As Chaths sat the mystics before him wore their discomfort openly, Sia and Timi most of all.

Defeat had robbed both of the lustrous joviality they’d animated themselves with before. Restorative relics had removed the cuts and cracked bones that marred them, he saw, but even a layman would have noticed their reduced spirits.

None enjoyed being crushed before a public eye. That their defeat had come just moments before Amelia proved the alphoe’s fallibility had surely only served to worsen the effect.

“Does this mean we’re all going to get along again?” Simona asked, lounging across a sofa as she asked. Chaths didn’t hide his glare as he turned to her, nor the disgusted curling of his lip.

There had always been a feline air to the girl, even from the moment he’d met her. It was only her task with the Gemini that had revealed the predatory streak lying beneath the surface. All had been distant from the crimson-clad dakaran since then. If it had bothered her, she’d given no hint of the fact.

“It means you’re going to do as you’re fucking told.” Chaths answered, fighting to keep anger from shaking his voice. He needed solidity more than anything.

The dakaran seemed unaffected.

“I see. Well that’s news to me.” She practically purred her response, shifting languidly on her seat. “How exactly do you intend to enforce such a command?”

It was clear to Chaths she was mocking him, but he could think of no solution.

An open challenge was something he could deal with in the heat of battle, where adrenaline made the unthinkable obvious and the despicable understood. But they were far from combat, and the only way he could imagine Simona might pay heed to his words was if he were to bolster their weight with the force of his magic.

Such a thing could escalate, and he wasn’t sure the monster would stop retaliating until he’d rendered her unable. Broken bones in any of their number so close to the task would practically forfeit it.

“It doesn’t matter.” He said instead, smiling. “Because, vicious animal though you are, you’re also a tame one. If you can’t reign yourself in when commanded then the rest of us have no need to fight alongside you. It’s just not worth it.”

With a grin that sparked fury in the deepest parts of Chaths’ mind, the dakaran seemed ready to answer. He cut her off harshly.

“And believe me when I say the only reason I haven’t crushed the bones of your legs into dust already is because we still need you to win.”

Had there been any blood visible in Simona’s face, it would surely have drained at that. She said nothing more as he delivered the threat, simply continued to eye him with her visceral stare.

Eventually, she would move against him. Be it in a calculated manner or an impulsive one. Simona would find herself unable to allow Chaths to go unpunished for crossing her. He’d need to watch out for that when the time came.

The girl would destroy him, were she to attack with the element of surprise.

Turning back to the rest, he saw worry plaguing them. An expected outcome, and unavoidable. All Chaths could do was abate it in the moment.

“Right.” He said, strengthening his voice as much as he could. “We’ve not been doing so well, have we?”

In truth, he knew they were. The most recent note had revealed their placement as second in the Sieve, behind only Team Tenzo and still notably ahead of Team Gemini. Fear had a galvanising effect wherever it took root, however, and Chaths wasn’t above making use of it.

“I take full responsibility for our more recent shortcomings, and, as chance would have it, this latest task provides us with a perfect chance to undo the mistake that caused them.”

He allowed himself a grin.

“I’m going to take part along with the rest of you, after all. The enemy barely has a chance.”

There was no flicker of hope, as he’d aimed to incite. Worry didn’t evaporate at his words, nor did courage harden. Still, Chaths saw a steeliness appear behind his teammate’s eyes. It was enough for him to work with.

“We’re going up against Team Gemini.” Genro cut in, seeming entirely unmoved. “And the Gemini herself has had time to recover from the last task she fought in.”

He glanced at Simona, the rest of the room’s eyes following his. Twisting with disgust as the girl smirked. Pulling his gaze back to Chaths, the boy continued.

“Are you so sure you can beat her? She is… Well, the Gemini.”

It was an expected response, sewing doubt in an instant. Chaths spoke hurriedly to dispel it.

“People always mention the Gemini’s talent.” He answered. “Never her age. Why is that? The girl’s not even entered her golden years yet, she’s fourteen. Granted I’ve been in mine for barely a year myself, but that’s still by far enough of a difference to close the gap.”

A silence held for moments, parting as Timi spoke too. She looked no less sceptical than Genro.

“Are you so certain it will make the difference up?”

Of course it will. Chaths found himself thinking. I’m a prodigy myself, just how advanced do you think the girl is?

He kept the thought to himself. Drawing attention to his own gifts would only inspire resentment.

“Trust me.” He said. “The Gemini has a long way to go before she’s untouchable. She entered this contest a year before anyone else would have been allowed, Kaiosyni herself considered that a damned big disadvantage. And my mentor concurred. There is a reason she left her first task in he state she did.”

Just like that, Chaths saw, he had them.

