The medics had removed Hau-Lin from the arena and carted him off for treatment by the time I’d reached the registrar. Their grim faces told me all I needed to know about the fallen challenger’s status. If he was very lucky, the wounded fighter would spend the rest of his days unable to cultivate jinsei.

If he was at all unlucky, the challenger would be dead before sunset.

“Tough break.” The registrar shot me a bleak smile and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the retreating medics. “You sure you want to climb in there after that?”

“I didn’t come all this way to quit.” I reached under my shirt and popped the catch on the coin purse strapped across my chest. “One hundred oboli.”

The registrar took the cracked and faded vinyl purse from my outstretched hand. His eyebrows shot up with surprise when he unzipped the pouch and revealed its contents.

“Where’d you get these?” He pinched one of the radiant soul coins between his index finger and thumb and raised it to his eye for closer examination. The obolus shown with a pure silver light that seemed to be more felt than seen. “Not even a single iota of aspected jinsei. I’ve never seen oboli so pure.”

“I made them.” It had taken me most of five years to distill enough jinsei through my wounded core to create the coins. I’d thought their basic silver hue would make them worth less than the colorful, swirling oboli that circulated in the undercity. Apparently, there was a lot I still didn’t understand about the jinsei arts. “Where do I sign?”

The longer I stood in front of the registrar, the harder it was to keep my composure. My only shot at succeeding at the challenge was to stay calm and focused. If another fight began, and I had to watch the School champion tear apart another challenger, I’d be hard pressed to keep from panicking. My odds were long enough without adding that complication to the mix.

“Sure, sure.” The registrar pushed a heavy, leather bound tome toward me. “Sign right here.”

The book’s pages were wrinkled and warped from the imprints of hundreds of signatures. It smelled ancient and feral, like an immortal beast that had crawled up from the depths of the earth in search of fresh blood. It had a power far beyond any inanimate object I’d ever encountered before, and its translucent aura rippled around it like waves of heat from a sunbaked highway.

While the registrar counted my money, I found the last page with names on it. There were dozens of cramped signatures between the narrowly spaced lines, and I couldn’t read any of them. The ink flowed and twisted like angry serpents when I tried to focus on it, evidence of the jinsei charms that guarded the book and its contents.

The pen next to the book was almost as ancient as the tome. It had been carved from bone aged to a rich ivory hue and worn smooth from decades of handling. I lifted the pen from the pot of crimson ink, and its nib dragged my hand onto the page. Every stroke I made pulled at my core, as if the book searched within me for jinsei I didn’t have to give. I had to wonder what signing the book would have cost me if my core had been healthy enough to store soul energy.

“All done.” The registrar snatched the pen from my hands and dunked it back into the pot. He stabbed a finger toward a dark opening between two sets of bleachers. “Ready room’s over there. Grab something to eat and drink if you need it and wait for your lot to be called.”

A pair of Empyreal initiates guarded the shadowed passage the registrar had directed me to enter. They blocked my path as I approached, eyeballed me for long seconds, then decided I wasn’t worth their trouble to hassle and stepped aside.

“Go home, camper,” one of them whispered as I passed between them. The raw contempt in her voice reminded me of what I had at stake. If I completed the challenge, I’d be an Empyreal, too. No one would dare speak to me like that, ever again, without risking a duel of honor.

If I lost, though, it would be back to the undercity labor camp for me. Back to a life of vacuum-formed algae ramen and recycled greywater. Back to shame and misery, until the end of my days.

The passage between the bleachers led to the back wall of the arena where a stone-lined opening waited for me. The portal looked out of place in the modern setting, as if it had been plucked from an ancient forest somewhere and plopped down in the heart of St. Louis. The gaping archway was surrounded by moss-choked stones that glowed with the spirit energy contained within. Like people, inanimate objects could absorb and cultivate jinsei. Plants, especially trees, were efficient at harvesting the soul power, but stone took a very long time to accumulate any appreciable amount of energy. The amount of jinsei that emanated from the archway would’ve taken millennia to accumulate.

That was impossible. The city of St. Louis was only a little over two hundred and fifty years old. This archway couldn’t have been here for any longer than that.

And yet, as I passed through the stone-lined opening, I felt eons of ancient power around me. This place was far, far older than it had any right to be.

The tunnel beyond the archway was shorter than I’d imagined it would be and opened into the ready room after a couple of yards. The cozy chamber was richly appointed with solid wooden furniture polished to a warm glow, the floor was a ceramic tile mosaic that featured the five dragons of the arena, and heavy oaken beams supported a low, arched roof. Everything in the room was so inviting, I instantly felt welcomed.

