Xaden was not surprised by Damon's name being at the top of the list. He'd actually suspected it. The noble houses were rather known for producing the most remarkable soldiers of each passing generation. Still, he couldn't help but wonder whether Damon held a grudge against them.
The rankings slowly vanished, and the hall fell silent. A familiar lady, dressed flamboyantly in a dress made of dark feathers, stepped elegantly onto the stage.
A devious smile appeared on her red lips, her dress shifting slightly as she moved.
"Good morning, candidates," she spoke, excitement evident in her tone. The Host began to walk slow circles around the platform, her movements just the right amount of cheerful and bubbly without being uncultured.
"You've all been so brave, facing the challenges of the first Crucible," she placed a hand on her chest, "and for those who fell among us, we condemn their souls to the Eos."
A moment of silence ensued.
***
Xaden stood in front of the weapon rack, observing the various items, ranging from shortswords to daggers and even hammers. Around him, voices overlapped with frustration and excitement as training candidates pushed their abilities to the very limit.
Some candidates from wealthy families even had private instructors who helped them train. Some even had private quarters all to themselves, while the rest had to make do with the few low-ranking militants with heated tempers around the Echelon to guide them. Personally, Xaden wasn't opposed to private instructors, though he hadn't approached any officer for guidance.
He picked up one of the shortswords and held it in his hands. It felt weird. He dropped it and grabbed a spear next. Still didn't feel right, not like his bow.
Xaden knew he couldn't bring that out in the open and show how proficient he was with it. Now that he was revealed to be weak, it was better to lean into that narrative, allowing him the advantage of being underestimated by his opponents. The more cards he had hidden beneath his sleeve, the better.
The host hadn't really said much in the assembly. Aside from constantly reminding them of how much fun they were going to have and the honour awaiting those who survived. He had stopped paying attention at some point.
With a jolt, he remembered the artefact he had received from the Crucible. A feeling of excitement awakened in him. He facepalmed. How could he have forgotten about it?
He giddily left the training station and went back to his dorm room. He sat on his bed and willed the object to appear. At that moment, he felt like an eager little kid opening presents on his birthday.
The air rippled slightly. Faint red sparks flickered a bit ahead of him just before a tangled, crimson ball of glowing thread dropped into his open palms.
'-What...'
Xaden stared at the item, aghast. He was honestly a bit disappointed that it wasn't some splendid-looking weapon.
A golden set of words appeared in front of him.
[Awakened Artifact Received]
[Name: Ariadne's Thread]
[Class: —]
The words after class glitched, so they were completely obscured from Xaden's vision. He looked at it quizzically, trying to decipher the encoded message. Xaden eventually gave up; perhaps it was a glitch caused by his anomaly.
He waved the message aside. A new set of words, rearranged in front of him.
[There was a girl called Ariadne, blessed with divine abilities from the gods. Using those abilities, she wove a path where none existed, allowing a Hero to kill something that wasn't meant to die.]
Xaden bit back the urge to yawn, wondering if it was telling him a bedtime story or delivering him a powerful weapon.
[But the gods do not forgive what goes against their design. The Hero left her. Alone. Forgotten. Later transforming into a being of pure sorrow.]
"..."
[Only the thread remained]
He pursed his lips in contemplation. That got dark pretty quick. He almost felt sorry for Ariadne.
'The gods must surely be cruel.'
Though he didn't dwell on the story for too long, he was already anticipating what the Thread was capable of.
The words began to change.
[The Thread binds what is touched. It guides what is lost, holding without hands. Weaves what is and what could be.]
[Touch it, and be bound]
The thread glowed faintly in his hands. Xaden wondered what the last part of the description meant. He found the end and drew out the thread, watching as the glowing material untangled. It then took control and began untangling by itself. Xaden watched as it began moving towards his arms, wrapping itself around his wrist. Thin lines of light etched themselves into his skin, curling up his forearm in delicate, glowing patterns.
It didn't hurt or burn. The glow pulsed once more, then dimmed, leaving behind an almost pretty, faint, thread-like marking on his arm, except it looked intentional.
"Well, it's cool, I guess." Xaden tried to be grateful, even as the mere idea of it annoyed him deeply. While some people got indestructible armor and powerful swords, he was stuck with a magical sewing material.
An image of himself running around a battlefield, offering to mend the soldiers' uniforms while savage beasts attacked, appeared in his mind, causing him deep distress.
No wonder it didn't have a class. The item itself knew it wasn't an awakened artefact but an old crone's tool.
He heaved a sigh; nonetheless, the thread was still an artefact whether he liked it or not. He would have to figure out what it could do.
He concentrated on the thread on his right arm. The thin line slipped free from his arm, shrouded in a red light that reminded Xaden of his own energy. He guided it forward, and the thread obeyed. It drifted slowly in the air, weightlessly.
He could feel it, not only with his eyes, but with his mind, as though a second awareness had awakened inside of him.
Like a signal of sorts.
The thread vanished, but it was still there. Xaden had only made it so it was nigh invisible. He knew where the thread was without seeing it.
Instinct.
He breathed and carefully pushed it further.
The thread slipped past the walls of his dorm as if they weren't there, phasing through solid metal without resistance. The moment it left the room, his perception shifted.
He saw the corridors stretch. Blurred shapes moved around, shades of orange and red bled into his vision. The view wasn't too clear, but it was enough.
Xaden swallowed, steadying himself as the sensation threatened to overwhelm him.
"Okay… slowly…"
He guided it along the hall, past closed doors and faint voices. Other candidates moving about, their presence flickering in and out of his perception like distant echoes.
Xaden fought the urge to chuckle. It really was a splendid artefact. He took back every nasty thing he had said about it.
The thread caught two figures in a corridor, standing close enough so it seemed like something romantic was going on.
Although Xaden usually wasn't nosy, the rush of excitement over his new artefact made him... interested. Really, anyone could enjoy a good scandal. Romantic attachments weren't usually encouraged in the military, as they could be seen as a distraction. Although it never stopped officers from engaging in heated affairs.
Xaden focused.
The thread drifted closer, tightening the connection. The shapes sharpened slightly. One was a tall figure with dark hair, while the other was shorter. Lean. Almost familiar...
Recognition hit a second later. It was Damon Valerion and Casryn, two people Xaden had met recently, whom he was sure had never even shared a glance towards each other.
Then there was an aura coming off Damon. It felt cold, abysmal. Like being at the edge of a lightless void.
His focus sharpened instinctively. He had to see what exactly they were doing. The thread inched closer, and he could see they were definitely not making out. Instead, they seemed to be in a sort of disagreement. Curious, he tried inching the thread closer.
Damon's head snapped up. His blue eyes locked onto nothing. Xaden's breath hitched. For a split second, nothing moved. Then Damon's expression hardened, his gaze narrowing like he was staring directly at something.
Him.
"Someone's watching," he said.
Casryn looked around her, confused.
Panic surged through him.
"Shit—"
He willed the thread back just as he felt a force about to snatch it.
The world collapsed back into itself, the corridors vanishing from his awareness as the thread recoiled violently, snapping back into his arm along with exhaustion.
Xaden staggered slightly, catching himself on the edge of the bed, his breathing uneven. His heart pounded against his ribs. The mark on his arm pulsed red before quickly dying down.
Xaden stared at it, something cold settling in his chest.
"…What the hell are you?"