PART ONE: THE O'LEONS

Phevona’s heart raced, and her anxiety grew as she watched another match of the Choosing. The disparity between Lucan, a 16-year-old elven boy, and his unfortunate dwarven opponent, a prisoner who clearly lacked martial training, was evident. Despite being tier one, a tier higher than Lucan, the dwarf was losing. Badly.

Many of the tier zero 16-year-olds who participated in the Choosing each year had trained for most of their lives. Those who had not were there for a chance to increase their lot in life. All of them were fighting for the opportunity to train under some of the clan's most prestigious masters, so they held nothing back.

This meant death was a genuine possibility in the Choosing, which was why the clan always used criminals to fight the participants—less chance of promising youths dying that way.

None of the prisoners chained up on one side of the arena floor were higher than tier one, while some of the younger ones had yet to gain a Subject and were still tier zero. The masters wanted to see the participants’ potential. Weak and sickly opponents would not allow that, so the prisoners were all fit and healthy.

Phevona often wondered why these one-on-one duels were still used for the annual event, especially for a support-focused mage like her. Fighting in teams against monsters would be a better representation of their futures, but the duels in the Choosing were traditional. Plus, you never knew who you might meet in some of the higher-magnitude temporary realms. Fights with other sapients were not uncommon by any means, and her being a support mage would not save her from such a situation.

When her chance came, Phevona hoped to face a tier one opponent who could test her skills and prove her potential. The greater the challenge, the more she could prove she was capable of. She wanted to prove she was more than her family’s name.

She glanced away from the match, looking up at the masters seated in a reserved section across the arena. Each master was more than qualified to train students in their field of expertise. All of them were at least tier seven, with many reaching even greater heights of power.

Seated alone in the middle and slightly above the rest of the masters was the man sent to represent the matriarch of their clan’s head family, the O’Leon family.

Phevona’s family.

The man briefly took his eyes off the match to meet her wandering gaze. Others that caught the shift in the man’s attention likely thought the sword master was searching for promising new students among the year's participants, despite how rarely their family took anyone in from the Choosing.

Phevona could not help but roll her eyes at the man. Even though she could not make out his expression from that distance, she knew exactly what her father was doing. The battle maniac was doing everything he could not to fall asleep since he drew the short straw and was forced to represent great-grandmother for that year’s Choosing.

‘It’s not like his daughter is participating this year or anything,’ Phevona grumbled internally as she returned her attention to the match.

The dwarven prisoner had held on for a while due to his race's naturally high resilience and the enhancements that come with a tier one body. However, he was too slow to reach Lucan, who was using the spells enchanted into his wand to attack and slow his opponent. Every once in a while, the dwarf was able to use the weak spell deflect enchantment on his axe to fend off an attack, but he was too slow and unpracticed for much more.

Soon enough, the dwarf collapsed, unable to move from the barrage of spells he had been under. With the announcer’s call to end the match, the magic from Lucan’s wand dissipated as he cut off the fire spell he had been about to cast. The crowd erupted in cheers for the boy, and he bowed deep in the direction of the masters before stepping out of the arena while healers rushed to check on the dwarf.

Lucan sauntered up the step out of the arena to return to his seat, which unfortunately took him past Phevona. “What did you think, Miss O’Leon? My skills have improved since you and I last trained together, have they not?” The look of smug confidence he gave her as he passed her had never left his face in all the time Phevona had known him.

She hoped he would be chosen by one of the masters more focused on offensive magic. If she got what she wanted and was selected by Lucan’s grandfather as a student, she did not want to go back to training with the boy.

“There is no better support magic trainer on the island, though,” she muttered as the administrator in charge of the Choosing rose to announce the next participant.

“What was that, Miss O’Leon?” Lucan had stopped to look back at her, clearly expecting some compliment before continuing to his seat.

Before Phevona could respond, the announcer’s voice rang out through the voice-enhancing enchantments built into the arena. “For the next fight, I invite Phevona O’Leon to the arena.”

Lucan was pushed out of Phevona’s mind as she stood. The nerves she had been fighting for the past week surged with a vengeance. Despite her family’s prestige and power, none of the masters would take on a lackluster student. One had to earn a spot with any of the masters present. She could not afford to mess around.

