Boots echoed on hard stone as the Inspectors crested the stairs onto the deeply Shrouded streets of the 11th Inkhold District.

Kint glanced at Elsha.

There was a determination in her eyes he had never seen before.

Things felt different.

In their time as partners, the two had simply meandered together. Comfortable, Passive.

Now they were moving. Striding in lockstep on their way to the unknown.

It was invigorating.

A group of rowdy laborers passed them on the street. This late in the morning, the arena was the most likely place they’d be heading. The two inspectors followed.

Ten minutes they traveled without speaking a word. It was beginning to grow uncomfortable.

"Kint?" Elsha started, breaking the tension.

"Yes?" He replied, glancing over.

"Back at HQ..."

She paused, a perplexed look on her face.

"What was all that about dreams?"

The senior Inspectors lips turned down to a frown.

"Why do you ask?"

"When the Crier mentioned it, your reaction was… off putting.”

She met his eyes.

“Is there something I need to know?”

Kint grimaced, looking away.

"I don't know yet." He admitted, "Everyone in the District… They just seem so tired. Doesn’t feel natural.”

Her brow furrowed.

"Not natural?"

"Like I said, I don't know." He shrugged. "I know as much as you do at this point. Seemed like The Crier might know more."

She stared at him with those beautiful dark eyes, inspecting him, weighing his words.

Elsha nodded, accepting his answer… for now.

He felt a pang of guilt for not telling her about his own dreams. But it was too much, too soon. It would only muddy the waters.

The silence descended again, that tension still taught between them.

After another few minutes, they began to hear the distant roars of raucous crowds.

Turning a corner, they finally got a view of the Arena.

It was massive.

A true feast of the eyes.

The design looked simple, yet it’s creation was anything but.

The Arena was made from a single Mage Grown Tree.

An Enfolding Tree, to be exact. Specially bred by Life Mages to make stadiums and theaters. Shaped like two hands enfolded to create a bowl, branches jutting into the air to create a three quarters sphere.

The thoroughfare expanded as people entered from all sides.

As they neared the view became clearer.

The structure looked like a large green and brown goblet.

A massive archway created the main entrance through the center, where gamblers, drunkards, and general patrons entered in droves.

Kint and Elsha veered right making their way to the preferred seating entrance, a much smaller door for VIP’s only.

There were two acolytes standing at the arched entrywas. They were dressed in the Black and Yellow of house Inkhold.

One wore the uniform far better than the other.

"Hold up there."

The sharp dressed Acolyte raised a hand.

"This is Lord Echrus' section, only those of his court are allowed entry."

"His Court." Elsha snickered.

The other Acolyte perked up.

He had dark greasy hair, face slick with sweat.

Kint could smell the liquor on him.

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the Black Seal Sidgel.

"We're here on Orders from Lord Crecius."

The more polished Acolyte took the sigil, analyzing it.

"Looks real enough." He nodded, gesturing to his partner. "Go on Crishy, let 'em through."

The drunkard stood from his leaning position against the wall.

“Hold on a second." He slurred, shuffling slightly to regain his balance. "How would a country lout like you know if that's the real thing?" He questioned, eyes following the shining seal. "Have you ever even seen one before?"

"Why would someone fake a Black Seal?" The Acolyte replied, skeptical.

"I dun know." Crishy mumbled, swaying. "But I don' like the look of these two."

He pointed a wobbly finger between Kint and Elsha.

"Oh Shut up, ya Bastard." His partner chided.

He grabbed the black Iron door, swinging it open.

"Go ahead you two."

The man gestured through the archway.

"Just wait till the match is over before seeking an audience." He advised.

The Inspectors quickly shuffled through the gate as the Acolytes continued arguing behind them.

"What?!" The drunk complained, "I was just doin' my job."

"And what a job it is, Crish. What a job it is…"

The low hum of audience chatter grew louder as they climbed the stairs into the Arena, blocking out the bickering men.

Kint shielded his eyes. The sun was bright in the green goblet, The Shroud, almost non-existent.

Outside, the Enfolding Tree looked like interlocking hands. From inside, it was an eye. The creeping branches at Arena’s edge like eyelashes.

The white sand of the battlegrounds were empty, but the stands were packed to the brim.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

"Echrus is holding back the Shroud." Elsha noted.

"They can do that?" Kint asked.

She nodded.

