Page 19 of Court of Twisted Angels

The horn sounds, its deep note echoing across the arena. I spring forward into chaos.

The first jump is always the worst. Wind tears at my clothes as I launch myself from the entrance, my heart hammering against my ribs. Time seems to slow as I sail through empty space toward the nearest platform, the storm trying to tear me off the path.

Azrael's voice echoes in my mind.Lead with your core. Feel what you intend.

The platform rushes up to meet me. I roll into the landing, absorbing the impact just like he showed me. My boots scrape against rough stone as I spring back up, already scanning for the next jump.

Magic currents ripple through the air like heat waves, visible only because of the debris they carry. I time my nextleap carefully, watching the flow patterns Azrael taught me to recognize. There - a momentary lull in the chaos.

I push off hard, twisting my body to catch an upward current. The surge of power lifts me higher than a normal jump could reach. For a breathtaking moment, I'm flying. Not with wings like the xaphan, but close enough to taste that freedom.

A chunk of broken masonry hurtles past my face. I kick off it mid-air, using the collision to change direction. The move sends me spinning toward another platform, this one rotating slowly. My landing is less graceful, but I manage to grab the edge and pull myself up.

Each jump becomes easier as muscle memory takes over. The techniques Azrael drilled into me flow naturally now - reading the currents, using debris as stepping stones, letting the magic in the air guide my movements. He said my best asset was using the arena to my advantage, so that's what I plan to do. What started as terrifying begins to feel like a deadly dance.

I catch another updraft, riding it between two colliding platforms. Lightning crackles around me, close enough that my hair stands on end. But I don't flinch. The storm's magic harmonizes with my own, lending me speed and strength I didn't know I possessed.

A flash of blue catches my eye - not lightning, but something crystalline that pulses with its own inner light. It looks like a gemstone. I've heard everyone whispering about them, especially the xaphan, and while I don't know much about them, if there's a chance for me to get a leg up, I'll take it.

I pivot mid-jump, angling toward the shimmer. The nearest platform sits twenty feet below it, spinning like a top. Not ideal, but I've handled worse. Magic pulses around me as I prepare for the leap.

"Just like practice," I mutter, timing my jump with the platform's rotation. The wind whips my hair into my face, butI keep my eyes locked on that hypnotic blue glow. It hovers tantalizingly close, suspended in a pocket of still air while chaos rages around it.

My boots hit the spinning platform. I bend my knees, ready to spring upward - but something's wrong. The magical currents shift, twisting into new patterns I don't recognize. A wall of wind slams into me from the side, raw power crackling through it like lightning.

The impact lifts me off my feet. My stomach lurches as I'm thrown sideways, tumbling through empty space. Magic floods my system as I desperately try to get my bearings, almost like the storm itself is a solid enemy. The blue crystal vanishes from view as I spin, replaced by flashes of storm-dark sky and distant platforms.

My shoulder clips something hard - probably debris caught in the same current. Pain shoots down my arm. The wind howls in my ears, drowning out everything else as it carries me further from my intended path.

This is bad. Really bad. The magical current has me in its grip like a leaf in a hurricane. Each second carries me further off course, burning precious time I can't afford to lose. My mom's face flashes through my mind - pale, drawn, getting weaker every day. I grit my teeth and start fighting my way back to stable air, twisting and kicking off debris as best I can.

The magical current finally releases me near a cluster of smaller platforms. I grab onto a jutting piece of stone, my shoulder screaming in protest. The rough surface cuts into my palms, but I hold tight until the world stops spinning.

"I can do this," I snarl at the magic storm.

Then I see the final platform in the distance, a beacon of white light cutting through the magical storm. I pull myself onto the narrow ledge, testing my injured shoulder. It hurts, but I can move it. That's all that matters right now.

The wind picks up again, carrying the acrid smell of burnt stone. Lightning arcs between platforms, leaving scorched trails in its wake. I time my next jump carefully, waiting for the electrical discharge to pass. My boots scrape against crumbling rock as I launch myself forward.

Each platform brings new challenges. Some are slick with magical residue that makes my feet slide. Others vibrate with unstable energy, threatening to shake apart at any moment. I navigate them all, pushing through despite my aching muscles and throbbing shoulder.

A section of wooden beam spins toward my head. I duck and roll, feeling splinters rain against my magical barrier. The movement sends fresh pain shooting down my arm. Sweat stings my eyes as I force myself back up, scanning for the next safe landing spot.

The checkpoint's crystal grows larger with each calculated leap. Its pure light cuts through the storm's chaos like a blade, drawing me forward. I can almost feel its energy calling to me, resonating with what little magic I have left.

A piece of slate catches me in the ribs, forcing the air from my lungs. But I keep moving. Each step brings me closer to my goal, closer to saving Mother. The thought drives me forward when my body wants to quit.

My boots slam onto the final platform, sending shockwaves up my trembling legs. The crystal pulses before me, its pure light a stark contrast to the storm-wracked arena. My chest heaves as I press my palm against the pedestal, claiming completion of the first trial section.

"I did it," I breathe.

Magic surges through the crystal at my touch, healing the hits I took. The sensation reminds me of plunging into an icy stream - sharp, clarifying, overwhelming. It forms a barrier around me, deflecting the debris that still whips through theair, and then I'm transported to the arena floor with the other victors.

The crowd's roar reaches me even over the howling wind. Faces blur together in the viewing galleries - all kinds of creatures out there, some cheering, others scowling at my success. But I find myself searching for one particular face among them.

Lightning splits the sky, illuminating the ranked seats in stark relief. There - a flash of black hair and ice-blue eyes. Azrael stands apart from the other spectators, his wings folded tight against his back. Unlike the rest of the crowd, his expression remains carefully neutral.

Our eyes lock across the distance. The intensity of his gaze hits me like a physical force, making my breath catch. Relief floods through me at the sight of him. He got me here. He made sure I was ready.

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