Page 59 of The Ascended
"Artifice. Alchemy. The transformation of base materials into something greater." Xül's fingers drummedagainst the table. "He appreciates clever use of tools. Innovation. His challenges usually require contestants to modify or combine magical implements in ways they weren't originally designed for." Xül picked up his book again. “Thorne is easy enough to read. He’s Pompous. Obsessed with showing off his intellectual superiority."
“Sounds familiar.” I said under my breath, but I knew he heard me.
"So what do we?—"
Voices echoed from the corridor outside, cutting through my question. Xül's eyes flicked toward the doorway with mild annoyance.
Aelix strode into the dining hall, that bright smile already in place. Behind him followed a young woman I recognized from the Choosing—tall and willowy, with sharp features and long black hair pulled into a severe braid. Everything about her radiated controlled menace, from the way she held herself to the cold calculation in her slate-gray eyes as they swept the room. When her gaze landed on me, I felt like prey being sized up.
She didn't speak. Didn't even step into the room. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe.
"I assume you received the correspondence?" Aelix asked, settling into one of the chairs without invitation.
"Unfortunately," Xül replied with elegant disdain.
"Excellent. I thought we might take Thais and Marx tracking tonight."
"How tedious," Xül murmured. "I'm sure you can manage without me."
Aelix's gaze shifted to me, and reluctant pity crawled across his features. "The Grief Hounds are particularly active tonight. Perfect conditions for learning to read signs and move quietly."
"I said no."
The dismissal hit me like a slap. Here was an opportunity to actually learn something useful, and he was refusing it out of what—laziness? Spite? I stood before I could think better of it.
"I'll go," I said, my voice ringing with determination. "Even if he won't."
Xül’s eyes met mine. A subtle smile curved his lips. "Do enjoy yourselves," he said, rising from the table. "Try not to get eaten."
And with that charming encouragement, he walked down the hall, leaving me alone with the two of them.
The pathbeneath our feet had turned from manicured stone to packed earth, winding between trees that towered far above our heads. Silver bark caught the moonlight, throwing strange shadows that shifted as we passed.
Behind me, Marx's footsteps made no sound. I turned to check if she was still there and found her watching me with those dark eyes. When I stumbled slightly over a root, she didn't react. When Aelix pointed to a broken branch and explained how the break indicated direction of travel, she gave one sharp nod. That was it. No commentary, no questions.
"Watch the moss pattern here." Aelix knelt beside a fallen log, running his fingers along the bark. "See how it's been scraped away? Something large brushed against this recently."
I dropped down beside him, squinting at what looked like perfectly ordinary wood to me. "I don't—where?"
"Here." He guided my hand to a section of bark. Under my palm, I could feel the difference. A bare patch. "The Grief Hounds den in the deeper groves. They're not necessarily hostile, but they don't appreciate trespassers. And they're large enough to tear a mortal apart without breaking stride."
A chill ran down my spine. "How large?"
Instead of answering, Marx made a sound—barely a whisper of breath, but I figured it was amusement. Or maybe mockery.
"Tracking takes practice," Aelix said, either not hearing her orchoosing to ignore her. "You're looking for patterns that break the natural flow."
The next two hours blurred together in a flash of broken twigs and displaced stones that all looked identical to my untrained eyes. Aelix's patience seemed infinite as he pointed out sign after sign that I couldn't see.
We went deeper in the forest, following what Aelix claimed was a game trail. I was on my hands and knees again, staring at marks in the soft earth that could have been made by anything, when the forest went silent.
No bird calls. No whistle of wind. Even the whispering rustle of leaves in the canopy had stopped.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up.
A growl rolled through the trees—low, resonant. Another answered it. Then another.
My blood thickened as glowing eyes appeared in the darkness around us. Not just one pair. Not even a handful. At least a dozen burning gazes materialized from every shadow, surrounding me.
