The Skystrall Arena was filled beyond capacity on the last day of the Graduation Tournament. Some unlucky students had ended up sitting on the stairs–mostly first years, as they were the easiest to persuade by their upperclassmen that they should relinquish their seats.
Juniper, Evie and Faro had been lucky to find a good spot in the central section.
This year’s top four had been already decided the previous day, and the semifinals had taken place just before noon. And now, the most anticipated event of the school year was about to begin.
“You’ve shed endless sweat, tears and blood to get to this point,” Dean Phrygios’s voice boomed over the arena. The crowd buzzed as if electrified, and for a moment Juniper wondered if perhaps the dean had laid a social enchantment over the arena. She immediately discarded the thought. The man simply oozed charisma. “You’ve fought and struggled to reach the peak of your generation–and now it’s time to determine the best of the Class of 3527 once and for all!
“But first, I’d like to hear a cheer from you all for the Class of 3527!” The noise from the crowd intensified as they obliged, and from year four’s section of the arena arose a veritable show of light. A projected wyrm flew over the seats, eliciting gasps of wonder from the younger students.
The dean waited for the arena to quiet down before proceeding. “Now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for–entering from the south gate, we have the woman who shocked us all with her mastery of electricity. Students, please welcome Astrid Ulrich!”
If the cheers were loud before, they were positively deafening now–though not enough to mask out the groans. Astrid stepped into the arena, grinning confidently as she waved to the audience.
“Now, entering from the north gate, the bright young man who enlightened us all to the power of photokinesis–Zale Petras!”
The crowd was no less enthusiastic the second time around, though it did a worse job of masking out the grumbling.
“I bet the dean is having the time of his life,” Faro yelled.
“What?” Juniper yelled back.
Faro repeated his words, shouting in Juniper’s ear.
“Oh, yeah, probably,” she agreed.
“What?” he yelled.
“Nevermind,” she bellowed into his ear. “Talk later!”
The arena finally quieted down after another minute, and Dean Phrygios spoke once again. “Combatants, take your places,” he said, gesturing to the two practitioners in the arena. They met in the center, shook hands, then moved until they were fifteen meters apart.
The dean gave them a nod, then began to count. “Three… two… one… and, fight!”
The arena exploded into motion.
Both Light and Electricity were disciplines that lent themselves to speed, though one was superior to the other in this aspect. As such, Astrid was the first to act, trying to end the fight in one quick strike before the Light practitioner could make use of this discrepancy.
Like the wrath of the heavens, a great lightning bolt descended from the sky with a blinding flash. Juniper found herself shielding her eyes, as had most of the audience–except a minority who had had the foresight to bring sunglasses.
The last thing Juniper had seen before being blinded was the bolt of lightning homing in on Zale, but the young practitioner was standing straight, as if unaffected.
“There’s no way he took that without a scratch,” Faro muttered disbelievingly.
Zale then lifted his hand, light forming at the tip of his fingers, and Astrid knew she could only anticipate the laser. She threw herself to the side–
–right into the path of the laser, which had come from behind her, from the edge of the arena.
She shouted in pain as an angry red burn appeared on her forearm, then she formed a protective bubble of electricity around her. It reminded Juniper of a plasma ball, except without the insulating globe–not something she’d willingly stick her hand into.
Zale promptly disappeared from the battlefield, leaving Astrid seemingly alone.
“An illusion!” Evie exclaimed. “Where is he hiding?”
“Has he ever used illusions before?” Faro asked.
“I don’t think so,” Juniper replied. “I saw one of his matches during the break, but he seemed to rely only on his lasers.”
“That won’t work on Astrid, though. They’re both First Gate practitioners,” Evie noted. The majority of students were still at the Path Inscription stage when they graduated, only advancing to First Gate in the following years–usually, only the top ten to fifteen reached First Gate before graduating. “I think… is he trying to tire her out?”
Faro hummed. “That first bolt must have wrung her Soul.”
