Page 85 of Tempest Blazing
I nodded barely, my resolve strengthening. This was what all the preparation had been for—this exact moment when I'd have to prove that their faith in me hadn't been misplaced. More than that, this was when I'd prove to myself that I deserved to be here. I could do this. Iwoulddo this.
"Good luck," Mason murmured as I stepped forward, his voice rough around the edges. He didn't say more, but our bond hummed with his emotions—love, concern, and a fierce, unshakeable belief in my ability to succeed. It was enough.
I descended the steps to the arena floor, my boots grinding against gravel. The other candidates in my group were already gathering, their expressions a mix of determination and barely-contained panic. The magic in the air buzzed against my skin like static, a constant reminder of the wards that surrounded the battlefield.
As I took my place among them, I forced myself to breathe deeply, to focus. The arena stretched out before us, filled with obstacles and opportunities. The shimmering shields and scattered weapons caught the light, and I could already see the hunger in some of the candidates' eyes.
Isolde's voice cut through the tension again, pulling my attention back to her. "You have ten seconds to prepare yourselves. When the horn sounds, the trial begins."
Ten seconds. That was all the time I had to decide my strategy. Around me, the other candidates shifted, their tension thick in the air. Some were already eyeing the weapons closest to them, their muscles coiled like springs about to snap. Others glanced around nervously, their uncertainty written in every twitch and fidget.
I took a deep breath, letting my gaze sweep over the battlefield. The terrain was designed to encourage direct combat—open spaces around the scattered weapons, narrow ledges that would force close encounters, and foggy patches that could conceal ambushes. But there were also areas that offered cover: crumbling pillars, elevated platforms, and shadowed corners where the fog was thickest.
But the most unnerving feature of the arena was the pits.
Scattered throughout the battlefield, they gaped darkly, voids of blackness that seemed to devour light. They weren't natural. Their edges shimmered faintly with magic, and the air around them hummed with power that made my teeth ache. Anyone who fell into a pit would be instantly teleported out of the arena, disqualified from the trial. It wasn't death, but it might as wellhave been for anyone desperate to prove themselves worthy of becoming a Dragon Rider.
For someone like me, failure here meant more than just missing an opportunity—it meant confirming every doubt anyone had ever had about whether I truly belonged.
My mind raced, calculating every possibility, every angle.
I wasn't great with weapons yet—nowhere close. But I had something they didn't know about:magic.I'd been practicing quietly, testing my limits, learning to channel more of it without drawing attention. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't enough to overwhelm any of them head-on, but it gave me an edge. The trick would be using it at therightmoment—when they least expected it.
The horn sounded, its deep note vibrating through my bones. Chaos erupted instantly. The candidates surged forward, a rush of desperation and violence all vying for the closest weapons. The sound of clashing steel and shouted spells exploded across the arena as the battle began.
I didn't move.
Instead, I slipped into the shadows, adrenaline flooding my system as I ducked behind a crumbling pillar. The fog provided cover, but it also cut my visibility to almost nothing. I crouched low, peeking around stone to watch the chaos unfold. Every instinct screamed at me to act, todo something, but I forced myself to wait. Patience. This wasn't about brute strength. This was about being smarter.
Around me, the frenzy played out violently. Two candidates—a burly shifter with a war hammer and a wiry mage with crackling lightning at her fingertips—engaged in a vicious duel on a nearby platform. The structure was precarious at best, its jagged edgescrumbling under the weight of their movements. It was elevated enough to matter, but unstable enough to kill.
My gaze flicked to the base of the platform. The stone looked brittle, like time and weather had done half my work for me. A plan began to form in my mind, one that would take them both out without anyone noticing my hand in it.
Closing my eyes briefly, I reached for my magic, drawing on the shadowy essence that had become as natural as breathing since my bond with Thalon had formed. The Shadow Fire stirred within me, a dark, flickering force that hummed with deadly potential. I focused on the brittle base of the platform, imagining shadows weaving through cracks like living things, prying them apart.
The fire obeyed. Tendrils of darkness slithered from my outstretched fingers, threading through stone like water through sand. I kept my movements small, subtle, my gestures small enough to blend with the chaos. The candidates were too focused on their fight to notice, their shouts and grunts masking the faint, ominous groaning of the platform weakening beneath them.
I watched as the shadows did their work, amplifying what nature had already started. The mage lunged forward, her lightning arcing toward the shifter, who blocked it with a grunt and a swing of his hammer. The impact sent shockwaves through the platform, and I held my breath as it began to give way.
With a crack like thunder, the base of the platform crumbled, the weakened stone collapsing into the hungry void below. Both candidates let out sharp cries of shock as they lost their footing, tumbling into the darkness. The shifter's hammer clattered uselessly against the edge before disappearing. The mage'slightning flickered and died as she fell, her scream cut short by teleportation magic.
A moment later, a faint shimmer signaled their removal from the arena. The pits weren't merciless—they'd survived. But they wouldn't be advancing.
Two down.
Copper flooded my mouth as I bit down on my tongue to keep from celebrating too loudly. The crunch of gravel behind me made me whip around, ice flooding my veins. Two candidates had split from the chaos and were now heading straight for me.
One was a towering brute—a werewolf shifter with muscles that looked like they could crush stone. His shaggy hair and feral snarl made him look more beast than man. The other was leaner, more calculated. A sniper, his enchanted bow glowing with runic power, his quiver stocked with arrows that shimmered with deadly intent.
Cold dread coiled in my gut. This wasn't just bad luck—this wasverybad luck. One-on-one, I might've had a chance to outwit them. But two skilled opponents? My options narrowed with every second as they closed in on my position.
The brute growled low in his throat, his eyes locking onto mine with predatory hunger. "There's no point hiding, little mouse," he rumbled, his voice a mocking taunt.
The sniper, standing several paces behind, nocked an arrow with deliberate precision. His calm was somehow more terrifying than the brute's rage. "Stand down," he warned, his voice cold. "Make it easier on yourself."
Yeah, sure, because surrendering always worked out so well.
I sucked in a sharp breath, my mind racing through possibilities. I needed to use what I had.
