Chapter 91: Ch91 – D-Day

Ryan’s eyes opened.

The room was quite dark on Ryan’s side.

He rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly. His eyes gravitated to the clock above the door.

Three in the morning.

Two small points of light illuminated the room. Candles. They burned on James’s and Jared’s bedside tables. Both brothers lay in their beds, staring at the ceiling. Neither spoke a word.

Beside each of their beds were two piles.

James’s pile contained a longsword, plain armour pieces stacked carefully, and a medium-sized mace resting on top.

Jared’s pile was nearly a copy. It had very similar armour, a longsword, and a small warhammer.

Eleanor’s curtain was drawn. She was still asleep.

Ryan swung his legs off the bed.

“Good morning,” he said groggily. His voice felt too loud in the stillness.

“Morning,” Jared replied.

“Good morning,” James said. Stiff and mechanical. Like the words were forced out.

Ryan stretched his arms and stood.

His own armour sat beneath his bed—brought back from yesterday’s training session with Garsen. He knelt down slowly and reached under.

His hand found the helmet first.

It was freezing cold and heavy.

It was the great helm he’d trained in for the past two days.

Ryan pulled it out and sat with it on the edge of his bed.

He stared at it, into the narrow slit where his eyes would look through.

His hands rested on the curved steel.

No thoughts came. No grand realisations. No speeches to himself about courage or fate.

Just the weight of the helmet in his hands.

And the knowledge that in a few hours, he’d be wearing it in an arena.

Ryan set the helmet down beside his bed and leaned over the edge, sliding it back underneath.

He didn’t get up. Just lay back down.

His hand reached over to his bedside table. Where it found its target, Ryan’s bracelet.

Black iron. Colder to the touch than the helmet.

Ryan held it up in the dim candlelight turning it slowly. The yellow writing along its surface began to glow faintly—those strange symbols he couldn’t quite comprehend.

His fingers traced the metal. They explored its cold surface.

What are you?

After the Trial. After I win. I’ll find out your secrets.

Ryan slipped the bracelet onto his wrist.

It settled into place.

He stared at the ceiling.

The room was still silent. James and Jared hadn’t moved. The candle flames flickered.

Three in the morning.

Three hours until dawn.

Three hours until the Trial.

Ryan closed his eyes.

And waited.

—Navius—

Navius sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands.

The room was grand, luxurious even. It had intricate silk curtains, polished, dark-wooden furniture and even a chandelier overhead.

His father had insisted on it. “The academy dormitories are too grimy,” Arcturus had said. “Unfit for a Rellick. We will stay here.”

So they’d taken rooms in one of his father’s friend’s mansions. Close to the academy. Close to the arena.

His father had entered the room to wake him up and get him ready. But Navius hadn’t slept a wink.

Arcturus stood by the window, looking out at the dark city streets.

“You understand what’s at stake,” Arcturus said. His voice was calm. Too calm.

“Yes, father.”

“If you lose—”

“I won’t lose.”

Arcturus turned. His eyes were cold. Assessing.

“You have my blood, you have your brother’s blood. You have skilled fighters with you.”

“I know.”

“Then why do you look nervous?”

Navius paused. “I’m—I’m not.”

“You are.” Arcturus stepped closer. “But you shouldn’t be. You have nothing to fear, Navius.”

Navius shook his head, and sat in silence for a moment.

“The fighters you’ve arranged,” Navius said slowly. “They are… reliable?”

“They are the best gold can purchase.” Arcturus smiled. “They’ll do their job. You do yours.”

Navius nodded slowly.

His father moved to the table where a map of the arena lay spread out accompanied by notes and drawings scattered about.

“Come,” Arcturus said. “Let’s review the plan one more time.”

Navius stood and joined him.

They bent over the map and began.

—Ryan—

The clock read five.

Ryan sat up. The candles on James’s and Jared’s bedside tables had burned lower. Both brothers were still awake, and still staring at the ceiling.

“We should probably get ready,” Ryan said quietly.

James exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

Jared swung his legs off his bed. “Let’s get going then.”

They moved quietly. Gathering their armour and weapons into backpacks.

Ryan glanced at Eleanor’s curtain. It was still drawn. No sound came from behind it.

“Should we wake her?” Jared whispered.

Ryan hesitated. Then shook his head. “Let her sleep. We can leave her a note.”

James found a piece of paper on his desk and scribbled a quick note:

Gone to the arena. See you there. — J (James, not the other J)

He left it on Eleanor’s desk where she’d see it.

The three brothers shouldered their packs. Ryan’s hand moved to his wrist, checking the bracelet one more time. Still there.

He picked up the fire Renalt gemstone from his bedside table and slipped it carefully into his pouch.

James opened the door slowly. The hinges creaked softly.

They stepped into the hallway.

It was dark, empty, and silent.

