The Tournament

Eliot

Eliot raised his mug of beer clumsily. He was devoting most of his willpower to not losing his balance and falling off the small stage.

  “Fine’ly! We’id it!” He yelled drunkenly over the large crowd. “That elussssive killer hasssss taun-ted us peple of the gloriousssss Metropolis for years, but no more!” Eliot’s half unintelligible speech roused cheers from the crowd, too numbed by the beer to notice the specific words choice.

  Once the king confirmed the seraphim had indeed killed Beelzebub, he publicly announced their death, along with a festival. Every single street in the metropolis supported the foot traffic of a crowd and any place that sold alcohol was more swarmed with people than a piece of food left outside is by flies. Everyone was celebrating the death of Beelzebub.

  Eliot, on the other hand, was not a part of everyone. He was celebrating something else. By the time Eliot got back to his dorm yesterday, there was a discreet note with a time and location on his bedside desk. In fact, the time set is only a few hours away now.

  Eliot, after chasing his speech with two mugs of beer, couldn’t even talk without slurring his words past coherence. This was the first time he ever drank more than half a cup of beer, he usually didn’t have a taste for it; he prefered wine. But today, he was too caught up in the atmosphere to care.

  Eliot stumbled out of the doors with half a mug of beer in his hands, shoving his way through droves of equally inebriated people before collapsing in an alley with some space and blacking out.

  “Wake up!” A painful kick came along with the voice. Eliot let loose a long groan of pain. His whole body ached and his head felt like it was wedged in a squeezing torture device used by inquisitors during the reformation. Eliot grimaced as he dragged himself through the mud like air and leaned against the wall.

  “What is it?” Eliot asked through the pain. The person who woke him up was a monk, bearing the robes of the Monastery of Clouds.

  “Apologies for the rude awakening. Master Camble wants to speak with you,” the monk explained flatley. The day came back to him in a rush and his eyes snapped to the sun. He heaved a sigh of relief, he still had time before he needed to meet with Ellulia.

  “Many thanks for the head ups,” Eliot thanked the monk, who walked away. It was the same with the other monks, they respected his position as Master Camble’s discipulus by treating him like any other monk of the monastery.

  Suddenly, Eliot felt a violent pressure rise in his throat. He keeled over and threw up. Eliot thought he was used to throwing up because of how frequently he drained his mana pool. But this was a different, more painful, experience than he was used to. Eliot sucked in air between his clenched teeth as he mustered the focus needed to cast the cure spell. Surprisingly, Eliot knew how the cure spell felt since before he learned it. It felt exactly like the strange feeling of cold water washing over him he experienced when he was attacked by those assassins, more than a year ago. Once sober, Eliot had no problem casting the cleanse spell and portalling up to the monastery.

  The room of enlightenment was as pristine and beautiful as ever. Eliot’s feet sunk into the soft cloud floor, resembling the idea of how a cloud would feel rather than reality. There was no sun, but the sky was bright and blue as if it was a clear summer day. As usual, the only thing in every direction was endless clouds and sky. Master Camble was sitting at a low table and sipping tea.

  Eliot pressed his left fist into the open palm of his right hand and bowed with a greeting before sitting down and enjoying the delicious tea Master Camble always made.

  “What are your thoughts on the battle?” Master Camble suddenly broke the comfortable silence. It was always peaceful, never awkward, silence.

  “Speaking truthfully… the seraphim were disappointing,” admitted Eliot. Eliot was sure to have his Eye of the Watchers record everything so he could review it after. And review he did, Eliot watched it more than ten times before going to sleep yesterday.

  “Go on,” Master Camble prodded him.

  “I understand that Beelzebub was formidable, but she almost managed to win against the other three seraphim. No matter how you see it, they are simply too weak. I go as far as to say I could best Lobrin in a duel,” Eliot told him. Master Camble smirked at his last comment.

