Earlier

  Rhea led the group, her orange-robed guide directing her down a nondescript corridor. After a nod of farewell, she followed in silence, their footsteps echoing in the dim passage.

  The damp air reminded her of the underground training halls where she first learned tunnel fighting—a fun memory of bypassing spear walls, throwing wielders into their own ranks, and watching the chaos.

  I thrive in chaos. In battle, only skill matters—not birth, status, or politics—just survival and victory. Theon excelled but never enjoyed it; as a noble scion, excellence was expected. She smiled.

  Her oldest friend had crafted spell combinations for her, builds designed to turn her into a monster on the field. Hopefully, I get Blood Magic. Healers are terrifying melee combatants. And Shamanic shapeshifting... I've always wondered how it feels to enter a battle rage as a furious ursine, to rend and tear with claw and fang. She could nearly taste the blood.

  But it will probably be elemental magic, more common among the common-born.

  She matched her guide's pace, though her thoughts wandered.

  Aaron.

  A strange man, scary good with a spear—not just talent, but something sharper, more precise. His divine skill guide gave him an edge, but still... if he overcomes his panic and develops the right instincts, how long until he matches me? Exceeds me?

  A thrill curled through her—a peer, a real challenge. It sent a pleasant tingle down her spine. These days, only older Martials offered interesting fights.

  Unless he breaks before he rises. Her smirk faded. He is wound tight as a bowstring; if he snaps, he wouldn't be the first. They needed to address that.

  A bathhouse would do him good. The tension in her shoulders reminded her she could use it too—a deep massage, warm water, and maybe more.

  She smirked again, suddenly feeling warmer.

  Her reverie broke as they reached a portal, beautifully carved with myths of trickery. Her gaze lingered on the intricate designs. Theon could probably narrate all of these to me. He would. She grinned. The portal clicked, sending a shiver down her spine. The final challenge. The last obstacle to becoming an Epoptai in the academy.

  Her roughspun tunic scratched her skin as she waited for the gate's wings to swing open. I have my orders. Need to match his class level. Hopefully, we're evaluated well. We did well with Will and Strength, even though Strength was a bit chaotic. Most probably lose people in there.

  She clenched her teeth. Unless the scene Aaron caused with the nobles causes issues. It was nice to be defended. She grinned widely. Still, I prefer to remember and get paid back in the ring. A tragedy I haven't had a good shot at the brat yet.

  The gates fell open. She relaxed, centering her body. Two quick glances. Two armed figures. Experienced Martials. Good. Mantis suit. And a wraith suit. She frowned. This is a problem. A single domed hall. Another door with a golden lock. A pedestal with a large golden key in the center, guarded by the two Martials.

  She stepped forward, mimicking the steps of a moderately skilled fighter. She felt the fabric shift, the rough stone underfoot. The air was slightly colder here, more musty. Something else is in the air. Roses. Perfume. Now, who is the vain one? Going for her face will probably make her overcommit. She suppressed a smile.

  Striking a little heiress in the face was always amusing. They wailed, cried, and acted like it was the end of the world—until a healer patched them up.

  She bowed slightly. "Honored Martials, I greet you. Let this be a contest under the eyes of the Sixteen."

  "Greetings, Aspirant. Under the eyes of the Sixteen, we shall match wits," replied the wraith-suited man. So, the feminine one in the mantis suit is a woman. She assessed them.

  The man was polite. The woman was likely noble-born. I'll need to be careful not to overdo it; she might have real power. Her halberd was inlaid with gems. Foolishness. Who weighs down their blade like that? No, the shorter man was the dangerous one here. His hookfeather had a long, thin blade, complete with a catcher and a sharp hook. And then there's the wraith suit. I've never won against those.

  Can't even see the wires. The suit was made of reddish silk, layers upon layers, moving as if he stood in a breeze. They will redirect blades, and entangle limbs. Worst of all were the wires that granted them exceptional mobility and could slice through Mundanes.

