Silence.
It clung to Zayn like a second skin as he stumbled back into the waiting chamber, his breath still ragged, heart still pounding.
The room was dim, lit by hovering crystals embedded in the walls. The faint hum of magic pulsed through the stones beneath his feet.
He stood there for a long moment, his hand still resting on the now-closed Grimoire at his hip.
It hadn't moved again.
It hadn't needed to.
---
"Zayn?"
Lyra's voice broke through the fog in his head.
She was there—rushing toward him, her amber eyes wide with worry. Mira followed close behind, looking equally pale, while Kael stood further back, arms crossed, watching silently.
"You—what happened in there?" Lyra demanded, grabbing his arm. "They pulled you in so fast we couldn't see anything on the scrying mirrors."
Her grip was warm, grounding.
Zayn opened his mouth to speak—but nothing came out.
How could he explain it? That he had opened a Grimoire with no spells, no words—only to watch it swallow fire like it was smoke?
That it had spoken to him—without words, but with intent?
---
Mira's voice was quieter, but no less urgent.
"We saw the result, though," she whispered, glancing toward the sealed door leading back to the arena. "They said you won… instantly."
Her gaze flicked to his hip—to the book.
"To him."
---
Zayn felt the weight of their stares. He hated it.
"It wasn't me," he said, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "It was the book."
His siblings exchanged glances.
Even Kael's usual composure cracked slightly.
---
Lyra's brows furrowed as she looked at the Grimoire again, her voice softening just enough.
"Zayn… it's not normal. Grimoires don't act on their own like that."
She hesitated, then added more carefully, "And… they don't usually extinguish magic. They amplify it. Channel it. But what we saw—"
She stopped herself, biting her lip.
Zayn could feel the unspoken words hanging in the air.
What we saw wasn't magic. It was something else.
---
Before he could respond, the room's crystals pulsed, signaling the next round.
They all turned as more names began appearing on the glowing wall.
Lyra's name appeared next—along with Mira's and Kael's in separate rings.
It was their turn.
---
Mira looked nervous but determined as she placed a hand over her Grimoire. Lyra's face hardened, her earlier worry replaced by her usual fierce focus. Kael, ever steady, simply gave a curt nod.
"I'll be fine," Lyra said softly, glancing at Zayn one last time before stepping toward the teleport circle.
"Don't do anything reckless," Zayn muttered, almost surprised by the concern in his own voice.
She smirked faintly, the barest curve of her lips.
"Same to you, Outcast."
Then they were gone—pulled into the arena by the magic circles.
---
Zayn sat down slowly, his legs finally giving out beneath him.
He stared at the Grimoire on his lap—at the dark leather cover, still unmarked save for that faint, unsettling shimmer.
It looked like any other old book.
But he knew better now.
---
"...What are you?" Zayn muttered under his breath, running his fingers along the worn spine.
The book stayed quiet.
---
But deep down, something stirred.
---
Later, after their matches...
---
The Tournament dragged on.
Zayn watched as dozens of others were tested—some victorious, others failing in brutal, embarrassing defeats. Magic of every kind clashed within the stone rings: Ice against Fire, Sand against Lightning, Wind against Water.
And yet, all through it, Zayn remained distant, quiet.
He couldn't stop replaying it in his mind.
That voice—that cold, hollow call from his Grimoire.
And the way it had devoured magic like it was nothing.
---
It wasn't until later that night, in the dormitories provided for the contestants, that Zayn finally confronted it again.
The room was small and dim, with only the flickering candlelight casting shadows along the stone walls.
Zayn sat on the edge of the bed, the Grimoire resting on his knees.
---
"This is madness," he muttered, running a hand through his dark hair.
Still, he opened it again.
---
The page was blank.
But as he stared at it, something shimmered—words slowly began etching themselves into the paper, as if invisible ink was revealing itself by firelight.
Zayn's breath caught.
---
Absorb.
Recreate.
Reverse.
Extinguish.
---
His pulse quickened.
The words vanished as quickly as they appeared—but their meaning burned into his mind.
---
Absorb.
He remembered it clearly—the serpent of flame swallowed whole by the shadows.
Recreate.
His fingers twitched at the thought. Could he… summon that fire again? He hadn't tried.
