[Skell]
What felt like an eternity passed as Hyland and I stared each other down. Expressions spoke for us:
Surprise.
Confusion.
Then hatred.
"…You," Hyland uttered like the foulest curse.
Whatever brainless questions he had in that moment, I had triple. Questions I wouldn't have time to ponder.
The ex-Templar rushed me with eyes aflame with vengeance, slipping sabre from scabbard in a flash of steel. And… I wasn't ready. One moment I saw my worst enemy. In the next approached death. My Shroud was lost somewhere in the middle like a forgotten housekey.
Hyland's sabre drove straight for my head - in Amara's words: the one place skeletons couldn't regenerate. The edge neared my eyes.
Then another intervened.
N-Niles!?
Sabre grinded against shortsword just inches from my face in a bid to overpower the other, Hyland and Niles' effort pulsing veins across their faces.
"What!?" Hyland struggled to pour more force into his overhead blade. "You meddle with what you don't understand! Move!"
"Then make me understand, you nutcase!" Niles strained under the weight of the sparking clinch. "Why swing a sword at Skell!?"
Just as Hyland seemed to gain the upper hand, and Niles aimed a knee between his legs, and I came to my senses enough to grasp my staff - the ex-Templar backed away.
"Skell?" he spat. "That name… the same drivel your witless 'friend' dubbed you."
Dozens of puzzled eyes fell on us. I didn't give them a second thought.
"Insult him again," I bared teeth like a rabid hound, "and you'll wish he didn't have the mercy to aim for your shoulder."
He looked down his nose at me, in that infuriating way of his. "There it is again. The illusory wrath I've come to expect. A shame you've seen to hiding the holes."
Niles popped his strained wrists. "What are you two gabbing about? What's going on!?"
Hyland's frown split his new stubble. "You'll find out soon enough."
His blade lifted skyward, and an old pain echoed in my side.
Shade! I've gotta stop him before-
Words caught dead in our throats, thoughts left half-conceived. While I hadn't taken notice of the world around me…
It sure took notice of us.
A claymore hovered over my collarbone. Two halberds crossed in front of Niles. Behind us was the protracted growl of a nocked longbow.
And ahead, pressed against Hyland's neck, was a dainty knife. The type used to skin small game.
"I trust you haven't forgotten," stated Valérie, looming behind a sweating Hyland, "disturbing other applicants is strictly forbidden."
One slight move - even a gulp, and his throat would be painted in streams of crimson.
Where'd they come from? One second it was just us, and the next…
"Hold on, hold on," Niles started for Valérie - before two Paladins reintroduced halberds close to his chest.
He seemed less concerned and more offended. "Really? Watch the pointy bits, would you?"
"Niles…" I stared at my reflection in the steel beside my cheek.
"What?" he turned back. "This Hyland fella attacked us. For not one good reason. We didn't do anything but defend ourselves."
Every Templar around us remained quiet - if clearly irritated thanks to Niles. Still, they did nothing. Except look to Valérie.
"I know," she replied. "My words were not meant for you."
The Warden lifted a gauntlet and wrested the sabre from Hyland's hands, her knife still steady against his neck. She leaned closer. Then dropped her voice to near-silence. "It is by the mercy of powers far above mine that you be permitted within these walls. Were I in your place, I would strongly consider not giving them cause to be further vexed."
Hyland made a concerted effort to collect himself. "Y-you can drop the blasted knife already." He swallowed just enough pride to make it past the blade. "…Warden Valérie. I won't bleed anyone. Or anything."
"Correct. Because this is your first and final warning." Slowly, she retracted her knife. "Conduct yourself accordingly. Or bear the consequences."
A sigh of silent relief spilled from Hyland's lips - though his eyes still clawed into mine. The Templars withdrew their weapons, and in a move I'll never understand, Valérie returned the ex-Templar his own.
"Wait, you're just letting him off - just like that!? Not even taking away his sword? He could've injured Niles!" I pressed a palm to my chest. "He tried to kill me!"
"Watch your tongue, applicant," demanded the Paladin who just seconds ago rested her claymore over my neck. "This is a Templar of the Order you speak to."
