Malekith’s hand settled on the small of Aric’s back, a warm anchor in the cold tide of the crowd. Aric tried to focus on that touch, on the steady presence at his side, and not on the doubts that nipped at his heels. He was a stranger in a strange land, and despite everything that had passed between him and Malekith, he still didn’t know where he truly stood.
The air sizzled with power as they passed beneath the arena’s wards, a tangible force that made the hair on Aric’s arms stand on end. It was a heady, intoxicating scent, laced with promises of secrets and knowledge waiting to be unveiled. Aric inhaled deeply, trying to ignore the thud of his heart in his ears.
The closer they drew to the arena’s entrance, the more the air hummed with dark magic, like the steady pulse of a distant war drum. It was a living, breathing thing, coiling around them and seeping into their skin. Aric’s heart raced as he tried to steady his breathing, his senses hyperaware. He felt like he was teetering on the edge of a yawning chasm, and with each step, the void threatened to pull him in.
He risked a glance at Malekith, but the demon prince’s face was a mask of calm. Only the tightness in his jaw gave him away, a rare sign of the tension that coiled just beneath his controlled exterior. Aric’s fingers itched to reach for his hand, to offer some kind of reassurance, but he kept his arms firmly at his sides. Malekith had brought him here for a reason, and Aric would see it through, no matter what.
They reached the gates, twin slabs of obsidian that glowed with eldritch runes, and the crowd around them fell silent. The guards on either side of the gates loomed over Aric, their scaled faces carved into expressions of pure malice. With a hiss of approval from Malekith, they pushed the gates open, and the crowd surged forward into the arena.
The interior of the Wrathforge was a vast hollow chamber, carved from the living rock of the mountain itself. Molten streams of lava flowed down the walls, casting a hellish red glow across the seething crowds that packed the space. Malekith led the way, his posture ramrod straight and his movements precise, a living shadow parting the writhing mass of demons. Aric did his best to mimic his stride, but he couldn’t shake the sense of unease that coiled in the pit of his stomach.
Finally, they reached a dais at the far end of the chamber, and a group of lower-ranking demons scurried forward, their heads bowing low. Malekith said something to them in the harsh, guttural language of the demons, and the smaller creatures chattered in response. Then they turned and hurried deeper into the mountain, leaving Malekith and Aric alone.
“What was that all about?” Aric asked, keeping his voice low.
Malekith’s lips curved in a sly smile. “Merely making the necessary arrangements for your trials. If you’ll come with me.”
He held out a hand, and Aric took it, the warmth of Malekith’s palm sending a jolt of heat through him. Malekith led him up a narrow staircase that wound around the side of the dais, giving them a vantage point over the roiling crowds below. Aric’s breath caught at the sight, the sheer scale of the arena unlike anything he’d ever seen.
“This is where the trials will take place?” he asked, his voice hushed.
Malekith nodded. “Each one is a test of a different aspect of your being. Mind, magic, loyalty. Succeed, and you will prove yourself worthy in the eyes of the demon court.”
“And if I fail?” Aric asked, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
Malekith’s grip tightened on his hand. “You won’t.”
The smaller demons reappeared, bearing an ornate casket carved with twisting runes. Malekith nodded to them, and they scurried forward to present it to him. Malekith opened the casket with a soft click of metal on metal, revealing a set of ancient-looking tools, a vial of inky black liquid, and a bundle of silken cords.
“Take him to the preparation chamber,” Malekith said, his voice cold and imperious. “And begin.”
Flames danced in the eyes of the smaller demons as they bowed low, and Aric felt a shiver race down his spine. They hustled Aric away, leading him to a small antechamber off to the side. The space was dimly lit, the air heavy with incense that stung at Aric’s eyes. A stone altar dominated the room, its surface etched with a tangle of arcane symbols, while the walls were lined with an array of wicked-looking instruments.
The attending demons fidgeted as they approached. “You are required to wear the ceremonial garb for the trial,” one of them said. He sounded like he was reading the line for the hundredth time, and must have been very tired of it by now. “We are forbidden to brand or bind you, per the Sovereign’s command.” The two lesser demons flanked Aric, their claws twitching, and they were utterly unable to hide their distaste at the situation.
Aric quirked a brow at the other demons, then turned away to hide a smile. “I think I can manage that.”
