Eben leaned over the balcony, eager eyes watching the duel. Five men fought below, all armed with kryss--thick, iron rods, longer than he was tall. The weapons were silver blurs as the combatants spun them expertly, a metal clang coming from each successful block or parry. Onlookers hooted and hollered down at the men, cheering for whichever champion represented the section they stood in. Eben was in Azure, making his champion a lanky fellow with blonde hair, so he screamed encouragement at the man as best he could. If the warriors in the large pit below heard the cries of the crowds, they gave no indication, sparring with single-minded determination.

Suddenly, the people in Eben’s section gasped as a quick thrust from the Bronze champion knocked the Azure champion off balance. Before Azure could recover, Bronze brought his kryss down, crunching into Azure’s exposed head with sickening finality. The duelist crumpled, landing hard on the stone floor of the pit, his skull leaking fluid from a bloody rut. Seeing his opponent fallen, Bronze straightened, slamming the butt of his weapon into the ground--again and then again. The screech of metal on rock was harsh, and Eben clapped his hands to the sides of his head.

What is he doing?

From a nearby alcove in the pit appeared a man dressed unlike the rest. He wore a cowl, which, from above, only let Eben see a bit of his bearded chin. The hood was part of a deep red robe that stretched all the way to the ground and was cinched at the waist by a black cord. Despite it’s length, the garment had no sleeves, leaving the man’s shoulders and arms completely bare.

Bronze gave the newcomer a cursory glance, before returning to the melee, which had moved away from the fallen warrior. His own champion defeated, Eben thought to follow Bronze’s exploits, but then he noticed that some of the people in the crowd were instead staring at the red-robed man. Even stranger, those that were looked quite angry and a few even went so far as to make the sacred sign of protection--touching two fingers to their forehead, each shoulder, and then back to their forehead again.

What in Silver?

His curiosity piqued, Eben turned back, watching as the robed figure knelt beside the fallen duelist--who didn’t even seem to be breathing anymore. Was this man some sort of undertaker, here to take the body away? Eben hoped not. He had never seen anyone die before and he didn’t want to start now.

Nothing, however, could have prepared him for what happened next: one moment the robed man’s fingers were touching Azure’s face, as if assessing the injury, and in the next they were dipping into the flesh, pushing past skin, muscle, and bone.

“Het,” Eben cursed, though he spoke the word so quietly it barely escaped his lips.

That’s what this man was: an abomination. An awakened. The realization chilled Eben, making him feel like the cold hand of death tickled his heart. Bile rose in his throat and he had to swallow it down twice over. Now he understood perfectly the looks of hatred and fear he had seen in the crowd.

Despite his revulsion, Eben couldn’t help but watch as the awakened sculpted flesh like a baker kneading dough: pressing here and pulling there. When the man was done, he slowly extracted his hands from Azure’s head. Impossibly, there was no trace of the treatment or of the original wound--the bloody indent in the duelist’s skull was gone as if it had never been.

Eben stood frozen, waiting to see the culmination of the unholy healing. It felt forever, a moment stretched to eternity, and then Azure drew breath. It was long and full and near bowled Eben over. Surely the man had been near death, if not already passed on, and now he was alive--getting up no less, leaning on the awakened, and walking from the pit through the same alcove that his robed savior had come from.

Eben plopped down in his seat, the duel forgotten. He couldn’t believe what he had just seen. He couldn’t believe it. What was an awakened doing here? Their order had been outlawed centuries ago, but their founders were immortal, so a few still walked the land. Not in the capital though, much less center stage at the biggest festival in the country! So what in Silver was happening?

Thirsty from all of the excitement, Eben grabbed a nearby cup, his mouth touching the cool metal edge before he realized his mistake. It was his testing goblet, which only an hour ago had been filled with poisoned wine. Just a sip of the dark liquid remained, but the smell of it was enough to make Eben gag as he quickly put the cup back, his stomach lurching at the memory.

Even worse, it reminded Eben of watching Dayle, the skinner’s son, cough and hack himself bloody before finally passing out, failing the test. Three servants had carried him away, followed closely by his distraught parents, and while Lord Kale had assured everyone that the lad would survive, Eben couldn’t help but wonder what sort of life it would be. To have your destiny stolen away because of a moment of weakness...it was horrible, and Eben would have never wished it on Dayle, even though the boy had hurt his feelings the night prior.

Screams brought Eben back to the fight and he jumped up to see what he had missed. Teal was lying in a twisted position, while Garnet leaned against one wall, his staff gone and right arm cradled close to his body. Bronze and Indigo faced off in the center, and all eyes were riveted on them.

The fighters approached each other slowly, staffs spinning in lazy arcs. Bronze was short and thick, well muscled and mean looking. The only injury he sported was nasty bruise on his right forearm, which he must have earned while Eben wasn’t watching. Indigo was younger and in far worse shape, sporting multiple black and blue marks, and limping noticeably on his left leg.