Before, I'd urged Niles to choose his words carefully. Outrage rendered me a hypocrite. But right as I opened my mouth, Valérie commanded patience of us both.
"No," she said. "He is well within his liberties to fear for his safety." She faced me. "This man may be armed. So am I. Under my watch, any disturbance to the Sacred Ordeals - and by extension its applicants - shall not come to pass. This I vow."
Big words. But Hyland - for all his ego - seemed to take them seriously. And their speaker was a serious woman, with an equal rank to Gervais. Considering what happened last time he riled up a higher-ranking Templar… well, I imagined the Knight didn't want to repeat his mistake.
The Warden nodded to her peers, and the two with halberds escorted Hyland between them to another section of the crowd. As he walked off, I wanted to feel safe.
I didn't.
Corner of his mouth rested an unsettling expression: a mix between simmering malice… and an opportunistic smirk.
Deathly cold shivers surged across my bones. How!? How in the Abyss is he here - and why!? I was supposed to have never run into him again - h-he was supposed to have been kicked out of the Order and that should've been that!
A million thoughts raced past. My mind scavenged through them all, wrapping a shaky fist around the most practical. Wh-what am I gonna do? Hyland, he… he knows what I am. To him this glamour might as well be smoke and mirrors - if he can convince people of that, here of all places… and that's if he doesn't stake his blade in my skull first chance he gets, destroying me and my glamour at the same time.
"…pl.?"
Wait! I swiped beads of sweat off my face. Hyland can't reveal me - not with words. He doesn't have proof. Call me an undead and he'll just look crazier than he already does. But… he's not stupid. He knows that. He's plotting another way right now. I'll have to watch my back at all times, and-
A hand clung to my shoulder.
Immediately I was immersed in my Shroud's power, staff clenched between my fingers as its end started to fly.
It stopped short in front of Niles' widened eyes. "Purple?"
We stared at each other for seconds that felt like minutes. Eventually my body - tensed like an iron rod - mellowed ever so slightly.
"S-sorry," my eyes, hand, and Shroud dropped in sync. "Just… on edge. And, thanks. For protecting me there. Things could've gotten ugly, real fast."
But his attention didn't shift. "Mate. Who was that guy?"
Abyss.
"He went for your eyes," noted Niles. "He wanted you dead."
The swordsman wasn't quiet with his questions, and the many crowds surrounding us were equally interested to hear. I hated people who couldn't mind their own business.
But this was Niles' business. He had a sabre in his face, just like me. He deserved the truth.
I leaned in and whispered. "Can you keep a secret?"
—————————————————————————————————
"All that?" Niles spoke low, "because you called him out in someone's shop? Poor guy - both of you."
"Well, Bo'Rah's fine. Dropped by his place before I left town; turns out damages to his store were reimbursed in full, plus some extra."
All out of Gervais' pocket, too. If only he was around to put Hyland in his place again.
"Glad the shopkeep got made square. Still, trying to kill you over a few words? And he's supposed to be a Templar." Niles scoffed. "Guy's got more issues upstairs than I thought."
"I've been thinking the same ever since. I figured I saw the last of him after his boss got involved, but now he's here with the same old vendetta."
Niles smiled. "He might as well give up on it now, save himself the heartbreak. We've got the real Templars here in full force. He won't even get past them, and if he does, you've always got my sword. He tries anything, we'll whoop him over our knee like a baby."
My frown faded into a small laugh. Somehow, over the course of the - let's call it abridged - retelling, my fears cooled into calm confidence. Hyland was a threat, definitely. But he already made the first misstep: he forgot I had allies. Now every Templar overseeing the Ordeals had an eye on him. There couldn't be a worse disadvantage.
Even better, I didn't tell Niles a single lie. Sure, I omitted a lot. But that's a far cry from lying, right?
I looked around. It'd been several minutes, and people had apparently brushed off what happened. Crowds returned to their conversations, individuals back to their thoughts. But the occasional side-eyes were telling. And not everyone was as good as us at hushing their voices.
Guess I can't expect what happened to be forgotten so quickly. No matter how convenient that'd be.
"Still," Niles added, "there's one thing he said that doesn't make a lick of sense."