The other demons grumbled to themselves as they shuffled aside to give Aric some semblance of privacy. Aric peeled off his tunic and trousers and pulled on the simple dark robes, their gauzy fabric surprisingly soft against his skin. As he tied the sash at his waist, his hands shook, and he struggled to center himself.
Aric squared his shoulders and turned back to face the demons, doing his best to ignore the way they eyed him like a juicy slab of meat. “I’m ready.”
The smaller demons exchanged a look, then one of them picked up the vial of black ink and stepped forward. With a few deft strokes, he painted a series of sigils on Aric’s bare chest, the cool substance sending a shiver through him. The other demon unraveled the bundle of cords and began to braid them together, his claws clicking against the beads. Once the vial was empty and the braid complete, they stepped back and bowed.
“The ceremony is concluded. You are prepared for the first trial.”
Aric turned back to Malekith, forcing a confidence he didn’t feel. “Then let’s get on with it.”
Malekith’s expression was inscrutable as he nodded, but his eyes . . . There was a storm in their depths, a roiling darkness that made Aric’s breath catch. Malekith reached out, his fingers grazing the cords that bound Aric’s chest.
“Remember what I taught you,” Malekith said under his breath. “Your mind is your greatest weapon and your strongest shield.”
Aric nodded, his throat too tight for words. Malekith’s fingers lingered on the cords for a moment longer, and then he cupped Aric’s face in his hands, his touch surprisingly gentle.
“I have every confidence in you,” Malekith said, and then he was kissing Aric, a fierce, searing promise that left Aric’s head spinning.
When Malekith finally pulled away, Aric’s head was spinning, his skin on fire. “I won’t let you down,” he said, the words a soft prayer.
Malekith’s gaze held his for a heartbeat longer, then he stepped back, his mask of indifference firmly in place once more. “I know you won’t.”
The guards unlocked the massive doors to the trial chamber, the metal groaning in protest as they pulled the heavy slabs open. The air inside the chamber stank of molten fire, and the room was shrouded in shadows, the only light coming from the pools of lava that dotted the space. As Aric’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, he could make out the hulking forms of the demon court gathered in a semicircle before him, their eyes glowing with curiosity.
Aric stepped forward, trying his damnedest to keep his breathing steady, his mind a blank slate. He was ready for whatever test awaited him, ready to prove himself to the demon court and, more importantly, to Malekith.
Tiered seating rose up on all sides of the arena, the shadows playing tricks on Aric’s eyes as he tried to make out the figures that filled them. Demons of all shapes and sizes clustered together, watching him with undisguised avarice, with hunger that made Aric’s head swim.
At the highest point of the arena, a temporary throne had been erected, its obsidian frame jutting out against the roiling lava flows. Sovereign Zaxos sat upon it, his blackened skin gleaming in the eerie light. His eyes, like molten gold, fixed on Aric with a predatory interest that made his skin crawl.
Sylthris stood at Zaxos’s right hand, her silver hair shimmering in the harsh light. She met Aric’s gaze with a small, secret smile, and a shiver raced through him. What game was she playing, and whose side was she truly on?
A hush fell over the crowd as Malekith led Aric into the arena’s heart, the stone floor cool and smooth beneath Aric’s bare feet. The cords bound around his chest tugged at his skin, and he fought to keep his posture rigid, his expression blank. He was a mage, a warrior, a protector of his people. He would not show them the fear constricting all around him, though he knew it would be all too easy to fail.
At the center of the arena stood a shimmering, semi-transparent structure, its walls twisting and shifting. The magical maze. Aric’s pulse quickened as he caught sight of it, a surge of raw power radiating from the arcane construct. Surrounding the maze were a circle of demon sorcerers, their hands already weaving complex patterns in the air, their voices a low, guttural chant that set Aric’s teeth on edge.
Malekith led Aric to the entrance of the maze, the cords bound around Aric’s chest tugging at his skin with each step. The stone floor of the arena was cool beneath his bare feet, but the heat of the demons’ stares made his skin prickle. A demon official, his skin a mottled red, stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with malice.
“Human,” the demon said, his voice a harsh rasp. “You will enter the maze and navigate its twists and turns. The sorcerers will attempt to cloud your mind, to lead you astray with illusions and false paths. You must resist their manipulations and find your way to the maze’s center. If you succeed, then perhaps you can earn your freedom amongst us yet. If you fail . . .”
The demon’s lips curled in a cruel smile. “Well. Let us hope for your sake you do not fail.”