Until I saw the rest of the challengers.

There were three Empyreals inside the ready room, a dark-haired young woman in a blue gi emblazoned with stark white scrivenings, a bald and dark-skinned guy wearing long, gray robes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a museum, and a shorter man with a shock of red hair sprouting from the top of his head like a torch’s flame. The trio were all seated together in the center of the room, and my arrival had clearly interrupted their conversation. They briefly eyed me with interest, then continued as if I weren’t even there.

While the other challengers were an intriguing bunch, they couldn’t hold a candle to what I saw against the wall nearest to me. My attention was immediately consumed by the sights and smells of fresh fruits, pastries, and small sandwiches piled high on silver serving trays atop a broad wooden table. Crystalline pitchers of water so clean and clear I at first though they were empty rested between the platters of food, their surfaces dripping with beads of condensation. After a lifetime spent eating the undercity’s excuse for food and drinking runoff from the overcity these refreshments were a feast.

A feast I didn’t dare eat.

I didn’t know how long I’d be in this waiting area, and I didn’t want to face my opponent with a belly stuffed with rich foods my system might not be ready to handle. A glass of water, though, that couldn’t hurt me.

The crystal goblets on the table had wide, round bases and broad mouths encircled by a wide golden band. Just one of these drinking glasses would be worth a month’s rent in the undercity, and the table held dozens of them all as clean as if they’d never been touched by human hands. I plucked one of them from the formation and winced as its base jostled against its neighbors with a wind-chime tinkling.

“You’re not from around here.” The Empyreal had sidled up on my left so quietly I hadn’t even noticed her until she spoke. Her voice was smooth and pleasant, though I caught a teasing edge in her words. “Let me help.”

She prodded the goblet in my hand with her fingertip and pointed at the spout near the bottom of the heavy pitcher.

I held the goblet under the spout like it was normal for a no-name camp laborer to be waited on by an Empyreal. I watched her push the trigger on the side of the spout and hoped I’d remember how to do it myself when the time came.

“Thank you,” I said, because I didn’t want to offend her. We were both challengers, but she was of higher status and would have been well within her rights to call for a duel of honor for any slight she detected.

“You’re very welcome.” She straightened her sky-blue gi, and the white scrivenings flickered around her waist like lightning across a storm cloud. “My name’s Clementine Hark, representing the Thunder’s Children clan.”

“Jace. Jace Warin.” I didn’t have a clan name to tack onto my own, which left an awkward silence between us. “I’m from here. St. Louis, I mean.”

“Oh.” She poured herself a glass of water, then clinked it against mine in an impromptu toast. “Best of luck in the challenge.”

“And to you.” I took a sip of water and savored its cold, clear lack of flavor or texture. I tried to imagine what it would be like to always drink water this pure and couldn’t wrap my head around it.

“What’s your style?” Clementine asked. Amongst Empyreals, that must’ve been a common question.

But I didn’t know how to answer it. I couldn’t reveal my style without also revealing that I had a hollow core. And if anyone found out I was damaged, I’d never be allowed into the School. There were no rules, specifically, against those of us who couldn’t store jinsei learning to become mystic artists, but that didn’t mean we were respected or valued. And after what Grayson had said about the School wanting to improve the quality of its new initiates, I had no doubt he’d reject me based on my inner wound.

I couldn’t let that happen. There was a chance, a slim one, that what I learned at the School could heal my injured core. That would allow me to adopt a more traditional style and become a powerful Empyreal in my own right. Once I was cured, no one would dare to challenge my right to attend the School.

But until that happened, no one could know about my hollow core.

“Oh, you wouldn’t know it. It’s a laborer thing.” I took a deep drink from my goblet and hoped Clementine would get the clue and wander off to pester somewhere else.

“Oh, mysterious. I’ll make you bet.” She motioned toward the other challengers she’d been seated with. “Abi, Eric. Come here for a second.”

The other challengers shrugged and walked over to join us near the refreshments table. The taller man’s dark gray robes were shot through with veins of purest black that gleamed against the cloth like fresh oil. His dark skin was a marked contrast to his clothing, and his bald head gleamed under the jinsei-powered lights hidden in the ceiling’s recesses. His friend was clad in a pair of white shorts and a loose-fitting vest embroidered with gold scrivenings that flashed like embers with every step that he took.

