaphan faces. The next - nothing.

My breath catches. The darkness isn't just an absence of light - it's a living thing, pressing against my skin, seeping into my bones. I try to call out, but no sound reaches my ears. My lips move, yet I can't even feel them.

"Hello?" I attempt to whisper, but the word dissolves before it forms. The void swallows everything.

I lift my hand - or I think I do. There's no sensation, no confirmation that my body still exists. Panic claws at my throat. I never prepared for this complete sensory deprivation. I was ready to fight with my blades, but even the ground beneath my feet feels like an illusion.

Magic pulses around me in waves. Not the pure, crystalline energy of the xaphan, but something darker, more primal. It slithers across what I think is my skin, probing for weaknesses, testing my resolve.

I take a step forward - or backward? Direction has no meaning here. The magic grows stronger, more insistent. A tendril of power brushes against my consciousness, and pain explodes through my body. My life force drains away where it touched, leaving behind an aching emptiness.

These must be the threats they warned about - invisible, intangible predators feeding on human essence. I try to steady myself, to focus on my core. But how do you center yourself when you can't feel your own body?

Another surge of magic approaches. Without sight or touch to guide me, I rely on the only sense remaining - my awareness of the magical currents themselves. They flow like water, creating subtle patterns in the void. The predator's energy disrupts these patterns, leaving ripples in the darkness.

I shift away from the disturbance, but in this realm of nothingness, even that simple movement threatens to unravel my sanity.

I force my breathing to slow, drawing from years of combat training in the outskirts of my little village. The void may steal my sight, but I still have other senses. I close my useless eyes and let my other faculties take over.

The magic pulses change. A subtle current brushes past my left ear - different from the predatory tendrils. This feels more like the gentle whisper of wind through the mountain passes of The Ridge. I turn toward it, extending my hands into the nothingness.

My fingertips tingle as they pass through varying temperatures. Cold spots drift by like pockets of winter air, while warm patches remind me of the healing springs near our village. These thermal changes form patterns - paths through the darkness.

Another predatory surge approaches. The air pressure drops, creating a vacuum that tugs at my clothes. I sidestep, letting muscle memory guide my movements. The deadly magic passes harmlessly by, its hungry tendrils grasping at empty space.

My feet register minute vibrations through whatever surface I'm standing on. Each pulse of magic sends ripples through the void, like stones dropped in a still pond. I track these disturbances, building a mental map of safe zones and danger areas.

Years of sparring with swords and the occasional dagger has honed my spatial awareness. This void is different - more absolute - but the principles remain the same. Listen. Feel. React.

A change in air pressure alerts me to movement above. I drop and roll, feeling magical energy crackle where my head had been. The predator's attack leaves behind a residue of powerthat makes my skin crawl. These aren't mindless forces - they're hunting me with purpose.

I press forward, tracking the subtle variations in the magical currents. Some flows feel ancient and deep, like the foundations of Aerasak itself. Others are sharp and new, cutting through the darkness like freshly forged blades. Between these rivers of power, I find paths of relative calm.

The ground lurches beneath my feet, sending my stomach into my throat. My muscles react before my mind can process - I drop into a crouch, letting my body roll forward. The whistle of steel cutting air passes inches from my neck, and I feel the rush of displaced magic in its wake.

"What the fuck?" I mutter, though the words seem to get lost when they leave my lips.

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