The midday sun beat down upon the castle grounds, its rays glinting off polished armor and freshly oiled bows. The final round of the archery competition was underway, and the air buzzed with the excited chatter of onlookers. Merchants peddled roasted meats and honeyed breads to eager buyers, while nobles in finely embroidered tunics observed from shaded pavilions.

Standing atop the battlements, a cloaked figure watched the proceedings with keen interest. Beside them stood Master Corbin, the court wizard, his long silver hair flowing freely beneath a broad-brimmed hat.

"The guy in second place," the cloaked figure said, voice low but steady. "That’s the one."

Corbin arched a brow and turned slightly toward the figure. "Are you sure? The first-place winner is clearly more skilled. Look at that precision."

The cloaked figure shook their head. "Too flashy. Competitions like these reward showmanship. He may be good on a field like this, but in real combat? not so much."

Corbin let out a thoughtful hum, his gaze drifting back toward the competitors. Gareth Lorne, the young man in second place, stood with an air of quiet confidence. Though he lacked the flamboyant flair of the winner, there was a steady resolve in his posture, a kind of readiness that spoke to experience rather than performance.

"I see your point," Corbin said after a moment. "Competitions favor spectacle. Real battles don’t."

The cloaked figure took a step closer to the edge of the battlement, their eyes scanning the gathered crowd below. Nobles and commoners mingled in uneasy proximity, their excitement palpable but tinged with the usual tension. The cloaked figure’s lips tightened into a thin line.

"This whole setup is ridiculous," they muttered. "Parading people like prizes, nobles posturing for favor. And this is just the start."

Corbin gave a wry smile, folding his hands behind his back. "And yet, here we are, playing our parts in this game."

The cloaked figure’s eyes narrowed, but they said nothing further. Instead, they focused on Gareth, who now stood wiping his brow as he awaited the final results. Despite his second-place standing, he seemed unfazed, as if the outcome mattered little to him.

"He’ll do," the cloaked figure said at last.

Corbin nodded. "I’ll make the arrangements. You should prepare for the introductions."

The cloaked figure pulled their hood lower over their face, casting one last glance over the bustling crowd. This was only the beginning, and already, they could feel the weight of expectation pressing down. They turned away from the battlements, their cloak trailing behind them as they disappeared into the shadows.

***

The courtyard buzzed with anticipation as Isabella stood among the other contestants, waiting her turn to be called forward. Her gaze flicked briefly over the crowd—hundreds of faces, nobles and commoners alike, all eager to watch the spectacle unfold. Banners bearing the king’s sigil snapped sharply in the breeze, and at the heart of the courtyard, a makeshift wooden stage rose above the sea of spectators. A stout man in regal robes stood atop it, holding a glowing orb that amplified his voice with a faint hum of magic.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor to present the brave souls who shall comprise Team Three!" the announcer boomed, his voice echoing through the grounds.

Isabella shifted her weight, her tail curling slightly behind her ankles, a subconscious motion she suppressed as quickly as it began. Beside her, Bran of Ashvale was the first to be called. He strode forward, armor clinking faintly as sunlight gleamed off mismatched metal plates. The applause that followed was deafening, a clear testament to the crowd’s approval.

"Bran of Ashvale, third place in one-on-one combat! A rising star among our mercenaries, known for his strength and leadership!" the announcer declared.

Bran’s expression remained composed, neither humble nor boastful, as he offered a curt nod before stepping back into place. Isabella watched him without turning her head, noting the way he held himself with quiet pride.

"Next, Lyra Montclair, second place in the dueling competition!" The announcer’s words drew more cheers as Lyra, clad in a sleek duelist’s outfit, moved onto the stage. She walked with effortless grace, pausing just long enough to flash the crowd a brief smile. She looks every bit the noble she is. Isabella thought.

The applause barely faded before Gareth Lorne was called. Isabella’s eyes tracked the young archer as he approached the stage, his calm, measured steps suggesting he was already used to such attention. He inclined his head politely to the crowd before joining Bran and Lyra in line.

"Elias Thatcherson, first place in the magical course!" The crowd's energy shifted slightly—more curious now, as Elias approached with his usual air of superiority. His robes swirled dramatically around him, and Isabella caught a faint smirk on his face as he basked in the murmurs of admiration. Congratulations Elias. Don’t make me regret this.

