45th of Season of Air, 58th year of the 32nd cycle

  How? Just how does he keep getting ahead of me?

  Pond Brook overtook Newt for the eighth time. The challenge had started seven hours ago, and for the eighth time, he saw Newt’s back as he whirled past him. The going had been more and more difficult as hours went by, his arms grew heavy, and he was forced to breathe all the time just to get enough oxygen pumping through his aching muscles.

  He’s cheating. Pond grumbled inwardly, his hands no longer moving in a blur as he grabbed the ladder steps and kept going. He’s a core disciple, he must have some way of bypassing the trial. How could he keep getting ahead of me otherwise?

  Pond focused on what was ahead of him, the steps. His stroke of good luck. However, the steps, which at first seemed like a blessing turned into mockery. What was the point of having good luck in a rigged game? When he first saw Newt to his right, on an obstacle course of nightmares, Pond laughed with joy. The second time he was confused, thinking maybe there were more people in the track, but there was no mistaking that red hair. Then came the indignation of the third time, finally followed by anger at the discrimination he was facing.

  Pond was so absorbed in Newt and the unfair treatment he was suffering that he hardly glanced right to meet his other neighbor.

  ***

  Spark advanced up her track, neither trivial nor hellishly difficult. A common face of rock lined with occasional cracks and protruding rock, perfectly climbable. She had naturally glanced at what her neighbors faced, one facing a climb more difficult than hers, while the other had a ladder carved all the way to the top. Spark felt neither resentment nor glee about her situation. And the last thing on her mind was the thought that the trial had treated her unfairly.

  Instead, she climbed, her mind focused on one thing and one thing only. Her goal was the top. The next trial. Her next opportunity.

  ***

  Rose gripped the thorny vine. At first she tried to grab them gently, but the short thorns tore through her defenses regardless of how soft her touch was to bite her skin and taste her flesh. Since she was a healer, she tried healing herself as she climbed, but then the climb dragged on, and Rose gave up. Healing herself perfectly all the time wasted too much spiritual energy, so she focused on keeping her hands together and climbing.

  An hour later, the air grew heavier, and she spotted traces of blood on some vines. As hours dragged on, the atmosphere grew heavier, the bloodstains more frequent and more obvious.

  Rose decided it was an attempt to shake her psyche and pressed on. She never once looked left or right, her eyes out for nothing but the thorns laid out ahead of her.

  ***

  Obi had won the lottery of life. His track had the trial’s one and only set of stairs. The stairs were strange, vertical, straight up, but with a pair of handholds which he gripped tightly as he climbed right towards the heavens, his body perfectly horizontal.

  An hour later, Obi’s body grew heavier. He spotted a person ahead of him, barely moving up the wall. It was Fourchains, muttering curses, stabbing the perfectly flat rock with his daggers.

  Obsidian was confused. He climbed down a bit and saw a mere handful of handholds Fourchains had made. The man had barely climbed twenty yards during the hour that had passed.

  Obi kept going, and half a minute later saw Hail, a tall young woman from two-twenty-five. She was climbing at a decent rate, her track a normal tower wall made of massive stones with plenty of obvious purchases.

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  Obi slowed down, enjoyed the full view of her rear with a sparkly white grin before he caught up, put on a straight face and passed the struggling woman.

  Another hour passed and it happened again. Obsidian’s body had grown heavier. He kept going, and sure thing, Fourchains kept working his way up, about thirty yards from where Obsidian first started his climb.

  Hail was also there, her butt no less interesting as it wiggled before Obi. Again and again, it happened, something brought Obi to the start, and he was forced to climb again and again, each time his body growing heavier.

  Hail’s rear had lost its charm, Fourchains’ curses coming and going, depending on how he felt, and finally the eighth time he saw the man, Obsidian paused his climb.

  He looked left and right, he looked up, trying to figure out what he was doing wrong. Obi tried to sculpt the rock of the rail, but the earth refused to obey his command. So, he bit himself and left a smear of blood on the handhold.