  “While it’s true that Lobrin is not a seraphim because of their fighting prowess, it would be a fatal mistake to underestimate a Demigod. A mistake beneath any discipulus of mine,” Master Camble admonished Eliot for his bold claim. “Unfortunately, it is true that the seraphim are not what they used to be. Arch Mage Chantelle is ill suited for battle, she excels in research more than anything, Klause is best for large scale conflicts, and Lobrin was granted the spot for his political position.”

  “There is one thing I don’t understand,” Eliot said. “Why did you wait so long to join the battle? Even if you were merely organizing them, their teamwork would have gone from non-existent to formidable.” Master Camble almost imperceptibly flinched at the question.

  “It would be unfair for all of us to overwhelm Belzebub,” he ended up saying. Immediately, Eliot knew he was lying. Master Camble was a die hard believer of balance and the circle of life, where survival of the fittest was the only ineluctable rule. Master Camble made it crystal clear many times in the past that the only reason he was merciful and fought ‘properly’ was because he could afford to. Against something as threatening as a dragon, Master Camble wouldn’t hesitate to fight unfairly. Case and point, Master Camble came up with a tactic that ended with Terry the dragon’s still beating heart in his hand before it even reached the Metropolis walls.

  Like the light of the sun surpassing a mountain, Eliot had a realization. Master Camble knows something. Eliot was sure of it. He remembered the weight of Master Camble’s hand on his shoulder before he went into the portal and his facial expressions. The question was, just how much did he know?

  Suddenly, Master Camble turned the tables, “I find it hard to believe you are not interested in the Abyssal Lord.” It didn’t sound like an accusation, but Eliot knew better. Since Ellulia had the actual Beelzebub sealed inside her, why didn’t Beelzebub break free when she died? Eliot knew it was because she never actually died. But that begs the question: Why did all of the seraphim casually walk away if they knew Beelzebub would break free once Ellulia died? And, it was quintessential Eliot to ask about something of that nature, unless he already had access to that information.

  “I assumed that you would berate me for being curious about evil temptations . After all, you did something secret to banish the real Beelzebub before the serial killer died,” Eliot played innocent. For the first time, a heavy silence hung in the air between them.

  Master Camble flowed smoothly to his feet and said, “Let’s begin today’s training.” Eliot stiffened at that. He cast tempus sensus and found that he only had forty minutes until he needed to meet up with Ellulia.

  “Oh, I have an important event at school,” Eliot half lied. He did have an important event he couldn’t miss at school, but that was still four hours away, well after the festival’s end.

  “Then, we should make haste, lest you miss it,” replied Master Camble.

  Nearly an hour later, Eliot lay beaten on the floor and gasping for air. He was beyond relieved when Master Camble announced the end of their session. He was even benevolent enough to let Eliot off without meditating, provided he does it later in the day. Meditating to find his place in the world was what Master Camble used to practically cure Eliot’s anger. It also  had the unintended consequence of further exacerbating his love for knowledge.

  A year ago, Eliot naively thought he was the only one who could meditate in order to replenish his mana supply. In reality, every mage knows how to do it. When he learned this, Eliot asked Master Camble how they differentiate between meditating for mana and meditating for balance. Master Camble responded by instructing him on what meditation actually was. Meditation was simply focusing your consciousness, what you do once you are focused is up to the meditator. In fact, there is a plethora of meditative techniques used for specific purposes. He never actually answered Eliot’s question, but having been his discipulus for so long, Eliot knew that meant Master Camble thought it was obvious. That ticked Eliot off because he was under the impression that nothing in the world was obvious. So he asked Henry and he helpfully told him it was just based on context, the obvious answer Eliot assumed was the case but wanted to make confirm anyways.

  Eliot peeled himself off the ground and portaled to a rooftop near the one they were supposed to meet on. He cast the cleanse spell, sprayed a tad of perfume, fixed his hair, and cast a spell for his breath. Eliot looked down at his simple green cloak and the wool clothes underneath it, regretting not having the forethought to buy some respectable clothes, but not dwelling on the unmodifiable. He started casting the portal spell but stopped halfway through. I’m not ready for this. After all this time… I don’t know if I can keep calm. What if I make myself look like a fool? Eliot stood on the roof for a few minutes, humoring his fears. Fear has two meanings. Forget everything and run or Face everything and rise. The choice is yours, Eliot recited something Master Camble once told him. Afterwards, he laughed at himself for being scared in the first place. It wasn’t like him to be scared or nervous about anything.

