Blood had a characteristic scent. Rane knew it all too well, that tang of copper mixed with rust. He’d experience it almost every night in his dream, but tonight it felt different. More potent, somehow. It came from his mother’s body, flooded his nostrils and he gagged, waking. The details of the dream slowly faded.

The smell remained.

Rane sat up and looked down at his bedsheets. They were dyed red, and the liquid had seeped through them and into his clothes.

“Bad time to wake.”

Rane’s breath caught in his chest and his hands trembled. Through the thin moonlight, he saw a bald, white head and hollow eyes he recognized. Atinas sat next to him on the bed, cloak dropped around his thin waist. There was something hidden in the shadows beyond the light’s reach. Like a protrusion where his chest should be, held up by silvery white tendrils.

Rane swallowed back his fear. “Have you come to kill me?”

“No.” Atinas turned, exposing his body to the light. Tiny white teeth on his skin slowly gnawed away at a man’s lower half, pulling the flesh to his chest. “In fact, I’ve just saved you from that fate.”

Rane pressed his back against the bed’s frame and tried to calm his breathing. One of the corpse’s legs jerked, spraying blood. Caelus had sent another killer after him. He turned to the archmage again, trying to stare at the withered skin around his eyes instead of the body. “What do you want from me?”

Atinas smiled. “To know why someone would go to such great lengths to kill you.”

“I–” Rane hesitated. Would Atinas kill him if he knew the truth, to stay out of Caelus’ way? “I am being hunted down. I only joined the flames for the archmage’s protection.”

Atinas looked down. Only half of one leg remained. “I suppose that worked.” He put the cloak back on, covering his head and back but leaving the front exposed. “Who is hunting you, and why?”

Could he risk revealing the truth? Rane’s hope was to find someone of influence to help him. Atinas had seemed to abide by rules strictly, and he had already saved him once, so he decided to risk it. “Caelus,” he said. “He said I can threaten the safety of his family."

"More…" The misty tendrils on Atinas' chest wiggled. "Tell me more. How can you do that with your level of power?"

"I don't kno–" A tendril flashed and slammed him into the wooden frame. It coiled from his chest to his neck and forced the breath out of him.

"Lie to me again."

"Can't- I'm not- lying." Rane tried to push it away, to breathe. "I know he swore an Oath." The pressure around his neck relaxed and he forced it all out with one breath. "With someone dangerous. Leylin. I was his slave but I escaped."

Atinas pulled him closer. "What are the terms of the Oath?

"One of them," Rane panted, "is to keep it a secret. He couldn't tell me."

"I see." Atinas withdrew his magic. "And this Leylin… What did he want from you?"

"I think it's my power he needs… He taught me magic and what being an empath means."

"One last question." Atinas parted his hair with a skeletal hand. "You have an Oathbrand. What did you agree to?"

"I don't know." Rane rubbed his neck. "My memories before captivity are hazy. I've had the brand ever since I can remember."

"You were too young to even have enough magic for an Oath," Atinas said. "It's natural that you'd forget." He covered all his body with the cloak again, and stood to face away. "I'm going to give you a choice, Rane. A chance to prove me wrong. Win two more rounds and reach the finals, then I’ll give you what you want. You don't have to win the entire competition, but I'll need at least that much."

"Need it? For what?"

"To justify an apprenticeship under me." Atinas smiled, showing his sharp white teeth. "Prove to me that your potential is worth the hostility of another archmage. If you agree, I will keep you safe, but if you can't achieve second place, you're on your own."

This was exactly what Rane had wanted. The chance to gain a footing in the capital was laid right in front of him, and yet he still held doubt. "Why would you want me as an apprentice?"

"I think you're talented, but lack discipline." Atinas bent down and picked up Rane's scabbard. He unsheathed the weapon and observed its green shine. "And you’re rather interesting. Teaching you will be a challenge. It always is, with empaths.” He placed the sword back. “Throughout history, mages with your gift have been unsuited for the battlefield. The power they have, no matter how frightening, incurs a heavy price. Raw emotion affects their judgement, and the vast majority die early, ignoble deaths. The few empaths that appear nowadays are assigned to more scholarly duties and kept away from the fighting."

"Is that what you want?" Rane asked. "Someone to aid you with research?"

"No." Atinas handed him the scabbard with a dry laugh. "What I want is a weapon. A spear I can use. And you have the potential to be the strongest."