"What's that?"
"That Hyland fella; he spoke about charades - and there's no chance he's talking about the game." The swordsman crossed contemplative arms. "Know what he's on about?"
"A charade?" I asked like I'd misheard him. Anything to burn a second or two to think.
Urgh; Hyland and his big mouth. There's ways to excuse that away, but then I wouldn't just be skipping details. I'd be lying.
Niles nodded intently.
Can't think of another way though. Not in time. Shade… sorry, Niles.
"Agh." I feigned confused annoyance. "If I had to guess, I think he's just saying anything that'll make me-"
"Welcome, applicants," announced a voice behind us. "To the illustrious Templar Citadel." Our attention was dragged instantly to its source: the center of the stage.
Atop stood an armored man who commanded the attention of all present. Left of his brilliant plate - bearing a shoulder adorned with the wise eagle - was a taciturn Warden. At his right - the other shoulder adorned in the courageous lion - was a perky Paladin.
Whew, saved by the bell. But, that's a lion and an eagle on the same armor, isn't it? And beside him, is that…?
Stepping forward, the man folded gauntlets behind his back. "I am Karthwyn Goesis: Commandant of the Templar Order and primary overseer of this year's annual Sacred Ordeals. Good morrow."
Closer I shuffled, to get a better look at the man overhead.
Pale eyes - residing behind golden eyeglasses connected by a looping chain - parsed through the quickly condensing crowd with scrutiny, as if casting personal judgements for the fate of every face. Nearly as grey were the thick sideburns swooping down his lantern-like jaws, and the sprinkling of salt-and-pepper on his scalp.
"Old-looking fogey, eh?" Niles joked quietly.
He didn't say the half of it. The Commandant's weathered face collected wrinkles like old corners collected cobwebs. Ansel didn't have half as many and he had this Karthwyn guy beat by at least a dozen years. Still, he stood tall and lean with the posture of an experienced warrior. With the tales to match.
"I knew it was him," whispered a man behind us. "He's even scarier in person."
"Ye don't know the Commandant?" asked a woman. "The Sentry of The Capital? The Mastermind of Ten-Thousand Battles? Get a clue."
Someone nodded to another. "You wouldn't believe it, years back someone tried to mug him - yes, him, in the middle of the street. Ha! There wasn't even enough of the sap left to bury."
Narrowed to wrinkled slits were Karthwyn's eyes. "Silence yourselves; the time for idle chatter is over."
He barely raised his voice over a conversational tone. Yet everyone heard him. And everyone listened. Strangled silence washed over the field.
"The Templar Order," he said, "will not suffer the unruly. Henceforth, you are all potential members. Behave as such."
Quiet agreement exuded from the hundreds of applicants. Even Niles and I stood a little straighter.
"Now," Karthwyn glanced at his sides, "these two are the secondary overseers of the Sacred Ordeals. Warden Valérie, and Paladin Merriline. You are to treat them with the utmost respect. You will do the same for every Templar that assists me."
Valérie thumped a solid fist to her chest and nodded.
Merriline? Well, it was a surprise to see her again. For sure.
"Good morning everybuddy!" she waved with a smile so white and wide it rebounded sunlight. "Best of luck becoming one of us! Hope to see you on an assignment soon~"
Karthwyn flung her a stale glare. Valérie just looked elsewhere.
The Paladin deflated a little. "…Sorry."
He sighed away his chagrin and moved on. "Many of you have undoubtedly heard a great deal about the Sacred Ordeals. Yet others find themselves ignorant. Given that some of our finest hail from Lumerit's outer reaches, and more still from further beyond, I deem it fit to equalize the understanding of all present."
Karthwyn straightened his glasses, swaying their chain every so slightly. "In essence, the Sacred Ordeals are a three-day proceeding. One Ordeal for each day. You will be in our care for as long as you perform to our standards, and in succeeding, will be the focal point of a city-wide festival celebrating your induction into our prestigious organization."
"However," he continued, "this concerns but a talented few. Today I look upon four-hundred and twenty-eight applicants. I expect that number to shrink tremendously in the coming days."
