Page 7 of Court of Twisted Angels (Cruel Beautiful Angels of Aerasak #1)

7

KYRIE

I refuse to let my composure crack as we are led to the arena. The initiation looms ahead of us, and so many of the candidates are already talking, crying, anxiously worrying.

But I'm silent.

We filter into the arena, the noise here unbearable. I refuse to look up, to see the many xaphan, demons, gorgons, and other creatures that have come to watch us die. I'm not even sure how they'll see what's happening when we're in the void, but I don't waste time thinking about it.

Instead, I stare straight ahead at the portal that the crier from yesterday is waiting next to. Two Praexa are standing next to him, the orchestrators of the games. What I wouldn't give to sink a blade into one of them.

But I don't dare. Not as I'm ushered forward, people disappearing before me with their direction. When it's my turn, I take in a deep breath but I don't hesitate.

"Step through," the crier says with a sinister smile. "And may Solas be with you."

The air shifts, crackling with ancient magic as I step through the shimmering portal. My heart pounds against my ribs, each beat a reminder of why I'm here - for Mother, for the medicine she desperately needs.

One moment I'm standing in the gleaming arena of New Solas, surrounded by sneering xaphan faces. The next - nothing.

My breath catches. The darkness isn't just an absence of light - it's a living thing, pressing against my skin, seeping into my bones. I try to call out, but no sound reaches my ears. My lips move, yet I can't even feel them.

"Hello?" I attempt to whisper, but the word dissolves before it forms. The void swallows everything.

I lift my hand - or I think I do. There's no sensation, no confirmation that my body still exists. Panic claws at my throat. I never prepared for this complete sensory deprivation. I was ready to fight with my blades, but even the ground beneath my feet feels like an illusion.

Magic pulses around me in waves. Not the pure, crystalline energy of the xaphan, but something darker, more primal. It slithers across what I think is my skin, probing for weaknesses, testing my resolve.

I take a step forward - or backward? Direction has no meaning here. The magic grows stronger, more insistent. A tendril of power brushes against my consciousness, and pain explodes through my body. My life force drains away where it touched, leaving behind an aching emptiness.

These must be the threats they warned about - invisible, intangible predators feeding on human essence. I try to steady myself, to focus on my core. But how do you center yourself when you can't feel your own body?

Another surge of magic approaches. Without sight or touch to guide me, I rely on the only sense remaining - my awareness of the magical currents themselves. They flow like water, creating subtle patterns in the void. The predator's energy disrupts these patterns, leaving ripples in the darkness.

I shift away from the disturbance, but in this realm of nothingness, even that simple movement threatens to unravel my sanity.

I force my breathing to slow, drawing from years of combat training in the outskirts of my little village. The void may steal my sight, but I still have other senses. I close my useless eyes and let my other faculties take over.

The magic pulses change. A subtle current brushes past my left ear - different from the predatory tendrils. This feels more like the gentle whisper of wind through the mountain passes of The Ridge. I turn toward it, extending my hands into the nothingness.

My fingertips tingle as they pass through varying temperatures. Cold spots drift by like pockets of winter air, while warm patches remind me of the healing springs near our village. These thermal changes form patterns - paths through the darkness.

Another predatory surge approaches. The air pressure drops, creating a vacuum that tugs at my clothes. I sidestep, letting muscle memory guide my movements. The deadly magic passes harmlessly by, its hungry tendrils grasping at empty space.

My feet register minute vibrations through whatever surface I'm standing on. Each pulse of magic sends ripples through the void, like stones dropped in a still pond. I track these disturbances, building a mental map of safe zones and danger areas.

Years of sparring with swords and the occasional dagger has honed my spatial awareness. This void is different - more absolute - but the principles remain the same. Listen. Feel. React.

A change in air pressure alerts me to movement above. I drop and roll, feeling magical energy crackle where my head had been. The predator's attack leaves behind a residue of power that makes my skin crawl. These aren't mindless forces - they're hunting me with purpose.

I press forward, tracking the subtle variations in the magical currents. Some flows feel ancient and deep, like the foundations of Aerasak itself. Others are sharp and new, cutting through the darkness like freshly forged blades. Between these rivers of power, I find paths of relative calm.

The ground lurches beneath my feet, sending my stomach into my throat. My muscles react before my mind can process - I drop into a crouch, letting my body roll forward. The whistle of steel cutting air passes inches from my neck, and I feel the rush of displaced magic in its wake.

"What the fuck?" I mutter, though the words seem to get lost when they leave my lips.

A blade materializes from the darkness, its edge gleaming with an otherworldly blue light. The metal seems to drink in the surrounding void, making it appear almost alive. I push off with my back foot, spinning away as the weapon arcs down where I'd been crouching.

Magic crackles around me, raising the fine hairs on my arms. The void shifts, reality bending as the ground starts to crack and separate. A chasm yawns open, the edges crumbling away into nothingness. I can feel it more than anything, though it's a disorienting sensation.