Reverse.
He shuddered, imagining it—sending spells back to their caster, twice as strong, perhaps.
Extinguish.
He had seen it firsthand—magic reduced to nothingness.
---
"This isn't normal," he muttered, staring down at the Grimoire like it might bite him.
But somewhere, a part of him—small and dangerous—felt a pull.
A hunger.
---
What else can you do?
---
Just then, the door creaked open, breaking him from the thought.
Kael entered, his expression unreadable.
"You should rest," Kael said simply, leaning against the wall. "Tomorrow, the captains begin choosing their recruits."
Zayn gave a hollow laugh. "You think anyone's going to pick me?"
Kael's gaze didn't waver.
"...They're already watching you, Zayn. You're not invisible anymore."
Zayn swallowed hard, his throat dry.
---
As Kael turned to leave, he added quietly, "Be careful with that book, brother."
Zayn's hands tightened around the Grimoire.
"I don't think I have a choice."
---
That night, sleep came slow.
And somewhere in the depths of his dreams, Zayn heard it again.
---
Absorb.
Recreate.
Reverse.
Extinguish.
---
The words echoed in his mind like a curse.
---
Morning arrived like a quiet storm.
Muted, tense, thick with the weight of unspoken things.
Zayn barely slept. His mind had churned endlessly, caught between dread and curiosity, fear and something darker… fascination.
By dawn, he had stopped fighting it.
---
The Tournament resumed at sunrise, but this day wasn't about battles.
This was the day of the Selection Gathering.
---
A sprawling amphitheater, older than most kingdoms, carved into the cliffs beyond the capital. Massive stone arches rose above them, draped in banners of thirteen distinct colors—each bearing a unique crest.
The Crests of the Thirteen Mystic Orders.
---
Zayn stood among the gathered competitors, shoulder to shoulder with Lyra, Mira, and Kael, all of them silent as the captains arrived.
---
One by one, they appeared atop the high stone dais overlooking the arena—thirteen figures, each more imposing than the last.
Some walked, some flew, others appeared in bursts of magic—shadows, wind, or flames.
And they did not come alone.
---
With them came their knights—hundreds of warriors standing tall, each wearing the colors and insignia of their Order, each radiating power.
The air thickened with magic.
Even Zayn felt it—his Grimoire pulsing faintly at his hip, almost… eager.
---
Mira's voice was barely a whisper beside him.
"They're really here…"
---
Zayn glanced sideways at her.
"Who are they?"
---
Kael answered quietly, his voice low and steady.
"The Thirteen Captains of the Mystic Legions."
His gaze flicked to the captains above.
"Each one a monster in human skin."
---
Lyra added softly, with a spark of excitement in her eyes, "They say the weakest among them could level cities."
Her words weren't exaggerated.
Everyone in the arena knew the truth.
---
They weren't just Captains.
They were rulers in their own right—wielding magic and authority second only to the Demi-Gods, the Lords, and the Thrones of the Realm.
---
High above, a deep horn sounded, vibrating through the bones of every person present.
The crowd fell dead silent.
---
And then, the First Captain stepped forward.
---
He wore robes blacker than night itself, threaded with silver runes that seemed to move under the sun.
His face was hidden behind a half-mask, but his voice carried with effortless weight.
---
"Competitors of this year's Mystic Tournament," he spoke, calm but cold. "You stand on the edge of destiny."
---
Zayn swallowed, his heart pounding.
The Captain continued.
---
"Forget the tales you've heard. Forget the foolish belief that your magic alone will dictate your fate."
His silver eyes swept across them.
"In our Orders, we take those we choose. Fire does not only belong to flame. Ice does not only freeze in the cold. Power… lies in the will."
---
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
---
Lyra's eyes glimmered.
"So it's true…"
---
Zayn tilted his head slightly toward her.
"What?"
---
She didn't look at him.
"The Captains don't care what magic you have," she whispered, almost reverent. "They care who you are."
---
Up on the dais, the First Captain raised a gloved hand.
Thirteen colored flares shot into the sky, exploding like dying stars.
---
Then, another figure appeared—older, wrapped in silken robes lined with gold and deep crimson. His presence seemed to silence even the Captains.