On that, we agreed. I'd done some digging; nine applicants made the cut last year. Nine. My eyes darted around the crowd; I couldn't even begin to run the numbers. And honestly, I didn't want to.
"Huh," Niles spoke softly in my ear. "Our chances aren't even touching a quarter of a percent. Crazy, innit? But we're more than just numbers on paper, aren't we Purple?"
…He did all that in his head?
"As for the rest of you," The Commandant swept an arm, "you will remain citizens of Lumerit; unable to reapply until next year. Provided you survive. Indeed, injury and death is not merely an impossibility; it is expected."
Sparse murmurs sprouted among the crowd. They were cut short with one curt look from the Commandant. "Peace always demands a price. Consider centuries long past. Our lands were stricken with war. Pestilence. Starvation and thirst. Consider Lumerit's present. Trade blooms. Cities are clean. Resources remain bountiful. Perhaps greatest of all, the undead threat is cowed. Because of our Order. Because of our blood. Blood spilt for a greater nation. A sacrifice that continues to this day."
Karthwyn continued. "Understand this: the finest warriors cannot be shaped in a cold forge. They must be proven. Battle-tested. Thus the Sacred Ordeals are fraught with peril, to see what comes out of the fire mighty. And what does not. However…" he frown deepened, "there have been numerous welfare concerns as of late. As such, there have been minor alterations to our long-established formula."
With a hand he motioned past us all.
To the massive column of crag behind us, lit bright by the sun behind Karthwyn.
"Before you rises the Tower of Stone," he presented. "A tool of exercise for our younger ranks. Base to peak it is scaled, with naught but one's hands and feet. You shall do the same."
By his will everyone stayed silent. But the anxiety coursing through the crowd was tangible.
Th-that's hundreds of feet high! We're supposed to climb that!?
"Succeed in this task," explained Karthwyn, "and you will be granted the privilege of undertaking the Sacred Ordeals proper over the next three days. In other words, this is a preliminary. Meant to weed through your numbers early while danger remains minimal."
Minimal? Has this guy lost his mind? One tiny slip and we're a broken corpse in the grass. Falling a couple stories is one thing with a decent-enough Shroud; plummeting from higher than where birds fly is nothing but a death sentence.
"Your faces speak volumes," The Commandant showed a hint of amusement, before delving back into seriousness. "Merriline."
"Right!" She hopped forward, pigtails barely hanging on. "I'm in charge of the 'catch squad'. Our job's to watch you guys like hawks - even though you'll be over us. Odd, now that I think about it. Anyway, if you fall, we'll be there with some cushioning wind magic to rescue you! It'll be like falling harmlessly into a cloud, I promise!"
"And Warden Valérie," Karthwyn addressed. "The criteria."
"Certainly," she stepped rigidly forth. "Each and every one of you is allotted a time of ten minutes to reach the summit. You may use any means available to you, physical or magical, granted it does not adversely affect other applicants. You are also free to begin the climb anew once caught after a fall. Only if you harm another, or come short of the summit in the given time, shall you fail."
"Make no mistake," added the Commandant. "This preliminary is as crucial as the Sacred Ordeals themselves. Failure means termination."
"Purple!" whispered Niles, "you know what this means?"
"That you want them to hear you?" I replied.
He gave me a long-faced look. "It means we already won. I'm, like, the world's best tree-climber. And you learned from me. If all we gotta do is get to the top, then this'll be a cinch!"
This is a little bigger than a tree, Niles. Even the crazy-tall trees in the Sun-touched Prairie.
Still… he's got a point. I haven't forgotten his clever tips. Maybe they don't translate perfectly, but for a test based solely on climbing, what I know could give me a literal leg up on the competition. Other applicants might be stronger, or faster, or have better Shrouds, or be more experienced. But I know what I'm doing. More or less.
"As an introduction and explanation," Karthwyn said, "that is all. Templars."
Without another word, a contingent of the Paladins and Wardens surrounding the crowd split off, taking position at every angle of the Tower of Stone's base - with Merriline planted at the front, directly between it and the morning sun.
