I reached what was indeed a curtain made of blades in a matter of moments, and I slowed to a stop in front of the sharpened steel. Each sword was much longer and slimmer than what I could imagine anyone wielding effectively. Their pommels hung from chains connected to the ceiling, but each blade was so elongated, their tips nearly scratched the stone floor. There had to be hundreds of them, for they stretched the length of the dark hall I now stood, some six meters across, and pushing against the two directly in front of me revealed many more behind.

I dropped my hand, feeling a touch of annoyance, perhaps lingering from the battle fever the Elder had just inspired in me. I had been through multiple trials already, died twice even, chosen my path, been accepted, and now I was being tested yet again, for what else could this be? I breathed out the adrenaline that coursed through me, shaking my limbs, and then slowly began to shoulder through the blades.

I knew a honed edge when I saw one, and hoped that my clothes would protect me. True, I had been healed from much worse before, but perhaps they were checking who was too eager and making it past this strange entryway without a cut would be a sign of success. Walking at a measured half-step and trying my best to keep my head directly above the path my body created so my ears didn’t get nicked, I slowly made progress. It wasn’t long before I was wholly within the steel curtain, which felt like being subsumed in a waterfall of still blades that pinged each time I knocked them into each other.

Louder sounds behind me, those of people, almost got the tip of my nose sliced off, but I managed to stall my movement when it was only a shallow cut.

So much for making it there unharmed, I noted but didn’t let my progress slow. Soon I was rewarded with a different noise, that of drums, paired with the smell of cooked food. My mouth watered immediately, and I realized that it had been much too long since the breakfast my siblings and I had shared before departing the Crim.

The next group of inverted swords moved aside more easily, and my extended hand felt clear air. I wanted to speed up, of course, plunging into the new world on the other side, but I resisted, wishing to limit myself to a single cut. Unfortunately, exiting the blades, I didn’t pull my trailing hand along quickly enough, and a sword cut my wrist as it swung back into place.

I hissed at the pain, covering it with my free hand, but then I felt a surge of invigoration that caught my breath in my throat and arched my back it was so powerful – like every inch of my flesh could feel the air upon it and that air was cold fire. The height of the sensation passed, but a noticeable buzz had infiltrated my flesh and muscles that left me twitching in shocked wonder.

It was then I noticed an older girl in front of me, who I would have thought was quite tall if not for the Elder I had just met. Her short hair was blazing red, so bright it made Tamra’s look brown, and she was surely an Acolyte of my new order.

“Well met,” I said, doing my best to offer her my arm, which surprised me twice: once, by being a touch thicker I swore, and two, a scab already sitting across my cut wrist. I blinked, and embarrassingly, looked down at it instead of her, thinking I must be seeing things.

“The Mantle of the Warrior is upon you now,” she said in a strong, commanding voice that brought my eyes directly back to her face.

“This mantle aids my healing?” I asked.

She smiled down at me, her red eyes flashing. “That is a part of it, yes. Greater fortitude in general, as well greater strength than any gormek possesses, and more than most other awakened of your rank. But the mantle is only your first boon and a small one compared to the next you must choose.” She gestured behind her, and I saw that I was standing in but an alcove, which led into a much larger room. A room where those drums came from, pounding a rhythm that called to not only my heart but the very blood that pumped through my veins.

“Go on,” she encouraged, as if she knew the draw of what lay ahead all too well. “Join your fellows.”

I nodded to her in thanks and then pressed forward on legs that stretched the fabric of my pants tight. Warmth emanated from the larger room, the flickering light of what must have been at least one great fire dancing along the walls in and out of time with the steady beat. There were voices, too, a dozen or more, strong and deep, and the smells of roasted meat tickled my nose again, all of it tugging me onward to the point that I was nearly running again when I stepped into the room in truth.

My guess as to the number of occupants was accurate, half a dozen boys and girls – all older than me, like the one from the alcove – were pounding the flats of their hands on drums that were half as tall as they were, letting the players strike the stretched skin of the top with ferocity while standing. Another eight were dancing to the beat, their movements large and unabashed, using their whole bodies to windmill their arms or leap into the air. All of them were clearly Acolytes, for even the shortest was a good ten to fifteen centimeters taller than the tallest boys from the Crim, and their physiques matched their height, broad of shoulder and thick of limb. Each and every one also had hair of orange or red, which gave them a beautiful cohesion, as if they were a conflagration made flesh and set to frolic.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“The first! The first!” the group took up the chant upon seeing me, their fiery eyes turned in my direction, though only one stopped what they were doing: a boy who’s beardless face made him look only a few years older than me, but whose body must have weighed twice as much as mine, sprung up from his crouch on the dance floor and covered the distance to me in long strides.

