Page 27 of The Ascended
I lifted my head and took in my surroundings, my breath catching in my throat. We stood in an arena that made every grandtheater I'd ever imagined look like a child's playhouse. The ground beneath our feet was polished marble so smooth I could almost see my reflection. Crystalline walls spiraled upward, piercing the deep purple dusk above.
But it was the air that made my skin crawl. Shimmers rippled through the space around us. Distortions that bent light in unnatural ways. The viewing portals Lyralei had told me about.
I spun wildly, searching for Thatcher among the handful of figures scattered across the arena floor. My heart hammered against my ribs when I didn't see him.
"Do you know where everyone else is?" I asked the man who'd caught me.
"Well, a lot more were in the waiting area," he replied, brushing imaginary dust from his outfit. "I suppose they're bringing us out in groups."
"Was anyone called from the waiting area before you?"
"No, I think we're first."
I forced myself to look around. Only five other contestants shared the arena floor with me, each dressed in garments that matched the absurdity of my own.
The sky above us deepened, and the first stars began to emerge. But it wasn't the heavens that made my breath catch—it was what waited below them on a platform.
Thrones.
They were arranged in a perfect semicircle. Most were occupied by beings that made every instinct I possessed scream in warning. Only one sat empty.
The moment my eyes scanned over them, a tightness gripped my chest. It wasn’t fear—No, I’d felt fear plenty of times. This was different. A new sensation that made my pulse skip and my mouth go dry. Like facing apex predators head-on.
I'd never been in the presence of a god before, and now, perhaps, I understood why people built temples and offered sacrifices. It wasn't devotion—it was self-preservation.
These were the Legends. The beings I needed to impress. The ones I needed to convince to spare my brother's life.
They were all devastatingly beautiful, but in ways that were wrong. Too perfect. Too sharp. Too utterly divorced from anything resembling mortality. The kind of beauty that made you want to look closer, even as every instinct screamed that doing so would be the last mistake you ever made.
They spoke amongst themselves, voices pitched low in the casual way of people discussing dinner plans. Not one of them was looking at us. One with flowers woven into her gown gestured lazily at something her companion said, covering a laugh with jeweled fingers. Another leaned back in his throne, eyes closed, as if he might actually fall asleep.
Right. We were nothing to them. They couldn't even be bothered to acknowledge we existed.
Charming.
"Aren't they incredible?" The contestant from earlier asked over my shoulder, startling me from my observations. His voice held pure, nauseating awe. "That could be us one day."
I could think of nothing more horrifying than becoming one of those beautiful, soulless creatures. But I couldn't exactly say that out loud.
"Could be," I said instead, letting enough dryness into my voice that anyone with half a brain would catch my meaning.
Unfortunately, this one seemed to be running on a quarter.
"What gift have you been blessed with?" he asked, turning toward me with bright, eager eyes.
But before I could open my mouth, he launched into an enthusiastic monologue about his own abilities—something about poison and plants. His tone took on the particular cadence of someone who'd never met a silence they couldn't fill with the sound of their own voice.
Perfect. One less conversation I'd have to navigate. I let his words fade into background noise.
The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood on end. Something had changed—the air was charged with a new kind of danger. I turned without thinking, my body reacting before my mind caught up.
He was just... there. One moment empty space, the next moment him, like he'd always been standing on the arena floor and I'd simply failed to notice. Except that was impossible, because everything about him made it impossible to look away.
He was tall and lean, built like a weapon wrapped in divine flesh. Bronze skin stretched over sharp cheekbones and a jaw that could cut glass. His hair was braided and woven with golden beads. But it was his eyes that stole my breath—one burned pure gold, bright and predatory as a hawk's. The other was completely black. And settling over his full lips, hung a golden ring pierced through his nose.
He moved toward the empty throne with unhurried steps, but the moment he appeared, the conversations shifted.
“Well,” one of the Legends said. She had a floral gown and pale blonde hair that flowed down her back. “I was beginning to think you'd decided not to grace us with your presence after all.”