  As he stepped through the portal, Eliot almost heaved a sigh of relief when Ellulia wasn’t there, but his relief was quickly eaten by his anger. A man dressed in royal servant attire with a goat’s head and completely black eyes stood in her place.

  “Greetings, Eliot. I am Beelzebub. Ellulia sent me here in her stead to reschedule your meeting. Unfortunately, she was forced to attend a council and is unable to meet. She wants you to know how mournful she is,” Beelzebub chucked quietly as he remembered something. “I hope you believe me when I saw she was truly furious, you should have seen her chew out that poor messenger.” Eliot eyed Beelzebub as he took in the information. He was more than slightly miffed that, once again, she ran away, but he recalled one of Master Camble’s many soothing mantras and took a deep breath.

  “There is no need to reschedule,” Eliot shrugged. “She can come find me whenever she has the opportunity.”

  Beelzebub bowed respectfully and said, “As you wish.” before partially morphing into flames.

  “Wait!” Eliot stopped him, a gleam in his eyes that made even Beelzebub uncomfortable. “You are the Beezlebub, right? The Third Abyssal Lord? Can I ask a few questions?” Beelzebub rolled his goat eyes. Flames bloomed from the edges of his figure and engulfed him in a flare brilliant enough that Eliot could hear the concerned calls of people on the streets and that disappeared as quickly as it came. Eliot lunged toward Beelzebub’s leftover and diminishing flames. He had a giant, goofy smile as he examined the small flame he trapped in a containment spell. The flame oozed secrets as Eliot took in its splendor, the hyaline blue bubble that surrounded it only added to its visual appeal.

  It may seem like Eliot was freaking out over nothing, but any other mage would contemplate assassinating Eliot just to steal the small spirit fire. Spirit fire was half physical flame and half mana. This particular spirit fire was half impossibly dense, concentrated fire that Eliot could assume was imbued with the law of Fire because it was produced by Beelzebub, and half false god quality mana with a fire affinity. Mana rankings, from weakest to strongest, are low, mid, high, pure, Demigod, false god, and god quality. The better the quality of mana, the denser, stronger, and more versatile it was. The only downside to having higher quality mana is the stronger mana signature that comes with it.

  The amount of uses this spirit fire has for a capable mage or even a knowledgeable Martial Arts user was immeasurable. For example, Eliot could use it to give his mana fire affinity or as the core item for a high level ritual. Rituals are extremely powerful spells that require items to power it instead of raw mana. He could even use it as the catalyst for an attack, boosting it to the point that he might be able to mortally wound a mid level Demigod.

  The clinking of armor pulled Eliot out of his trance; the guards arrived. He quickly portaled to Evervail Academy, and stepped out in a long hallway with a main path that led to the main courtyard. He wanted to check the brackets for the team tournament, posted on a board in the main courtyard.

  Before Eliot could gather his bearings, someone ran into him. Eliot caught himself on the wall, but the other person let out a yelp and fell back on the floor.

  The other person was a young looking kid with medium length orchid purple and slightly spiky hair, one and a half meters tall. He had on a lavish magenta purple cloak over tarnished peasant clothing and worn boots. Without even raising his head, the kid got on his knees and bowed.

  “I-I’m so sorry, my lord! I didn’t see you there,” he inordinately apologised.

  “Woah, raise your head. I’m no noble,” said Eliot. The kid raised his head, his eyes immediately fixating on Eliot’s white hair.

  “E-Eliot Relius?” the kid gasped. Eliot flashed a smile as he offered his hand.

  “And you are?” Eliot asked after he helped him up.

