The world around Sorn was a black void. The air around him was thick with the faint echo of his breathing. Every other sound was drowned, lost in silence. His limbs were trapped, held fast by chains that scraped and bit into his skin. He could not speak. He could not move. The only thing he could do was feel.

He could feel the cold, the hardness, the way the chains circled his arms, his chest, his neck, and even his face, suffocating his senses. Immediately, he came to an understanding. These chains were Cedric's doing. The leader of the Chains had been chosen to manage the first part of the trial.

A pounding pulse of anxiety gripped his chest. He tried to keep his mind sharp, desperate to make sense of this situation. He had to figure out a way to quickly get out of this predicament.

No one knew all the details of the trial. However, the one immutable truth was that speed was of priority. To falter or to hesitate, was to invite failure, and in Sorn’s case, likely death. Every second that passed was a second wasted, a step closer to the end. However, he had no idea what to do in this situation, thus he tried to adopt a new way of thinking.

Think like an Ice Elemental. What do they have that you do not?

The answer came in a rush of clarity. Ice Elementals were beings of creation, boasting the ability to mold weapons and tools from the ice at will. Sorn had no such power.

As he knelt, he felt the slick ice beneath him, its chill biting into small parts of his exposed skin. There, in the silence, he concentrated, as he began to activate his ability. His wisps were still different since his venture into that strange dimension. He still couldn’t make complete sense of his wisps, but there was something he could do here. Something that felt instinctual.

Blow up.

He thought it, and then the air itself trembled at his command. The wisps around his legs surged with power before combusting right there. The shock of the blast shattered the ice beneath him. The chains that had bound him vanished into nothingness.

Then suddenly, he was freefalling, descending through the air as he was at the mercy of the gravity around him. The cold chains were gone, replaced by a rushing wind that tore at his skin. He looked down, and his heart skipped a beat. Below him, a vast structure loomed, a gaping hole torn through its center. It was a hole that he assumed was his destination.

To his right, another figure was falling, too. He could just barely see them. Another participant, no doubt, but too far to identify.

In a brief flash, a terror gripped him, as he realized that he had no way to brace for impact. Luckily, as he fell into the hole, something steadied his descent, and the speed of his fall slowed. He floated downward, and eventually his feet brushed against the ice floor.

The room he found himself in was oddly sterile. It was small and mostly empty. At the center of the room, there was an ice table. Upon it rested a handwritten note, its edges curling slightly in the damp air, and a strange pendant. The pendant was made of ice and it was shaped like a crescent.

Sorn lifted the pendant, and the sound it made was not the soft clink of crystal, but something far more unsettling. The pendant let out a primal shriek, like the last desperate cry of a creature as it was being slaughtered. Sorn recoiled at the terrible noise, but he did not drop it.

With the pendant in hand, he turned to the note. His fingers traced its edge, but he couldn’t make out anything it said. He ignored the slight frustration bubbling up inside him as he folded the note carefully, tucking it into a pocket. The pendant went around his neck, settling against his skin with an eerie chill.

The floor beneath his feet was solid, far thicker than the ice he had shattered to reach this place. He thought of breaking through it, but he had no desire to risk breaking any rules, as he knew none of them. For now, he would explore, try to make sense of this stage, and hope that some answer would reveal itself quickly.

The layout of the second stage was like a maze, a labyrinth of icy walls. His thoughts drifted briefly to Toren’s mother, Freyja, the proctor overseeing this trial. The leader of Chains had used his power to craft the first challenge. However, there was nothing here that spoke of the “Dancing Blade.”

The pendant around his neck continued to shriek as he moved, the sound a constant, maddening presence. He tried to ignore it, and even considered leaving it behind, but he decided against such a stupid idea.

Then, from a place nearby, a different sound reached his ears. It was sweet and alluring. A melody beckoned Sorn, drawing him closer. He walked towards the music. It was as if he were in a trance.

But then, a guttural scream violated Sorn’s ears. The cry of agony shattered the trance that had begun to cloud his mind, and Sorn halted mid-step, his instincts flaring. The sweet melody died away, replaced by the echoes of that horrific scream.

Sorn’s mind was a swirl of conflicting thoughts. He stood frozen for several heartbeats, as he began weighing his decisions. His fear quarreled with his impulse, but it didn’t take long for him to give in to the latter. He needed information, and he felt that the area of the scream would be the best way to find some.

He set off towards the sound, navigating the corridors of the ice maze with urgency, forcing through as he tried to run towards the general direction of the earlier sound. Eventually, the twisting path opened up into a large dome-shaped chamber, and before him stood an opening just wide enough for a single person to slip through.