As she took the final step from the arena’s stands to the packed dirt of the arena floor, her hand brushed the battle wand in its sheath on her right thigh. It was enchanted with the maximum five tier one level spells allowed in the Choosing. She had everything she needed to prove herself.

Soon enough, Phevona arrived at her starting position and looked over to the guard who had stopped before the prisoner who would be her opponent. Phevona’s heart fell slightly in disappointment when she saw the human boy. He looked like he was close to her age. There was no way he had a Subject.

He had been sitting down, eyes closed, with his back against the wall that separated the arena from the first row of the stands. As soon as the guard stopped in front of him, his eyes opened. After almost casually dismissing the guard, his gaze turned to her.

Their eyes met, and despite Phevona’s earlier disappointment, she felt a surge of caution run down her spine. His expression showed a sense of confidence that Phevona knew only came from extreme pride or extreme competence—or both. She would have to be careful with this one. This was no ordinary tier zero.

Breaking their eye contact, the boy stood. He was over six feet tall, with short-cut brown hair and the green eyes Phevona had already noticed. Just the act of standing up made it clear the boy was athletic and graceful. He wore a dirty and torn uniform that, despite its formal look, was clearly for some sort of military.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

‘Who is he? Maybe this won’t be a disappointing match-up after all.’

As soon as the guard unlocked the chains that bound his hands, the boy started to move—not to run, but to loosen his muscles. He hopped from foot to foot, stretching his arms in preparation. He kept it up as he was led to the collection of weapons the prisoners had to choose from. There were melee weapons of all types, bows, and enchanted wands, much like Phevona’s, for those trained to use them. Unsurprisingly, none of the prisoners had elected to use a wand up to that point. Learning how to control magic without the benefits provided by a Subject often took years of training, and the prisoners with a magic-focused Subject at tier one had not needed a wand to perform their spells.

Arriving at the weapons, the boy wasted no time in moving to the melee weapons, specifically the swords. Phevona could not help the slight smile that broke her neutral expression. The O’Leon family was known for their prowess with many kinds of blades. She had been watching swordsmen and women all her life. She knew how they fought.

The boy did not take long to test the available swords and soon held a fairly common-looking weapon. It had a double-edged, straight blade. The cross guard was unadorned but wholly functional, protecting a hand and a half hilt. Like the axe selected by the dwarf in the previous round, there was a spell deflect enchantment on the sword. It was a sword Phevona knew her father would approve of. She guessed that if a compendium scroll were used to identify its properties, its description would likely include the word ‘reliable.’

After making his selection, the boy was ushered into his starting position across the field from Phevona, prompting the announcer to begin the introductions. “Please evaluate Miss Phevona O’Leon for Choosing. She plans to pursue a combat Subject related to nature magic, focusing on its inherent advantages of battlefield control, buffs, and healing. Her dormant bloodline is expected to increase her affinity with nature magic once unlocked. She also has introductory instruction in alchemy and plans to pursue a non-combat Subject in the field.”

Taking a brief pause to accommodate the crowd’s cheers, the announcer soon continued. “Now for her opponent. According to a compendium scroll identification, he is a 17-year-old human male. He is tier zero, and no active or dormant bloodlines were detected. He is guilty of trespassing on private property and is suspected of espionage.” The last sentence garnered surprise as whispers filled the arena.

‘Espionage?’ wondered Phevona. ‘Who would try to sneak into the clan’s lands wearing something so obvious as a foreign military uniform?’

Throughout the announcer's descriptions, the boy stood in his starting position, his eyes never leaving Phevona.

None of the information changed any of her prior observations. She knew the boy was likely extremely capable. Her specialty was not the best for direct confrontation, but it was invaluable when it came to controlling a battlefield. She would need to rely on her self-buffs to stay out of melee range and give her space to restrict his movements with her nature magic.

“Combatants, ready?” Phevona and the boy nodded simultaneously, both taking positions with their weapons ready. “Begin.”

Phevona immediately began to cast her speed buff. It was her highest-cost spell, using about a tenth of the mana stored in the wand, but she would need more speed to stay ahead of the boy. In the three seconds it took her to initiate, direct, and cast the spell, her opponent had already crossed half the distance between them.

Feeling the familiar rush of nature’s blessing taking root in her body, she darted to the side faster than she ever could without the buff active, then prepared her next spell.