***

Chaths awoke the next day amid doubt and worry, task looming just hours ahead of him. Thoughts churning around what little emptiness he’d achieved for his mind the day before.

Fingers moved to his slate as he changed, cold stone proving an unexpected comfort. Promising his accumulated credits and access to the balance-shifting reliquary. It was all he could do not to rush and spend them.

There would be time for that, he knew. Time when the Sieve was in its final stages, doubtless just a few more tasks away. When Chaths could use his stockpiles to either tip the scales and gain an edge, or hold them steady and maintain one.

Time when he’d hate himself, had he already burned his reserves away in a moment of impulsive panic.

Sobering with the thought, he left his quarters swiftly. Exiting the Crux, he summoned a carriage and stepped in- leaving the cool morning air outside and leaning back in the seat as he waited out his journey. The vehicle’s constant rattling, if nothing else, kept him from falling back into a slumber. Somehow he struggled to find solace in the fact.

It didn’t take long for him to arrive.

Decrepit architecture and filth-encrusted streets made a poor greeting for him, but he pressed on. The directions to the inn were already seared in his memory from previous visits, and Chaths was pleased for the haste they gave him in traversing the slum.

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It wasn’t lost on him how empty the place was, even leagues from Tamaias’ battle. Nor was there any difficulty in realising why. A city’s expenses could often kill more in the wake of such things than the destruction itself.

Eyes were on him as he moved, leaving him keenly aware of how he wore his wealth. Chaths hurried his step in answer.

He found the building, knocked, entered. Scaled the stairs and pushed through the first door to find Rajah standing. The sight was such a shock, Chaths almost made to topple his mentor as if he were sleeping like usual.

Mute, he merely stared at the Demigod. Waiting for speech to break the quiet.

“I’ve been expecting you.” Rajah said, shoulder to Chaths and eyes to the small, narrow window built into one corner of the low ceiling.

“Don’t pretend to be mystical and prophetic.” He answered. “Of course you were expecting me. I’ve always come to visit you on the day of a task.”

Rajah turned at that, a smile moving the corner of his mouth in open, unapologetic amusement. His eyes seemed aglow.

“Does knowing the methods make it any less magical?”

Closing the door, Chaths answered with as much energy as he could muster.

“Yes, actually. Not knowing how something works is how we define magic.”

“Interesting.” Rajah mused. “A nice explanation for a street rat.”

“Rat.” Chaths answered. “An odd comparison for someone who’s never been within ten feet of one.”

They shared a grin. The silence lasted only a few heartbeats before congealing around Rajah, his face growing more serious than Chaths could remember seeing.

“You’re here for advice?” He asked..

“I’m not sure why I’m here.” Chaths answered honestly. “It just felt right to come.”

“Right and convenient.” The Demigod muttered. “I’d been meaning to speak with you regardless.”

Immediately Chaths glared at his mentor.

“Did you summon me so that you could do so?”

Twice he'd felt a sudden compulsion to act, finding out only later that it was the work of his mentor's Manamicism. Eyebrow arched, the Immortal studied him. Amused.

“I didn’t.” He said. “Though now that you mention it, that might not have been such a bad idea. It certainly would have brought you to me quickly…”

“What did you want to talk about?” He grunted, drawing a chuckle from Rajah. The Immortal looked back out through the window, thinking again. Chaths knew better than to interrupt. He’d speak eventually, but on his own time. As always.

“Do you know why I took you in?” The Demigod asked, question stunning Chaths. He stared wide-eyed at his mentor for seconds before the answer came to him.

“You sensed my talent.” He said. “Realised how great it was, and decided that it was worth training up.”

They’d never discussed the matter, but it hadn’t been hard for Chaths, even as a child, to notice that seemingly every other Immortals’ ward was a magical prodigy of some magnitude or another. The truth had made itself obvious before long.

Yet Rajah shook his head at hearing it voiced.

“I’d feared you thought that.” He said, tone flat. Voice hollow. “It’s a natural conclusion for you to have reached, I suppose, but nonetheless a wrong one. I didn’t choose to take you in because of some assessment I made of your abilities. Magic hasn’t been so important to me for centuries.”

Chaths struggled to find an answer for that, not liking the sudden gravity of their talk at all.

“Why then?” He asked.

Again Rajah took his time, though waiting for the inevitable reply was suddenly like inhaling smoke. Chaths felt himself urged to speak, to march across the room, shake his mentor and demand he respond.

Even he had no idea where it stemmed from.

“Because you seemed like a good kid.” The Demigod answered at last, a shrug accompanying his confession. “Smart, resourceful. Desperate, as most were in your position, yet still carrying with you an unbroken nugget of decency. I couldn’t bring myself to turn you back out onto the streets.”

Chaths didn’t know what to make of the answer, so he simply stood and listened. Ignoring the emotions it sparked, finding them too big to deal with.

