Chapter Thirteen: One Small Step
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The announcement crackled to life through the crystals embedded in the walls of the mess hall, their glow pulsing faintly with each word, just as the first light of dawn broke the horizon.
“The Inken Trials are over.”
The voice sounded as grumpy as someone who’d been awoken too early and had every reason to be displeased. Jace was already with his friends in the mess hall, picking at the remains of an early breakfast. A handful of other students had gathered, bleary-eyed, across the scattered wooden benches.
Dex, Ell, and Alice sat with Jace, the three of them close enough to hear the amused mutterings of the few other students. Molly and Marcus had promised they’d meet the group at the portal. Jace noted that they had been spending an odd amount of time together.
The voice—undoubtedly Brutus’—crackled again, dripping with sarcasm. “For whoever rigged my toilet with the ink bomb... I’d like to commend you for your cleverness and attention to detail. You’ve clearly been paying close attention in Artifice and Artifications class.”
Jace shot Dex a sidelong glance, catching the flash of his friend’s devilish grin and the sly wink that followed. Across the table, Ell merely shook her head, her lips quirking in a faint smile as she sipped her tea.
The voice over the aether-enhanced crystals continued, now with a distinct edge. “Additionally, when I find you—and I will find you—you’ll wish you weren’t born.” The silence that followed hung heavy, stretching across the mess hall like an uneasy mist. Dex’s gulp was unmistakable in the stillness.
The announcement concluded with all the joy of a death sentence. “All remaining students, gather at the Hermes District gates for transport. We leave for the Southeastern Stronghold in one hour. If you don’t make it, you will be left behind.”
The announcement rippled through the small morning crowd, murmurs growing into cheers, as if the very air held their collective relief. Of the thousand students who had entered, only 489 remained.
Jace and the rest of the Scooby-Gang had dragged themselves out of bed before dawn, the kind of early that made their eyes sting and their tempers short. Rumor had it that Brutus would offer only a narrow window and try to weed out a few late waking students. He seemed eager to wash his hands of this year’s Games, and a part of Jace couldn’t help but think he might have the right idea. With everything spiraling out of control lately, the prospect of the Games felt more like a curse than an event. But it was a curse that Jace had no intention of avoiding.
The students were directed to Hermes District, a place that hummed with life and magic. Jace and his friends moved as a group, the energy of the district around them almost infectious. Dex swaggered ahead, his grin widening every time Ell rolled her eyes in response to his antics. He looked back at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
“C’mon, Ell, admit it. You’re impressed,” Dex said, his voice laced with faux charm.
Ell gave him another dramatic eye roll, her tone dry as she shot back, “The only thing I’m impressed by is your ability to beat expectations. Just when I think you’ve done the dumbest thing you could, you go ahead and surprise me.” Despite her words, there was no venom in her tone—just the usual exasperation Dex seemed to inspire.
“You do realize that the Inken Trials were technically over at dawn today,” Alice said. “We could have just waited.”
“And let Brutus think he bested us? I don’t think so,” Dex countered.
Ell huffed, but a small, reluctant smile finally broke through her feigned irritation. She gave Dex a light bump with her elbow as they walked, her voice softening. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“It’s part of my charm,” Dex replied, winking. He swaggered a little further ahead, and Ell just sighed, shaking her head, though her smile lingered.
Marcus and Molly appeared, cheeks flushed, walking beside the group as they made their way.
“Where have you two been?” Ell asked, her tone playful, masking a hint of faux sternness.
Marcus opened his mouth, “Uh—“ but Ell cut him off with a small laugh.
“I see,” she said, with a knowing grin. “Well, heads in the game, we are almost there.”
“It’s not like that,” Marcus protested. Molly just smiled.
A row of grand pillars flanked the path, standing sentinel at the entrance to Hermes District. These ancient, towering structures were carved from obsidian-hued stone, so dark it seemed to swallow the dawn light entirely. Their surfaces shimmered with intricate runes, glowing faintly like captured moonlight, each rune a testament to the centuries of protective enchantments etched into their being. The carvings seemed almost alive, the light flowing in delicate pulses, hinting at layers of magic woven deeply into the pillars’ foundations, as if Hermes himself had whispered secrets into the stone.
Molly eyed the runes. “You know,” she said, her voice low with intrigue, “I heard these were designed during the War of the Fates. Supposedly, they can seal off the entire district if something dark tries to slip through one of its many portal arches.”
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Beyond the entrance, Hermes District unfurled before them like a living tapestry, a kaleidoscope of magic and motion. The scent of parchment mingled with citrus and the metallic tang of active enchantments, energy pulsing in the very air around them.
Streets of polished lapis stone shifted subtly beneath their feet, each step awakening a soft, glowing trail that spread across the ground like ripples of light. Ripples transformed into sprawling waves, illuminating wherever they stepped, as if the District itself remembered and guided each traveler with a gentle, shimmering embrace.
Above, enchanted courier birds—small constructs of brass and feathers—darted between floating lanterns glowing in hues of amber and emerald. Their wings were a blur of grace and precision, delivering scrolls and parcels to their rightful owners.
Dex dodged as a bird swooped particularly close, almost grazing his head. “These fancy feather dusters have it out for me, I swear.”