  “K-kody… I don’t have a surname,” he answered with his eyes turned down.

  “Why were you running?” Eliot stepped back and stopped trying to make eye contact, pretending to fidget with his coak.

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  “I was on my way to withdraw from the tournament,” Kody said slowly.

  “For what reason?” Eliot continued just as slow.

  “We…” Kody’s eyes were flitting between Eliot and the ground and he unclasped his hands. “For the first round, my team got paired up with the team most likely to win the whole tournament.”

  “What does your team want out of the tournament?” Eliot probed.

  “We never expected to win. We thought… maybe we could gain experience.”

  “It sounds like you lucked out. You would get the best experience against the best team,” Eliot offered. But, Kody shook his head.

  “The problem is-I really look up to someone on that team. I can’t possibly fight them,” he shared. Surprisingly, Eliot found himself relating to his problem. He couldn’t imagine himself truly fighting against Master Camble or Ellulia, not only because they were on friendly terms, but because he looked up to them and their fighting ability. Eliot let out a long and heavy sigh.

  “I hate it when people tell me I have to do something. It makes me want to punch them in the face… But, I think you have to fight them,” Eliot found it difficult to communicate his exact feelings.

  “Why?” Kody asked with wide emerald green eyes.

  “You have to fight them because you look up to them.” Eliot ran a hand through his hair as he searched for the right words. “If you don’t, then you will be stuck at a bottleneck. You won’t be able to really grow stronger, physically and mentally, if you run away.” Kody lowered his head, not because of his shyness but to think on Eliot’s words. After a few tense moments for Eliot, Kody lifted his head with a smile and determination in his eyes.

  “You’re right! Thank you.” Eliot broke out in an ear to ear grin. Kody ran with purpose through the hall and down a fork.

  “Careful about running in the halls!” Eliot called after him.

  Humming a tune, Eliot went out to the main courtyard and checked who he, Henry, and Penelope were against in the first round. The opposing team’s card read, Larkson Lane, Randle Lee, and Kody.

  Four hours later, Eliot was walking with Penelope and Henry to the sparring grounds. As a part of their graduation, the students had to participate in either a team tournament with teams of up to three people or a solo tournament, with the option of participating in both. Of course, Eliot chose both.

  The sparring grounds were dark with the only lights shining brightly on the four extra large dueling squares, surrounded by crowded tiered sitting for the students.

  Everveil Academy only has ten classes, but with varying sizes. Class one has ten students, class two has twenty students, class three has thirty, and so on until class ten with a hundred students. In total, Evervail had five hundred fifty students with minimal space to occupy.

  The trio had plenty of sitting room on the magic bleachers, but they didn’t look for seats at all. Instead, they hugged the first tier and walked right, until they reached a schism that extended into a hallway. At the end of the hallway was a sort of locker room for the teams fighting. Of course, they arrived later than they were supposed to and only just finished preparing by the time an attendant came into the room and called them for their fight. Henry, Eliot, and Penelope were all infected with giddiness as they walked out and heard the cheer of the crowd.

  Eliot opted not to wear anything extra or use any weapons, but he was the outlier as everyone else was dressed in their battle gear. Penelope wore a lustrous chainmail robe with a blue tint and a staff that looked like it was just a giant blade of grass. Henry had light armor on his arms, legs, and feet, but opted not to wear a chest plate or helmet. The armor was a bold yellow and practically pulsing. It was made from fulgur ore, a mineral that easily conducts and draws in electric currents and mana. On the opposing team, Kody had a pair of dark gold gauntlets and wielded a thin staff longer than him that looked to be made entirely out of lava. Larkson had light gray hair with a sharp nose and was more than two meters tall. He wore royal blue leather gear with a matching cape that draped down to the floor. Randle had black hair too short to comb with solid features. He wore normal wool clothing with a red bandanna that waved in nonexistent wind, fingerless leather gloves, and regal looking glasses. He was practically jumping as he stretched his arms, preparing for the fight.

