Elara didn't just pull Liam; she practically yanked him, her purple tunic swirling around her boots
as she led him into a cramped service aisle tucked behind a shelf of glowing scrolls. The air
Here was less ozone and jasmine, more musty parchment and old dust.
"Quickly, Recruit O'Connell," she hissed, her voice low and frantic. "The guards change shifts
every two hundred and twelve heartbeats. That only gives us a few moments."
She rummaged through a large, woven satchel she wore slung over one shoulder, muttering a
string of syllables that sounded like falling water. A soft, gray fabric emerged, which she thrust
at Liam. It looked less like armor and more like a heavy linen tunic and trousers, cinched with a
dark leather belt.
"Get out of that ridiculous uniform," she commanded. "It screams 'off-world,' 'disruptive,' and
most importantly, 'Ask me how I ripped a hole in the fabric of reality.' Put this on. It won't stop a
dragon's claw, but it will let you walk through the marketplace without causing a panic."
Liam, ever the disciplined soldier, didn't hesitate. He dropped his duffel bag—the one with his industrial-strength sunscreen and spare academy uniform—to the floor and quickly changed. The fabric was surprisingly comfortable.
"This world... Eldoria," Liam said, checking the knot on the new belt. "You mentioned a
dimensional tear. I assure you, Miss Elara, I know nothing of its mechanism. I was tasked with
taking inventory of old educational surplus in a warehouse. I touched a metal compass; it struck a glass orb, and then... this."
Elara's eyes, the color of moss agate, widened in disbelief. "A compass? That was a Grand
Sextant of Planar Navigation, you great fool! And the 'glass orb' was a Focus Crystal! You don't touch those things casually! They are the keys to the entire Plane-Jumper Nexus."
She leaned closer, her expression shifting from fear to academic excitement. "Tell me about your world, Recruit. Is it ruled by kings? By mages? Are dragons common?"
Liam kept his voice measured. "My world is... ordered. It's ruled by elected representatives, not kings. There is no magic, at least not in the sense of casting spells, and dragons are myths we tell children."
Elara blinked, processing this. "Myths? Amazing. Here in Eldoria, we are a realm governed by the High Council of Arch-Magisters. Dragons are rare, powerful, and typically sleep for centuries, but they are very real. Our threats are more often creatures of the night—goblins, shadow-beasts,
and rogue elemental spirits—all of which our Royal Knights are well-equipped to handle."
He looked at the new tunic and belt. "So, I assume you need a map. A guide to the nearest exit."
"We need a disguise and a plan," Elara corrected, pulling him toward a shadowed archway. "First, we get out of the library. Second, we find a secure location for you to lie low. Third, I begin the
painstaking, arcane-energy-draining process of repairing your tear. We are in the city of
Aethelburg. If we're lucky, no one will notice an extra human."
They slipped into a high-ceilinged stone hallway. Just as Elara breathed a sigh of relief, a
A massive, ornate double door at the end of the hall burst open, and a man in polished silver armor—a Royal Knight—marched in, flanked by two armed guards.
"Apprentice Elara!" the knight boomed, his helmet reflecting the light of the sconces. "The High Council has been alerted to the massive Arcane Discharge! They demand an explanation. And who is this... well-built gentleman in the strange traveler's garb?"
Elara quickly plastered on a dazzling, nervous smile. "Sir Kaelen! Perfect timing! This is... Liam, the Foreign Champion! He just arrived! He's here for the Ascension Trials!"
Liam stared at her, then back at the knight. Champion? Trials?
Sir Kaelen's stern expression eased slightly. "Ah, the foreign levy. We'd nearly forgotten. Good
timing, 'Champion. The trials are being moved up. The Arch-Magisters need a demonstration of martial prowess to calm the masses after the Arcane Discharge."
He gestured to the guards. "Take him. He's late for the briefing. Apprentice Elara, I shall return for your report."
The guards immediately took Liam's arms, their grip firm but respectful. Liam felt their hands,
But he didn't feel the sharp pressure that would make any other recruit wince. Elara mouthed the word: S-O-R-R-Y.
The Ascension Trial Briefing
Liam found himself in a large, echoing stone arena filled with fifty of the roughest, most
intimidating figures he had ever seen. They were armored, scarred, and eyed him with
immediate suspicion. Sir Kaelen stood on a raised dais, his voice amplified by a shimmering
blue aura.
"Champions! Welcome to the Trial of Ten Blades!" Sir Kaelen announced, his voice echoing off
the high walls.
Liam instinctively straightened, his internal military training taking over. He stood taller than
most, his simple linen outfit making him look out of place among the steel and leather, but his
stance was impeccable.
"This is not a demonstration. This is not a drill," Kaelen continued, his voice darkening.
"Aethelburg needs strong defenders. The Ascension Trial is the ultimate test of courage, skill,
and sheer will."
Kaelen paused for dramatic effect, then delivered the final, brutal rule.
"Of the fifty of you who entered this arena, only ten will walk out alive as candidates for the
Royal Knighthood. The goal is simple: survive. You have until the moon sets. The ten strongest, most cunning, and most resilient champions will be chosen. No magic is permitted. Only skill
and steel. May the Ancestors guide your blades."
The arena erupted into a low, dangerous murmur of understanding. Swords were drawn. Shields
were readied.
Liam stood there, absorbing the information. Fifty in, ten out. A tournament to the death.
He looked down at his forearm. The clean slice from the sextant still throbbed faintly, a purely mental acknowledgement of the injury. He couldn't feel the pain, the paralyzing fear, or the
instinctive terror that was currently gripping his forty-nine rivals. All he felt was the familiar.
sterile calm of a machine without a warning light, now facing a deadly, external test.
He was a man who couldn't feel a broken bone, and he was about to be forced into a no-holds barred death match