The words made Rane sick, reminded him of Leylin. Was this all he was? A tool to be used in war? "I thought you said Empaths weren't meant to fight."

"The way I see it, they simply require unique instruction. I can show you how to wield your emotions instead of letting them consume you. How to turn them into strength." Atinas extended a pale hand from under his robe. "Do you accept these terms?"

Rane nodded and shook the archmage's hand. If he had to fight, he’d at least do it in a courtyard or arena, and not on the streets. Not scoured and outnumbered. Besides, his powers had grown lately, and he could feel other people's emotions much more vividly and from a greater distance. Sometimes those shared feelings woke him up at night. He didn't want to fight for anyone except himself, but learning to control his power would be useful.

"Good." Atinas threw him a bundle of clean clothes. "Get dressed and follow me. Leave the bloody ones here. I'll send some of my personal constructs to take care of this mess."

Rane didn’t have to be told twice. The smell alone sickened him. He stripped to his underwear and hastily wore the new clothing. “Where are we going?”

“My quarters,” Atinas said, placing a hand on his back and urging him forward. “It will be easier to protect you.”

The halls of the arena were empty at this time of night, save for the constructs standing guard. Rane looked up and over his shoulder at the archmage. “I thought we’d swear an Oath.”

“I research law magic,” Atinas whispered under his breath. “I do not employ it.” The archmage guided Rane to the innermost part of the structure, and up a long flight of stairs. “Careful what you touch,” he said as he opened the door.

The first thing Rane noticed was the symbols. Letters made of light blue mist floating all over the archmage’s room. “Come.” Atinas walked through them and Rane did the same. The archmage sat cross legged on the floor and removed his hood, gazing up. He raised a hand and drew on the air with a finger, spelling out words with white mist. ‘He is safe.’ The sentence lingered for a moment, then faded. Some of the white letters in the room moved in response. ‘The intruder?’

Atinas wrote with his finger again and Rane shivered. ‘Eaten.’

There was no answer.

“Can you sleep on the floor?” Atinas didn’t move from his position.

It was only then that Rane realised the room was bare, without a bed or furniture. There were only some books sprawled on the floor around Atinas. “Yes,” he settled.

“Then you should. There is an important fight ahead of you,” Atinas said. “I hope you won’t fail me.”

Rane laid down, careful not to make any noise. He placed his arm under his head and tried to sleep, yet every time he got close to drifting off the image of Atinas' body sprung to mind. In the end he spent the night half-awake, looking at the Archmage's back. Strict and terrifying though he was, Rane had felt some emotion from him. Determination, overshadowed by sorrow. Whatever it was, it made Rane want to succeed in this competition. Perhaps it’d be a way for him to pay back the archmage for his life.

Morning dawned and the archmage hadn’t moved from his spot. “You should get up,” he said. “I’ll be watching. For your sake, win.”

“I will.” Rane nodded and grabbed his scabbard. Atinas’ quarters were right next to the centre of the arena, so reaching the duelling grounds took mere minutes. He walked to the area appointed for apprentices and watched as the other contestants joined him. There were noticeably less today, after the first rounds, but the mages seemed to be even more.

Danrith walked out into the light and locked eyes with Rane. He made his way over and Rane grumbled under his breath. What more did the man want? After their last encounter, things should be clear.

“So you survived.” Danrith sat next to him and kept his eyes turned to the duelling grounds. The first pair of apprentices were about to start their fight.

“You knew?” Rane grit his teeth. “So much for your honour.”

“Shut it,” Danrith hissed back. “And here I was, hoping you’d make it.”

An icicle burst apart mid air, spraying them with frozen droplets. “Why?” Rane asked. “Wouldn’t that mean you’d have to do it yourself?”

“No,” Danrith spoke solemnly, clenching his fists. “I’ve already been ordered off the mission. Once I’m back home, I will be punished for my disobedience. Right now, my urge to kill you is all my own.”

“Stop complaining then. You should be glad you get to do the right thing.”

Danrith pressed his lips together. “What do you know?”

Rane tilted his head and tried to hide his anger. He’d been in the exact same position as Danrith, forced to kill more than once. And it hadn’t been a simple punishment that he had faced, but death. Still, he had chosen to sacrifice himself. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Rane!” Talah sat down on the seat next to him flustered. “Why weren’t you in your room? I was worried you were gonna miss the round and–” Her eyes darted to Danrith and she fell silent. “What is he doing here?” she mumbled.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” Danrith went down on one knee and extended his palm. “I am Danrith Nost, archmage’s Caelus third grandson.”

