Page 97 of The Ascended
"So," Marx said eventually. "We're both fucked up mortals with dangerous powers and tragic backstories. No wonder we get along."
I laughed, surprising myself with the sound. "Is that what we're doing? Getting along?"
"Well, I haven't cursed you yet, and you haven't stabbed me with any stars. I'd call that friendship."
"High bar."
"The highest." She glanced at me sideways, a smirk curving her lips.
Chapter 24
The Waiting Game
The next twoweeks flew by in a mix of training and nights spent alone. Xül traveled often to the Eternal City, muttering aboutadministrative inconvenienceswhenever he returned, shadows gathering beneath his eyes with each passing day.
We settled into a strange rhythm—mornings on the black sand beach, where I fought his summoned souls until my limbs trembled with exhaustion, afternoons in his library, where he filled my head with knowledge of the pantheon until I felt my brain might burst.
"Again," Xül commanded, his voice carrying across the sand as another damned soul materialized before me, twisted by whatever sins had condemned it.
I raised my star-blade, ignoring the protest of muscles that had been pushed beyond their limits hours ago. "You realize normal mentors give their students breaks, right?"
"You're hardly a normal student," he replied, unmoved by my exhaustion.
The soul lunged with unnatural speed. I pivoted, bringing my blade up in an arc that sliced through its torso. It dissolved with a wail that sent shivers down my spine.
Xül stepped closer, his expression critical. "Your left side is still open. If that had been a real opponent?—"
"I'd be dead. Yes. So you've mentioned." I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. "Repeatedly."
His lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile I'd seen in days. "At least you're listening."
Without knowing which two of the twelve Aesymar would combine their domains for the next trial, we couldn't prepare for specific challenges. So instead, we prepared for everything.
"The waiting is part of the game," Xül explained one evening as I collapsed into a chair in his library, every muscle screaming. "It's deliberate. The anticipation of pain is often worse than pain itself."
"Spoken like someone who's never been stabbed," I muttered, reaching for the book he'd assigned—a tedious tome on the twelve domains.
"On the contrary," he replied, his voice oddly distant. "I've experienced both. The waiting is worse."
I looked up, surprised by the admission, but he had already turned away.
On the fourteenth day, as we finished our afternoon studies, Xül paused, his head tilting slightly as if hearing voices I couldn't.
"What is it?" I asked, closing the volume I'd been studying.
"We've received correspondence," he said, his expression unreadable. "Two, actually."
My heart slammed against my ribs. "The next trial?"
"Not exactly." He materialized an envelope between his fingers—thick parchment sealed with wax the color of dried blood. "An invitation."
"To what?"
"A banquet celebrating the surviving contestants." His tone suggested he found the entire concept tedious. "A tradition after the first trial."
"Andthe second?"
His expression darkened. "My presence is requested in the Eternal City. Again."