Her fingers tightened briefly at her side when she heard the announcer’s next words. "And last but not least, Isabella, second place in the obstacle and running target course!"

This was her moment. Isabella stepped forward, her movements measured and deliberate, shoulders squared, chin high. She knew what the crowd saw—the flash of red skin, the curved horns, the tail that marked her as a Tiefling, Demonkin, Devil Blood. The applause faltered, less enthusiastic than it had been for the others. Isabella didn’t flinch. She had long since grown used to such reactions.

Eyes ahead, posture rigid, she joined the line beside Elias without hesitation, refusing to acknowledge the muted response. Her heart didn’t quicken, her expression didn’t waver. If they wouldn’t cheer for her, so be it. She wasn’t here for their approval.

"Team Three!" the announcer called, clapping his hands together in an exaggerated display of enthusiasm. "May they bring honor and glory to the kingdom!"

The applause resumed—forced, in Isabella’s ears. The announcer turned to them, lowering the orb as the hum of magic faded. "Back to the waiting area," he said, keeping his voice low now. "Two more groups, then you'll proceed to the final course."

Isabella pivoted with the others, heading toward the waiting area. She didn’t speak, didn’t glance at her teammates. Her focus remained on the task ahead, where the real challenge awaited. Let them cheer or not. This whole thing’s a farce. 

***

Isabella shifted on her feet, her tail curling slightly as she tried to ignore the weight of awkward silence hanging over Team Three. They had been standing in the courtyard for what felt like hours, waiting for their turn. Around them, the other groups loitered, some chatting quietly, others sizing up the competition. Finally, the announcer called their name. Relief mingled with tension in her chest as they moved forward toward the obstacle course.

The once-open courtyard had been transformed. Spectators crowded on either side, eager for the show to begin. Ahead of Team Three, a six-foot wall with a single, narrow door stood waiting, oddly plain and unassuming.

"Team Three, your first challenge is to get through the door!" The announcer’s magically enhanced voice echoed across the courtyard. "The timer will start as soon as you cross the white line!"

Isabella joined the others behind the white line, glancing at the door warily. Something about it felt… off. Her gaze flicked briefly to Bran, who appeared deep in thought. Next to her, Elias muttered, "There must be a catch," eyeing the door with suspicion.

Gareth, his bow slung over one shoulder, narrowed his eyes. "Trapped?"

Bran frowned, his brow creasing as he considered their options. "Is anyone here good at finding traps?"

Isabella opened her mouth to respond, but before she could get a word out, Lyra stepped forward confidently. "I can do it."

Gareth’s voice was edged with skepticism. "Are we sure about this? Running ahead sounds risky."

Bran’s tone turned decisive. "We don’t have time to debate. Lyra goes ahead and checks for traps. The rest of us will follow at a steady pace. If she can’t get the door open before we arrive, I’ll kick it in. If that doesn’t work, Elias can use his magic."

Isabella watched as Lyra took a steadying breath before dashing forward. The spectators leaned forward in anticipation, their excitement palpable. The minor noble woman reached the door in a few quick strides and immediately began inspecting it, her hands running expertly along the edges of the frame. "There’s something here," she called back, her voice steady.

The rest of the group approached cautiously, keeping an eye on their surroundings. Isabella found herself tensing, ready to react if something went wrong.

A soft click broke the tension. Lyra straightened with a triumphant grin. "Got it!"

Without missing a beat, Bran stepped forward and pushed the door open. Beyond it lay something entirely unexpected—a row of motionless clay golems, their blank eyes fixed ahead, standing just past another white line.

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Another door. Isabella’s eyes narrowed as she pointed to the wall behind the row of golems. "Looks like we have another puzzle," she said, her voice calm but wary.

"Let’s keep moving," Bran said, stepping cautiously through the doorway. Isabella followed, her muscles tense as her gaze flicked toward the unmoving golems. She had no idea what triggered them, but she wasn’t about to let her guard down.

The announcer’s voice rang out, rattling off their time as they entered the new section. Bran, focused on the golems, didn’t seem to pay attention. "Let’s take the golems on the right first," he suggested, scanning their surroundings.

"Shut up," Gareth hissed, annoyance sharp in his tone. "I missed what our time was."