The Archway Path stood as the centerpiece, a towering marvel of both engineering and magic. Each arch was distinct, each a gate to a different realm, a different domain of wonder. The group gathered with other students—many of whom had camped out even earlier, now waiting with eager, restless energy. But this arch was unlike the rest. Chains and iron bars wove around its frame, large and imposing, almost daring anyone to try and pass through. Its stone surface was etched with intricate glyphs. Massive locks, an amalgamation of both mechanical ingenuity and arcane spellwork, crisscrossed the arch, barring entry to whatever lay beyond. A faint hum filled the air, a subtle but persistent static that raised the hairs on Jace’s arms the closer he got.
Seeing the gathered students—once a thousand strong, now reduced to this small group—made the reality sink in. The number on the leaderboard was one thing, but seeing how few remained drove the point home with undeniable clarity.
“Less than half made it,” Alice murmured, her sharp gaze sweeping over the crowd. “Brutus wasn’t kidding about thinning the herd.”
Dex let out a mirthless chuckle. “Thinning the herd? More like nearly wiping it out. I only wish I’d come up with that little trick sooner—might’ve spared a few more necks.”
Ell shot him a glare, her eyes narrowing. “Your ‘little trick’ was reckless,” she retorted. “You’d better hope that Brutus has enough of a sense of humor—or enough patience—not to vaporize you on the spot when he realizes it was you. And he will figure it out.”
Jace tuned out their familiar bickering, his thoughts lingering on Thistle, their gnomish tank and friend—the one piece missing from the Scooby-Gang. He had visited Thistle in the infirmary the day before, and the sight had left an unsettling impression: Thistle was pale, gaunt, his movements sluggish, his eyes distant. The spiritual counselor had explained that Thistle’s soul fragments were still knitting back together after the possession—a delicate process that required time, nourishment, and space.
Using his Soul Affinity, Jace had confirmed it himself. Thistle’s essence was fractured, like shards of glass slowly trying to reunite, each fragment struggling to fit back into place. It was painful to witness, like watching a shattered vase attempt to make itself whole, cracks still visible but promising eventual restoration.
“He just needs time,” the counselor had assured him. “And a chance to feel strong again.”
Jace had resolved to help Thistle when the time was right. But for now, his friend needed to heal at his own pace. Shaking off the thought, Jace redirected his focus to the task at hand, the weight of impossible responsibility settled heavy on his shoulders, a familiar burden.
Brutus strode confidently to the base of the arch, his heavy boots thudding with authority. He halted before a series of levers embedded in the pedestal, his hand moving with a deliberate familiarity. The locks on the arch began to disengage, one after another, each release accompanied by a deep, resonant clang—like ancient machinery shaking off centuries of dormancy. With each grunt of exertion, he pulled a lever, the sound of each released lock echoing like a hammer striking an anvil, deep and resonant. The gears groaned in response, mechanisms grinding against years of enchantment as the arch slowly awakened.
“This isn’t just to keep us out,” Alice murmured to Jace, her voice barely audible. “It’s to keep something in.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way,” he replied.
The final lock disengaged with a thunderous boom, echoing through the District. The glyphs flared brilliantly before fading into a faint, steady glow. It was unlocked, but not activated.
Brutus turned to face the students, his expression carved from stone. “What lies beyond this gate is not for the faint of heart,” he said, his voice steady, carrying an edge of warning. “Remember what you’ve learned. And damn your pride! If you can’t handle a challenge, step aside rather than gamble away your lives in some misguided bid for glory.”
Uneasy glances flickered between the students, his words settling over them like a heavy fog. Yet beneath the weight of his warning, anticipation simmered, a spark slowly igniting, flickering to life in their eyes.
The chatter of students faded into silence as Professor Dranice Thorne stepped forward, again from apparently nowhere. His crimson cloak billowed dramatically, catching the light like a flickering flame.
“Listen closely,” he began, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade. “Beyond this gate lies the last stronghold of Roandia. It is a refuge, yes, but also a crucible. Representatives from across the world—gods, mortals, schools—all gather there. Your actions will not go unnoticed. Everything you do reflects upon you, your future, and this University.”
His gaze swept over the gathered students, sharp and assessing. “Remember: a single death, or activation of your Escape Orb means disqualification. You will exit the Tower immediately, your journey over.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but a stern glare from Dranice silenced them instantly. “This is not a game, despite the name. Do not disgrace yourselves—or this institution. You represent Mount Olympus University. Act accordingly.”
With a swift flick of his wrist, the arch flared to life. Runes ignited along its frame, glowing in brilliant gold and silver, swirling like molten fire. The air around them seemed to shimmer, a faint hum building until it vibrated through their very bones.
The portal burst open in a blinding flash, before settling into a shimmering twilight that enveloped the arch. Its surface rippled like liquid starlight, shifting and swirling in an endless, mesmerizing dance, as if the very fabric of the cosmos had been woven into the gateway. The light gathered and refracted, forming an event horizon that seemed to bend reality itself—an ethereal threshold that blurred the line between this world and whatever lay beyond.
Brutus was the first to move, stepping forward without a word and vanishing into the arch.
“Go on, step through,” Dranice commanded, his voice brooking no argument. He stepped aside, gesturing sharply for them to follow, his gaze daring anyone to hesitate.
Jace caught Alice’s gaze, and she gave him a small nod—an unspoken promise of solidarity. Together with the others, they moved forward, stepping into the portal. The world blurred around Jace, swallowed in light and sound, his senses overwhelmed by the rush of magic.
As the brightness faded, Jace blinked, his breath catching in his throat as the sprawling city—the last stronghold of Roandia—unfurled before him, vibrant and alive, stretching endlessly under the vast blue sky.