Page 13 of Court of Twisted Angels

"Pathetic." I grip the platform's crystalline railing, my knuckles white.

These humans throw their lives away for a chance at wings, at ascending beyond their mundane existence. They don't understand the price of power, the weight of the gift they so desperately seek.

Someone else must have a conduit because I see purple spark start to sputter in another section. The void responds by intensifying, condensing around the magical barrier until it shatters like glass. The contestant's terrified whimpers carry through the chamber before falling silent.

My wings flex unconsciously, as I keep scanning, looking for any hint of the gemstones in this portion of the trails. Maybe I can slip in after the initiation is over, snag it without really being seen.

The edge of the arena is lined with torches. The flames burn with an eternal magic that even the void below cannot touch. Ancient runes carved into the platform's edge pulse with containment spells, keeping the darkness from spilling over into our sacred spaces.

A determined contestant manages to forge ahead, their blade - probably imbued - cutting a path through the shadows. For a moment, hope flares in their movements - until the void-wraiths materialize. These spectral hunters, born from the darkness itself, circle their prey with predatory grace. The human's magic flares brighter, desperate now.

I lean forward, watching dispassionately as the wraiths close in. The void swallows another scream, another failure, another fool who dared to dream of wings.

But then a flicker of movement catches my eye - and I see Kyrie. She's at the center of the void, facing off the last guardian. Her auburn hair whips around her face as she dodges the wraith's ethereal claws. Instead of fighting the creature head-on like the others, she rolls beneath its strike, her movements fluid and precise.

The void surges toward her, but she's already moving. I watch in fascination as she uses those twin blades like they are an extension of herself, combatting an enemy she can't even see.It's impressive as she slides a blade through the wraith's ribs and it implodes.

"Clever girl." The words escape before I can stop them. Most contestants rely on brute force or defensive magic, but this one... she's different. She uses the arena itself to her advantage, timing her movements with the void's natural ebb and flow.

When the void starts to disappear beneath her feet, ready to drop her to the arena's floor, my chest tightens. It's an odd reaction since I know that this means she's survived, but I hold back a wince when I watch her slam to the ground, now released from the void.

She stands tall despite her obvious exhaustion, blood trickling along her skin, her clothes singed and torn. Yet there's a fierce pride in her stance that commands respect.

I find myself leaning forward, studying Kyrie with newfound interest. This human has more than just survival instinct—she has vision, adaptability, and most importantly, the wisdom to know when not to fight.

It's exactly what I need and the plan I started last night is ready to be moved into place.

I descend the obsidian staircase toward the organizers' booth, my wings folded close against my back. The crystalline structure gleams with embedded runes of power, their azure glow reflecting off the polished surfaces.

Inside, three Praexa sit behind an ornate desk carved from ancient silverwood, their own wings creating a backdrop of white and gold feathers.

"Lord Azrael." The central figure inclines his head, silver rings in his hair chiming softly. "What brings you to our station?"

I rest my hand on the desk's surface, letting my family's signet ring catch the light. "The human who completed the void trial, has she been assigned a trainer yet?"

"Kyrie Kael." The female organizer to the right unfurls a scroll of enchanted parchment, the words shifting and reforming beneath her touch. "From the slums up north. No formal magical training, though she's shown remarkable aptitude in basic energy manipulation." She looks at me and shakes her head. "No trainer yet assigned."

"Untrained?" My wings twitch with interest. "Yet she managed to navigate the void wraiths with more skill than seasoned practitioners."

The third organizer, his face half-hidden beneath an ornate hood, speaks in measured tones. "She's clearly trained in combat."

I nod, thinking. "And her motivation for entering the trials?"

"The usual. Dreams of wings, elevation from poverty." The central figure's lips curl in a dismissive smile. "Though she specifically inquired about access to restricted medicines."

"Interesting." I straighten. "Get me her complete file. Including the details from today's trial."

The organizers exchange glances, their wings rustling with uncertainty. I slide a small pouch of celestial silver across the desk, the enchanted metal singing against the wood.

"Of course, Lord Azrael." The hooded figure quickly tucks the payment away. "We'll have it delivered by nightfall."

My mind races as I look to where Kyrie is limping away from the arena and back toward the human's quarters. Raw talent like hers is rare - especially among the untrained masses that populate the copper district. Most humans who enter the trials have at least some basic magic whether it's a conduit or an imbued weapon, yet she navigated the void's dangers on instinct alone.

Which means she might be more powerful than most expect. Strong enough to feel and capture the gemstones I need.

My family's curse grows stronger with each passing day, and these stones may hold the key to breaking it. But tracking them requires someone who can move unnoticed through the shadows, someone who I can train and keep close, who won't want them when they are found. And with them being in the trails…

I need someone human.

---