“Warrior in your soul?” he asked me, his voice deep and resonant, again at odds with his youthful face. “Or no choice to be had?” He smiled then, his cheeks making his orange eyes narrow.

“I went where the Elders advised,” I replied. My voice was not loud, especially not over all the noise in the room, but he seemed to have heard me because he barked a laugh.

“You’ll like this then,” he said, laying an arm across my shoulders and directing me to the side. I had thought my own forearms had grown, and they had, but they were nothing compared to what this boy possessed, the muscle easily thicker than my newly enhanced thighs.

Now that the other occupants of the hall were not my focus, my eyes began to wander. The drummers and dancers had all been the center of the room, but the outer wall was circular and stone. There were large rectangles cut from the rock, one atop the other, like would have held the bodies of the dead, but they were all empty as far as I could tell, save for a folded sheet of red cloth in each.

Above those alcoves, the wall came inward a good meter, creating a distinct change in the levels of the room but also a focal point, as hung upon this inner curve were mighty weapons. Unlike the curtain of swords, these armaments were positioned on their side, which let me fully appreciate the sweep of a huge scimitar that seemed to distort the air around it with whatever power had been crafted into its metal. Next to that was a greataxe, its twin faces etched with runes that stood cool and unpowered, but as I stared, I could almost feel its wish to be borne, to be used.

Movement drew my eyes upward again, and I saw that above the inner curve of displayed weapons was a balustrade that ran the circumference of the room with even more Acolytes standing behind it. They looked down upon us from this second story, eating juicy legs of bird and pig, unless I missed my guess, and gripping large, wooden mugs that they gulped between bites.

My stomach rumbled at the sight, but it was my eyes that refused to be satiated, clawing higher to discover that hanging from the ceiling some twenty meters up were not more armaments but bodies – bodies of demons, their wide, crescent heads staring down at me eyelessly. I jumped from one to the next, some pale like what I had faced in the entry test, while others were red or deep purple, though I could not see them all because the light of the room did not fully extend up that far, leaving me with the impression of distorted limbs and long claws.

I felt my body heat and assumed it was in response to our great foe, vanquished before me.

“You’ll crack your neck like that,” my guide said.

I dropped my gaze, which had done all this traveling in the space of only a few moments, to find that the boy had brought me to a monstrous fire, the actual source of the warmth I was experiencing. It took up a whole section of wall, some five meters wide and as tall as the inner protrusion of stone which marked the start of the second floor. I could not tell what the yellow-orange flame used for fuel or how it could possibly burn so high and wide, but those questions became no more meaningful than the buzzing of a gnat when a figure stepped forth from the fire.

At first I thought it was made of living flame itself, but as it walked the distance between us, the tongues of fire subsided, leaving a being of reddish light that stood a good foot taller than me. It was human in shape, and even wore sturdy, leather armor from neck to toe, though this too was made of light. I could not, however, tell if it was male or female, as its hair was long and its features seemed to live in the space between the two genders.

“Greetings, Warrior,” it said in a clear voice, which managed, like its form, to have both male and female qualities.

“Greetings,” I responded, unsure. I knew that the awakened within the tower wielded great magics – we had already been exposed to multiple such spells in our short time here – but I did not think a Warrior had summoned this being. I went to check, only to discover that my guide had departed, leaving me alone with the fireborn specter. “May I ask who you are?”

It smiled at me in a kindly way, and I was immediately put in mind of our ‘parent’ instructors back at the Crim. It was obvious that this being was much older than me, and perhaps anyone I had ever before met, though no lines marred it light-wrought skin.

“Certainly,” it intoned. “I am the memory of the Warriors who have lived their lives in the Tower. Training, fighting, and dying here, in service.”

“All of them?” I asked in surprise, but my question and attention were interrupted by the call of, “The second! The second!” echoing through the room.

I turned at the noise and saw that Gimit had entered the Warrior’s den, his height no longer seeming so great standing next to one of the red haired lads who had previously been drumming.

“I’m sorry,” I said, turning back to the living memory. To be rude to so many people at once, the very ones I hoped to someday emulate, shamed me to my core.

“Do not worry,” the being said with another smile. “This is a time of great joy. I remember hundreds of first steps into this very room, just as you have done, nearly all of them fondly. It is the beginning of things but also the end of what you once were. For you, the war, and the fight against it, has finally begun, and you have comrades to share that heavy burden with. It is natural that you would be curious as to who they are.”

“Thank you,” I said, appreciating the words but unsure how to proceed. How was this creature, kind and earnest though it seemed to be, going to help me on my journey? The girl in the alcove, whose name I should have asked, had said something about a boon, greater than that which I had already gained. “Is there something I’m supposed to receive from you?”

“That is correct,” the being of light said, looking down at me solemnly now. “It is time for you to choose your first mastery.”