Errol tapped his fingers in a staccato beat against the side of his glass. He had just started to relax when Indara announced that they would conduct a testing ceremony. He bit back a groan. After they’d already displayed their ranks, Errol had assumed he wouldn’t be exposed to further humiliation, but he should have known that he’d escaped too easily. Of course the team would want to see him in action. The hopes of an empire now rested on his shoulders.

He hadn't even known the Chancellor had her own copy of the artifact. The Shark Clan made it seem like they had the only Testing Stone in existence. Before his first level test, he'd been given three months to prepare. Now they were about to test him on the spot, and in public no less. If he failed, the Shark Clan would be disgraced.

Indara carried a small tray of ziricote wood inlaid with mother of pearl. Five rings rested in a row on the engraved surface. She presented the first ring to Gruvrik, the eldest of the group. “Begin your rite, sower of seeds.”

He bowed low, his beard nearly sweeping the marbled floor, and put on the ring.

Darkness fell over the room, dimming the candelabras and stealing the warmth of the fires along the far wall. Gruvrik started to glow, standing in blinding relief against the unnatural gloom.

A luminous landscape appeared, superimposed over the tiled floor. Gruvrik huddled in a clearing surrounded by thick forest. Tall trees disappeared into points of light above them. One by one, the trees shriveled, succumbing to a gray rot that spread from a hideous, deformed sequoia tree with a bulbous face. It gnashed its monstrous teeth at Gruvrik.

The dwarf ignored the belligerent tree. He crouched down and worked his hands in the dirt, a wordless tune on his lips. A small plant shot up from the ground, spreading branches and sprouting after a few seconds. It grew taller than Gruvrik, then shed its leaves. They scattered to unfelt winds, blown about the glade.

Everywhere a leaf landed, the rot reversed. Trees healed and blossomed with fresh petals.

The scene shifted.

Gruvrik stood on a table in the middle of a vast tavern, which stretched on endlessly in every direction. Ghostly figures made of light cheered him on as he chugged from a small keg of rum, flecks of foam covering his beard.

Across from him sat a troll three times the size of a human, likewise drinking from a keg. They finished at the same time and immediately picked up another keg. The drinking continued for ages, until the troll’s tongue lolled from his mouth and his eyes rolled back in his sockets. He thudded to the ground amidst raucous applause.

Gruvrik turned a little jig and pumped his fists in the air while the crowd roared: “Master of Rum!”

The hackles raised on Errol’s neck. Power flowed through from the device, coating his skin with a thick, eerie sensation, as though he were suspended in tar. A moment later, the sensation passed and the lights returned.

Gruvrik whistled long and low. "Haven't seen one of those in decades! Quite the handy way to check up on my progress. Guess it was real impressed by me. Soon I'll be grand master at rum drinking!"

Errol chuckled at the joke, then nearly choked on his fruit drink when he looked up at the floating words in the air above the sphere. Inscribed in light was the title MASTER OF RUM, tier four, next to a string of accomplishments under Gruvrik's name. The dwarf’s sheer dedication to drunkenness boggled Errol's mind. He’d thought it was simply an embellishment of the Testing Stone Indara owned—clearly an upgraded model over the little one at Clan headquarters.

"I expect nothing less than grand champion," Indara said, her horns twinkling.

Taras subjected himself to testing only as a courtesy to Indara, although he asked that everyone leave the room to avoid incineration. His results elicited a ripple of excitement from the technicians; his rankings in inner Fortitude was the highest Errol had ever seen before, and he had access to an array of abilities Errol hadn't even heard of.

He was starting to get the sense that the Shark Clan hadn't been very forthcoming about the scope of power available in the world.

Errol drew in a sharp breath as he read down the list of abilities. Taras could prevent someone from dying, as long as the head was still attached. Good to know. That could prove useful on the Bridge.

Rhae went next, an ashen pallor on her face. She shook her head when Indara brought her the ring, but a sharp look from the Chancellor overcame her hesitation. She put on the ring, looking like she bit into something rancid. Once again, the light glimmered across the floor, swept up the walls, painting the ceiling in a shadowscape. Her figure glowed as she appeared to draw in all the light left in the space, burning bright like a torch in the middle of an empty town square at midnight.