Again Rajah turned, and the granite expression across his face froze Chaths where he stood.

“I’m telling you this because I want to make sure you understand that there are things in this world more important than the supernatural and your mastery over it. Because I’ve seen a thousand gifted children destroy themselves with ambition and madness thinking otherwise.”

“I know better than that.” Chaths snapped. The fury of Rajah’s answer surprised him.

“No you don’t.” The Demigod growled. “No one does at your age. You think magic is a work of beauty, no strings attached. You haven’t seen it in the wrong hands, even if you’ve heard accounts. Haven’t watched what it can do to worsen the world rather than better it. You’re barely sixteen.”

Rage dying as soon as it had appeared, Rajah sighed. Shoulders slumping as he continued weakly.

“It’s by far the cruelest facet of nature that such power finds itself in the hands of ones as young as you, but it’s an unavoidable truth all the same.”

Raising his grassy eyes to meet Chaths’ stare, the Demigod continued.

“I’m telling you this, my boy, because you are a true prodigy of magic. I’ve walked this world for millennia and found few who could contest your gift. Were it not for the Awakening there’d be maybe five mystics born every century to rival it. You’ve always known you were talented, but I’m telling you that you barely knew the beginning.”

“And why am I finding this out now?” He demanded, shock subsiding and thoughts sharpening. “You think you’re going to be killed, don’t you? That whoever executed Tamais will target you next.”

Rajah smiled, eyes seeming to glow as he studied Chaths.

“Quick today, aren’t you?”

“Answer the question.” He snapped. “I’m in no mood for your games, not now. “

Sighing, the Demigod spoke.

“I do not.” He answered. “My reasons for telling you now are my own, and I won’t share them no matter how much you complain. It’s just important to me, now above all other times, that you realise how great your potential is. If nothing else so you can begin tempering it.”

It was, Chaths realised, almost an answer in and of itself. But he doubted his mentor would make such a mistake. There was surely something going unsaid for every fact he gleaned.

“I’m leaving then.” He said, turning and storming out amid a whirlwind. He didn’t regret his exit until the building was behind him.

Fucking Immortals. Chaths thought.

Crow practically burned as he neared the arena, body already a shaking mess. It was comforting, in a bizarre way. Familiar if nothing else, and a sure sign that his mind would soon sharpen. Muscles soon tighten.

He felt the fibres jump with every dip or leap in the crowd’s cries, as if they gave timing to the involuntary adrenal spasms seizing him. There was no relaxation to be found, regardless of how Crow tried to seek it out. Breathing, blinking, even imagining himself in a haven. Apprehension pierced every mental trick he tried.

All that registered in Crow’s thoughts were his walk through the stadium and the destination ahead, Sorafin stood statue-still as he waited

Just the man’s sight brought back memories of their conversation days prior, the mysterious offer rising in the sea of Crow’s mind to leave him conflicted and uncertain yet again.

The task’s introduction passed as a mess in his thoughts, scattered memories barely solidifying enough to grasp the key details as they were repeated. It took minutes or less before Sorafin stepped back, gesturing for the event to start with a single, almost contemptuously effortless wave of his hand.

Walls lurched up from the ground like spears thrust skyward, kissing and intersecting to leave great stone lines bifurcating the stage. In seconds Crow stood amid a single corridor, the expansive area around him cut off from sight as yet more structures sprouted across its face.

He felt the pull of translocative magic distantly, finding it mild and almost superficial compared to the previous instances. There was barely time enough to wonder whether he was growing used to it before the magic succeeded in whisking him through space amid a kaleidoscope of colours bleeding from a wound in the world itself.

It almost slipped his notice how the crowd’s unending cheers grew quiet and blunt, slowly nearing the level left by miles of distance, then leagues. Then, finally, vanished altogether.

The ground was hard and coarse underfoot as he landed again, its face crafted purely from stone. Crow was glad to finally keep his balance.

Gladder still when the shakiness of his transport dispersed, leaving a clear and level head to study the stage around him.

The first thing that struck him was a weight about his torso, looking down he found the expected gleam of golden bands, carved into a thick breastplate. His lifeline, anchor in the stage and potential point of defeat. Should he allow it to break. Not intending to, Crow moved his gaze on.

He found no ceiling to the great walls, nor any structures above them. Taking off at a sprint towards one end of the corridor, he found himself emerging in another.

Walls intersecting walls, he’d glimpsed in the stage’s formation, but it was only that that let him recognise it for what it was. He continued heedless, desperate to prove himself wrong. Failing even as he ran with the aid of magic.

No building was built with such a maddening layout on any of its floors. No city would yield it, even were one to frame each of its streets in the hard grey stone.

Crow had been placed in a giant maze.