The passage is jagged and dark, lit only by threadbare torchlight and the weak, ghostly glow seeping from root-cracks overhead. Each of us is shadowed by a pair of imperial guards, their polished armor reflecting the world in warped, unsettling fragments. No one speaks, but I hear Zeriel’s breathing behind me, warm and… too close against my neck.
I pick up the pace and, at the end of the corridor, we spill out onto a staging platform open to the sky. Behind us, the Umbral Arena towers, its crescent tiers crawling once more with bodies.
Before us: a drop. A sheer, vertical cliff, and beyond, a wild infinity of forest, the trees writhing below like a churning ocean topped with blue-green foam.
My heart beats harder.
There’s a single stone ledge jutting out from the cliff wall, wide enough for the champions to stand feet apart.
The crowd's voices swell in the distance behind us as Overseer Pellvorn steps to the edge of the platform, arms raised to command silence.
“Welcome to the first round!” his voice booms. “Your opening task is simple: survive. Make it to the Rootbound Temple at the forest’s heart. These compasses are bound to its pull.” He moves among us, pressing one into each champion’s waiting hand. “When you reach it—if you reach it—you’ll receive further commands.”
He gestures to the vast expanse of glowing wilderness below. “Your path begins now.”
For a heartbeat, I think we’re meant to climb. Until the grinding starts. Stone shrieks behind us, the ledge retracting into the cliff face.
Then Zeriel’s hand finds the small of my back—firm, deliberate, heat bleedingthrough the contact.
Jump.His voice slams into my head, inescapable.Aim for the thickest part of the canopy. Bend your knees.
What? You’ve got to be kidd?—
The ledge shrinks beneath us. I don’t get the luxury of deciding. Instinct takes over, and I hurl myself into the abyss alongside him.
Chapter 45
The world floods with wind and hues of blue and green, then nothing but the liquid, sickening sense of falling. I half-expect the trees below to shred us on impact, but Zeriel twists midair, his arms locking around my waist. Momentum hurls us near a snarl of branches; bark tears at my skin, glowing leaves lash my face, and only his grip keeps me from being flung loose to finish the fall alone.
We crash into something not stone but soft… springy, damp with the rot of the deep forest floor. The breath is ripped from my lungs, and for a dazed moment, all I can taste is crushed moss and earth.
He takes the brunt of the impact before we roll, and then he’s on top of me, weight pinning me flat, his arms braced on either side of my head. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. There’s no air in my chest, no space between our bodies, and the compass, attached to his waist, is wedged directly between us like some cosmic joke.
“Move,” I rasp, the words barely scraping out. “Before you suffocate me.”
He doesn’t move. Not at first. His gaze fills my vision—deepbrown irises rimmed in storm-white, hair disheveled, breathing harder than I’ve ever heard.
When he does shift, it’s in the same abrupt, tactical way he does everything. He rolls off, rising into a crouch that’s angled between me and the forest beyond.You’re welcome.His voice brushes my mind, rough-edged but controlled.
I wipe dirt off my cheek, ignoring the flush that’s crept up my skin.For what?I shoot back, pushing myself onto my elbows.Crushing what little breath I had left? Or just enjoying the view from up there?
A ghost of amusement flickers through him.You’re softer than you look.
“I’m flattered,” I say aloud, climbing to my feet and aggressively dusting off my trousers. The fabric is torn at the knee, and my palms are scraped. Still, I’d be much worse off if he hadn’t grabbed me…
I drag myself to my feet as he rises beside me, scanning our surroundings. The forest is packed with glowing flora, the air thick with the smell of soil and something faintly sweet, like night-blooming flowers. Every shadow seems to writhe with a life of its own.
He checks the compass. The needle spins wildly for a moment before settling, pointing deeper into the unnerving twilight of the woods.
Northeast,he says.We need to move. Now.
I stare at his back as he pushes through a curtain of phosphorescent vines.In a rush?
First in, first advantage.He's already striding forward, forcing me to hurry after him. It's the way of the games.
And what advantage would that be, exactly?I ask, picking my way over a tangle of roots.
Information. Position.He shoots a glance back at me.Survival.