"Master Water, Wind, and Fire Mages can."

The Senior Inspector shook his head. An incredible power to use for sport.

Elsha pointed a hand across the Arena.

"Look."

Kint followed her finger toward where a tear duct would be on the eye. There was a large box encased in flowing curtains of black and yellow.

"That's where we’re going."

Kint nodded.

They began making their way to the box. The Stands above them were filled with visiting Blessed and wealthy Merchants, caked with tanning powder.

Below them, the cacophony of thousands of unruly Kadenites rumbled.

In Mule Districts there were no entrance fees for Kadenites at the Arena. Food and drink were plentiful in that section. All free of charge.

As they approached the Lord's viewing area, two large robed Acolytes stepped up to meet them.

Kint held out the golden sigil, trying to move past.

A thick hand pushed against his chest.

"Hold on." The dark haired guard commanded.

He pointed across to the other corner of the Arena where a tall man in a black and gold suit stepped onto an open platform. The man's gloved hands rested on a cane.

He banged the cane to the platform twice. The sound echoed around the space like thunder, grabbing the attention of the waiting patrons.

The Arena quieted. With the eyes and ears of the audience wrapped around him, the Ringmaster raised his cane, golden handle glinting in the sunlight. He slammed it to the stone once more. The blow sounded across the stadium, and as its echo's ricocheted, the frictional sound of stone grinding against stone began.

The sharply dressed Acolyte, and his platform, began to move.

"Have a seat." The burly Acolyte suggested, pointing to some chairs outside the Lord’s box.

Kint grimaced, smelling liquor on this man’s breath as well, but he did as he was told.

They took their seats, leaning up against the guardrail for a better view.

The Ringmasters platform continued its slow extension, moving to the edge of the bleeding ground. The man himself remained still, propelled like a ship through smoky wisps of waning Shroud.

When the platform finally stopped, the crowd grew still, the Ringmaster pointing, drawing their attention to the Lords box.

Kint followed the gesture, seeing an open hand poking through black and yellow curtains.

The hand clenched to a fist, and any Shroud that remained evaporated.

A roar of approval went up from the crowd, their lust for blood rising.

The Ringmaster raised his hands in praise for the power of their Lord.

As the cheers died, the Ringmaster smiled, sun blazing down behind him.

He raised a hand.

The crowd went silent.

"Welcome, Patrons!"

His voice carried like a song across the stadium.

"Today we have witnessed many bouts of terrific violence with sword and spear..."

Cheers went up from the crowd.

"But now it is time... for the main event."

An anticipatory whisper rippled through the audience.

"The Trials of Anjir!"

Thunderous roars raged through the Kadenites.

Kint could feel the energy vibrating through his feet.

"Three Trials, to celebrate the Prophet's Final Blessing."

The crowd was entranced by his words. Already hanging on every syllable.

"A thousand years have passed since the Prophet finally showed his fist to the Anjiri. On that day, in a flash of heat and suffering, Halvash Ignus turned the living city of Alveerion to blasted lands of crimson sand.”

A ripple went through the crowd, solemn nods of approval.

“With one hand, he stained the earth with our enemies' blood, sending the hated Anjiri back to their old ways of liquor and spice. With the other, he blessed his Apostles with the unmatched power of Wave Energy… The power of Magic."

The crowd was silent, captured by the story, held at bay by the importance of the tradition.

The Acolyte pointed back to the Lord's box.

"So today, in celebration of that great feat, we bring you the same. Blood and Power!"

The dam broke.

Roars ripped through the crowd.

The Ringmaster smiled.

"From below me," The man said, pointing to the arched gate beneath his platform, "Will come our first Challenger."

A chorus of boo's sang across the stadium.

"An Earth Mage known across the Noveriat. The Thunderous Crafter, Kalashoon Haze!"

The boo’s grew to a crescendo as the gate below the Ringmaster rose, revealing a muscular bald man in white flowing robes with cutoff sleeves.

The man strode into the Arena, each step landing with purpose, feet gripping the earth like cactus needles. As he neared the center of the white sand bleeding grounds, he looked up and bowed to the Lord.

He was smiling, confident.

"And fighting in our Blessed Arena for the 6th time." The Ringmaster continued.

The excitement of the crowd began to rise.

"One of our Lord's favorite champions."

Another rumble. The applause pitched higher.