  I have no source of scorching damage. The primary weakness of the assassin's garb. But his weapon—a skill blade. He's a formidable warrior. Perhaps too formidable.

  "I would ask for a training duel with you," she said, pointing at the mantis-suited woman. Even her suit had elaborate decorations. Rhea was incredulous. That must have cost a mutagen slot. Foolishness.

  "Why do you think I wish to fight you?" The voice was refined, and aristocratic.

  "Because I would learn from your skill. We both serve the Polis; denying me this opportunity would be a disservice to the Sixteen."

  "Well spoken," interjected the man. "Would you fight me as well?"

  Rhea maintained a neutral expression. He was observing her, evaluating. If I fought him, I would lose. Maybe not immediately, but inevitably. She couldn't take that risk.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  She carefully masked her irritation. He probably noticed—he was very dangerous. Facing him is a gamble. Better to play the demure card. She imagined the man unclothed and forced herself to blush.

  She glanced away, a faint redness coloring her cheeks. "You would have me fight a man?" she asked, her voice just shy of scandalized. "That seems improper under these circumstances."

  The swirling silks quivered almost imperceptibly. "I would not dare upset a young lady such as you," said the man once the suit's movement ceased. Rhea hoped her smile appeared courteous.

  "Kaira, if you would demonstrate your skill to the aspirant. How will you fight?"

  Kaira sniffed but nodded. "I shall grant you three rounds: one with the halberd, one utilizing the suit, and one unaided. Prepare yourself."

  Rhea caught the tossed halberd and stepped back. Kaira turned to shoot her fellow guard an annoyed glance. For half a heartbeat, Rhea wondered if Kaira had a death wish. A quick thrust into her armpit, and it would be over. But where is the fun in that?

  Kaira attacked with wide swings, the suit's exo-muscles whipping the halberd viciously. Rhea retreated five steps, each one an opportunity to disarm and skewer the fancy girl. But she needed practice concealing her skill. Will she realize?

  The observer's relaxed demeanor shifted; he tilted his head, scrutinizing. Rhea maneuvered to keep him behind Kaira. No chance I will expose my back. His small nod confirmed it—he knew. Perhaps he knew the moment I walked in.

  Each dodge and deflection with the reinforced handle made Kaira more vicious. She used the artificial muscles to recover her momentum constantly. That is why opponents like her are not the real danger. The observer made a flat-handed cutting gesture across his throat—disable her.

  The halberd came in from the left. Rhea stepped back, catching the shaft between her blade and catcher. Kaira yelped as Rhea pushed the strike aside. I could have pierced her throat, but the order is to disable.

  Kaira used the suit's strength to recover, thrusting toward Rhea. Rhea jumped back, keeping her blade in contact with the halberd's shaft. She twisted the weapon, hooking the axe blade with her own. A second step gave her momentum to wrench the halberd free, sending it skidding across the room.

  To her credit, Kaira reacted immediately, throwing herself at Rhea. Valiant, but suicidal. The weapon would have sliced through the suit's weave effortlessly. Rhea extended, staff and blade as one, aiming for Kaira's throat. At the last moment, she twisted, stopping the blade at Kaira's neck.

  Kaira's momentum halted; her lower body continued, and she fell flat on her back, groaning as if seriously injured. Pathetic.

  "I yield!" she yelped between gulping breaths. Who put her into a trial of combat?

  The man inclined his chin halfway to his chest and held it there for two heartbeats. An honor. A greeting between equals.

  A smile spread across Rhea's face. Only now did she feel the sweat that had started to flow, how hot her muscles had grown, how good the adrenaline made her feel.

  She broke into a full grin. The fancy noble was too busy with herself. She remembered Aaron's strange cry of victory after his first fight. I wonder how they would react if I did that.

  Rhea felt more relaxed than she had in days. The loose clothing suited her. Naked would have been better; that is how all mages learn it in the Argo. But the rough tunic's scrubbing felt familiar by now.

  As the noblewoman rose, the discarded halberd flew into the man's hands. When did he get his wraith wires onto it? This is why everyone hates wraith suits. She shuddered. How many mono-silk fibers are floating through this room right now? Too many.