Inside, the room was cluttered with enormous ice mirrors, arranged in complete randomness. As he walked through, he could see his reflection everywhere. The mirrors were plentiful, which made traversal extremely disorienting.

And then, he heard a groan.

Sorn’s eyes snapped toward the sound. A large boy, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, lay sprawled on the floor. Another man sat on top of him, his eyes closed.

“I told you,” the man spoke flatly, “you don’t have the right guy. You Marauders and your love for conflict will be your downfall.”

The boy’s lips twitched, but the man did not react, his hands resting calmly on his knees.

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“I do appreciate the information, though,” the man continued. “For that, I’ll keep you alive.”

Sorn stepped closer, feeling uneasy. The boy on the floor was barely conscious, but luckily he was still alive.

Then, the strange man’s attention snapped to Sorn. The pendant around Sorn’s neck swung lightly, its grotesque sound, drawing the man’s attention. Before Sorn could react, the man was already standing directly in front of him.

It was hard to tell if the man was looking at him. His eyes were closed, but he could still tell where Sorn was regardless.

“You smell unfamiliar,” the man said. “Are you Sorn?”

“Uh… yes?” Sorn answered, uncertain.

The man made no visible reaction. “I see. Well, you seem to have exactly what I need.”

Sorn tensed. The proximity of this stranger gave him more anxiety than he’d have liked to admit. “Who are you?”

“I’m Scorpius,” the man replied. “But my name doesn’t matter.” He paused, his head dipping for just a moment before it snapped back up, his eyes still shut. “I understand now.”

Sorn’s gaze flickered to the note Scorpius now held up in his hand. It was identical to his own.

“You can’t read our language,” Scorpius continued, “so you don’t understand the rules. That makes you similar to me. You see, I was born without the ability to see, so I needed this guy to explain it to me.” He gestured toward the unconscious Marauder.

Sorn’s gaze flickered to the fallen figure. He recognized the Marauder, he was one of the more boastful individuals in the Mess, always talking about his dream of taking down ten opponents in the upcoming Tournament. At the time, Sorn had tuned out his boasts, finding the man insufferable. But now, seeing him defeated and, presumably, useless, Sorn felt a flicker of sympathy.

Scorpius’s voice remained steady as he continued, “I’ll do you a favor since you’re like me. I want this game to be as fair as possible, after all.” He gestured toward Sorn’s pendant. “See how yours is different from mine?”

Sorn had already noticed. Scorpius’s pendant mirrored his own, the sound it made as he moved it in contrast to the harsh noise from Sorn’s. Both pendants were crescent-shaped, but Scorpius’s was the reverse of his. If they were to connect, the two halves would form a complete circle.

Scorpius confirmed this with his next words, then moved on. “You know those rooms we started in? There are others like them scattered throughout the maze. To progress to the next stage, you need to bring a circle to one of them. The Marauder over there had a pendant like mine, but he was obsessed with fighting me for some reason. I took him down and made him explain the rules, and only then did I realize how pointless his actions were.”

His voice, once detached as he explained the rules, shifted now as he spoke with renewed interest. “You have what I want. Sorry it has to be you, Outsider, but I must defeat you and move on. I hope you understand.” His eyes, still closed, seemed to narrow slightly. “I’ve given you the grace of a fair fight. Prepare yourself.”

Before Sorn could respond, Scorpius moved. His body shifted in a blur, and from behind him, an icy tail shot forward with deadly precision, slicing the air toward Sorn’s chest. He barely managed to avoid the attack, and, by some luck, it missed him completely.

Sorn planted his feet deep into the frozen ground. Green tendrils coiled around his legs, and he took a moment to observe his opponent. Sorn, too, required Scorpius’s pendant to advance. He looked once more to the fallen Marauder, sprawled on the floor. The odds of victory were in Sorn’s favor. Scorpius could only wrest the pendant from Sorn’s neck. Sorn, however, also had the option of winning in combat, but he could also reach for the Marauder’s pendant, take it, and end this without a fight.

With a low breath, Sorn crouched. He would bide his time and wait for the right moment. He wanted to understand his foe before striking.

But Scorpius was quicker than he had anticipated. A blur of motion, as Scorpius’s tail shot forward again, and again, and again as the frigid lash of it pushed Sorn back, step by step.

Then, without warning, Scorpius vanished from his sight, darting leftwards.