  A calming blue forcefield flickered to life around each arena, all housing six people, that silenced the crowd and focused their attention. Eliot and Kody locked eyes, but Kody looked away when Eliot waved. The crowd chanted a countdown that ended with the boom of a firework and the start of the first round.

  Eliot, Henry, and Penelope had no advanced plans, mostly because they wanted the flexibility to move independently but believed they had the ability to work together on the fly if the situation called for it.

  Eliot dashed after Randle, his blood boiling in anticipation of a good fist fight. But, a thick green haze suddenly descended upon the arena, sealing him off from the word. He knew it was an illusion when he called out for Henry and Penelope, but neither of them responded.

  Illusions all had the easy counter of believing it was fake for it to be ineffective, but this illusion mimicked reality enough that, even though he knew in his head it was fake, Eliot couldn’t convince his senses. The seafoam green gas tickled his arms as he drifted them through it, smelled vaguely of pine, and added a perceptible weight to the air. A sudden blast of heat hit his back, causing him to turn with a woosh through the gas. Eliot realized he might be in trouble when there was nothing behind him, it was all the illusion.

  It was a well known fact that the longer and more direct someone’s senses were fooled by the illusion, the more they were convinced it was real. If Eliot was sufficiently deluded and the illusion user was skilled enough, he could end up suffering real damage from the illusion.

  Outside of the illusion, Penelope and Henry saw Eliot reacting to something that wasn’t there.

  “Eliot is in an illusion,” Henry told Penelope as he unsheathed his sword and prepared to ward off Randle, who was running toward them.

  “Already on it,” confirmed Penelope as she began the cast of a spell to bring Eliot back to the real world. It was then that Randle reached Henry and jumped as he pulled back his fist.

  “Don’t think I’ll-” Randle’s words were cut off as he momentarily disappeared and emerged the next second in front of Penelope. “-Let you off easy!” Penelope canceled her spell casting and raised her staff horizontally, somehow blocking his punch despite its fragile appearance. The force of the punch pushed against Penelope, causing her knees to bend, but she managed to heave Randle back and prepare for the next attack. Randle’s blows were fast and powerful, but Penelope could see he was being boosted by a spell. Her eyes flicked to Henry, noting that he wasn’t in a position to help her. So, she resolved herself to defence while slowly casting a spell with a small part of her concentration.

  Henry turned on his heel and started casting a small spell that would render Randle immoble for a few seconds, when his chest jerked forward. He was hit with a laser from Larkson that momentarily made him breathless, falling to his knees. A flash of purple mana reached the corner of Henry’s eyes, and he rolled to his left just in time to dodge a second laser. Now on his back, facing Larkson, he saw hundreds of small balls of mana scattered in the air. With a gesture, they turned into more laser beams, zipping at Henry. He pushed himself to his feet and ran, casting a spell to boost his speed while ducking, diving, and twisting. Luckily, Henry was confident he could keep dodging until Larkson ran out of mana, but he couldn’t spare any effort to help Penelope or Eliot. Like that, they were successfully split into unfavorable matchups.

  Eliot hissed as he patted his searing clothes. Kody’s attacks were few and far between, but Eliot was hit by every single one, and they only seemed to be growing in strength. Eliot was smiling, though, he couldn’t remember the last time he was in such a dire situation, forcing his brain to expend every resource in order to think of a way to turn the tables. Another attack hit his left arm with a crunch as it broke his bone and splattered his blood through the air. It was then that Eliot had an idea. Just in time, too, it looked like he wouldn’t be able to survive another hit.

  If he was perfectly convinced that the illusion was real, could he react with it? Eliot had his doubts, but he vaguely remembered reading something along the lines of beginner illusionists making that mistake.

