Blake had never seen so much gold before. Sets of armor forged of the shining metal filled the palace’s high room in rows, each with a unique design, purpose and creator. All were glorious. So flawless and perfectly smooth that he was sure they’d never seen battle. No matter how skilled the blacksmith or how thorough the repair work, there were dents and cuts that would always leave marks. Vince had said that the Andren emperor was fascinated by war, but this went far beyond interest or a lavish display.

“Lift up your arms please.” The ashfen attendant wrapped what seemed like the thousandth ribbon around his waist, cutting off the excess that didn’t cover Blake’s shirt. He handed the ribbon off to his assistant, who was already struggling to hold all the rest. “Go find me an armor of this size. The more extravagant, the better.”

The ashfen vanished down the corridors of the armory, checking the different colored stripes as he went. Blake sighed and leaned against a wall. Sometimes he couldn’t understand the Andren way of thinking. What use was wealth and splendor when half the country burned? He was starting to understand why the third Blade wanted to leave.

“I am sorry for the delay,” said the attendant. “We need to make sure you are comfortable, so you can perform to the emperor’s expectations.”

“I see.” Blake observed the group of ashfen carrying back armor pieces. “And those are high, I imagine.”

“Worry not. It’s my duty to ensure the ceremony goes smoothly.” The attendant smiled at him before turning to the other ashfen. “Only one?” He gruffed, and the ashfen shrunk back. “Which one is it?”

“Albatino, twenty three. Lanar.” The ashfen laid out piece after piece of golden metal on the table in front of them with reverent care. More than fifty individual pieces rested on the red cloth, each one polished to perfection. It was filled with sharp edges, and the parts that made up the shoulderguards and helm even had long spikes. “Normally I would ask if it is to your liking,” the attendant said, “but in this case, I hope it will suit you.”

“It’s alright.” Blake absentmindedly run his hand across the metal, feeling its cold surface. He’d never thought he’d wear something like this in his lifetime. It felt so surreal still, and the very fact that he’d fight in front of the ashfen Emperor chilled the blood in his veins. Even faux fights were dangerous, so many things that could go wrong.

“Worry not. Just stand still.” The attendant clicked his fingers and the ashfen swarmed around Blake, placing pieces of the armor on his body over the thin clothing that he wore. Just their gentle pressure was enough for the armor to move almost on its own, plates shifting and locking together with intricate precision, leaving no gaps or leather visible at the joints. The gold gauntlets tightened around his hands and he formed a fist. They fit perfectly.

Two ashfen huffed to lift the massive breastplate, moving it in place over his chest. Blake braced himself for the weight as the mechanism hidden inside clasped onto the backbrace. The large chunk of gold settled in place, strain perfectly divided between his backbrace, folds and shoulders. He barely felt the pressure on him, a calming reminder that the protection was there. That there was force behind each blow.

Blake had never worn armor like this before. He was used to toiling to even get the damned things on, only to suffer the heat underneath. Now the metal only had a comfortable chill as it touched his skin. He spun his torso, and the armor didn’t make a single sound. Each part of his back was shielded just as perfectly.

The attendant smiled as he watched Blake feel around the armor. “The final piece,” he said, handing him the helmet.

“Thank you.” Blake took it in his hands and inspected the gap. The inside was lined with soft red cloth, somehow woven into the metal itself. He raised it over his head and lowered it in place. Its edges met the shoulderplates and locked it in place. A shiver ran down Blake’s back. Cold white energy spread down from his helmet, lighting up the white bands inlaid around the edges of each piece of plate. The light pulsed with brightness once, then dimmed. Blake realised then, that even what little weight he had felt was gone. The feeling of power remained. The feeling of invincibility. “What just happened?”

“The nora core activated,” the attendant said with a smile, motioning for him to follow.

Blake almost tripped on his first step. He used too much force to move, almost instinctively.

“The gold alloy that was used in the creation of this armor is quite heavy,” the attendant continued as he led Blake through the palace. “A power source is needed, to lessen the burden on the user. How does it feel? Isn’t your movement almost natural?”

Blake nodded, moving his arm back and forth. “Why use gold though, if it is so heavy?”

“Gold does not know rust. It persists intact through rain, ice and most importantly, blood. That in turn protects the inner and intricate mechanisms from decay.” The attendant smiled, opening the door to another part of the treasury. “Now our weapons…” He glanced inside the room, where hundreds of swords, spears, flails and maces hanged, ready to be wielded. “Those are made of the purest steel.”

