The crowd roared as the Tournament Grounds stretched out before them—an arena built from ivory stone and dark iron, towering high into the cloudy skies. Zayn's heart thudded as he followed his siblings through the entrance, weaving between other young mages who looked just as terrified, just as eager.
They had traveled far to reach this place—through old roads and forgotten forests, riding alongside a caravan guided by a mage who could twist space itself. But now, standing here… it felt like stepping onto another world.
And then it began.
From high above, a voice echoed across the arena—louder than thunder, yet strangely playful.
"Ahhh, look at you all," the voice chuckled. "Faces full of hope. Fear. Hunger. That's good. You're right to be afraid."
Gasps rippled through the crowd as a man appeared on a raised platform—cloaked in dark velvet and silver, with eyes that seemed to glow faintly like dying stars.
"That's him," Lyra whispered beside Zayn, her voice tight. "Lord Caldris."
Even Zayn had heard of him—a Lord, a man whispered to be nearing Demi-God status. He wasn't supposed to be here.
The man smiled.
"You're here to fight for your future. To earn a crest. But before you dream too high," he gestured lazily, and with that, thirteen massive banners unfurled above the arena, each shimmering with magic. "You should know exactly what you're stepping into."
The crowd fell deathly silent.
Caldris began, his voice smooth and dripping with amusement.
---
"The Crimson Fang."
"A name that bites, doesn't it?" He chuckled. "Led by Varek Darnos. They crave warriors who fight like wildfire. Aggressive, relentless… Doesn't matter if you wield Ice or Wind or even Spatial magic. If you're ruthless enough, they'll take you."
Eran snorted softly beside Zayn. "Sounds like a bunch of lunatics."
---
"The Silver Coil."
"Poison. Illusion. Shadows," Caldris drawled. "Selis Vayne commands them—her Order slithers through the veins of cities, unseen but deadly. They adore those who think... differently."
Lyra's fingers tensed. "I heard they use forbidden poisons."
---
"The Verdant Crown."
Caldris's lips curled. "Ah, healers, some say. But Garron Elde and his Order do far more than mend bones. They command wood, trees, stone, sand—forces of nature itself. They'll break you like dry twigs."
Kair muttered, "Remind me to stay far away from them…"
---
"The Obsidian Thorn."
The voice turned cold. "Led by Lady Morrin. Shadow casters, death-mongers, curse-weavers. They're said to smile at funerals."
Zayn's spine prickled.
---
"The Shattered Sun."
Caldris gave a mock bow. "Lucen Marrow leads them—those who burn with holy magic, light magic… and judgment. But believe me," his smile darkened, "they burn their own just as often."
---
"The Azure Tide."
"Kael Drift—master of water and wind. Calm, graceful, but never, ever trust calm waters."
---
"The Gilded Talon."
Caldris's voice sharpened. "Risa Quell. Lightning-fast, wind-touched mages who value speed and precision. They'll slice you before you even finish casting."
---
"The Dusk Mirror."
He grinned. "Led by Varn Eiros. They traffic in dreams, illusions, and traps. They twist your mind until you can't tell waking from nightmare."
Lyra paled slightly at that.
---
"The Iron Gauntlet."
"Simple magic," Caldris said, chuckling. "Earth. Stone. Metal. Strength above all else. Doran Vex leads them—he's a mountain of a man, and every member hits like one too."
---
"The Pale Requiem."
The crowd hushed.
"Elyra Voss," Caldris whispered, almost reverently. "They call her the Death Singer. Her Order raises the dead—and not just for war."
---
"The Ember Coil."
Caldris's grin widened.
"Cairon Vale—chaotic, wild, ever-shifting. They embrace flames, unpredictability… and sometimes, madness."
---
"The Storm Warden."
He straightened slightly. "Zehron Crest. Lightning, storms, and shields that have never been broken."
---
"The Veiled Eclipse."
Finally, Caldris's tone dipped into something deeper—darker.
"Sevrith Noct," he whispered. "Their Order deals in forbidden magic—space, time, void, teleportation. No one speaks of them openly."
---
The banners shimmered above as silence returned.
Caldris's voice softened, but his eyes burned.
"Thirteen Orders. Thirteen paths to power. And not one of them gives a damn what kind of magic you were born with."
He swept his gaze across them all, resting briefly on Zayn—though Zayn wasn't sure if that was imagination or fate.
"Let the Tournament begin."
---
Zayn's heart thundered as the arena began to shift beneath their feet, splitting into vast dueling circles.
Eran exhaled shakily.
"I don't think I can breathe anymore…"
The arena floor was alive.
Stone platforms shifted and groaned, ancient runes glowing beneath their feet as the battlefield expanded outward. From above, the banners of the Orders flapped against the wind, looming over them like silent gods watching from their thrones.
Zayn could barely breathe.
He wasn't sure if it was the magic in the air, thick and electric, or the sheer pressure of standing among hundreds of other mages. His heart raced, but strangely—not with fear.
It was… anticipation.
