Beyond the palace, the Sea of Storms churns under thenight sky, a restless beast with waves that crash against the rocky shore.
And there, drifting among the shadows, is a ship. An elaborate vessel with sails as dark as night, dotted with shimmering constellations. Its figurehead, a fierce dragon, has ruby eyes. As it looms, it feels like it’s watching us.
Taron and I find ourselves towards the back of the competitors, a crush of craned necks and awestruck whispers.
The Obsidian Eclipse is a gentle show. Our three moons, each in its respective phase of full, half and crescent, are slowly converging into one, layer upon layer, until they form a single beaming sphere. For the first time in ten Stellar Years, they dance in perfect accord, and, somewhere on the dark horizon, Aurora Isle is ascending from the depths.
I can’t remember much of the last Obsidian Eclipse. Only that Elara and I watched it together on a hill in the valley, lying shoulder to shoulder with our fingers intertwined. The streets of Stellargrove had been pulsing in celebration, and our foster mum didn’t notice us sneaking out of our room.
“It’s not like I expected an earthquake,” I remember saying. “Only that I’m a little underwhelmed.”
“A whole island is emerging from the bottom of the ocean right now, Tal,” Elara chastised me. Even at seven, she spoke like she was seventeen. “Just because we can’t see it happen, doesn’t mean it’s not magical.”
“Where do you think you’ll be in ten Stellar Years?” I’d asked her. “When the next tournament comes around?”
“Living in the capital, hopefully. I want to become a baker. Own my own little shop by the waterside.”
“We’ll make it happen, El. I promise.”
Now, a knot twists in my throat. I realize a tear is pooling in the corner of my eye and I quickly wipe it away. I see Taron glance at me and then away, pretending not to notice.
Fritz and Harry stand in front of our gathering with two solar spotlights beaming down at them. Even in the harsh light, their skin looks velvety smooth, not a hair out of place on their heads.
High Prince Seraphius gives the men a nod from a balcony above, where all the dignitaries and royals have gathered. They’re peering down at us like caged animals, binoculars poised in their hands.Why do they need binoculars?
“Good evening, dear competitors,” Fritz begins, and the two girls who bickered over Cyrus before are now giggling behind their hands. “Here we are again – Fritz and Harry, your favourite Reckoning victors. Feels surreal, doesn’t it, Harry?”
“Major déjà vu vibes,” Harry agrees. “It feels like only yesterday that we were standing here, staring up at the sky.”
“The Obsidian Eclipse is a beauty, all right. But this year, we return not as competitors but as facilitators,” Fritz says. “We were beyond honoured when the High Council invited us to present this year’s Introduction.”
Several competitors exchange curious glances. I try to find Taron’s eyes, but his attention is fixed on the dignitaries above, quietly whispering among themselves.
Fritz and Harry prowl along the gathering of competitors. I hold my breath and feel all my muscles clench.
“Twenty-four teams – isn’t that something, Fritz?” Harry says.
“It really is,” Fritz agrees. “Congratulations, folks. You’re all here because the stars deemed you worthy. But it’s not the stars you need to impress tonight. The Introduction is a show of talents. Your chance to make a good first impression.”
Two stable boys emerge from the shadows, carrying an odd assemblage – a wooden post, potato sacks and hay. When they set it down, I realize it’s a mannequin. The moment they place it in front of us, contorting its head to unveil a crudely painted face, the realization hits me. We’re not showcasing our talents but rather our proficiency in killing.
“Behold your target,” Fritz says. “When introduced, your team must step forward and inflict as much damage as possible in a single blow. That’s all you have, so I suggest you make it worthwhile.”
I feel like I’m watching from a distance as he calls out and introduces competitors, one team after another – a bizarre spectacle, to say the least.
The first few teams seem to falter under the pressure, managing only to nudge the mannequin with theirassaults. After each presentation, Fritz and Harry allow the observing crowd a moment of contemplation. Should anyone wish to bet on a team, they simply raise a little yellow card for collection.
Mei and Rhius are the twelfth team to go and, even though they only manage to topple the mannequin, they still garner two bets. Both cards are collected through the air, fluttering like butterflies into Fritz’s hands.
“Next up, we have the Young Prince Cyrus, fourth in line for the Solaran throne, and his teammate, Gideon Kepper,” Fritz announces, allowing the pair to step forward. “We know the Young Prince as a formidable Helio” – mocking laughter ripples through Cyrus’s siblings on the periphery – “while Gideon’s records show he’s been a valiant volunteer in the fire brigade, using his Aqua talents to save lives.”
Cyrus sweeps his hand over his head, gathering light from the spotlight and weaving it into a radiant spear. Behind us, the fountain gurgles. I turn my head to see Gideon coaxing a stream of water through the air.
One nod from the Young Prince and Gideon manoeuvres the water like a ribbon, enveloping the mannequin before letting the water seep into the hay-stuffed core. Like he’s twisting a knife, Gideon rotates his hand and the mannequin puffs up, like a bubble swelling from within. Cyrus wipes his thumb across his nose as his stare glides over his siblings, and then, with a burst of power, he springs into the air. He hurls the spear at themannequin’s heart, and the impact echoes like a bolt of lightning. The mannequin shatters, bursting like a balloon. Water streams out like blood, straw spewing like guts.
Cyrus gives a lazy tweak to his overcoat, savouring the crowd’s collective hum of wonder. The boys scurry to replace the mannequin.
Fritz starts amassing yellow cards. I glance at Cyrus, expecting to see him glowing with triumph. But his jaw is tight, eyes ablaze with frustration. And I don’t need to be an Astro to figure out why.
