Now or never.
Atos take it! It recovers much faster than expected, swinging its massive head toward me. That was close! I leap back, narrowly avoiding its snapping jaws. My heart races. Cold terror courses through my veins. Exhaustion weighs my limbs, and my magic will soon be depleted.
So precious little resources in these Wastelands! Rocks! I crouch and grab a handful of round pebbles strewn between the patches of grass and toss them into the swirls of mist. The beast whips its head in that direction when they hit the ground.
Heroy, guide my blade!
This is my chance.
I dart forward, aiming the dagger at its vulnerable neck. The beast senses my movement and twists, but I manage to drive the blade into its shoulder, penetrating its patchy fur. The rusty metal bites into flesh, and the wolf howls in pain and fury.
The wound isn’t fatal, but it slows the beast down. It turns on me, black blood dripping from the gash, its eyes burning with rage like glowing embers. Its jaws snap terribly close to my hand, so all I can do is yank the blade out and flee.
Atos take it.
There’s no time for a calculated, planned move. The demon tenses its muscles for a leap.
Summoning the last drops of arcane power, I create an imperfect illusion of myself right in front of it, feinting an attack. As the beast lunges at my distorted image, I dive to its side, driving the dagger deep into its neck, aiming for a vital artery.
It thrashes wildly, trying to dislodge the blade, but I hold on, ramming it deeper and twisting the dagger until my palms bleed. With a final, bloodcurdling howl, the beast collapses, fountains of black ichor coloring the grass.
Breathing heavily, I pull the dagger free, wiping it on the grass before collapsing next to the monster.
This Trial makes the first one look like a walk to the Temple of the Five.
No time to linger around the cadaver, spreading its tainted ichor around. There might be more lurking in the mists around. I push myself up, massaging my sore shoulder, and scan the foggy coastline for any more threats. The rusty dagger, though battered, has proven its worth.
I head to the sea and kneel in the shallow water. Its salty coldness bites my shaky fingers. Its touch—so purifying and fresh, washes away the taint and the aches in my muscles.
The night has grown quiet, only the soothing sound of the waves disturbing the silence. No more howling, and, thank the Elders, no human voices or steps. I splash my face, braid my hair, and sit a little in the silence, trying to calm my still-racing heart. The sulfuric stench of the hot springs grows more intense, it tickles my nose, reminding me it’s time to go.
It’s probably past midnight as I sharpen that weird sense inside me that can pick up on magic. And aim it at the nearly impenetrable wall of fog. Nothing, just distant bubbling of water and stench that makes my eyes water. My feet feel heavier—I should’ve probably walked for miles. Each step gets trickier: reeking puddles of green water gape before me. It’s the marshland, and one wrong step could be lethal.
The blow to the back of my head comes suddenly and sends me flying forward. The mud rushes to meet my face. Then a starry explosion blurs my vision.
What is the name of—
“Finish her!” a cold female voice commands just behind me, and rough hands grab me, turning me around like a rag doll. The white flashes of light reside, and I face the hatred-twisted Odryssian man, the Warrior Pony Princess’s loyal shadow. As expected, she’s right there, peeking behind his shoulder, her eyes glittering with malice.
“And here ends the story of the girl from the stables, who thought she could charm the prince,” she hisses. The Odryssian raises a rusty sword, going for my breastbone, and all I can do is stretch my left leg and kick him. Hard.
Damn it, I missed the golden spot, but this throws him off for a moment. The blade slices into my left thigh, and I gasp; visceral, mind-numbing pain searing through my flesh. I press a hand against the slash and wince when I feel the hot gush of blood. Clumsily, I roll to my side and leap to my feet. An apocalyptic headache erupts in my head, and my surroundings blur—that blow to my head was really something.
“You just refuse to die, don’t you, you flea-infested peasant!” WPP aims a spell at me, which hisses into the fog like an angry viper. Elders, that was close. Summoning my own magic, I seek cover in the thickening mist. It buys me the moment I need to come up with a plan.
Breathe, Talysse.
Breathe.
The last remnants of magic hum within me, ready to be spilled.
It worked with the wolf, it should work with them, too. An illusion of me charging at the Warrior Pony Princess appears; the fog veils make it even more realistic, and the woman swings at my doppelgänger, slicing empty air with her thick stick. Still standing in my original spot, I squeeze my last droplets of arcane energy, creating more copies of myself, each moving in different directions before dissipating into a shower of sparks.
“Tricks and shadows won’t help you!” the Odryssian man shouts. Elders! He’s somewhere on my right, hidden in the thick mist.
“You know what they would do if they don’t find your body, stable girl?” the blonde woman asks. “They’ll assume you abandoned the Trial and ran away, and they’ll come for your family—” Her face is concealed, but I imagine the cruel smile curling her beautiful lips.
“And we’ll make sure they won’t find you, Talysse of Nowhere!” The Odryssian chuckles.