Albeit not as impressive as the armor, the weaponry seemed masterfully crafted at first glance. Blake felt around the hilt of the largest sword he could find. Solid and well balanced. He admired the blade and its perfectly sharp edges.

“I’m afraid you will be restricted to a sword for tonight’s event, similar to the one you wielded yesterday”, the attendant said, “but there should be a plethora of options still.”

Blake settled for a longsword decorated with waves along the blade and a color that resembled the sea. It wasn’t his weapon of choice, but tonight was about spectacle and delivering a grand performance. A broadsword just wouldn’t do. “What else is there?” He spun the hilt around in his gauntlet, getting used to its weight and balance.

“Nothing else.”

Blake almost cringed as he heard the familiar voice. Gyn placed a hand on his shoulder and rounded him, observing with a smile.

“You look fantastic!” Gyn waved the attendant away. “A true champion. Come, they are all waiting for you.”

Blake swallowed back his fear. He reminded himself that it was just a spar. The negotiation, he could leave to Asah and Vince, and Liera would establish contact by herself. All he had to do was fight. It was the simplest task, yet his hands were shaking. They went down a long staircase and walked along the long corridor to the throne room, yet this time only the slight clicks of his armor reached his ears. The day had progressed and the servants retreated, leaving the palace deathly quiet. Blake watched the mural go by through his helmet’s visor, a hazy story of war and conquest woven together with myths.

Gyn reached the door to the throne room and stood by the side, motioning. “As per the custom, the honor is yours.”

Blake placed a hand on each side of the door and breathed in deeply. After a brief pause, he pushed it open. All heads turned in his direction, the last whispers fading. The ashfen nobles were already seated in a half-moon around the empty throne, facing the center of the room where the spar would take place. Their gazes bore into him, observing. An Ashfen girl pointed at him, then sought shelter between the folds of her mother's silken dress. Should he walk further inside? Was he supposed to say something? He recognized Vince heading his way and sighed in relief.

"I almost didn't recognize you," Vince whispered as he looked down at the armour. "Go to the center and stand there. The emperor has not arrived yet."

Blake nodded and went around the nobles, taking his place in the very center of the throne room. Slowly the whispers and idle chatter began around him once more, close enough to be audible but too far to be made out. The Ashfen snuck glances at him. Never too lengthy, only the momentary glimmer of gold in their eyes.

Blake had seen a showcase spar when he was little. A blacksmith from the capital had come to show off his creations, and two Daniran soldiers had volunteered to don them. He had admired the huge men and the glistening steel, but it had never occurred to him how they might have felt. Did they feel powerful under all that plate? Or was it a cause of fear and anxiousness like it was for him?

The low beating of steel drums rang throughout the room, and only then did Blake notice the two ashfen seated on the corners of the room behind him. Curved instruments still vibrated from their touch, producing a low hum. The side doors to the throne room swung open, and an ashfen in brilliant armor took two large strides inside, then stood at attention.

“His Majesty, the Emperor!” He announced.

The instruments sounded again, their deep tune making the nobles drop their heads. They placed their hands behind their backs and pressed their foreheads against the table. Asah turned her head in the other direction.

The Andrean Emperor, the person wielding the most power in this world, was little more than a ghost. Old, withered and thin, Blake could have mistaken him for one of the numerous slaves in the palace were it not for his simple crown. He walked with difficulty, huffing with each step towards the throne. His skin was brighter than any other ashfen he had seen, contrasting his black, luxurious mantle. The man in armor followed behind him, extending a hand to aid him up the steps of the throne.

“Leave me,” the emperor spoke with a deep voice, touching his palm on the knight’s plate. Each of his steps seemed shaky and pained, and his thin body wobbled whole. He groaned as he turned around, almost dropping onto the crystal seat. Blake saw his wrinkled face clearly. No matter how well-groomed he was, it was hard to hide that there was little hair on his head and beard.

The emperor glanced around the room –showing the deep, dark circles under his eyes– then smiled. “Enough, my friends. There’s too little time to dedicate to formality.” The musicians struck another note, and the ashfen nobles raised their heads. “This day is joyous, isn’t it? We have guests from far, far away!” The man paused, his eyes losing focus as if reminiscing. “Come, Trauka. It’s not polite to leave guests waiting for too long.” He motioned with his finger, and another figure clad in full plate walked inside from the same entrance.