Sorn’s breath caught in his chest. Without an opponent in front of him to focus on, he was left with looking at mirrors of frost reflecting his every movement, his misted breath. The mirrors multiplied, fracturing the world into false images wherever he looked. He couldn’t tell which way was which, what was real and what was his imagination. He had no doubt now, that these weren’t simple mirrors. They were made to disorient any onlooker. His previous assumption had been wrong. In this room, where Scorpius could fight with his eyes closed, Sorn was simply prey to be hunted.

A sound broke the eerie silence. It was the chime of Scorpius’s pendant. That was it, the sound would betray Scorpius’s location as he moved around, allowing Sorn to know exactly where he was. He couldn’t miss this opportunity.

Sorn let his instincts flare, and in a rush, he surged forward towards the sound. He aimed for the spot where the chime had come from, hoping to shatter whatever lay in his path.

A mirror splintered under his weight, but as he broke through, the sight before him was empty. Immediately, he darted his eyes around, and in a rush of dismay, he saw the pendant lying on the ground before him.

And then, to his right, a flash of bright blue, and Scorpius’s tail whipped towards him. Sorn dropped low, spinning beneath the tail’s deadly arc, just narrowly evading the blow. But even as he twisted, Scorpius’s foot struck him in the jaw, sending him hurtling backward.

A searing pain blossomed across his mouth as he tasted his blood. His vision swam, but he quickly recuperated, only to see Scorpius standing tall before him. Scorpius’s eyes were still closed, and behind him, his tail loomed, waving back and forth dangerously. It was then that Sorn fully understood his situation.

No amount of training would have prepared him for this encounter. There were no openings to strike through. No weaknesses to take advantage of. Sorn had no choice but to play defense, but he could only do so for so long. His original plan of snatching the Marauder’s pendant also seemed impossible now. He had no idea where the Marauder’s body lay, and he didn’t think Scorpius would give him leeway to try and find it.

“I can tell you are defeated,” Scorpius said. He extended a hand toward Sorn as if offering a truce. “But you fought better than I expected. I will do you this favor. Give me your pendant, and you may take the one from the fallen Marauder.”

Before Sorn could reply, a sound from outside the room broke the conversation. An assortment of two notes rang through the walls, their tones clashing together. It was the inharmonious melody of about five pendants clashing together.

"In here!" a voice shouted, its urgency rising. The notes were getting closer, and Sorn knew they were not alone.

Scorpius’s attention shifted, and he was momentarily distracted by the approaching noise. This was the first opening Sorn had. Without a thought, he darted to his right, moving before he could even think.

But Scorpius was faster. His tail shot out, cutting off Sorn’s path in one swift motion.

“Did you truly think I’d let my guard down?” Scorpius asked beratingly.

Sorn let his boot slip on the ice, feigning clumsiness, allowing himself to slide beneath the outstretched tail. He hit the ground low, rolling back to his feet with a fluid motion.

The wisps that had been swirling around him flashed. Sorn let them take control, allowing them to surge through his legs. A burst of energy shot him forward, propelling him across the room with a speed so fast that even he couldn’t control it. He broke through one ice mirror, then another, the sharp cracks of shattered glass ringing in his ears.

He didn’t look back once, dashing aimlessly until finally, he found himself out of the room, his chest heaving with the effort. He looked back in the room only to hear sounds of conflict. It was safe to assume Scorpius was now engaged with the group before. Sorn thought momentarily of going back in to swipe a pendant, but truthfully he wasn’t willing to take another step in that room. The ice mirrors had left him sick. If he were to fight anyone else, it would be out here in the open.

He turned, walking away from that forsaken room. His mind was already shifting, searching for a new challenge. His pendant swung loosely at his chest, the terrible noise acting as an invitation for anyone to face him. He had wasted too much time with Scorpius. Others were out there, presumably moving forward, and this was a race. There was only room for urgency.

As he reached a solid wall of ice, he prepared himself to turn before he was forcibly stopped. A thick hand shot through the frozen barrier shattering the wall with a single, violent thrust. Fingers latched around Sorn’s neck, lifting him off his feet. His breath caught in his throat, and the world narrowed into a blur as he choked on the grip that constricted his airway.

In a desperate move, he slammed his fist down into the arm that held him. It felt like striking stone, the force of the impact sent a jolt of shock through his body. For a moment, the grip tightened, but then it suddenly relented. The rest of the wall crumbled away, and the figure behind it fully emerged. Sorn was dropped to the floor with a thud, gasping for air.

"Sorn?"

His head snapped up. Standing above him, dressed in the unmistakable uniform of a Marauder, was none other than his trainer. Oden’s expression was a mix of concern and wariness, his blue eyes narrowed.

"Hey, didn’t think I’d see you here.”