Theon shuddered. “The Sage of Light.” His breath hitched as his gaze locked onto her armor. “She’s an Expert Technomancer.”

  A low whimper slipped from Rhea’s throat. She curled in on herself, arms locked around her knees, head bowed like a child before a storm. Aaron blinked. The hell?

  Theon’s breath came shallow, rapid, like a man staring into the abyss. His muscles locked rigid. Aaron felt nothing. No gut-wrenching terror. No instinct to bow. No pressure forcing him to the ground. Why? His heart pounded faster, but not from fear. From the absence of it. Something about this was wrong. A handful of robed figures in green and blue sat still amid the chaos. Either powerful—or too stupid to be afraid.

  The black mantis figure turned to the shimmering spacesuit. Lightning arced off her body, snapping into the ground. The air buzzed. Aaron's skin prickled. The helmet flowed into the black chestplate. The young woman with long hair looked as if caught in an unseen current, strands floating, alive.

  “I greet the honorable Sage of Ashes,” the sparking figure said casually. Has she deliberately changed the title? Or is it another title?

  “And apologize to the Academy for my tardiness.” Her voice sounded conversational. Without the mayhem of flames and sparks, one could have thought she was discussing the weather.

  The Sage of Fire whirled on her, flames licking at her fingertips. “What do you think you’re doing here?”

  The mantis-armored figure lifted his arms, slow, deliberate—a predator savoring the moment. The amphitheater seemed to shrink, the air pressing in, heavy as a held breath. The mass of people was split into thirds. Those who still lay about, dazed. Those who had fallen to their knees and were pressing their heads awkwardly into the stairs of the amphitheater. And those who, like Aaron and Theon, just stared. Heat and static pulsed with every word. Sweat trickled down Aaron’s temple. If this escalates, everyone here is dead.

  In a teasing tone, the black mage addressed her rival. “I am simply ensuring that the youth does not take a poor example to heart.” The mantis-armored figure’s voice was silken, slow. Cruel. “After all, those who won’t reach the Angel Rank do make poor role models, don’t you agree?”

  The air crackled. Sparks spat from the Technomancer’s suit, arcing wildly. The temperature dropped. Then— A hiss. Sharp, slow, laced with venom. “So you decided that firing up youthful ignorance would be a wiser course of action, child?”

  The last word hit like a dagger between ribs. A pause. The black mantis figure did not move. Did not blink. Did not breathe. Then—slowly—she smiled.

  Laughter cut through the tension. Heat and static wavered. All eyes snapped to a hooded figure in the front row. He chuckled—calm, unbothered. Then, louder this time, the laugh echoed again. “Ah, ambition and arrogance—a dance as old as Pella itself,” he spoke in an amused tone.

  The fire mage found her feet first. A ball of oddly flickering air grew above her hand. “If you beg for forgiveness, I might spare you the agony.” Her flames flickered, dancing hungrily at her fingertips.

  The man’s laughter faded. The silence did not. The air thickened, pressing into Aaron’s chest like an iron band. Then—he moved. A shrug. A chuckle. A lazy flick of his wrist. Dismissive.

  Fire died. Lightning snuffed out. The world stood still. Both sages flinched. Aaron’s pulse slammed against his ribs. What kind of man makes titans bow?

  The man stood. He spoke up in a calm tone.Menace grew in his voice with each word. “You would dare threaten a Sage of Pella? You would dare torture a member of the Academy? Both of you have gone mad with ambition. A champion’s appearance calls for deliberation, not rash action.”

  He paused, staring at both in turn. “Is that understood?”

  Aaron’s world narrowed to the man. Two demigods just backed down. His breath hitched. They’re here for me. His muscles tensed. Run. No. They’d catch me.

  A slow exhale. If they wanted me dead, I already would be. The man spoke without turning, his voice authoritative and reassuring. “Fret not, champion. We sages do not dare harm a champion. Past examples make the foolishness of such acts clear.”

  Aaron relaxed a bit. This guy was not throwing around magical power. But he clearly had a tremendous amount of it. Aaron closed his eyes, filled with relief and dread in equal measure.

  The man stepped between two women and snuffed out the rest of their magic—effortless, uninterested in spectacle. A simple, well-timed entry. The others must respect him because he is the most dangerous of them. Aaron gulped. What sort of person intimidates two demigod women?

  “Given our unfortunate presence here, I suggest we perform this sacred ceremony ourselves. Honored—”

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  He was cut off by the fiery old woman. “Under no—”

  The black insectile one cut into her outburst. “I would be honored to perform my duties as a Sage in this manner,” she inclined her head slightly toward the man.

  The other woman remained frozen for a moment. Then nodded. The man continued as if nothing had happened. “Honored Senior President, I would have you join me in initiating our aspirants.”

  The disheveled-looking azure-robed man nodded and walked in steps a bit too fast to be dignified to the man’s side. Rhea let out a breath and sat up. Theon stared open-mouthed. Rhea whispered to Aaron. “That is the Knowing Sage. A powerful Infomancer. He must have foreseen this.”

  Aaron sucked in a breath. What else has this man foreseen? Has he been pulling my strings all along?