  As the noble stood upright, the man spoke up.

  "I judge this duel to have been fought fairly under the Infinite Eye." He paused, looking at the woman. She shook her head.

  "The second round. Measure your skill with bare hands. Mantis against Mortal."

  This is the most dangerous round. No range, and she is superior in all. May the Smith have possessed her to gain unwise stats. Hopefully social and cognition. Not movement. She would have noticed that.

  The woman sprang forward. Rhea imagined her grinning under her coth visor. Rhea turned around and ran. There is a reason why scouts use wraith suits. The noble yelled in indignation, chasing after her. Probably a social build then.

  For the next while, Rhea played tag with an ambush predator. Each time the woman approached, she unleashed the suit's muscles, propelling herself like a bullet. Utilizing the walls and seizing moments when her opponent slowed, she managed to keep dodging.

  After several prolonged moments, the noblewoman stood near the room's center, panting heavily. Impressive speed. But she must not be a seasoned warrior.

  "Stand…”, she took a deep breath,”...and... fight!" the woman gasped. Rhea approached her almost casually. If she asks so nicely, I shall oblige. She relaxed her body, feeling the wet warmth of the linen tunic against her skin. Her breathing was only slightly labored. A good warm-up. Pity the next bout will not be as engaging.

  Without warning, the noblewoman summoned her remaining strength, and the suit's final burst to corner Rhea. A sidestep. A backward bend to evade the fist. The attacker screamed. Foolishness. Rhea extended her leg into the woman's path, pulling her wrist forward. She fell again, this time face-first. I must keep her entertained. Rhea swiftly stamped her foot near the woman's head and secured an arm, though there was no need to inflict pain.

  "I...—cough–-... I yield," the noblewoman managed, making no effort to rise. Rhea shifted her weight, concerned. Did I overdo it? I hope we have not gained a new adversary.

  Attempting to mend the situation, she spoke:"You fought with honor. I have earned branches for combat over the past five summers. Your challenge brings honor to your clan."

  She pressed her lips together. That sounds like something Theon would say. Aaron... She suppressed a grin. I hope he does not instigate more than one blood feud in our absence. Theon must be anxious. Her smile faded.

  "You... are good. The Sixteen shall have a reliable warrior in you," the noble spoke between labored breaths.

  "We will see," sounded a voice behind her. The man. A shiver crept up her spine. She stepped aside, knowing what was coming. Hoping it was not too late. Careless.

  Nothing happened. She whipped around. The wraith suit had peeled open, revealing the man's face. Handsome features and curled hair. His forty summers had only enhanced his handsomeness. He will be a powerful man once he is a full adult. She remembered him from the training grounds.

  "Are we skittish today? Little old me should not be a challenge for such a great warrior," he grinned playfully.

  "Ready?"

  Rhea nodded.

  "One last thing. The solution to the trial. You could have taken the key at any time. We were just here, not guarding it."

  Rhea froze, her eyes flashed.

  "Mother damned—" her curse was interrupted as the man shot forward, pulled by a filament wire toward her, his fist coming down like an edict's wrath.

  +++ Shout-Out Time +++

  As always, this chapter was edited using the mighty Infomancy Analyst Spell called ChatGPT.

  Upload schedule: Mon/Tue/Wed/Thu/Fri 4:47 PM EST / 10:47 PM CET → Each chapter is 1500 +/- 500 words long.

  What do you think of Aaron's decisions? Would you have done the same?

  Comment below, Like, Favorite or Recommend. It really helps. Thank you :)

  Congratulations, you made it to the end of Arc One: Trials! Aaron arrived in the Forlorn Worlds and underwent his first trials.

  Which was your favorite chapter in this arc? I loved writing 'Making Friends and Influencing People'.

  Arc Two: Status will open up the world and will see Aaron integrate into the polis of Pella. What could possibly go wrong if a Chosen One enters the politics of a culture he has no clue about?