“Uhm, Talah Hariel.” She placed her hand on his.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Danrith raised his head and smiled, then returned to his seat.

“Likewise…” Talah hid behind Rane as much as she could.

Danrith’s face stiffened and he turned to Rane. “Either way,” he said, “prepare yourself. If I’m going to be punished for wanting to preserve the spirit of this competition, I might as well enjoy it to the fullest. If we face each other, I will hold nothing back.”

Rane nodded his head. “I like the sound of that.” Danrith might not have the same resolve that Rane did, but he had done the right thing in the end. He couldn’t blame the man for being angry still, but fighting without restraint is what he wanted too.

The apprentices on the stage finished their fight. Their time had run out, so they were both disqualified and got to choose their mentors. Veradin called out the next apprentices. “Atinas’ Mord and Veradin’s first disciple.” At the mention of the contestants, the otherwise calm and collected spectators began talking over each other.

Rane looked around the arena. “What is going on?”

“So soon…” Danrith leaned forward in his seat, eyes fixed to the stage. “No, this is great. The two favourites have been paired with each other.”

The ashfen making her way on stage couldn’t be more than twenty. She wasn’t wearing the apprentice’s outfit and despite her young age, there was pride in her strait. Perhaps a bit of arrogance. Seething hatred came from Rane’s right, the kind that had grown to become cold and unshakeable. A slender man with short dark hair was following close behind her, tome in hand. Mord, he assumed. Should Rane reach the semifinals, they’d be studying under the same master. Miria inched closer to the stage's outer ring as the apprentices moved in position. The gear creaked and strained in preparation. Rane was seated close enough to hear them talking.

"This time..." Mord's book floated in the air next to him, pale green mist dripping from its pages. He clenched his fists hard enough for blood to drip. "Tell me your name."

The ashfen chuckled and covered her mouth with silvery long fingers. She reached behind her back and drew her weapon, a sword’s blade connected to the hilt by a metal chain twice the length of an arm. The first beat found them both still, as if observing. Beat after beat of the gear sounded, and neither of them had moved from their spot.

“What are they doing?” Rane whispered.

Danrith shook his head. “I have no idea.”

The ashfen took some slow steps towards Mord, chainblade dragging on the ground behind her. Mord inched away with one palm open and facing her.

It happened in a heartbeat. Static brewed in Mord’s palm and the ashfen rushed him with unnatural speed, swinging the chainblade. A thick shell of ice sprung from Mord’s book and enveloped him. The chain clacked against the material, blade wrapping around the back. A wave of her hand made white fire erupt from the ground, melting half of Mord’s ice sphere. The blade aimed for his head but he threw himself back, rolling on the ice to face the ashfen. Lightning crackled from Mord’s hand and the light forced Rane to squint. So much power… Had he kept fueling the spell through all that?

Rane’s vision cleared. The ashfen had the chain pressed against Mord’s neck, forcing him to the ground. “You want to know my name?” She put more weight into the chain and Mord gasped for air. “You don’t even deserve a letter.” Miria stepped onto the stage and the beats ended. The ashfen stood and walked away as Mord coughed some blood. Miria tried to help him up but he pushed her hand away. He was wobbly still, but managed to walk off the stage on his own, eyes on the ashfen’s back the entire time.

Rane felt a knot form in his stomach as he watched the Ashfen return to her seat, right beside Veradin. He couldn’t even tell what had happened. How had the ashfen evaded that lightning? Somehow Mord cast two spells at once and he still lost. Is this why Atinas had asked him to reach the finals instead of winning?

“Incredible…” Talah wiped sweat from her forehead. “I couldn’t even see it.”

“Me neither,” Danrith said. “I had heard stories about her, but never seen her fight in person. In the span of a single beat, the round was decided.”

The other apprentices mumbled among themselves in a haze of admiration and fear that only Rane could sense. Veradin gave the arena some time to quiet down. He called out the next set of names and Rane felt a chill.

“Caelus’ Danrith and Linde’s Rane.” Veradin glanced in their direction. “Please take the stage.”

Danrith stood first, turning his back and going down to the stage.

"Go get him!" Talah patted Rane's back. "I believe in you."