The moment the two were in range of each other--Eben wasn’t even breathing he was so excited--they exploded into action. Bronze stabbed out with his kryss, and Indigo moved to cross block it, but met no resistance, for the squat man had switched his attack and was now sweeping the lower end of his staff up. Indigo noticed the change a split second late and barely got his kryss down in time. The blow came hard with Bronze’s rock muscle behind it, sending Indigo hopping backward as he tried to keep weight off of his bad leg. Bronze wasn’t finished though, immediately following up with a series of angled strikes, which made him look like he was rowing through the air, his staff moving in a blur. Indigo, however, proved why he had made it this far in the competition, deflecting each blow so smoothly that their weapons barely pinged as they slid together, a stark contrast to the usual metal on metal clang.

Undeterred, Bronze dropped his hands to one end of his kryss and then swung the long end horizontally at Indigo’s right side. Indigo retreated from the swipe, apparently not wanting to make a block that would put pressure on his left leg--a leg that looked like it would buckle at any second. Bronze continued forward, looping the attack over his head easily due to his short frame, every rotation forcing Indigo closer to the wall of the pit. Indigo tried to circle around the man, but to no avail. Because of his damaged leg, he could only ever make a quick move left and Bronze was always there to catch him and drive him further back.

Eben gripped the railing tight, trying to ignore the many in his section that were already calling the match over. He almost turned to shush them, but then Indigo did the unthinkable: he stopped limping and sprang right, acting as if his left leg had been fine all along. The surprise move caught Bronze off guard and floored the spectators, none more so than Eben, who gaped in shock. Indigo took full advantage of the moment and thrust out with his kyrss, shoving it into Bronze’s unprotected ribs. The squat warrior was more iron than man though, for all he did was grunt as the sound of cracking bone echoed through the chamber. His reply blow was lightning fast, striking Indigo’s left leg and snapping it in half. Indigo cried out in pain, but as he fell he slammed his own staff into Bronze’s face knocking him to the ground. In a blink, both warriors were down and the room was deadly silent.

The awakened appeared again, but this time he burst from the alcove, running to get to the pair on the other side of the pit. However, before he reached them, they started to move. Bronze first, and Indigo soon after. They twisted their arms under bodies and used them to slowly push up from the ground. Their feet came next, unsteady at first, but gradually helping them rise. And then they were standing, both of them: Indigo only on one leg, because the other was truly broken now, and Bronze had blood oozing from the right half of his face which had been bashed in. They moved, falling forward, and then, somehow, they were holding each other up, their bodies leaning together as they shook hands. It was over.

The crowds went wild, cheering and clapping, but Eben just stood there feeling very confused. He couldn’t figure out for the life of him who had won. Was it the Bronze champion or was it Indigo? Eben turned to the giant chosen from Paluk, who stood in the neighboring Bronze section, but the huge lad and his equally large parents were celebrating along with the rest, and Eben decided that he didn’t want to try interrupting to ask. Turning to his right, with Dayle gone, the nearest other chosen were a gaggle of noble girls. Two of them had birthed additional marks during the poison test and now that the duel was over they were busy showing them off too each other. Eben hadn’t spent much time around girls at the monastery, especially not ones his own age. Even the thought of approaching them made his cheeks blush red.

Of course, he could just ask someone from his own section. The people he sat next to all looked quite important, and there were plenty more standing on the raised platforms behind. The monks, however, had warned Eben repeatedly and quite sternly about conversing with strangers, and so he hesitated. Thankfully, he was saved from doing anything rash by the lord of House Kale, who sat across the pit from Eben in the Indigo section. The man chose that moment to stand, quieting the masses with a warm gaze as he rose from his throne like chair.

“We have two great warriors this night, dear friends. It is a shame that Kellingherth will be taking one from us!”

The hall swelled with yells and jubilation, and Indigo bowed at the praise, supporting himself with his staff in place of his broken leg. Eben was nothing short of stunned. Indigo was chosen too? He was going to the seminary? Now?

The lord was speaking again. “Master Gyrad, I plan to make a sizeable contribution to your purse winnings, on one condition.”

Bronze looked up at the smiling lord.

“Make sure that my son does not forget this night!”

Gyrad put a hand on Indigo’s shoulder and gave all a toothy grin. “It will be my pleasure.”

Another cheer erupted, and the two warriors about-faced, moving toward the nearest alcove with the help of the awakened. When the screaming died down, the lord lifted a glass to the waiting crowds.

“And now, my friends,” he said. “We drink.”

A slim serving man whisked by, dropping a wine glass off at Eben’s low table and scooping up the old. Eben barely noticed. Instead, he looked from Indigo’s retreating back to the twins that lounged next to each other beside Lord Kale. Three chosen. All from one bloodline. All in one generation. Such a thing was so rare it had been given a name, ku’ras, meaning blessed.

In that moment, Eben realized that while the monks and their books had done an admirable job of teaching him about the past, they had done very little to educate him about the goings-on of now. He grinned from ear-to-ear. But all that was changing. Only a few days away from home and he had already seen two miracles. By Silver, he couldn’t wait for tomorrow!