Chapter 1

I was the last person at the training grounds, as usual. The other members of my cohort had either headed for home or to hang out with their friends hours ago. Perhaps I would have done the same, but not today, not with the Trials only a week away.

*CLANG!*

*CLANG!*

*CLANG!*

I punched the reinforced post over and over, the harsh sound of my iron gauntlets striking the metal plate the only sound in the torch-lit training grounds. Even with my arms heavy and burning with exhaustion, the force behind the blows dented the metal as I forced myself to keep moving.

*CLANG!*

*CLANG!*

*CLINK!*

"Damn it!" I snapped as I lost my form, the punch glancing off the plate instead of striking it directly. My arms dropped to my knees, holding me up as I panted heavily. I steadied my breathing as I tried to shake some feeling back into my arms.

"Come on Xara, you can do this," I told myself, shifting my weight from foot to foot. "Just one more set. A hundred punches. They're not hard." I stretched my back, looking up to the dimly lit sky.

…Dimly lit?

My eyes widened as I looked up at the sky, processing just how long I'd been here and remembering what cycle of the week it was. 

"Not again!" I shouted as I scrambled towards the girl's locker room. This may not have been the first time I lost track of time while training, but Father would kill me for being out this late during a gaqemcyu cycle.

'How did I not notice the sun rising!?' I wondered for the millionth time as I began focusing my aura into my legs. Moving as fast as I could I rushed to the locker room, nearly breaking the wooden door off its hinges(again) as I slammed it open.

I didn't bother changing out of my training gear as I rushed back out, although I did replace my combat boots with my normal shoes and shoved them along with my gauntlets into the locker. Traditional battle gear might be less dangerous to carry about than a sword, but that didn't mean the guards would be any more lenient about citizens walking around with weapons.

I started running down the cold stone halls of the academy. Most of the lamps lining the halls were extinguished, providing less light than a moonless night and muting the colors until all I could see was grey. Still, it was enough light to see by as I ran at top speed. I leapt off the walls to avoid slowing down as I made my way to the main entrance.

Slowing down just enough to not crash into the large wooden doors, I stepped out into the Grand Courtyard. The three-hundred-foot-long stone path stretched out between me and the main gates. Mercifully, the thick metal grate was already open but was lowering itself after letting a quagga-drawn carriage through.

Vydiqa Academy had been built like a fortress, and the portcullis of the main gate was intentionally designed to close quickly and open slowly.

'I have to get through!'

Gathering every drop of aura I had left, I dashed for the gate.

The gate was nine feet off the ground.

My body accelerated rapidly.

Eight feet off the ground.

I was halfway there.

Six feet.

I was covering dozens of feet in a single bound.

Four feet.

Almost there…

Two feet…

Almost…

The gate slammed down just a second after I slid underneath it. I could hear the stationed guards shouting in shock and surprise as I passed, but I could barely hear them. I was much more concerned with the stone wall my momentum had just sent me flying toward.

*THUD!*

I struck the wall hard, dropping to the ground in a crumpled heap.

"Z'ayk's teeth!" one of the guards shouted. "You alright kid?"

"Auugh…" I groaned as I sat up, trying to get a feel for the state of my body.

'Nothing feels broken, maybe a few bruises…' I pushed my ruby red hair back, unsure of exactly when I had lost my hair tie. A sharp pain came from the base of my right horn as my fingers brushed against it. There were no chips or cracks, but it was clearly sensitive after having been banged against something during my tumble.

"I…I think I'm good. Although…" I smile wryly, "My instructor would probably say I need to work on my landing."

One of the guards shook their head. "Alright then," he said with a slight chuckle. "Get home safe."

"What?" The other guard asked. "But we're supposed to check her out fir-"

"It's fine rookie," the older guard said dismissively. "Don't worry about it."

"Thank you," I said as I pulled myself to my feet. I tried to clear my head as I started to walk away quickly.

"And Hitax!"

I looked back. "Yeah?"

"No aura outside the academy," he said sternly, his eyes narrowing and his voice cold.

"I know, I know." I looked forward and kept walking. My legs were shaky after that burst of speed, but after a moment I was walking normally again, and a few seconds after that I was running, though nowhere near as fast as I knew I could.

'Stupid law making me late,' I thought as I ran down the cobblestone street. 'If I could just…' I shook the thought out of my head as I felt myself reflexively starting to augment my legs.

I rushed past numerous people, each of them making their way toward the altar for the fallen sacrifice.

'Mother and Father must have left already…' I thought dejectedly. Perhaps if I could get home quick enough I could clean myself off and catch up with them, but I might miss the opening procession. 'Would Father be more mad about me being late, or attending the sermon while sweaty?'