A Lord.
One of the High Nobility, perhaps even higher—standing between the mortal Orders and the Thrones themselves.
---
He spoke softly, but his words carried across the wind.
"Let the choosing begin."
---
The first names were called.
---
One by one, competitors were summoned into the center of the arena, standing beneath the watching eyes of every Captain.
Some were chosen immediately, approached by Captains who offered their sigils with a mere touch.
Others were dismissed coldly.
---
Zayn watched as his siblings were called.
---
Mira went first—nervous, but fierce.
When her name was called, she stepped forward and summoned her magic—Illusion and Trap, woven together in strange, intricate patterns.
She held her ground as three Captains stepped down to inspect her.
---
Lyra squeezed Zayn's arm tightly, unable to hide her nerves.
---
Kael was next.
He didn't even need to display his magic—Shadow and Stone. Two Captains called for him instantly.
Kael accepted calmly, without hesitation.
---
Then, Lyra.
---
She was radiant under the sun, flames crackling at her fingertips as she stood before them.
But her control wasn't just in fire—Wind swirled around her as well, wild and beautiful.
---
Two Captains stood immediately—but one in particular caught everyone's eye.
The Captain of the Crimson Fang.
His crest was a snarling wolf encircled by thorned flames, his robes deep crimson edged in gold.
He pointed toward Lyra without a word.
---
The crowd gasped.
---
Lyra's cheeks flushed, but she stepped forward proudly to accept the sigil of the Crimson Fang.
---
And then—
---
"Zayn."
---
Silence.
---
All eyes turned to him.
---
Zayn's legs felt heavy, but he forced himself to walk.
Each step felt louder than the last.
---
When he reached the center, the Captains watched him with unreadable gazes.
None moved.
---
The Lord's voice rang out.
"Show your magic."
---
Zayn hesitated.
Then, slowly, he opened his Grimoire.
---
At first, nothing.
Only that empty page, faintly pulsing under the sunlight.
---
The crowd shifted, whispering.
---
But Zayn didn't flinch.
---
He focused.
Let it pull.
---
And then—it moved.
---
Shadows coiled from the page, twisting in a slow, spiraling dance.
The Grimoire shimmered—and suddenly, the arena lit up with mirrored images.
---
Spells that had been cast earlier in the Tournament.
Ice shards, flames, lightning bolts, stone fists—all recreated in vivid, shimmering detail.
The Grimoire wasn't summoning new magic.
It was copying what it had absorbed.
---
The crowd's whispers turned to shouts.
---
But Zayn wasn't finished.
---
He focused harder—and with a strange, bone-deep tug, the copied spells unraveled before their eyes, fading into dust.
Extinguished.
---
Gasps filled the air.
---
And then—one more thing.
---
Zayn pointed toward a nearby target dummy used for training.
The Grimoire's page rippled—and a mirror image of a spell cast earlier by a Captain appeared.
A bolt of dark flame.
It shot out toward the dummy—twice as fast, twice as violent.
---
The target exploded.
---
The arena erupted into chaos.
---
The Captains didn't move.
They simply watched him.
But something had shifted.
Zayn could feel it.
---
He had become something else entirely in their eyes.
---
One Captain finally spoke.
A woman in deep green and silver armor, her eyes glowing faintly.
Her voice was cool and measured.
---
"What magic is that?"
---
Zayn's throat was dry.
"…I don't know."
---
The Lord stepped forward, staring down at him.
---
"You bear something… ancient," the Lord said softly. "It is not magic meant for mortals."
---
Zayn said nothing.
The Grimoire closed itself with a quiet snap.
---
Silence hung heavy.
---
And then, slowly, the Captains began to rise—one after another.
---
But none offered him a place.
Not yet.
---
The Lord's voice echoed through the arena.
---
"We will deliberate."
---
Then he turned to Zayn specifically.
---
"You, Outcast… will remain under watch."
---
Zayn didn't argue.
He couldn't.
---
As he walked back toward the others, the crowd still whispering and parting before him like he carried a plague, Lyra grabbed his arm.
Her eyes were wide—afraid, but not of him.
---
"They're scared of you," she whispered.
---
Zayn let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
---
"So am I."