"Zayn," Eran muttered, leaning close, his eyes sharp as ever, "don't zone out now. This isn't the time."
"I know," Zayn replied, his voice low, though even he wasn't sure if he was lying to himself.
Beside him, Lyra looked tense, her usually soft expression hardened into a fierce focus. She didn't speak—but she didn't need to. Her hands clenched the hem of her cloak tightly, knuckles white.
Their younger sister, Mira, looked pale but determined, her fingers twitching near her Grimoire. Beside her, their older brother Kael, ever calm, watched the shifting platforms with calculating eyes, the faint silver glow of Spatial magic sparking at his fingertips.
He had always been the most composed of them.
"I heard the captains are already watching," Kael murmured, gaze locked forward. "They're probably picking favorites as we speak."
Zayn's breath caught at that.
He instinctively glanced at the looming platforms where the Order Captains now stood. Their forms were cloaked in the shadows of their banners, but their presence was undeniable. They were predators—silent, waiting, studying.
Waiting for prey to show weakness.
And here Zayn stood, clutching a Grimoire that didn't belong. A dark, empty thing with only a single, worn page.
He could feel it at his side, bound to his hip with old leather straps—quiet but… there.
It almost felt like it was watching too.
---
Suddenly, the arena's center ignited in a flare of golden light.
Lord Caldris's voice boomed again, sending chills through the entire gathering.
"Listen well, fledglings. The Tournament begins now."
The light spiraled outward, forming thirteen glowing rings across the battlefield, each humming with raw magic.
"You will be drawn randomly into the first trials," Caldris announced, his voice impossibly calm. "Fight. Impress. Survive. You may forfeit by shattering your Grimoire's crest—but beware. A shattered crest marks you forever."
A low murmur swept through the crowd.
"For those who pass…" Caldris's eyes glimmered. "You'll stand before the Captains for selection."
---
Before anyone could react, the rings beneath their feet pulsed—and then, Zayn felt a violent pull, as if the ground itself had yanked him sideways.
"Zayn!" Lyra shouted—but her voice was already fading.
Everything blurred.
---
When the world righted itself, Zayn stood in a smaller, isolated arena—a stone circle surrounded by towering runes that pulsed with soft, violet light. Across from him stood another boy, tall and wiry, with flame-red hair and a cocky grin.
"Well, would you look at this," the boy drawled, rolling his shoulders as flames flickered lazily around his hands. "I get paired with the trash."
Zayn said nothing, but his fists tightened.
"Let me guess," the boy sneered, eyeing the dark Grimoire at Zayn's side. "You're that Outcast everyone's been whispering about. Zayn, was it?"
Zayn's jaw clenched, but he kept his voice steady. "You talk too much."
The boy's grin widened.
"Maybe. But I'm about to talk with my fists."
---
The signal flared above them—a bright flash of silver light.
The match had begun.
Without hesitation, the boy lunged forward, flames roaring from his fists as he closed the distance.
"Burn, Outcast!"
Zayn moved instinctively—ducking low and slipping to the side as the flames scorched the air where he had stood.
He could feel the heat lick his skin, but he didn't falter.
The boy snarled, spinning back toward him. "Coward! Stop dodging!"
But Zayn didn't respond.
Instead, his hand moved to his Grimoire.
---
Don't.
The thought came unbidden, unspoken—but it wasn't his own.
His fingers hovered above the dark leather binding, breath shallow.
The book pulsed faintly beneath his touch.
Almost like it was waiting.
---
The other boy didn't wait.
Flames erupted around him, forming a massive serpent of fire that lunged toward Zayn with a deafening roar.
"You're finished!" the boy screamed.
Zayn's mind raced.
Instinct warred with reason. Every part of him wanted to dodge, to run—but something deeper whispered otherwise.
---
Open me.
---
He wasn't sure if it was madness or desperation—but he listened.
With a sharp breath, Zayn flipped open the Grimoire.
---
Nothing.
Still empty—save for the single, worn page.
But as the serpent bore down upon him, the page began to glow—dark, smoky tendrils curling from its edges.
The words shifted, written in ink darker than night itself.
---
Zayn didn't have time to think.
He placed his hand upon the page.
The world turned black.
---
A pulse of shadow erupted from him, swallowing the serpent whole in an instant.
The fire vanished—snuffed out like a candle.
The boy stumbled back, eyes wide in horror.
"What… what the hell—"
Zayn's body moved on instinct, shadows swirling at his feet.
His voice came out low, distant—like it wasn't entirely his.
"I don't need fire to burn you."
---
With a flick of his wrist, the shadows lashed forward, striking the boy square in the chest and sending him sprawling across the arena.
The boy's Grimoire flew from his hands, landing yards away.
Silence.
---
The match was over.
---
Zayn stood in the quiet aftermath, his chest heaving as the shadows slowly receded, vanishing like mist.
His Grimoire closed itself, the page returning to its blank, empty state.
---
Above him, the banners rippled.
Somewhere beyond the noise, he thought he saw one of the Captains watching him closely.
---
Then, the world shifted again—pulling him back to the waiting chambers.