Before anyone could respond, the announcer’s voice boomed again. "The timer will start as soon as you cross the line again. The timer will stop once you pass through the door."

Isabella watched as Bran and Gareth began bickering over tactics, their voices growing louder. "We should flank them!" Bran insisted.

"No, we need to pick them off one by one," Gareth countered, his frustration growing.

Elias tried to interject, his voice barely cutting through the argument. "We don’t have to fight them. We just need to get through the door."

Isabella exchanged an exasperated look with Lyra, both of them rolling their eyes. Enough of this nonsense.

"Hey!" Isabella yelled, her voice cutting through the noise. Everyone fell silent, turning toward her. She pointed at Elias. "Say that again."

"We only have to get through the door," Elias repeated, more clearly this time.

Isabella gave a curt nod. "Then let’s focus on that." Bran and Gareth exchanged glances but didn’t argue further.

With a new plan in place, they moved quickly. Elias stepped forward and cast a spell of darkness, shrouding the golems in a thick, impenetrable sphere of black magic.

Lyra sprinted ahead, reaching the door first. She dropped to her knees, pulling out her lockpicks with practiced ease. Isabella could hear the faint clicking of metal as Lyra worked on the large lock.

The rest of the group formed a defensive line. Bran raised his shield, ready to block any golems that might break through the darkness. Isabella positioned herself behind him, short sword in hand, trying to steady her breathing.

Magical energy crackled as Elias launched bursts of power toward the golems, blowing apart a few of the constructs. Each spell took time to prepare, leaving gaps that made Isabella uneasy.

Gareth quickly realized his bow was useless in the confined space. Drawing his short sword, he moved up beside Bran to strengthen the line. Isabella followed suit, though her strikes were hesitant. To her chagrin, her inexperience was painfully clear. She wasn’t used to fighting alongside other people.

"Almost there!" Lyra called out, her voice tense but determined. A moment later, the lock clicked open with a satisfying snap.

"Fall back!" Bran ordered, signaling the group to retreat. They began moving toward the now-open door, Bran and Gareth holding the front line while Isabella and Elias provided support from behind.

As soon as everyone was through, Bran slammed the door shut with a heavy thud. The golems didn’t pursue.

Gareth exhaled sharply, wiping sweat from his brow. "Well, that was fun," he muttered, sliding his sword back into its sheath.

"Too close," Bran added, his voice strained as he caught his breath.

Lyra grinned, twirling her lockpicks before tucking them away. "I’d say that went pretty well, all things considered."

Isabella glanced back at the closed door. "We’re not done yet," she said quietly, her gaze shifting toward what awaited them beyond.

The next challenge brought Team Three to the edge of a deep chasm, ten feet down and twenty feet across. Isabella eyed the stone and wooden pillars lining either side. They didn’t look particularly stable, and certainly didn’t offer any reassurance as to how they’d make it across. She crossed her arms, already anticipating something more than a simple jump.

The announcer’s voice echoed across the field. "Your challenge is to cross the chasm. Points will be deducted for each member who falls into the pit. Timer starts once you cross the white line."

"Anyone have rope?" Bran asked, his tone clipped but focused.

“Yeah.” Isabella said with a quick nod and pulled a coil of rope from her pack.

"You got any spell that could boost someone’s jump?" Gareth asked, turning to Elias with a hopeful look.

Elias crossed his arms, scoffing. "Why would I waste time learning spells to make others jump better?"

Lyra stepped closer to the white line, sizing up the distance. "I might be able to make it about ten feet without a boost," she offered.

A tense silence settled over the group as they each considered their options. Isabella frowned, her mind racing through possible solutions. Finally, she broke the silence. "What if we push one of the pillars into the chasm?"

Bran’s expression shifted, his eyes lighting up with approval. "Good idea. Get the rope ready."

Bran and Gareth positioned themselves on either side. Together, they began rocking the heavy stone structure back and forth. It groaned ominously under the strain but didn’t budge at first.

"Come on," Bran muttered, digging in his heels. With one final, coordinated push, the pillar toppled over, crashing into the chasm below with a resounding thud.

Wasting no time, Bran jumped down onto the fallen pillar and moved to its far end. "Alright, Lyra. Ready?"