  Eliot manipulated his mana to seep into the shadows and turn them solid before slamming to the ground, taking the green gas with it. Kody’s face of concentration morphed into one of panic as he was revealed only five meters away. Eliot reacted immediately. Form four!, he labeled in his head. Eliot jumped the distance between them and pushed on Kody’s raised staff with a downward kick. Eliot ignored the pain from coming from the sweltering heat and strained his muscles to their limit. As Eliot added more force, the ground split and spiderwebbed at Kody's feet, but he refused to back down either. Kody and Eliot put their all into the struggle, completely evenly matched, sending surges of destructive force into the ground. Unfortunately, Kody’s equipment couldn’t compete, and his staff snapped in twain. Kody’s green Mage’s Armor flared up and shattered as Eliot’s foot slammed the back of Kody’s head, sending it, and the rest of his body, crashing against the ground with a bang.

  Eliot looked at Kody in a new light, his small figure housed more strength and skill than he expected. If Kody’s staff had not snapped, he would have eventually ran out of force and fell from the air, wide open to attacks. Of course, Eliot made a few mistakes as well. If he just casted the fly spell as he jumped, all of his problems would be solved.

  Eliot contemplated checking Kody’s injuries, but he knew the supports would have it covered. Instead, he switched his focus to the rest of the arena, looking past the gradually fading illusion.

  Henry slammed his right foot down to stop himself, just in time to dodge a beam that shattered the arena ground. With each shot, the lasers were rising in accuracy. Luckily, Henry thought of an idea; he cast a spell on a rock near his feet and kicked it as hard as he could. The rock gained a sheen of electricity and blasted through the air, aided by the spell. It lost its sheen of electricity as it passed through a pale lightning barrier set up by Larkson in advance, but made it through in the end. Larkson’s concentration broke as it slapped his face, causing the mana scattered through the air to fade. Henry was on him before Larkson could recover, thrusting his sword, aimed at Larkson’s chest. Larkson cast a prepared spell that propelled him backwards, but Henry finished casting the fly spell soon after and easily followed him. Before Larkson could get back on his feet, Henry diagonally slashed his sword. Blood flowed from a deep gash that spanned from Larkson’s right shoulder to the left of his waist. Utilizing the lapse in attention from Larkson’s pain, Henry twisted his sword and slapped Larkson’s chin with the flat part of his sword. He followed up by placing his left hand against Larkson’s chest and casting a force spell that sent him crashing against the blue barrier of the arena, knocking him unconscious.

  During this exchange, Penelope was busy defending against Randle. Every twenty seconds or so Randle would teleport to a new location and attempt to catch Penelope off guard. Penelope, focusing on nothing but arcana and the church, was by far the most experienced and skilled on their team when it came to spells. She knew Ranlde was using the space shift spell, a spell that would shift space within a three meter radius and looks to the untrained eye like teleporting. Space shift has a longer casting time, but a low mana cost. Unfortunately, Penelope could discern that Randle has nearly mastered the spell, cutting the casting time down significantly. Penelope saw through Randle’s tactic at the beginning of their exchange and instantly picked a spell from her large collection.

  Penelope mentally prepared herself, similar to a fighter tensing their muscles before an attack, and successfully cast Temporal seal right before Randle cast space shift. Temporal seal locked down the space around the caster, completely neutralizing any spacial abilities that weren’t used by someone exceedingly stronger than the caster. Randle was perfectly caught off guard and lost his balance. Penelope used the small window to lift her staff like a javeline and throw it at Randle. As it grew near him, the staff split into hundreds of thin leaf vines that wrapped around and ensnared him. To win, a team had to render everyone on the enemy team unable to fight, or make them surrender. With that in mind, Penelope kicked Randle over and cast a complicated array of force spells that jostled Randle violently enough to make him unconscious.

  When the illusion totally cleared, Eliot was met with Penelope and Henry casually sitting on the arena ground.

  “You sure took your time,” remarked Henry. Eliot took in the broken arena and the two unconscious bodies being tended by supports.

  “You didn’t hold back on the poor kid,” said Penelope as she saw Kody lying unconscious in a crater.

  Eliot raised his good arm as he defended himself, “You have it backwards. He almost killed me!” A support interrupted their conversation, telling them to change in the room from before and leave the arena. Eliot stayed behind because of his injuries.