The man moved swiftly, taking his place in the center of the room and turning to face Blake. “Trauka,” he said, slamming his sword into the stone. “Fourth son of the Emperor,” he announced, voice muffled by his helmet. His armor was black, leaving no skin visible. The suit’s visor was thin, hiding the ashfen’s face.

Blake hesitated. Things had gone the way Vince had described, but the man had never told him he’d be facing the emperor’s own son, so he couldn’t help but be nervous. “Blake Tovale.” He held his blade with both hands and cut into the ground, leaving behind a mark among hundreds of others. “Silyra’s champion.”

“Throughout millenia, Andre and Silyra have known each other by war,” the emperor began. “Today, we are here to prove that our rivalry can be more than that, without forgetting our ancestral struggles.” His figure slipped down the throne slightly, relaxing. “So, for glory, honor and freedom, you shall fight to the beat of the drums. Young men, let your heart go wild and let your spirit fly.”

The nobles watching clapped, some raising their wine glasses. The drummers struck a higher, sharper note. Blake and Trauka lifted their swords at once, resting them on opposite shoulders. Another beat of the drums made their swords clash. It was a slow, deliberate swing, meant to gauge. Blake walked around, feet following the blade marks on the ground. Trauka mimicked his posture and movements, holding the sword over his head. The next note found their blades clashing, vibrations travelling up Blake's arm and making him shiver.

The beating of the drums quickened and the spar found its rhythm. An elaborate dance of slow swings and predictable slashes, made flashy by the power behind each strike. The clash of blades became one with the music.

Blake focused on the fight and time left him. He swung the sword over his head and Trauka took a step back, raising his own weapon to drive the strike away. The Ashfen rolled the hilt around in his palm, slashing from the right, making it easy for Blake to parry and attack again. His blade found Trauka's and rebound, readying for the next part of the dance.

Overhand strike, parry, left swing, parry and repeat. It was an easy pattern to follow. His body almost moved by itself. Each beating of the drums came quicker than the previous, driving the battle forward. It felt like he was entranced, trapped in a world where only the swing of his sword held meaning. He counted seven times circled around the sword marks.

Overhand strike, parry, left swing, parry and repeat. The sword felt heavier and heavier in his hands with each note, but he kept to the beat of the drums. Trauka’s sword demanded his attention.

Overhand strike, parry, left swing, parry and repeat. How much longer would this take? Blake faced the throne with beads of sweat running down his face. His horizontal slash clinked against metal twice, throwing him off rhythm. He moved his sword to parry a strike that never came.

The drummers stopped. Instead of music, there was a loud thud. Blake looked at his weapon. Blood ran down its length, slipping through the gaps in his gold gauntlet and touching his skin. Trauka’s head rolled to a stop beside his feet, torn free from the steel helmet that he wore. The last tinges of dark magic faded from his face and lips as his eyes lost all colour.

Blake simply stood, muscles tense and bloody sword raised, struggling to understand what he had done. Raw panic gripped him, tying a knot in his stomach.

"You..." The emperor stood from his throne. His body shook whole and his hand gripped the crystal. He stared right at Blake and his expression wrapped from shock to anger. "What have you done?"

"I– I–" Blake stammered like a fool. "There was an Oath and–"

"Silence!" The king screamed with force unfitting his small frame. His body swayed, eyes wide and pupils red. He moved his mouth as if mourning, no words coming out. The silence that followed was unnatural. The emperor doubled over, grasping his stomach. His crown fell from his head and rolled away.

Blake looked to Vince, begging for help with his gaze, only to see the man just as shocked. Weird pants and exhales came from the Emperor, like he was choking. The man raised his head and Blake saw a smile between the thin strands of his white hair. Was he laughing?

“You fell for it!” The Emperor cackled, and the nobles erupted in cheers, claps and laughter. “I got you good, didn’t I?” The man fell back in his throne, guffawing between coughs and deep, rough breaths.

Blake’s gaze alternated between Trauka’s body and the throne. What part of this was a joke? He lowered his sword.

“Look! Look!” The emperor pointed at him with his bony finger. “He still doesn’t get it!”

The laughter grew stronger, ringing in Blake’s ears. Words came to rest at the tip of his trembling lips. Words that should not be directed at an Emperor. He took off his helmet and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

The emperor leaned forward, eyebrows raised and examining his face with expectation. Blake wasn’t laughing. “It was just a prisoner,” he explained. “He was sentenced to death, and I thought this would be more fun. It made the duel a bit more… dramatic!”