Lyra took a few steps back, gripping the rope tightly. With a burst of speed, she sprinted forward. As she leapt, Bran crouched low, planting his hands beneath her feet and giving her an extra push upward.

Isabella watched, her heart pounding as Lyra soared through the air. The rope trailed behind her, the tension in the group palpable. Lyra hit the opposite edge hard, stumbling but managing to stay upright.

"Rope’s secure!" Lyra called out after quickly tying it around a nearby pillar.

One by one, the rest of the group crossed the chasm, using the rope for balance as they made their way along the fallen pillar. Isabella focused on each careful step, gripping the rope tightly, her tail flicking nervously behind her.

Bran was the last to cross. He jumped, grabbing hold of the rope, and with help from Gareth and Isabella, hauled himself up onto solid ground.

"Nice work," Bran said, brushing dust off his hands as he straightened.

Elias, clearly not thrilled by the exertion, muttered, "Let’s hope the next challenge requires more brains and less brute force."

Isabella smirked faintly, coiling the rope back into her pack. "I’m not sure there is another challenge."

The group found themselves in a large room where Teams One and Two were already gathered. Across the way, Teams Four and Five were still tackling the previous challenges. Isabella noticed the tension hanging thick in the air as Gareth turned to Bran, irritation written all over his face.

"We could’ve made more points if you’d actually listen to me," Gareth said sharply.

Bran ignored him, his attention locked on the announcer as final times were recorded. Isabella shifted uncomfortably. It wasn’t just Gareth’s frustration—something about the atmosphere in the room felt foreboding.

At last, the announcer called all five teams out onto the field. The crowd cheered, but the air remained tense, as if everyone was waiting for something more significant.

After a brief pause, the announcer’s voice rang out. "Teams Four and Five, thank you for your participation. You are dismissed."

Isabella watched as the dismissed teams trudged off the field, heads bowed. She felt a flicker of sympathy but quickly focused as the announcer continued.

"Teams Two and Five will receive consolation prizes. Step forward."

Teams Two and Five approached the stage, accepted their prizes, and stepped aside. Isabella’s fingers tightened around the strap of her pack as the announcer turned to Team Three.

"Team Three, please approach the stage."

The crowd fell silent, and Isabella’s breath caught in her throat as the king himself stepped out from behind the stage. His regal bearing commanded immediate attention, and without hesitation, the entire crowd dropped to one knee.

"Rise," the king said, his tone calm but firm. Isabella stood with the others, every muscle in her body tense as she waited for what came next.

"Team Three," the king began, his voice carrying effortlessly across the courtyard, "you have earned the right to undertake a mission of great importance. Your task is to cross the Blackwater River, pass through the Shademire Swamp, and rescue my daughter from the clutches of the Dark Lord in Shadow Star Keep."

Isabella watched the expressions on the faces next to her. The princess died at birth, or so everyone was told. Lyra’s scowl almost made her laugh. A murmur spread through the crowd at the mention of the princess and this so-called Dark Lord. 

"Should you succeed," the king continued, "you will be rewarded with noble titles and land. One of you may be permitted my daughter’s hand in marriage. Those who do not wish for such rewards may choose instead to accept a single payment of 500 gold crowns."

Isabella’s eyes darted over her teammates. Confusion, disbelief, and unease were etched on their faces. The weight of the king’s words hung heavily over them all.

Without further ceremony, the king turned and left, his abrupt departure leaving a thick silence in his wake.

"Well," Bran said quietly, breaking the tension, "I guess we know what’s next."

Gareth scowled, still skeptical. "Yeah, but none of us were expecting this, or the stakes."

Lyra crossed her arms and gave Isabella a pointed look. "Looks like things just got a lot more complicated."

Isabella nodded slowly, her expression serious. "Yeah, but… why wouldn’t he just send the army?"

Elias shrugged, his tone dry. "Maybe he doesn’t want to risk losing an entire battalion in the swamp. Or maybe he’s hiding something. Nobles rarely tell the whole truth."

Lyra shot a glare at Elias, but said nothing.

Bran crossed his arms, frowning in thought. "Whatever the reason, it’s our mission now. We can speculate all we want, but it won’t change what we have to do."

Gareth sighed, clearly still skeptical. "Fine. But we keep our eyes open. Something about this doesn’t add up."