  “Esteemed Senior President, if you would lead the ceremony.” The blue-robed mage’s eyes bulged as he nodded. The Knowing Sage smiled encouragingly. The Black Mantis woman tilted her head in amusement. The other one remained still as a statue. The Senior President cleared his throat loudly. It reverberated in the silence of the amphitheater. A few uneasy murmurs flitted through the crowd, like leaves rustling before a storm.

  “As has been done since the time of the Flame’s Landing, our best must be strong and know this strength. This is the nature of those who would be of the First Rank. An Epoptai must claim his place.” He paused, throwing a quick glimpse at the Sages behind him. He flinched slightly.

  “Some of you have been marked as Epoptai. Let all those who think they are worthy of this privilege step down onto the floor. Those who step up wrongly shall spend the first year in a lower rung. Act wisely, for as overconfidence is a vice, so is erroneous humility.”

  After a moment, people began to murmur. Careful shuffling, as if afraid of being squashed, began in the stands.Aaron shifted, muscles tensing. Then, movement in his peripheral vision—

  Among the first few to make it down were the brother and sister Aaron had antagonized in the trial’s food court. And here comes my rival. How unexpected.

  Theon nodded at both Aaron and Rhea and got up. Were we good enough? We were among the first to finish. And we were told we performed well in the wilderness, and at the Trial of Will and Strength. Let’s see if we chose the correct answer.

  The trio joined about forty others on the floor of the amphitheater.

  Aaron fell into formation with the others. They stood in even ranks on the ground. Before them, on the risen steps of the stage, stood the Sages and a nervous Senior President. Poor guy. It kinda feels as if Jesus, the Buddha, and Mohammed are visiting the White House.

  Aaron smirked. So who would be whom here?

  The cowed masses had settled back onto the semicircle of steps. Total silence had returned after the aspiring Epoptai had gone to face judgment. The Knowing Sage had wiped away the charge, but tension clung to the air, thick and heavy. He stood and smiled serenely. Relaxed as if on a beach. The Sage of Fire stood still as a statue. Her face was hidden by a mask, as was the one of the Sage of Light. Yet, unlike her rival, the Sage of Light was shifting about lively, like a cat playing with a mouse. A young hotshot rivaling an old witch. All under the watch of an alpha predator.

  “We shall begin. Step forward.” The Knowing Sage gestured to the crowd. Unexpectedly, the sister stepped forward, almost dragging her brother along. Two of their previous hangers-on followed carefully.

  Theon’s jaw tightened. “Always first,” he muttered, resentment curling at the edges of his voice. Seems like I missed that this is a competition. Everything here is one, apparently.

  The quartet stepped forward and kneeled before the Sages. The sister chose the Knowing Sage. The brother, the Sage of Fire. She turned her head to the Sage of Light for a heartbeat. This is so petty. Aaron just managed not to shake his head. The Knowing Sage nodded to the Senior President. The blue-robed man adjusted his crown and spoke up. “Repeat the vow of the mages. Speak it with clarity and intent, for it may be your death.”

  The president scanned the ranks, then spoke, voice solemn. "Under the Eternal Eye, I swear to wield my might for Pella—her warriors, her Polis, her survival. May the Worm’s Archive record my vow, and may the Edict strike me down should I falter."

  The Knowing Sage lifted a hand, silencing the aspirants before they could repeat the words. His faded gray robes held more weight than the president’s gilded regalia ever could. “To honor this tremendous occasion, I shall invoke one of Her watchers.”

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd. “An invocation?” “Here? Now?”

  The Knowing Sage’s voice remained steady. “Ready yourself, for you will face the divine.”

  Gasps of awe and horror erupted from the ranks. Reha shuddered in fear, Theron in anticipation.

  “I, who was seen, call upon Her gaze.”

  The air collapsed.

  Cold crashed through the amphitheater—not a simple chill, but an inversion, a wrongness. Heat did not fade. It was ripped away.

  The sky dimmed.

  The Knowing Sage’s voice was iron, steady. “I, who was touched, summon Her presence.”

  A sound rang out—not a word, not a note, but a pulse. A low, rhythmic beep—slow, methodical. Like the heartbeat of something far too large.

  Aaron’s vision blurred. His skull ached. The world itself hesitated.

  Muffled gasps rippled through the amphitheater—loud as gunshots in the dead silence. “I, who was blessed by Her, kneel before Her glory.”

  The stage darkened. The air curled. A crackle—then a rupture. The stage behind the sages splintered, jagged veins of black slicing through the air.

  He heard the chattering of teeth around him, then noticed his body was shaking uncontrollably as well. What is happening? This is wrong.

  A flash of light shattered the void.

  Not light. Memory.

  A blue star pulsed, filaments weaving impossibly through space. Aaron’s mind fractured—thoughts tangled, rewound, replayed. It isn’t watching me. It is remembering me.

  The realization slammed into him. A black hole, pulsing at its core. An obsidian torus, framing the abyss. It had seen him before. It would see him again.

  A scream pressed against his throat—trapped. His body would not move. He was held, not by force— But by awareness.

  This was the being that I had met while under the influence of the wine.

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