After a few more minutes of running and worrying, the gate to my house was finally in sight. I quickly pulled open the wrought iron gate, hurried up the steps, and opened the door.

"Xara?" I heard Mother call out as I slammed the door shut.

"Mother? You're still here?" I took off my shoes and moved down the hall, peeking into the dining room. Mother and Father were sat near the head of the large mahogany table.

"You're late," Father said, his deep voice rumbling from his chest.

I shank back from his piercing gaze. "I'm sorry. I was-"

"Training and lost track of time. Yes yes," Mother chuckled, flippantly waving her hand. "Just get ready. I laid your clothes out for you."

"Thank you." I was about to head for the bath when I noticed a plate of food still out on the dining room table. "Y-you saved my food? I thought-"

"That we would add it to the gods' offerings?" her mother finished. "Your father said to leave it for later."

"Only that which would otherwise be wasted is added to the offering," Father said without looking at her. "I know that you won't waste a whole plate, but that will be all you get tonight."

I felt my shoulders untense as I moved to hug my parents. "Thank you!"

Mother immediately held up her hands to keep me away. "No hugs while you're still sweaty! Now go!"

~~~

I wasn't able to take a bath, but I did have time to wipe off my sweat with a warm washcloth and rinse my hair. Once I was done I wrung as much water as I could out of my ruby hair and tied it back again, hoping that no one would notice the damp sheen.

I quickly dressed myself in the fresh Academy uniform Mother laid out for me. After training all day, the grey, silky shirt, and pants felt wonderful against my clean skin. I buttoned up the black vest and made my way downstairs as I slipped the red mantle over my shoulders.

Mother and Father were waiting at the door. She was wearing her favorite dress, the flower and vine patterns appearing slightly worn but still showing the skill that went into making them. Father wore a simple red tunic, his unsleeved arms revealing patches of polished black scales and bronzed skin. On his chest was a medallion marked with a hand holding iridescent flames. It was the symbol of Z'kyd'qa, the God of Black Fire, protector of the Empire, and Father's patron deity.

In his hand was a plate holding a whole roasted quail, one of Mother's best recipes. The smell alone almost made me regret using it for an offering.

Reaching the bottom of the steps I gave Mother the hug I tried to before, rubbing my cheek into the short human's hornless head.

"I'm sorry about making us late," I muttered.

"Oh hush. Your father always makes us get there early. We're not going to miss anything."

"It's disrespectful to-"

"Yes yes, now hush."

Father closed his mouth, his scaled brow furrowing awkwardly. I looked away to hide my smile. As strict and unyielding as Father was with just about everybody, it was almost funny to see Mother make him take a step back.

"Let's go," Father said curtly as he opened the door.

"Okay."

The fallen sun was climbing over the horizon, casting long shadows across the city as the three of us made our way to Temple Square. Not being in such a rush this time, my eyes wandered from building to building.

I looked through the large windows of the baker's shop, noticing a commotion inside as the workers traded shifts.

A cluster of younger students in grey cloaks gossiping about something or other, some of them glancing in admiration at the crimson cloak around my shoulders.

A few cheerful drunkards strumbled out of a nearby inn, some of the more sober ones making their way toward Temple Square.

We passed by one of the guard towers. The woman on the lookout noticed me staring from below and waved at me.

The city of Karrac was as calm as ever, ready for another day.

After a few minutes, the streets began to fill with people as everyone made their way to the altar at the center of town. Families carried food offerings, bowls and plates filled with fresh fruits, cooked meats, and the remains of whatever meal they had just eaten. Some of the less pious held trays of only leftovers, and Father nearly scowled at a mother who brought only a plate of moldy bread. Meanwhile, I couldn't help but scoff at the butcher carrying a whole roast gakken over his shoulder, forcing multiple people to step aside or be struck by the head of the horned boar.

I wasn't used to the trip taking this long, but seeing this many people still in the streets made me realize Mother was right when she said we wouldn't be late. 'Maybe this is why Father insists on being early? To avoid the crowd?'

Eventually, we made it to the Temple Square. The five large and imposing temples to the gods stood around the pavilion that formed the city center, and although it was difficult with so many people in the way, I could see the altar in the center.

A ten-foot wide platform was held over a basin by four arched staircases. As we got closer I could make out the images on the shimmering granite. Carvings of vast armies clashing, of majestic dragons and mighty beasts, of heroes receiving holy weapons, armor, and blessings from the gods. Countless stories were being told here, some I recognized from my history classes, while others I recall from stories told around campfires.

As we got closer, more and more of the altar was visible, and eventually I could see the base.