The blade swings again, forcing me toward the widening gap. I take two quick steps back, my heart hammering against my ribs. The edge of the chasm creeps closer, pieces of stone dropping into infinite blackness. No time to find another path. No room to retreat.

Drawing in a sharp breath, I gather my strength and sprint forward. The blade whistles past again as I launch myself into the air. For one terrifying moment, I'm suspended over the void, nothing but emptiness below. The magical currents swirl around me, some trying to push me down, others lifting me up like invisible wings.

My fingers stretch out, searching for purchase. The rough stone of the far edge scrapes against my palms. I grab hold, my shoulders screaming as they absorb the impact. My legs dangle in empty space as pieces of rock break away under my grip. Now that there is nothing beneath my feet, I can tell the distinct difference.

Sweat trickles down my spine as I crawl up onto the rock, refusing to slow. Instead, I push forward through the void. Each step feels heavier than the last, my muscles burning from constant tension. The magical currents grow more chaotic, swirling in unpredictable patterns that set my teeth on edge.

A whisper of movement brushes past my consciousness - different from the magical predators. This presence feels solid, alive. My hand drops to the twin blades at my hips, fingers curling around familiar leather-wrapped hilts.

The attack comes without warning. A body slams into mine from the side, driving the air from my lungs. We hit the ground hard, rolling across the invisible surface. My attacker's weight pins me down, but years of training kick in. I buck my hips, creating space to bring my knee up between us.

Steel flashes in the darkness. I twist away, feeling the blade slice across my shoulder. Hot blood trickles down my arm. Drawing my twin blades, I spring back to my feet.

Another strike comes at my head. I cross my blades, catching the attack. The impact sends shockwaves up my arms. My opponent's strength is incredible, inhuman. Magic crackles between our locked weapons.

Pain explodes in my side - a second blade I didn't sense. I stumble backward, warm blood soaking my tunic. The void spins around me as my attacker presses their advantage. Their blade whips past my face, cutting strands of hair.

I drop low, letting instinct guide my movements. My right blade finds flesh, drawing a hiss from my opponent. Their magic flares in response, sending waves of burning energy through my body.

Gritting my teeth against the pain, I drive forward. Our weapons clash in a deadly dance, neither of us able to see clearly in the absolute darkness. Blood loss makes my head spin, but I force myself to focus on the subtle shifts in air pressure that betray my opponent's movements.

My left blade slides between their ribs. Their magic surges one final time, wild and uncontrolled. The ground beneath my feet dissolves like sand washing away in a tide.

I fall. The void rushes past as gravity claims me, my opponent's body disappearing into the darkness above. My stomach lurches into my throat as I plummet through nothingness, unable to tell up from down in the absolute darkness.

The impact knocks the remaining air from my lungs as I slam onto solid ground. My knees buckle, hands splaying against cool marble to catch myself. Sensation floods back - the weight of my clothes, the sting of cuts, the throb of bruises forming beneath my skin.

Light pierces my vision in fragments, like shards of stained glass piecing themselves back together. The grand arena of New Solas materializes around me, its white stone pillars stretching toward a twilight sky. Golden magic still crackles in the air, remnants of the trial's power dissipating like morning mist.

My chest heaves as I draw in desperate breaths. The twin blades at my hips pulse with residual energy, their steel singing with echoes of the void. Blood trickles down my arm, staining the pristine floor beneath me.

The crowd's murmurs fade into focus. Hundreds of xaphan fill the viewing galleries, their wings creating a tapestry of whites and golds against the darkening sky. Their whispers carry on the evening breeze - surprise, speculation, perhaps even respect.

Movement draws my gaze up at the edge of the arena. Azrael stands motionless, his black hair stark against his white tunic and pants, as he waits on an obsidian platform. Those ice-blue eyes lock onto mine with an intensity that makes my skin prickle. His wings - pure white, which makes him being a trainer all too surprising - remain perfectly still, not betraying a single emotion.

The weight of his stare pins me in place. There's something in his expression I can't decipher - not quite approval, not quite disdain. His jaw clenches slightly as his gaze tracks over my injuries, lingering on the blood seeping through my tunic.

Magic still dances between us, invisible currents that make the air feel thick and heavy. The power radiating from him is different from the void's savage energy - controlled, refined, but no less dangerous. His presence commands attention, demanding acknowledgment even in silence.

I force myself to stand straighter despite my body's protests. His expression remains unreadable, but something shifts in those cold eyes - a flash of... interest? Curiosity? It's gone before I can be sure, leaving me wondering if I imagined it.

I stumble to the edge of the arena where a small group of xaphan are watching. "What is your name?" one asks.

"Kyrie," I pant, still so disoriented. "Kyrie Kael."

"Congratulations, Kyrie," another says with a malicious grin. "You are now a contestant in the wing trials."