  Another hour passed, Obsidian’s body once more grew heavier, and he looked at the railing. No blood. He went down, instead of up, walking down the stairs in reverse. Ten yards later, he saw it, the bloody mark. He looked right and saw Fourchains’ handholds stretching down.

  I keep advancing ten yards by ten yards every hour. For a moment, he considered staying in place to check whether he would move ahead by ten yards if he did, but Obi had a feeling the trial would kick him out long before that.

  Some good luck! Obsidian muttered curses, then continued climbing. Soon enough, he passed Fourchains. Obi considered taunting the man, telling him he would have to climb over and over again, but then stopped himself. There was nothing to gain, save for enmity, so he kept going, once more enjoying the sight of Hail’s wiggly butt.

  “You can do it, Hail, I believe in you,” he said in passing.

  Maybe I should ask her out for dinner?

  ***

  Pond passed Newt for the tenth time. He was sick of it. His arms shook, he was sweating and panting like a common mortal. He could not even remember the last time he was so tired. Battles rarely lasted more than a handful of minutes. Even training sessions had a hard limit of two hours, and it’s already been nine. More than nine.

  His heart throbbed, bile rising in his stomach, and pain stabbing at his side. A thought of giving up passed through his mind.

  No! I will endure.

  He passed Newt for the eleventh time, the cheating red-hair. Core disciple or not, Pond burned with the desire to curse him for cheating, for abusing his station. He did not. His lungs also burned, making breathing difficult, let alone throwing curses like a fishmonger’s wife.

  Why am I even trying? It’s clear they won’t let me pass.

  With that thought, Pond let go. Wind whistled in his ears, then he landed on a soft tuft of grass. He was exhausted, hardly breathing, but the pressure vanished, the air once more filled his lungs without obstruction, and feeling blessed, Pond fell asleep.

  ***

  Obi had been at it for thirteen or fifteen hours, he lost track of time. He was dead tired as he passed Fourchains for heavens knew which time. His breath was shallow, his head swimming in the clouds with dizzy spells coming and going. Had he not been climbing for an eternity, he would have dropped a long time ago.

  Thankfully, his body knew what to do even when his mind gave out.

  The wiggly butt appeared ahead of him again. Hail’s hair was a mess, her robes soaking wet, which Obi appreciated to an extent. Suddenly, the woman slipped and started falling.

  Obi watched her plummet towards the fog, and his body moved on its own. She was about to fall past him, when he jumped to catch her.

  “Hail!”

  The woman looked at him, her face dripping with sweat, her blue eyes snapping from exhaustion to shock.

  “Obsidian?” she said in confusion just as Obi smashed into the invisible barrier separating their climbing areas.

  Obi bounced off, then struck the other side of the barrier with his back, hitting it again and again, until he landed on the cool, soft grass. He grasped for Hail, instead grabbing Pond’s hand, who snored and shifted in his sleep, drool running down his cheek.

  Obsidian sensed the same rush of fresh air and strength, and his body shut down to rest.

  ***

  “Five hundred and eleven, twelve,” Glade, the outer elder observing the proceedings muttered as a muscular youth and a blonde girl fell out of the secret realm almost immediately.

  “The disciples are doing great, considering they let all inner disciples join,” Hollow, another outer elder, said while noting Obsidian’s and Hail’s names. “They are already past the test threshold, and now we’re in the elimination round.”

  “No core disciples yet,” Glade said, and Hollow held back an eye-roll.

  Even the weakest of core disciples, the healing and beast-taming disciples, had extraordinary willpower. Much greater than his or Glade’s. The odds of any one of them dropping out before the end were a hundred to one.

  Hollow had checked the odds, and knew Glade bet a single third realm spirit gem, hoping to strike a gem mine.

  Yeah, not a chance in hell. He shook his head when another disciple landed softly onto the grass. This one had red hair, her clothes worn out by the climb.

  Hollow approached her, checked her face, and entered the name into his ledger.

  Less than an hour now, I hope.