A sharpened splinter of wood three inches long and half an inch wide shot from her wand at the charging boy. With no hesitation, he dodged the splinter with a quick twist of his body, losing almost no momentum as he continued his chase.

Phevona kept up a continuous barrage of splinter shots for the next minute as she used her speed buff to stay out of melee range. In that minute, two things became apparent to Phevona. She could not rely on splinter shot for anything more than a distraction, and even with her speed boost, she could not retreat faster than the boy advanced. The splinter shots were too slow. Each one was dodged or blocked with grace and precision, only serving to slow the boy just enough for Phevona to stay out of his sword’s reach.

Offense was not her path to victory in this match. She cast one final splinter shot, then slowed her pace to focus on her next spell.

A mass of roots, each as thick as her thumb, snaked out of the ground directly in the boy’s path. In seconds, a 20-foot-long and seven-foot-high barrier of roots was between them. Small gaps in the tangle of roots let her watch him as he continued to approach.

Without hesitation, the boy advanced. Three quick slashes with his sword, followed by a quick activation of his sword’s spell deflect enchantment that disabled the grasping roots directly around him, were all he needed to make an opening.

Phevona was impressed with the boy’s trick. Almost anyone she knew below tier one would have been forced to stop and circle the wall, giving her time to continue attacking from a distance. However, she was raised sparing with some of the most competent opponents she could ask for. She had tricks of her own.

Before the boy could finish passing through the opening, the roots around him regained life, and soon, his left leg was snared, halting his progress. He looked to his opponent, trying to determine the cause of the spell’s renewed power. A vine connected Phevona’s wand and the mass of roots, feeding her nature control spell into the structure and giving her direct control of the formerly disrupted spell.

A quick thought fed through the wand was all that was needed. The roots moved up the boy's leg, wrapping around and around as they climbed up the rest of his body. He could not rely on his sword’s enchantment to cut off a channeled spell like nature control unless he activated it at the source of the spell.

He had only moments before he would be completely restrained. As she directed the roots to continue their assault, Phevona thought she caught a new emotion on the boy’s face before it was completely covered. It made no sense, but she could have sworn the boy was having fun.

Soon enough, the roots finished their task. The boy was covered from head to toe, looking almost like a sculpture made from nature itself. Phevona turned to the announcer, expecting the match to be called.

Suddenly, a rush of mana exploded out of the boy. Phevona would later find out it was not actually the boy who released the mana. It would be evident in hindsight. The boy was a tier zero. He had no mana to use. It was his sword, more specifically, the enchantment in the sword, that held the mana.

Items enchanted for tier zeros to use all had one thing in common: mana storage. Since tier zeros do not have access to mana, they have to rely on the mana stored in the enchanted items to activate them.

Just as he was about to lose the use of his sword arm, the boy had done two things. First, he hugged his sword against the roots covering his body. Second, he overloaded the sword's enchantment, forcing the remaining mana stored in the weapon to release all at once. As the mana burst from the enchantment, much of it entered the roots covering his body. The high levels of foreign mana interfered with Phevona’s spell, stripping her of her control.

All the strength previously squeezing the roots tighter against the boy’s body vanished. The crack of wood being torn apart sounded as he ripped his sword free. The rest of his body soon followed, leaving him panting from exertion but free of the spell.

It took him less than a second to close the final gap between him and the stunned Phevona. Before she could move to counter, she felt the cold press of metal against her neck. She had been too slow.

The announcer called the match less than a second later.

***

Duncan Tell stood there, sword extended against the girl’s neck. If he remembered what the announcer had called her before their fight, her name was Phevona O'Leon. She was fierce. She had given him more trouble than most of his classmates had over the years despite her being disadvantaged in a duel as a support mage.

As soon as the match was called, he withdrew his sword and placed it on the ground, backing away from the weapon. He had been a prisoner to these people for the past couple of days and knew they would not tolerate him keeping possession of the sword.

As he stepped away from the girl and the sword, he took a brief chance to observe the crowd. As he had noted when he first arrived at this place, many different races were present: dwarves, elves, humans, lizardkin, beastkin, and more. There were so many different kinds of people. They all had two things in common now, though.

They were all silent, and they were all staring at him.

‘A little different from the last crowd I fought in front of,’ Duncan observed. ‘I’m definitely not on Earth anymore.’