“Guys, my new friend here has a secret.” Clementine threw her arm across my shoulders and turned me square to the Empyreals. “He doesn’t think I can guess his style. I bet that I can.”

“That’s not a fair challenge, Clem.” The robed challenger gave his friend a disapproving frown. “You know more styles than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Abi’s right.” The challenger in the vest, who had to be Eric if the other one was Abi, shook his head. “Clem’s eye for the jinsei arts is an instinct.”

“Spoilsports!” Clem chewed on her bottom lip for a moment, then raised her index finger into the air. “I’ll make it a challenge for myself. I’ll guess your style based solely on your breathing technique.”

Abi and Eric both looked unimpressed by this handicap. Clearly, they’d seen this party trick before, and were sure that Clem could figure me out with even a scrap of information about my style.

“I have nothing to bet.” There was no sense in dragging this out. I didn’t want anyone to have even a chance to figure out my problem and crying poor seemed like the easiest way out of the situation. Surely these wealthy Empyreals would understand that I, a lowly camp laborer, couldn’t afford to gamble my few meager possessions.

“That is a problem.” Clem stroked her chin and her green eyes sparkled with mischief. “But even if you have no money, you must have something of value to offer. Let’s say I wager two hundred oboli against two hours of your service to me.”

Clementine’s offer was shockingly extravagant. Two hundred oboli wasn’t a fortune, but it was a start. That much money could get mom and me out of the undercity, at least for a few months. We could rent a place in the outskirts, find work beyond the labor camps. With my mother’s martial arts skills, she might even be able to get work training clan supplicants for their entrance exams.

An older man emerged from the shadows across the room. He wore a long coat emblazoned with powerful scrivenings that identified him as a prominent member of the Disciples of the Jade Flame. He must’ve been there all along, keeping an eye on the challengers. He caught my eye and gave me a single slow nod.

What did that mean? Why would an elder jinsei artist take any interest in the foolishness of challengers?

Maybe he knew that I was odd enough Clem wouldn’t be able to identify my style. Or maybe it was a trick to humiliate me in front of his fellow Empyreals.

Two hundred oboli against my one and only chance to claw my way out of the labor camp. I didn’t believe Clem would know the obscure style my mother had taught me, and I didn’t think he’d be able to identify my hollow core from my breathing technique. If I was right, then that two hundred oboli wager was as good as in my pocket. If I took the bet, I could leave the Five Dragon Challenge with twice the money I’d entered with, even if the champion snapped me in half.

But if I was wrong, then I lost everything.

“You first.” I said, stalling for time. “All of you show me your breathing technique, and then I’ll show you mine.”

Abi crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head.

“It is forbidden. My clan does not allow the display of our sacred techniques to outsiders.”

“I’ll do it.” Eric closed his eyes and raised his hands to the level of his solar plexus. He formed a triangle with the tips of his index fingers and thumbs touching and drew in a deep breath.

Because of my hollow core, it was often difficult for me to focus on auras. But Eric’s energy surrounded him like a cloak of flames, and his core glowed like a bowl of molten gold. His jinsei flared ever brighter around him as he inhaled, and when he finally let the breath out it carried dark flecks of corrupted energy that drifted away like ash on the wind. With every breath, his jinsei glowed brighter until his core was full of sacred energy and his aura had shed all but a fraction of its corruption. It was an impressive display, but Eric’s style was painfully obvious to anyone who’d ever studied the jinsei arts.

“Cloak of Fire style.” All three of the other challengers seemed surprised at my knowledge, which annoyed me. Eric was a member of the Resplendent Sun clan, who flaunted their styles and techniques on televised tournaments all over the world. There were very few jinsei artists who wouldn’t immediately recognize that style.

“Well, we have a scholar here.” Clem placed her goblet on the table. “I won’t ask Abi to ding his honor, but I’ve got no problem showing you mine.”

She let her arms fall to her sides and shook the tension from her hands. She stared deeply into my eyes, but I focused on her aura and not her startlingly green gaze. Clem opened her mouth slightly, her lips parted just enough to reveal the tops of her slightly uneven teeth, and drew in a deep, cleansing breath.

Jinsei swirled into Clem core like a whirlpool of power. It flowed through her body’s channels and into her aura in a turbulent rush, and the air around her churned into frothy white and blue strokes of power.

She exhaled, and droplets of corrupted jinsei dripped from the tips of her fingers and formed shadowy puddles around her feet. Clem’s aura obscured her face and twisted around her body like a waterspout, a powerful and deceptive shield that I was certain could transform into a deadly weapon in the blink of an eye.