Beneath the raised platform was a thirty-foot wide basin, filled with inky, black ichor. Iridescent flames rose from the holy liquid, blazing with more colors than I had seen anywhere else. As people passed by they dumped their offerings into the ichor, giving prayers and thanks to the gods. I chuckled as I noticed a child near the edge of the basin, stars in their eyes as they realized the flames didn't burn their hands.

Soon it was our turn. Father tipped the plate and the roast fell, quickly being engulfed by the ichor and sinking to the bottom of the basin. We then said a quick prayer and kept moving, allowing for the next person in line to make their offerings.

By the time we found an open place to stand, the procession of sacrifices was coming to an end. As the last of the offerings fell into the basin, a group of priests emerged from the crowd and began climbing the steps of the altar.

The speaker, holding a book of scriptures was flanked by four young acolytes holding ceremonial spears. Their robes were a pristine white, but the speaker's were embroidered with meandering lines of reflective thread. In the light of the burning ichor, it was as if the speaker was engulfed in the same colorful flames that he presided over.

"Brothers and sisters. It pleases me greatly to see such generous offerings for the gods, and I know that they are pleased as well," the speaker said with a smile. "The Temple of Z'deac has brought us a bountiful harvest, so I predict that we will have an easy winter this year." The speaker glanced at me, or rather, at my academy cloak. "I have also seen many young warriors who will be undergoing the Trials soon. You all are the future of the empire, may the blessings of Z'kyd'qa be with you in your efforts."

Father rested his hand on my shoulder, I felt myself stand a little straighter.

"Still, there is much to be done in the coming weeks," the speaker continued. "I'm reminded of-"

"MAKE WAY!"

A voice boomed across the square, silencing the speaker. Whispers rippled through the crowd as they cleared a wide path for whoever had arrived. I couldn't see the late arrivals clearly, although one was significantly taller than the rest. Those closer than me began chattering excitedly and I could just barely make out the gleam of polished metal.

'Paladins?' I wondered.

"Ah, how wonderful," the speaker said joyfully. I turned my attention back to the altar and saw that his once pleasant smile now had a hint of glee to it. "It seems that our sermon will have to wait for a moment. For today, these loyal servants of the gods have defeated a heretic!"

The sound of whispers was quickly drowned out by claps and cheers for the paladins approaching the altar. I looked on with rapt attention for what I knew was coming.

A public execution.

The paladins began climbing the altar as one of the acolytes left. Their holy armor was a blend of simple beauty and militaristic efficiency. Grey clothes embroidered with divine symbols covered most of their bodies, the largest of which was the symbol of Z'kyd'qa covering their backs. Their battle gear was made of polished mithril, the dark metal gleaming from the flames of the ichor around them.

Their leader stood out the most, dressed in white instead of grey and armed with only his metal gauntlets and greaves. He stood a head taller than all the others, taller than any living being I had ever seen.

Between the paladins, with hands tightly bound down to the fingers and a thick gag silencing him, was the heretic. He was a human with a shaved head and thin features. His clothes were of common make, lightly marked by blood stains and burns, likely from the battle that came from his capture. He was clearly exhausted and struggling to get up the steps, his eyes sunken into his face, but there was a silent anger in them.

Upon reaching the top of the altar, two of the paladins stood on either side of the heretic, holding him by the arms. The commander turned to face the crowd, his white hood blocked the waning sunlight and the ichor flames cast eerie shadows across his face. He then pulled out a roll of parchment and began reading disinterestedly.

"Gymka of Kess Qi, you have been found guilty of practicing sorcery, attacking the innocent, and conspiring against the empire."

Hearing his crimes read out, the anger in the heretic's eyes flared, glaring down at the ichor that would soon take his life. For a moment, I thought he would try to resist, but then he looked up and gazed out at the crowd, even making eye contact with me before looking off at someone else. He then closed his eyes, and when he opened them again the rage had been replaced with a silent determination.

"The punishment for any of these crimes is death," the commander continued. "And now you shall be executed by holy fire."

The acolyte returned, handing a small ceremonial jar to the speaker. Opening the jar, the speaker then stepped in front of the heretic, marking their face with the contents. The heretic glared at the speaker but did not struggle.

"Rejoice, for on this day, your body and sins will be burned away by the holy ichor," he said joyously. "In the end, your soul will be cleansed, and welcomed into the forgiving embrace of the gods!"

The speaker stepped away, and the two paladins began forcing the heretic to the edge of the altar but he shook them off and walked to the edge himself.

'A change of heart?' I wondered. 'Or a last grasp at dignity?'

The man walked off the platform and fell into the Ichor. The surface gave no resistance, and I knew that nothing could float in the black liquid.

As the heretic disappeared from sight, the crowd cheered.

Mother smiled and clapped.

Father clasped his hands in prayer.

I was silent, unable to look away from the spot where the man was engulfed by the burning oil.