Page 124 of The Blood Rites

My arms are around Marissa before I even register it, her body limp against mine. The world flips, the rings of mirror above and below blurring into streaks of reflective silver and white. For a wild moment I think we will fall forever, but the sheet of mirror below rises up to meet us, bright and hungry.

I channel my Mana, not thinking, just terrified of breaking. There is a flash of gold as an orb of light forms around us just before we hit the ground. It shatters on impact in an explosion of sparkling glass and luminous water. The shield absorbs the worst of it, but we hit hard enough to roll, my spine rippling in pain. I hold tighter to Marissa as we roll, then slide to a stop, tangled and gasping.

Marissa groans, clutching her ribs, but she is otherwise in one piece. I can’t say the same for my left arm, which refuses to move. I bite down on a scream. No time to check for breaks.

I scramble to my knees—looking for Kael.

But he isn’t here.

I scan for threats. The outer ring feels narrower now, the rain more intense. Water runs in narrow rivers around the jutting pillars of mirrored glass protruding from the ground. A Mana Echo shows a man scrambling for purchase as he slides toward the outer rim of the arena, disappearing over the edge before he slides past us again, each loop a reminder that the trial is still playing with us.

Kael should be down here.

He would know what to do.

The thought comes unbidden—and leaves something hollow in its wake.

Instead, Callen is here. The boy who despises my very existence. We’ve landed just short of him and Morwen. He kneels at the far side of the ring, half-draped over Morwen now. She droops to the side, unmoving and pale, like a bird with its wings snapped. Callen’s hands are slick with blood, and he stares at me with a kind of open, unfiltered hatred that stops me dead.

He says nothing, just watches as I slog toward them, dragging Marissa behind with my good arm. The rain coats everything in a misty film, and every breath tastes like panic.

I reach them. Morwen is breathing, but her face is ashen, a deep mottled-red cut splitting her scalp. Blood mixes with the rain and pools on the mirrored surface. Callen pushes me away when I try to help.

“Don’t touch her,” he growls, voice ragged and breathless. “Haven’t you done enough?”

I flinch like he has struck me. Even dazed, Marissa tries to intervene. “Callen, stop—he saved me, he—”

Callen rounds on her, eyes wild, and grabs her by the sleeves. “He’s a blight. What do you not understand about that? Every time he’s near, people die.” He shudders, knuckles going white, as Morwen’s blood soaks into Marissa’s uniform. “Just stay away from us.”

“None of this is Luceris’ fault, Callen.” She shakes her head in disbelief. “You don’t sound like yourself… What’s happened to you?”

She doesn’t expect an answer.

I want to argue, but I’m bone-tired, my waterlogged clothes dragging at me like weights.

The ring begins to tremble beneath us. The mirrored surface vibrates, ripples running through the rainwater like the whole arena is a drumhead. The death counter above us burns brighter and brighter but remains unchanged. I look for Kael, but there is no sign of him or Atheron nearby. Kael must still be on the middle ring. Is he coming for me?

The rain eases off, and the world grows quieter. I think, maybe, it’s over. Maybe we have survived the worst of it.

Then Morwen moves. She sits up, slow and shivering, her eyes blank and cloudy. She raises her hands, palms up, and the rainwater pooling around her shifts direction, flowing not away but toward her, gathering in two thick streams. She cups the water, then, with a motion too fast for me to make out, splays her fingers across the mirrored surface. The water splashes outwards in a pattern, spelling words that glow faint blue as pale sunlight fights through the cloud canopy:

JUDGEMENT COMES

The words dissolve, but new ones form immediately after:

FIGHT, SON OF THE SEA

I stare at her, and for a heartbeat, I am not sure she is even alive. Callen is gaping. Lost? In awe? I can’t tell.

From above, a shadow falls across the outer ring. Something is coming.

There is a sound—a whistle, high and clean, that cuts through the rain. I look up and see it: a single, perfect blade, falling end over end, and far too close to us. It is a sword, long and white as bone, its hilt bound in gold. It falls so fast that I barely have time to register it before it hits, driving into the mirrored surface with a sound like shearing metal. The ground shakes, cracks radiating from the point of impact.

The sword stands upright, proud, quivering, as if waiting to be claimed.

The next instant, a dozen more swords follow it, falling at random angles, each slamming into the glass and sending new cracks spiderwebbing outwards. The floor is suddenly a forest of blades, each one hissing as it slices through the air.

I pull Marissa closer, praying none of them skewer us. Callen yanks Morwen nearer to him, shielding her with his body.