Rane simply winked and followed behind Danrith, down to the fighting ring. Under the gaze of the senior mages, he took his place in the starting circle. Being in the arena made the sword feel light in his hand. The weight stopped mattering when his life was at stake. This was his chance to earn an Archmage’s protection, and by the arbiter, he’d give it his all. He unsheathed his sword, pulling the hilt high and letting the blade slip out. Opposite to him, Danrith’s wrapped hands gripped metal gauntlets. Gold spikes adorned his knuckles. So he planned to get close.

The gear strained and Rane breathed in deep. It seemed Danrith wouldn’t bother with words, so he returned the courtesy. He saw Loric assume a fighting stance as he bent his knees and heard the man’s own voice from his lips. “Don’t hold breaths. Keep a favourable distance. Dictate the pace.”

The first beat sounded and Danrith rushed him, hands held high in front of his face. Rane stood where he was despite the thunderous footsteps. Magic coursed to his fingertips. Danrith’s objective wasn’t speed, but force. Rane circled one foot behind the other and sidestepped to the right. Danrith’s body flew by him. Bits of stone sprayed from the ground as the gold of his fist screeched against it. The magic in Rane’s hand pulsed with heat, and he winced. Leylin had shown him how to keep it hidden inside his palm, how to reduce its size while maintaining power. Alas, battle was different from practice. A single movement had caused him to almost lose control.

Danrith pushed himself up and approached with measured steps, holding one hand in front of his forehead and guarding his chin with the other. His footsteps were light and swift, almost like dancing. Rane measured the distance. A quick thrust of his sword was knocked aside with force, metal colliding against metal. Danrith used the recoil to spin and hit Rane’s side with the other gauntlet. The spikes dug into his flesh and his mind filled with pain. He grit his teeth and pushed his free hand against Danrith’s chest, guiding the magic with the last of his control.

Fire flooded the arena. Rane dropped to the ground, drawing moisture to his burnt palm and grasping his side. His legs shook as he stood. He was about to turn around when he heard it. That damned sound of the beat as the cog turned. Why was it still going?

The smoke and dust slowly settled and Rane saw Danrith’s figure kneeling. The gauntlet dropped from his right hand, half molten and steaming. “You almost killed me, you bastard.” He coughed and winced, dropping on all fours.

Rane dragged the sword on the ground and approached the fallen Danrith. He lifted the blade with one hand. No hesitation. Miria could stop him if she needed to. He sliced down, but his blade found stone instead of flesh. Danrith rolled and stumbled to stand. Rane turned sharply and shot fire in his direction. A shield of ice stopped it, and the stage filled with steam. Rane grit his teeth and held his weapon close. Why did this have to be so troublesome? His sides ached and the blood wouldn’t stop. Danrith shot through the fog, swinging a golden blur at him. Rane barely dodged and slashed out, but Danrith caught the sword in his gauntlet. The battle stilled as the steam cleared.

“Got you.” Danrith placed a foot between Rane’s legs and pulled, making him lose balance. The sword cluttered away. He hurried to cast but the breath left his body as Danrith tackled him onto the ground. The earth split apart and swallowed him as he fell, stone reforming over his arms and legs.

Rane formed ice inside the stone and freed one of his hands. He called fire to his fingers. Then the first punch descended before he could pull his hand out, almost making him faint. The spikes burned as they dug into his cheek. Danrith used both hands to pummel him. Rane formed ice to block the gauntlet, only to have it shatter. The bare fists, he had to let through. He used the pain to grow the spell hidden in the stone.

“Surrender!” Danrith screamed in his face. The onslaught continued, but Rane didn’t yield. He kept forming shields of ice to block all strikes he could, but the rest shook his head and slammed it against the ground time and time again. Each time he thought he had fainted, something dragged him back to wakefulness. The expectation of pain, the need to brace himself for it. The magic in his hand pulsed. He could feel it slipping, wisps of flame leaking from the sphere and burning his skin. The ice grew weaker as he focused more on controlling the fire, but Danrith's strikes had grown weaker too. Each punch made him huff and groan.

Rane's consciousness slipped. He pulled his hand free of the stone. The ice cracked and the spikes tore his face open. With the last of his strength he pointed the sphere of fire at Danrith and–

The world froze. Two pillars of frost held Danrith's fists in place and the heat of Rane's spell lingered in the air. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Veradin standing over them, one hand grasping his. "The round is over.” The wind blew embers from his glove and sleeve. “Rane is the victor."

Danrith's expression was pale. "I- Thank you." He let his head hang. Mages stood in applause.

Rane closed his eyes.