If she was feeling the strain, Astrid certainly didn’t show it. As soon as she’d fixed her shield, she’d sent a bolt of electricity to where the laser had come from. Zale had clearly vacated the area, though, because her attack didn’t connect with anything.
With Zale bending the light to make himself invisible, Astrid was at a disadvantage. She paced around the arena, alert–standing in one spot was stupid when her opponent could just charge up a massive blast, enough to pass through her shield.
Another beam of light hit her, and she took it head on. Astrid retaliated a split second later, sending a blast of electricity where the attacker had been–again to no avail.
Juniper could see where the problem lay. Practitioners on Astrid and Zale’s level were fast, enough that as long as Zale began to move at the same time as he unleashed his attack, Astrid’s reply would be off target.
Astrid clearly saw this too, as the next time Zale attacked, she responded with two prongs of electricity, one to each side of the target. A ferocious grin bloomed on Astrid’s face as one of the prongs connected, though only tangentially.
Zale grunted, flickering into visibility, and Astrid unleashed another barrage. Then, a laser beam shot out from the other side of the arena. Twenty meters away, another one. And three more, each from a different direction.
The fallen Zale disappeared as the light show continued to assault the electricity practitioner.
“How is he doing that?” Evie asked with a frown. “Can he fire his lasers from a distance?” Unleashing that kind of attack from afar was an advanced technique, more than one would expect from a fresh graduate–even one at the top of his class.
Astrid stopped attacking back, focusing on her reinforcing her shield.
“Maybe he internalized light?” Faro suggested. “He’d only need a tiny fraction of the speed of light to circle around the arena like that.” Which was true, but something you’d expect from a Second Gate practitioner.
“No…” Juniper said, thoughtful. There was something there, bothering her. “Astrid’s not taking that much damage.”
Indeed, though Astrid was suffering from an increasing amount of burns, it was not the death of a thousand cuts the light show suggested. It was closer to a death of a hundred cuts.
It clicked a moment later. “They’re all illusions,” Juniper realized. “Or not all of them, but most–and Astrid can’t tell which ones are real and which of them aren’t.”
Evie sucked in her lip. “If she tried to go after all of them, she’d exhaust herself in seconds. He’s not giving her any chance to fight back.”
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
“It can’t be easy to sustain that many illusions at once, though,” said Faro.
“It’s probably less taxing than Astrid’s shield.”
At this point, Astrid was running full speed through the arena, her shield blazing with energy. Juniper was pretty sure it worked by converting light into energy, but it had a limit to how much it could convert at once–and how much it could store. Every once in a while, Astrid would dump some of the electricity into the ground.
After a minute, Astrid was looking much worse for the wear. She was covered in burns, and her shield seemed to be flagging. Then, a moment later, she did the unthinkable.
The shield, alight with energy, disappeared. Zale’s attacks stopped for a moment, as if confused.
“Is she yielding…?” Faro asked, uncertainly.
Five spears of light shot out, hitting Astrid head on. Unprotected by her shield, she fell to her knees with a scream.
Astrid then opened her palm, from which an electric arc containing the entirety of her shield flew out–ninety degrees to her left.
Zale lit up like a light bulb filament and collapsed to the floor, his hair visibly singed. A deathly quiet descended over the arena, as everyone waited to see if Zale would disappear again.
A second later, all doubt was dispelled. “And this year’s Graduation Champion is Astrid Ulrich!” the dean’s voice thundered.
The mystery of how Astrid had been able to overcome Zale’s illusion and locate the light practitioner would remain at the forefront of the younger students’ minds for days to come. Theories would be created, analyzed, and discarded. Some would even be right, though they had no way to know for sure.
But for now, they had a champion to celebrate. The arena erupted into cheers.
***
The days passed, and Sunday finally arrived–and with it Juniper’s most dreaded event of the week.
Once again, she was wearing her best clothes–her uniform. She felt a bit awkward going into town going into the city dressed in something that so clearly identified her as a practitioner, but her wardrobe was distressingly sparse, and the tone of the event demanded formal attire.