A low thrum filled the chambers, pressing on Errol’s skull. He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut against the harmonic dissonance, unable to watch her performance. Three heartbeats later, the sound disappeared, gone as abruptly as it had begun. His eyes snapped open and he stumbled,, searching for the results, but none of the stats had coalesced in the air yet. Light still lined Rhae’s figure, swirling in chaotic bursts of color.

Indara strode toward the Testing Stone, her horns pale as though they’d been drained of life. She touched the testing stone and the light burst back into the crowd.

Rhae gasped and slumped over, shaking. Indara put a hand on her shoulder, and they leaned close together to whisper for a few moments. When they finished speaking, the rankings updated in the air, projected from the Testing Stone. A new ability Errol hadn’t seen before, called Awen, stood at Master, Tier I, although Rhae’s rank was only Level 3.

No wonder the Bard school had recommended such a young student. Despite her paltry level, by the time she grew into her full strength, she might have access to more raw power than any of them—even Gruvrik had taken over a century to reach a Master level ability. Not for the first time, he wished he could keep his results private.

Jarkoda roared through his testing, spinning his staff and cracking skulls. As his large, powerful frame suggested, Jarkoda had extremely high marks in Strength (trait: Steadfastness). He was Level Five already, though he was a year or two younger than Errol. He had a Flame Breath and Fury of the Dragon: Elite, Tier III.

Errol made a note to never get on Jarkoda’s bad side. The sheer destructive power of the halfdragon’s flames made him shiver. In the simulation, Jarkoda had fainted trying to control the volcanic eruption of fire, but not before he’d nearly melting all the way through a massive castle wall.

At last it was Errol’s turn. He reached for the ring eagerly, slipping it over his finger with as much decorum as he could muster in his haste. The heavy golden band tightened until it fit his finger as though custom-made for him. Shimmering light shot through his vision, spinning out to create a theater of war.

Errol ducked a spear of light and cast out his senses, questing for enemies. He’d landed in the middle of a battlefield—nothing like his previous experience with a testing stone—and he needed to know what he was up against. Three opponents charged from behind.

He spun around, hands lifted, and tried to fling a lance at the nearest enemy. Nothing happened, which only registered as a mild disappointment. He hadn’t really expected to see any miraculous increase in abilities during the testing, but it didn’t hurt to try. Pushing his boundaries was healthy, his teacher often said.

The first soldier closed with him, thrusting a sword glowing with light. Errol quick-stepped forward, twisting just enough to avoid the weapon’s point as it flashed by his chest. He closed inside the soldier’s reach, slammed his hand into the man’s face, and cast his voltage stream. The illusion burst, a corona of light leaving a faint afterimage as the enemy died.

Errol dropped flat and rolled to the side just in time to avoid the flanged mace the second opponent swung at his head. He launched to his feet, kicked the side of the warrior’s knee, and stabbed up under the chinstrap with his belt knife. The man staggered, fell, and disappeared in a flash of light.

Icy pain flared in Errol’s back. The third light-crafted warrior stabbed a spear through his left kidney. He arched and screamed, collapsing to his knees.

He blinked. Just like that, he was back in the room with the others. An aide rushed over, brow creased with worry. Errol waved him back. The pain dissipated as he stood up, but his shame burned like the sun. No one would want to follow him now.

Vitals Affiliation Name: Errol Diplomacy: 12 Shark Clan Level: 2 Strength: 6 Mako (Tier III) Class: Hunter Acuity: 11 Ray Division Health: 48 / 48 Inner Fortitude: 9 Reputation: rank & file Lifeforce: 70 / 70 Abilities Items Favor Sensor field: Adept, Tier V

Voltage stream: Acolyte, Tier IV Belt knife Bridge spirit

Errol groaned and put his head in his hands. Best not to tell them that he'd actually gained two tiers in his rank and abilities since his last testing. To his surprise, Rhae clapped. He looked up, expecting to see her taunting him with fake applause.

She waved at him with a grin. “Good show, Errol. I’ve always wanted to see a voltage stream in action! It’s so dramatic-sounding.”