"The Miracle Shaper from Kadenite Stock. The Ice Walker herself, Tenveer Alatash!"

The crowd exploded.

Rapturous applause drowned out all other sounds.

People grabbed each other in excitement, as a stern looking girl in dirty laborers clothes stepped into the arena from an archway that dwarfed her.

She strode with careful steps, subdued, like she was gliding across the sand.

"God’s... She’s the Champion?" Elsha exclaimed. "And six times over?"

Kint was surprised as well. A Shaper level mage should never be able to compete with a Crafter. This difference in Well size alone was exponential.

"Have you heard of her?" Kint asked, glancing at this partner.

She shook her head.

“What about him?”

Kint glanced at the brutish challenger on the other side of the ring.

"Never." She replied, “But if he’s the sixth challenger they’ve had in here, he must be expensive.”

Kint grunted a reply.

The two Trial takers moved to the center of the bleeding grounds, approaching for either end of the stadium.

"Still, " Elsha continued, "A Crafter against a shaper? This must be some sort of scripted performance. To keep moral up, or something like that."

Kint had to agree with her. There were two tiers of magic when it came to Wave Energy, and the difference between them was stark.

Wavers and Shapers were in the bottom tier. They had access to whatever magic they had an aptitude for, like fire and ice, but their wells were too small for anything more than menial factory jobs or sending messages through the network pipes like the courier. The only difference between Wavers and Shapers was that of control. Shapers had greater aptitude, and thus more control, which meant they could apply for more skilled trades like glass shaping and stone forging. Kadenites were almost exclusively Waver and Shaper Class mages.

Crafter and Master class mages were of a higher tier, with Wells of magic of exponentially greater capacity. Crafters alone could move tons of earth with ease, or conjure flaming whips like Elsha had at the Syfeeli residence. But, they struggled with control of their power, often needing magical tools, like his partner's domination rod, to control their magic. Masters were Mages like Lord Crecius. With aptitudes great enough to control multiple magic tools at once and lower the temperature in a room with a thought. This higher of Crafters and Masters were exclusively occupied by the Blessed as a part of the Prophet’s final wish.

To think that a measly Kadenite Shaper could overcome the Well gap and defeat a Crafter? It seemed impossible to Senior Inspector.

But still, six wins in a row.

Kint had a hard time believing that any Lord would let a Kadenite get this far on purpose.

He gritted his teeth, curiosity getting the better of him.

The Inspector covered his eyes as if to block out the sun. He let his mind clear, as the Silent State reshaped his perceptions.

Six wins…

How had she done it?

He analyzed the girl. Her clothes, the tattered sleeveless shirt. It was more like a repurposed sack. The shorts were much the same. The only weapon she had was a small curved knife hung on her belt. But the boots…

He smiled.

"Fighters!" Cried the Ringmaster from his perch.

Those boots were of a much newer cut, far more expensive. They gave away the game, telling him the rest of the outfit must be for show.

Still… defeating six Crafters…

"Are you ready?" Asked the Ringmaster.

The two fighters nodded.

Kint glanced at Elsha. Her eyes were locked on the ring below.

She wouldn’t notice if he…

Kint made a decision, dipping into that tantalizing well of power in his chest. Enjoying the fiery energy as it entered his eyes.

The world was awash with color as its many auras became visible to him.

The dark walls of the Arena glowed with a heavy green, the platform upon which the Acolyte stood shone with a subtle white glow, the very air in the Stadium had a bluish tinge to it, thick with the power of the Lord.

He honed in on the Trial takers. His eyes were immediately drawn to the Challenger.

An earthy gray aura burned around him, the power of a Crafter on full display. It rippled like a wildfire, singeing the air with its energy.

Kint was impressed.

He shifted his gaze to the girl.

The Inspector frowned.

The difference was stark. Her Azure blue aura flowed smooth around her body, hugging tight to her skin, while the Challenger's aura engulfed him like uncontrollable flame. It was a mismatch of such epic proportions that Kint could feel malice in its making.

And yet…

"She's gonna win." Kint muttered, quickly dropping his Dowsing as Elsha looked over.

"Why do you say that?" She asked.

He grinned, gesturing to the white sands below.

“Watch.”

The games were about to begin.

"Fighters!” The Ringmaster called.

“You are to begin on the word of our Lord."

All eyes shifted to the opulent box.

"Begin."