She made a mental note to put some money aside for a less conspicuous outfit.
Paratha Kavelith was one of the better-off former charges of the Ebonfell West House for Forlorn Children. At two years Juniper’s senior, the two girls had gotten along like water and oil. Paratha’s social butterfly tendencies had been at odds with the rather irritable juniper, which had led to a number of rather infamous fights. The matron had had to keep them separated for a while, but as they grew older they graduated to an uneasy truce.
The only thing they had in common was their friendship with Adar and Hester, but the twins grew on everyone like moss.
After leaving the orphanage, Paratha had landed a job as a governess for a recently widowed nobleman’s young children. Within the year, the young woman and her employer fell in love, and Paratha Lorn became Paratha Kavelith.
Her house was located in one of the nicer parts of Ebonfell, though not nice enough that it was gated. Juniper took the tram to the Frosthill Plaza, stopping by a florist to buy a crown of flowers, then walked the rest of the way to Paratha’s home.
The hostess was waiting at the entrance. “Welcome,” Paratha said, a sad smile on her lips. “It is good to see you, Juniper, though I wish it were in better circumstances.”
Juniper wasn’t so sure Paratha was as happy to see her as she had said, but if Paratha was willing to set their enmity aside for one evening, then Juniper was all too happy to oblige. “You too,” she said.
“The gathering is in the back, in the garden–just follow the stone path. There’s a shrine where you can leave the flowers.”
Juniper nodded, stepping inside the Kavelith Estate. With each step, the feeling of dread grew strong. She reached the garden, saw the guests that had assembled there, and froze.
She hadn’t truly believed it, until this point. She’d received a letter, sure, but it could have been faked. Or the matron could have been mistaken–in her old age, everything was possible.
But she couldn’t deny the crowd gathered before her–old friends from the orphanage, some members of the staff, and some she didn’t recognize. They wouldn’t have come here for a prank, or an unfounded rumor.
The last bit of hope she’d been hanging on crumbled like a sand castle before the tide. Numbly, she approached the shrine–a stone table, around which crowns of flowers from the other guests had been arrayed. Juniper placed hers in one of the empty spaces, and stopped to look at the two pictures sitting on the table, each with a candle next to it. The small watercolor paintings of Adar and Hester only vaguely resembled the twins–Juniper suspected Paratha had commissioned the portraits for the memorial, with the painter having nothing but Paratha’s description to follow.
“Juniper,” a soft voice called out, breaking Juniper’s reverie. She turned, revealing Matron Amara. The older woman had grown thinner since Juniper had last seen her two years before, and her eyes were sunken. The grief on her face was plain as day.
“Matron,” Juniper said, taking a step forward. She hesitated for a moment, then pulled the matron into a hug. “I am so sorry.” Strict as she may have been, Matron Amara had loved her charges like her own children.
They held each other for a few moments, then the matron broke the hug. “Fool girl. Nothing you could have done.”
“Are you alright?” Juniper asked softly.
The matron closed her eyes, wiping away a tear. “As well as I can be, all things considered. The world does not stop moving for one old woman’s feelings.”
Juniper sighed. There were many things to criticize about Matron Amara, but her work ethic was not one of them. “Can you not take a break? Just so you can recover your forces?”
Amara scoffed. “Do you remember me ever taking a break?”
Juniper frowned, thoughtful. “...No.”
“Because I didn’t. There would be no one else to take my place,” Amara said, motioning for Juniper to follow. The two sat down on a bench, next to a topiary.
“Is there no one who could replace you, at least for a bit?”
“With what money?” Amara asked. “Juniper, you’re a smart girl. I’m sure you know how the orphanages get their funding.”
“Officially, from donations from their former charges,” Juniper began. But anyone who bought that story had either no idea how much an orphanage cost to run, or a very poor understanding of economics–or both. “Which helps a bit, I guess. But mostly, it’s the Ravens.”
