"Rosalind had good intentions. Samantha had good intentions. Neither of them ever
imagined the story would end like this. But intentions are merely whispers against the gale of
fate. Because of their actions, the scales are tilting leftward—not just for them, but for
everyone. I, Tres, will be here to narrate this descent with you. I won't be gone for long."
Tres—whispered, her voice slicing through the static of the void with theatrical precision.
"Wait," the Male Narrator interrupted, his voice sounding distant and confused. "Did you hear
that? I felt like someone was... talking over us."
"Shut up," the Female Narrator snapped, her tone sharp with nerves. "That's not possible."
The group had arrived at Stadium Da Silva. It wasn't a sprawling complex like the Ancient
City Zedoh; it was compact, modern, and renovated. It was less a stadium and more a
Colosseum, stripped of any pretense of sport and dedicated entirely to the architecture of
combat.
As they crossed the threshold, the oppressive, iron-tasting Vim of the Shroudwoods abruptly
vanished. The stadium was reinforced with walls and spells specifically placed to ward off
the forest's eerie humor. For Rosalind, the sudden absence of that weight was a relief so
abrupt it made her more dizzy.
They didn't head for the main arena. Instead, they were led into a specialized room—a
mini-colosseum of its own, capped with a heavy obsidian roof. In the center were two
elevated stages floating above blackened pavement, that could easily be mistaken for a
hole, the stages were at the centre of this room surrounded by stands meant for the
audience to use to watch. The stages positioned far enough from the audience stands to
ensure safety. One stage was painted a deep, authoritative Blue, with the word PAWN
etched into its base; the other was a violent Red, marked KNIGHT.
"It's not very impressive," Rosalind remarked, her voice echoing in the stone chamber. "It's
just... large. I hope it doesn't try to teleport us again."
Jocelyn caught her eye and gave an imperceptible chuckle. "It won't teleport you anywhere,
Rosalind. But once the fight begins, these stages will lock you into a pocket dimension.
Jocelyn explains, It provides a vast amount of space to fight without the risk of your attacks
touching the audience. The space isn't infinite, but it is enough."
"And the crowd?" Rosalind asked, gesturing to the seats.
"They view the fight through a semi-globe live stream," Bridge added, joining them. "It's like
being inside the battle without the threat of being hit."
Rosalind nodded, then turned her gaze toward Vesper, who was standing apart, her Vim still
bleeding out, small, oily wisps of shadow like smoke from a hot kettle. "Vesper? Why didn't Vesper didn't look at her. "Viera and Liesl don't like fighting in these circumstances. They are
saving their strength for later."
"Later?" Rosalind pressed.
"Later," Vesper repeated firmly. "And as for Bridge... Mord would have considered her and
possibly coerced her, if you hadn't forced our hand by using your mother as a threat to join
the roster yourself."
Rosalind scoffed, the heat returning to her cheeks, and turned away to find Mord. He was
currently speaking with a figure who appeared to be a referee. "Mord! The paper Raina gave
you—who are the opponents? Could I possibly hear their names?"
"I will tell everyone once we are together," Mord replied, his tone final.finishing his
conversation with the referee.
As they gathered, Rosalind watched Viera floating idly in the air, teasing Jocelyn, who was
jumping up and down trying to hit the fire-inheritor with a stick. Shameful, Rosalind thought,
her heart sinking. I hope the Jester doesn't disappoint us when it actually matters.
Vesper, however, her mind was no longer in the room. Her mind had retreated into the cold,
dark garden of her memories. She remembered when she first arrived at Glen Hearthstone
Atheneum her first few classes were unbearable, Raina had a very good part in making the
experience more unbearable, Raina would usually wait until Vesper fell asleep in class to
draw humiliating faces all over her face and clothes. She remembered the presentations
where Raina would use her brush to malform Vesper's shadow into grotesque monsters,
scaring the children and the teachers alike.
She remembered the sting of the holy water the teachers had sprayed on her to "cleanse"
the darkness. At first, it had been nothing but cold water. But as her witch powers grew, as
the "Evil Queen" took root, the water had begun to sting. A physical warning that she was
becoming the very thing they feared.
Stop it, she told herself, shaking her head to clear the negative thoughts. Focus. Who was
the dwarf Raina mentioned? Which one of them would be friends with someone like her?
Mord stepped into the center of their circle, his presence demanding immediate attention. He
produced the slip of rainbow-inked paper.
"These were Raina choices," Mord said, his voice a low rumble that felt colder than the stone
walls. "Our opponents are as follows: Ittetsu Shin, the Maiden of Yue; CEO Sinead, the
Leprechaun; and Bom Soo Ahn, the Skirt of the Earth."
The names hung in the air, heavy and expectant. The duel was no longer a threat; it was a
reality.