Eyes of the Ancient

"You know, even if we have the coins to pay for our passage, Dales would not take us in unless we are at least a Ravios rank or recommended by one to enter. We would need a High Rank to back us either way."

Reid thought about it for a second. 

"Didn't you say that as a Mage, I do not need to pay for my rank. Rather, I can have it and earn some gold along the way?"

"Damn right!" Tarron's face lit up, eyes gleaming with visible excitement. "The Rank Trials. We can register for the nearest one and with your potential, you'll make it to Ravios in no time. Why didn't I think of it before?"

Ranks Trials? 

Reid wondered if he had been a little hasty in his suggestion. The crazed look in Tarron's eyes was not very reassuring either. He just wished that whatever these Trials were, they rather be short and quick. He hated things that dragged. 

"So where does the Rank Trial happen?" Reid asked.

"Oh it's simple. We have to first register ourselves at the Arena. Like the one back at Grinholt but these are for Mages. A different World altogether. Sanctioned, of course. All official. They give you coins if you win and maybe a Title. Sometimes a fan club. Most importantly, they allot passes for Rank Trials based on the Mage's aptitude. Even you'll love it." 

Tarron had a dreamy look in his eyes as he gushed about the Arena and Reid could see the penchant of this seemingly harmless boy for violence. He was a walking contradiction.

Reid sighed. The whole thing sounded anything but simple. Still—he gestured. "Then lead the way."

Tarron blinked. "Then that is the way."

He said, pointing in the opposite direction.

Reid started walking, forcing Tarron to scramble beside him.

"You will see." Reid looked over his shoulder as Tarron spoke. The look in his eyes had shifted." The Arena is a whole new world for Mages. They make friends and foes there. The creatures that breathe inside the Arena are truly magical. This is where a Mage's destiny is forged."

The passion in his voice was infectious and Reid truly wished to see what all the clamor was about. But he would be damned if he let that be known.

The landscape changed as they walked further.

Road became deserted. Any sign of posts that cried about Ranks were gone. The guards and sentries patrolling on the road and roadside posts increased dramatically. No one however stopped them.

Soon, a massive fort loomed ahead, set atop a plinth and ringed with towering stone walls. And in the center of that wall—etched in midnight black—was a massive sculpture of a key. It shimmered faintly, pulsing with silent threat. It betrayed a hint of raw power and thirst for a traitor's blood.

Tarron stood stiff beside him.

"What is that?"

"A Rune" Tarron said in a voice that was laced with apprehension. "Carved out of magic as old as Aldor itself. Any power that it does not recognize as its own is challenged at Arena's doors and I would advise never to take that challenge." 

None of them were sure about the origin of Reid's power but it had become apparent that Reid did not belong to Anguth, at least not to the Anguth of this age.

There was a hesitancy in Tarron's step as he reached toward the sculpture carved in black stone. 

"Let me try it first." He breathed.

A small gate appeared at the bottom of it, only passage to the sprawling fort behind them. Tarron gently placed his hand in a small groove marked for that purpose. The sentries looked on with a casual non-chalant. 

The key remained unmoved and so did the small door. But then with a jarring sound, it opened and after Tarron stepped through, it swiveled shut.

It was Reid's turn.

Reid traced Tarron's steps and slammed his hand into the groove. Truth be told, he was expecting a challenge, his eyes trained on the sentries rather than the key.

He waited and a tremor passed beneath his boots. The bow of the key rippled—and then, something opened.

Not the door.

An eye.

It hadn't been there before.

Reid's breath caught. The eye focused on him, carved in mid-night stone, unblinking, vast and ancient. He felt the air tighten, pressure rising all around him. Sentries straightened. Two guards leapt from their posts, landing on either side of him.

More movement. More eyes watching. Reid could feel the vibration in the ground beneath him. More guards were coming. 

The eye however never moved. It remained fixed on him. 

Reid slowly inched away from the door, his eyes darting between the sentries and the eye that followed his movement. If Reid could make a guess, rather than a challenge, a question reflected in the eye.

He stared back at the Rune, the air thick with quiet scrutiny. Two ancient things, out of place in this time, sizing each other up like long-lost rivals—or perhaps kindred anomalies. A pair of old peas in a new pod.

Then, without warning, the eye narrowed.

A sharp pressure peeled away from Reid's chest, like claws dislodging from bone. His breath escaped him all at once. It wasn't relief—relief was too soft a word for it. It was release. As though some tether, wrapped tight around his very being, had been cut.

The fog in his mind—ever-present since the grave—lifted. Clarity rushed in.

He felt weightless.

The door swung open, slow and silent, and he stepped through.

The calm that took root in his heart stood in jarring contrast to the chaos now erupting outside.

Lightning forked across the dark sky, and the ground trembled beneath his feet. Behind him, guards shouted. Their boots thundered over the stone ramparts, racing toward the arena wall.

Reid turned. 

A challenge has been issued. But not to him.

High above the fort's defenses, a shadow boiled into being—a cyclone of smoke and magic, black as the void and humming with malice. From its center, a shape surfaced. Crooked and familiar. Hollow eyes set into a blurred face, watching from the storm.

The creature dissolved into mist once more, sinking back into the shadows beyond the wall. But its presence lingered like the scent of smoke before a wildfire.

A battle was coming.

But it wasn't his to fight.

Not yet.