I hadn’t had much time to think about what this challenge might be. The past couple of days had been such a whirlwind, but in hindsight, it was probably best that I wasn’t able to dwell on it for long. It would’ve only added to the unease and anxiety building in my mind.
Now that it was here, however, my thoughts raced, apprehension creeping in tenfold.
We had record books of the past Decemvirates; whether the tales told within them were entirely fact or fiction, I’d never know. One that stuck out in my mind was that two centuries ago, the head architect at the time had experimented on a reptilian Shifter and found a way to transform him into a mythical dragon, twenty times the size of any human, with claws that could shred skin and lungs that breathed fire. The challengers were tasked with escaping this beast before it burnt them to a crisp.
Another story was that the challengers were transported to the Shadowmere Wastelands of Tenebra, which were cursed by ancient spirits and corrupted shadow magic. Challengers slowlylost their minds, and if rumors were true, they had to cut the tournament short, as no one was fit to continue competing after that.
I didn’t necessarily believe everything I’d heard or read. People wove intricate stories over the years, turning the truth into larger-than-life tales of impossible quests.
Some of the morecommontrials that had been used often over the centuries included hidden magical objects the challengers had to find, dalliances with poisons, or being forced to escape from somewhere in an allotted period of time. Once, I’d read the challengers were all dropped in the middle of an enchanted forest without access to their magic and had to track their way out.
I had no idea what to expect of this Decemvirate. Lark had said the theme of the first trial would be to test our intellect. That could mean any number of things, and unfortunately, I doubted it would have anything to do with Alchemy—the only area I considered myself intelligent.
These other five challengers have had months, if not years, to train and prepare. To study past tournaments and develop strategies, to practice their magic and defensive skills.
I’d had twenty-four hours. And very little sleep.
I licked my lips as my fingers danced across the edge of the wax seal, my heart beating like wings in my chest. Hurriedly ripping the envelope open, I unfolded the letter.
And let out an annoyed exhale.
It was blank.
“What—” I flipped the paper over, examining every inch of it and the envelope it came in. Nothing.
“Is this supposed to be funny?” I muttered to myself.
What I didn’t expect was for the paper to answer me.
Ink blossomed on the cream surface, cursive letters forming as if an invisible hand were penning them before my eyes.
Hello, Rose Wolff.
I yelped and dropped the paper. It fluttered tothe floor, the words disappearing as quickly as they’d appeared. Blinking, I rubbed at my eye with the heel of my hand and peered down at it again.
Enchanted parchment. Hadn’t seen that before. Curiosity got the best of me and I knelt to retrieve it, running my fingers along the creases. This brand of magic was intriguing. How did it work? What kind of enchantment was used?
“Incredible,” I marveled in a whisper.
More words materialized in response.
Thank you. I am courtesy of Larken Everest, Head Architect of the Veridian Empire.
My eyes widened and I let out a small laugh. Magicalandpolite.
“Are you…here to help me?” I asked tentatively. This was a piece of paper. I was talking to apiece of paper.
And it was talking back.
I am here to instruct you on your first trial, a challenge of intellect, cunning, and intuition.
I waited for more, but it went silent. Pursing my lips, I said, “Great. So where exactly do I start?”
A moment passed, and then script materialized like magic to form long lines of poetry.
Your first trial begins when the clock strikes nine.
An artifact of blood you then must find.