Most of the academy was still asleep. But that wouldn’t remain so for long.

Ryan pulled the door closed behind him, and locked it.

The trio walked down the hallway. Down the stairs and out into the cold air.

The sky was still dark. No hint of sunrise yet.

But dawn was coming.

—————

The journey to arena one was long and silent.

Their path took them past the main building and a couple of dormitories.

The first arena was on the other side of the massive academy grounds.

Ryan found himself quite shocked at just how big the academy was.

There’s another new building over there. That makes it what… the sixth new building, seventh maybe? I will explore them all.

That’s if I survive today…

The path crossed over a small hill. It filled their view immediately.

Arena One. It was just fifty meters ahead.

The arena sat low against the earth—it wasn’t elevated on platforms like the grand Exhibition arena he’d seen in the city. This was older and built into the natural contours of the land rather than imposed upon it.

The arena sat in a kind of… bowl. The surrounding areas raised up into mounds, leaving the arena in the lowest point, at the center of the bowl.

Twelve massive statues marked the boundary of the fighting zone. They stood in the shape of an imperfect circle, as if it was stretched both ways. Each one of the statues towered three times the height of a man. Stone gods carved with meticulous detail—their faces were stern, bodies toned and hands holding symbols of their domains.

One, the most imposing of all, at least in Ryan’s eyes, stood with a lightning bolt. Another one, a woman, cradled a hammer and a sickle.

So there is a God of lightning… and a God of communism. Intriguing.

Ryan joked to himself, but it still couldn’t calm his nerves.

All twelve of the statues were silent witnesses.

The spacing between each statue was significant—perhaps twenty paces from one to the next. Wide enough so that the circle they formed was vast, creating an arena floor easily large enough for fifty fighters to spread out and clash, let alone twelve.

The ground within that sacred circle was dirt, turned to mud by the rain two nights ago. It was flat and open with nowhere to hide. Not an obstacle stood within it.

Mist rolled across the surface in slow, undulating waves. Low-lying fog that clung to the earth and refused to rise. It reached perhaps knee-high, thick enough to obscure footing and make movement treacherous.

Ryan stared at the mist with a glad smile.

So that’s why she chose that spell… Page 129. She’s a pretty good researcher.

A few students had already arrived—five or six of them. A couple of them leaned against the base of one of the statues, one of them kept waving his hand through the mist. They watched Ryan and his brothers approach but said nothing, just observing with curiosity.

“I wonder how old those statues are,” Jared said, beside Ryan.

Before Ryan could respond, a voice called out from near the arena’s edge.

“The original arena!”

Ryan turned.

Marcus strode toward them, a wide grin on his face. He carried a bag and a few of his weapons. A long, ornate dagger hung from his belt, and a round shield was strapped to his back. There were also six more smaller daggers sheathed on his belt.

Beside him walked Jeremy who had a similar bag but carried a short spear in one hand and a large round shield in the other. He also had sheathed a small, old and battered warhammer that was barely alive. His face was flushed, eyes bright with barely contained energy.

“It was built six hundred years ago when the academy was founded,” Marcus continued as he reached them. His voice carried the enthusiasm of someone sharing sacred knowledge. “Every Trial of Twelve that involved a student has been fought here. Right here. On that ground. The Gods watch from their stone bodies and render divine judgment in blood and steel.”

“How many Trials have there been?” Jared asked.

“Here? This marks eighty two,” Marcus said immediately. “Eighty two times the accused have demanded judgment. Fifty five times they were vindicated. Twenty seven times they fell.”

Jeremy shifted his weight from foot to foot, practically vibrating. “I’ve never fought in a real combat before. I mean, I’ve sparred, trained, but this…” He grinned. “This is actual combat. No holding back.”

“You sound excited,” James said, eyeing him warily.

“I am!” Jeremy’s grin widened. “Aren’t you? This is what I’ve been training for. A real fight. Finally a real test.”

Ryan looked at him. At the manic energy barely restrained. At the way Jeremy’s hands kept adjusting his grip on the spear like he couldn’t wait to use it.

His enthusiasm helped alleviate some of the stress of his comrades.

Marcus clapped Jeremy on the shoulder. “Divine judgment rewards the righteous and the bold, brother. Your enthusiasm honours the gods.”

Jeremy laughed. “I just want to see if I’m as good as I think I am.”

“You’re not.” Jared said, flatly.

“Then why’d you get me?” Jeremy asked, smug.

“Because there was no one else.” The response came like a slap in the face.

“Just kidding.” Jared said with a smile.

James chuckled, a bit of red returning to his previously deathly-pale face.

The five of them stood together near the edge of the arena. Five of the six fighters.

The sixth was still missing.

Ryan scanned the area. Looking for any sign of the mystery knight.

Nothing yet.

But dawn was still an hour away.

The mystery knight will come. They promised.

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