  “That… is peculiarly,” murmured the support mage healing Eliot.

  “Is something wrong?” Eliot asked.

  “Your wounds are taking extra effort to heal. Don’t worry you’ll be fine when I’m finished,” the support assured him.

  Eliot knew Kody had something to do with it. Obviously, he was the one who injured Eliot, but less obviously, Kody’s mana was tainted. Prior to specializing, all mages had gray mana. The only reason they wouldn’t is if it was tainted by something. Having tainted mana was not necessarily bad, in fact it usually added a quality to the mana and didn’t affect the mage when they specialized. The interesting thing Eliot was stuck on was: every method he could think of that resulted in tainted mana was exceptionally dangerous or extraordinary.

  “Hey…” a weak voice called for Eliot’s attention. Eliot twisted his neck and saw Kody walking towards him.

  “Hey!” Eliot cheerfully greeted him. Kody took a seat on Eliot’s left.

  “I want to thank you, for convincing me to fight,” shared Kody. “I never actually interacted with her, but it still feels as if I did.” Eliot slightly jumped at his words.

  “By her… do you mean Penelope?”

  Kody gave him a look and said, “Yes. Who did you think I was talking about?” Eliot thought Kody looked up to him.

  “I assumed you looked up to Henry, he is the crown prince, after all,” Eliot lied. Kody quietly laughed at that before giving an awkward goodbye and leaving. Eliot could help but laugh at himself after he left. Eliot assumed Kody was embarrassed about letting Eliot know that he looked up to him. It never entered his mind that he could be talking about Henry or Penelope.

  A few minutes later, when the trio was walking back to Henry and Eliot’s dorm room, someone called for Penelope.

  “L-Lady Evergreen!” They all stopped and Penelope looked for the voice’s owner. Obviously it was Kody, breaking away from his team and running over to them.

  “Yes?” Penelope asked in a confused tone.

  “You probably don’t remember me, but you saved my life, f-four years ago. And I wanted to properly thank you.” Kody looked so nervous that he might be mistaken for someone confessing their love. Suddenly, Penelope’s face lit up like a firework.

  “Oh my-Kody? Is that you? You’ve grown so much!” she exclaimed as she wrapped him in a bear hug. Kody was tomato red when she let go and Penelope had tears in her eyes. “Why did you disappear?” asked Penelope, her face turning angry.

  “I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t keep taking advantage of you. I had to survive on my own,” Kody tried to make her see it from his perspective. Henry sent Eliot a inquisitive glance, Eliot just shrugged.

  Seeing Henry’s face, Kody explained, “I was an orphan taken in by the church for the first few months of my life. When they learned that I was part demon, they wanted to kill me. Lady Evergreen came to my rescue and argued for my life. I ended up being cast out, but she personally took me in. Once I was old enough to survive, I left so I would stop being a burden on her.”

  “That was four years ago! Can you believe he did that? I was so worried!” said Penelope, still angry at Kody.

  “Four years ago? Why does it sound as if Kody was still a baby?” Henry asked.

  “I was a baby,” Kody answered. “Going by the church’s calendar, I’m four years old. My demon bloodline makes me grow faster than humans.” Before anyone could say anything else, Penelope started grilling Kody about his health like a mother would her child. In the end, Penelope left with Kody to ensure he was living healthily. For the first few fights, every team only participated in one match per day. Meaning Eliot and Henry had the rest of the day free.

  Eliot gave an excuse to Henry before splitting up with him and walking to a quiet corner of the academy. He ended up in the same area where Henry, Penelope, and his parents met, with a cherry blossom tree and bench. After a few minutes of waiting, someone in a blue cloak gracefully landed in the middle of the stone pattern on the floor. Ellulia turned and lowered her hood. Eliot's heart slammed against his chest like an insane prisoner. Her smile made a warm feeling well up in Eliot's chest and the light seemed to collect around her like a goddess.

  “Hello, Eliot.” Her voice was so soothing that it made Eliot's brain go blank.