Blake tightened the grip on his weapon’s hilt. His hand itched to raise it and charge up the throne. How far could he reach before the guards got to him? Perhaps he’d have enough time to plant it in that monster’s chest.

“Such a surprise!” Vince stood behind Blake, speaking up through the ruckus and the laughter. “A very unexpected turn to the event. Did his majesty orchestrate it himself?”

“Yes, the idea was mine, but I had help.” The emperor limped down the steps of the throne. He waved a hand at a servant that stood in wait by the side. “I am starving! Take the body away and bring out the food!”

Another ashfen approached Blake. “Come,” he said. “We will help you out of your armor.”

Blake followed the man to another room silently. He let the ashfens surround him and work on taking off the many small and intricate pieces of plate. In the end the gold had been part of the spectacle too. The lie of civility gilded by wealth and manners. The servants showed him the way to the bathhouse and took care of his dirty clothes. In truth, he could use the quick shower after the fight. His mind, which he had managed to keep numb, snapped back to it. Why did the damned Oaths follow him like this? Why couldn’t they leave him at peace? He’d stay there for hours, if he could, focusing on the water running down his body. At least there it was peaceful.

Clean clothes awaited for him outside, a thin white tunic and wide pants that smelled of herbs and sat loose on his body. He could hear the clatter of plates and trays before he even returned to the throne room. The table had been filled to the brim with golden trays, dishes, bottles and cups. Blake sat on the empty seat between Asah and Liera, and watched as the servants placed trays onto the last remaining spots on the long table. Somehow, neither the aroma nor the food’s heat tingled his appetite.

“Blake… I’m sorry.” Liera placed a hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t know this would happen. If I knew I–”

“Nobody knew.” Blake cut her off. “In the end, it is the same as I’ve been doing all my life, isn’t it? How many of Leylin’s Oathbound ashfen have I killed that way? I just didn’t expect it this time, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?” She dragged her chair a bit closer to his. “You were agonising about it.”

“I played my horrible part,” he replied. “It’s what I’ve been trained to do. The rest is up to you.”

“This is a good sign, I think.” Vince spoke up after a brief moment of thinking. “Save for this crude joke, the Emperor has treated us with utmost respect and even organized a feast. It was definitely not like during our previous negotiations ten years ago.”

Liera knit her brows. “Perhaps they’re trying to secure better terms?”

Vince nodded. “I think so too. Killing their own fighter could be interpreted as a sign of submission. Even if it hasn’t reached the inner parts of the Empire, the raging disease must have hurt them more than we think.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure.” Asah glanced at the Emperor approaching them and lowered her voice. “I don’t trust that man.” She smiled and turned her head fully once he got closer. “Your Majesty! To what do we owe this honor?”

“No need for formalities.” The man smiled and waved his hand dismissively. “I want to sit with you.” At the sound of that, an ashfen next to Vince hurried to empty his seat.

After seeing the Emperor up close, Blake could clearly see the effect old age had on the man’s body. If he had to guess, he wouldn’t give the ashfen another five years. Blake wasn’t a hateful person, but for some reason imagining the Emperor laying on his deathbed, a century old and ready to meet an Oath’s end delighted him. Just like the ashfen criminal he had used today, he too would experience the dark magic claiming his life.

Blake could see Liera tense up as the Emperor finally managed to take a seat. Ordinary chairs seemed to make him struggle, yet he didn’t ask for help. No matter how much Blake despised him, he had to admit that he was brave to sit amid foreign ambassadors of Vince’s and Blake’s size. Brave, or crazy.

“That was an excellent fight, young man.” The Emperor turned to him with difficulty. “What is your name?”

“Blake Tovale.”

“I see, I see. The commander’s son, are you?” The emperor rubbed his chin and scratched his beard. “What’s his name now… Kince?”

“Vince,” Blake said, raising an eyebrow. Was it normal for the Emperor to remember the last name of an enemy commander?

“Ah, yes.” The Emperor let out a hearty laugh. “Your father caused all sorts of trouble for my generals. A brilliant strategist, for sure.” Without pause, he leaned onto the table, looking down both ends. All the golden cloches seemed in place, and the servants had retreated to one end of the room, standing in wait with their backs against the wall. “Are we ready to begin then?”

“The dishes have been arranged as you instructed, your Majesty..” One of the servants walked forward.

“Good, good!” The Emperor placed both hands on the table and pushed himself up. He filled his cup with wine and held it high above his head. “Let the revelry begin, and may it last till morning sun!”