“Donations don’t actually help. The Ravens just reduce their share,” Amara said, and Juniper blinked in surprise. She knew they were stingy, but that badly… “The Ravens don't want you to be well adjusted. They want people they can snare, and a bit of deprivation helps with that.”
Juniper pondered that for a moment. “I don’t remember wanting for much…” They didn’t have much in the way of frivolities, but she’d also never missed a meal–Juniper blanched. “You didn’t…”
“I did. Nearly all the staff does. Do you understand now, why I can’t take a break?”
Juniper nodded. “That’s not fair.”
“Life seldom is.” The matron’s face grew dark. “It was even less fair for Hester and Adar.”
Juniper’s heart throbbed at the mention. “Do you know how they died? The letter was kind of vague,” she murmured.
Amara sighed. “The Ravens weren’t forthcoming with the details but my understanding is that they were involved in a heist.”
Juniper closed her eyes. There were many ways a heist could go wrong–scaling a wall could be deadly even for an experienced thief, and lethal traps were a favorite of the especially rich nobles. “But both of them? How?”
If anyone died during a heist, it was almost always aborted immediately. Each member was brought for a specific skill, so losing one was enough to invalidate the plan. The House of Ravens did not believe in the sunk cost fallacy.
“Their entire team did not return,” Amara explained. “The Ravens have been tight-lipped about the details, but they couldn’t cover up such a great loss.”
“What in the abyss were they after?” Juniper wondered out loud. For an entire team to perish… that was unthinkable.
“That, I do not know–nor do I wish to.”
The conversation moved on to more inconsequential topics, as the matron and Juniper caught up. The matron apparently had quite a few good eggs among her newest batch of charges, but she had her hands full. One of Juniper’s old friends, Jorah, joined in on the conversation, and they reminisced over their time with the twins. By the end, a small crowd had formed in their corner of the garden, and Juniper was quite shocked at how many people had come to the memorial.
She wondered, for a moment, how many people would have come to a memorial meant for her–less than a fifth, most likely. Maybe an eighth. That was, if anyone even hosted one.
Juniper learned that some of the people she didn’t recognize were, in fact, Hester and Adar’s colleagues–thieves and mercenaries in service to the House of Ravens. Her rage had burned bright for a moment, incensed that they’d dare show their faces–and then Jorah pointed out that the twins’ colleagues were no more guilty for their deaths than any of them.
When the sun fell beyond the horizon, firewood was added to the shrine, and Paratha offered Amara the torch. She took it, her knuckles white as she gripped it tightly, before throwing it onto the pyre.
The dried flowers caught fire quickly, and as the fire burned, one by one, the guests began to leave.
Juniper was among the last to leave, giving Paratha a nod as she left the garden. They weren’t friends, still, but she didn’t see any point in nurturing an old grudge anymore. Not after today.
Juniper boarded the tram to the Sky Gate, finding a lone seat towards the back where she wouldn’t be disturbed. But not long after it left, the tram stopped. Juniper looked around, confused–this wasn’t one of the tram stations. Had it broken down, she wondered?
Hearing a gasp from outside, Juniper exited the tram, trying to understand what had happened. She ran to the nearest person, an older man dressed in a factory worker’s overalls. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“The sky,” he replied, his voice trembling, as he pointed to the horizon.
And then, Juniper saw it.
It was still early into the night, so the stars weren’t supposed to be fully visible yet. Despite this, they glowed with an unnatural brightness. Lines radiated from each star, like diffraction spikes–except instead of looking through a telescope, Juniper was seeing this with the naked eye.
The rays of light were growing longer and more and more intense. They eclipsed the stars themselves, until the sky was a crisscross of white lines.
This isn’t possible, Juniper’s mind screamed.
For a few seconds, all was still. The encroaching lights had reached their apex. All was well.
Along the lines, the sky shattered into a billion pieces.
Someone screamed.
The world went white.