I struggled to recall the name of this sacred art. My mother had explained most of the clans’ styles to me, and I’d seen more than a few of them on TV or the local arenas. But this was something different, a mysterious force I couldn’t decipher.

“No guesses?” Clem banished her aura and wisps of jinsei drifted off her skin like steam.

I took another drink of my water to buy myself a few more seconds to think and saw the Jade Flame elder swirling the water in his goblet while very pointedly not looking in my direction. He casually pulled the glass toward his body and tapped its round base against his chest.

“Come now,” Clem said. “You can’t be that thirsty.”

“We never get water this clean in the undercity.” My words struck home, and the three Empyreals glanced at one another uneasily. It was one thing to know that a hidden lower class of virtual slaves worked in labor camps so your family could live in relative opulence. It was another thing entirely to be faced with that reality.

That bought me another few moments to gather my thoughts and consider what the elder had showed me. It obviously had something to do with water, and the way he swirled the contents of his goblet reminded me of the rotation of Clem’s aura. We had tornadoes in St. Louis, but they were called hurricanes when they spun up at sea. And he’d touched his chest, but Hurricane Chest didn’t seem like a very poetic name for a style.

No, not his chest.

His heart.

But if the other half of the style’s name was hurricane, then heart didn’t make much sense. Eye would’ve been more accurate in this case, because Clem stood at the calm center of her aura. It had to be something else. I remembered an old show I’d seen about a storm off the coast of Japan, and the name sprang into my mind like a flash of lightning.

“Heart of the Typhoon style.”

The three Empyreals were obviously surprised, and even the elder seemed a bit shocked that I’d put his clues together.

“Impressive.” Clem recovered quickly, but there was a glint in her emerald eyes that told me she wouldn’t underestimate me again. “You’ve seen mine, now show me yours.”

The look on Clem’s face told me I was in too deep to back out now. She wanted this challenge, and if I backed out after correctly guessing her style she had every right to take offense and demand a duel, right then and there.

I was confident I could defeat one Empyreal with the tricks I’d brought with me that day, but I’d never get past two. And if Clem and I fought, her status was so far above mine no one would blink if she tore my arms and legs off and beat me with them in front of the whole arena.

I looked to the elder for assurances that I wasn’t about to step into a trap, but he was suddenly very interested in the contents of his goblet. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, and if I kept staring at him the other challengers would notice.

“Okay,” I said. There was no point installing any further, either this was going to work, or I’d failed.

My only hope was that my breathing technique was so unusual that Clem had never even heard of it, much less seen it in action. My mother had adapted it from a very old, seldom-taught style that channeled jinsei through the practitioner’s core without storing it for later use. It was a complicated and difficult style that allowed me to cleanse my aura of impurities and corruption, but it was useless for cultivating my core’s strength.

I filled my lungs with a deep breath that harvested the jinsei from the air that surrounded us. Bits of Clem’s watery style collided with energetic sparks from Eric’s fire style and it all tumbled into my core in a chaotic mess. Before I’d even begun to exhale, though, the elemental aspects that the other challengers had infected the jinsei with were stripped away and drained out of my pores like beads of sweat.

The clarified jinsei in my core picked up crystallized clots of corruption from my aura and leaked out of my mouth in a slow and steady stream. My breath became a circular stream, flowing into my lungs and back out again in an endless loop. It had taken me years to perfect the technique, and now when I fell into the cycle, it was impossible to tell whether I was inhaling or exhaling at any given moment.

I stopped after a few seconds and tried to hide the smile that crept across my lips when I saw the confused look on Clem’s face. My technique wasn’t as powerful as the Empyreals, but it was obscure and unusual enough that they had no idea what I’d actually done. I felt a spark of hope flare in my chest as I realized that the champion wouldn’t have any more idea what to expect from me than my fellow challengers hand.

And, it looked like I’d just won two hundred oboli.

“It’s time.” The elder rose from his seat in the corner and stalked across the room to the refreshments table. “Jason Warin, your lot has been pulled.”

“But I — ”

Before Clem could pay up on her lost bet, the elder seized my shoulder and steered me away from the other challengers.

“She lost, she owes me two hundred oboli,” I protested.

“I’ll pay you at the school!” Clem called after me, and her confidence that I would pass the challenge lifted my spirits. If an Empyreal thought I had a chance, then maybe I did.

“Perhaps,” the elder of the Jade Flame whispered into my ear as we passed through a veil of darkness at the end of an archway. “Or perhaps not.”