We're doing this so soon? …No. No! Now's not the time to hesitate. I've trained. Studied. All those days readied me for this. This preliminary, then the Ordeals themselves, then the Templar position. Then? Life. One I'll have at any cost. And it all starts here!
"Applicants," Karthwyn called, "You will be placed in an orderly formation before we begin. Follow the direction of-"
"That shall have to wait," stated an approaching voice. An unfamiliar one.
It was only after they stood at the foot of the stage - near Niles and I - that I saw the one who interrupted Karthwyn: the blue-haired young man from earlier. Impatience drew his eyes to the Commandant's, as if the height between them meant nothing.
Karthwyn's face shifted, just barely. Like a statue in a different light. "…Tell your name, boy. So that I might better know who insults me."
"Yamui," the applicant uttered proudly. "Of Clan Yatagarasu. And I make no insult; I make a declaration: I refuse to perform alongside the rest of this riffraff."
The crowd stirred. Valérie quietly observed them both.
"…What'd he call us?" my temper spiked.
Niles whispered. "Think you're paying the wrong thing attention, mate."
Pale eyes narrowed. "A foreigner. That explains the insolence. Up to a point."
By then a clear opening formed around Yamui. It seemed I wasn't the only one who knew what a furious Templar was capable of.
Karthwyn raised a fist like a gavel. Eyes widened at what'd happen once it fell. And it did fall.
Into an open hand.
"Make room," he ordered the crowd. "Let us witness the results of Yamui's audacity. As for you, young man? Time is precious. You are not allowed ten minutes. You are allowed one minute."
"One?" Yamui spun on a heel, eyes closed. "That is far too much."
Karthwyn didn't reply. The Commandant was more taken with appraising the young man like an uncut gem.
Our heads jutted further into the path splitting the applicants, two pairs of nearly a thousand eyes watching in disbelief.
But Yamui didn't hurry to the tower. He didn't budge an inch. The only visible movements were the pulsing of veins and tensing of muscles in one of his lithe hands.
He wrapped those fingers around the hilt of his weapon - still resting patiently inside its scabbard.
Then he accelerated.
He flashed past hundreds of faces. Displaced wind filled our ears. Footsteps stormed through grass that wasn't entirely sure it'd been touched. Yamui's form became a narrowing blur that blasted by Merriline and neared the tower's base.
I'd never seen anyone move so quickly. Not Oliver, Hyland - even Amara. But he headed straight for a wall of rock. At his speed he'd leave a bloody imprint upon its foot.
I couldn't have had worse intuition.
Yamui didn't run into the wall.
He ran up the wall.
Ascending the cliff face was a streak of blue and violet passing long stretches of rock strata in the time a normal person would take a single step. Under a half-minute and he neared the grassy peak. But something changed. He was losing momentum.
Yamui was able to eke out a few more steps; it wasn't enough, and with a dozen or so feet left, he drove one last sandal against the stone, and released his hilt.
He leapt. I squinted.
A miniscule arm soared up the shrinking gap. Though again he slowed. Taking effect was the natural law nobody could resist - that everything must fall. A rule with just one exception: in some way, your weight has to be supported. Like by solid ground.
Or determined fingers, clenched onto a cliff's edge.
He'd made it.
Yamui threw up another hand, throwing himself up and disappearing over the rim. The more expressive among us released long-held gasps, or remarked upon his speed with more than a little jealousy. But everyone was impressed.
"Neat little art he's got there," noted Niles, firmly trying to sound just slightly awestruck. "Wish I could've caught the name though; might be a unique one, if he's really from another land. Too bad he went and whispered it."
I re-fastened my jaw, and turned to Niles. He didn't hear?
"Hmmm." He tapped his boot repeatedly. "Think he's trying to keep it under wraps? Could be some culture-y thing. Not that he could hide the way his body surged. 'Tis a power art, anyone can tell that much."
Flash Iai. That's the incantation. Wasn't particularly hard to hear, either.
Though, I wouldn't tell him until later. Despite what Niles thought, this wasn't the time for small talk. Yamui still had to get down.
High, high above peeked a sandal over the precipice. Yamui reappeared, peering down at what must've been a spine-chilling drop. If he feared what he saw, I was too far away to tell. And if it did unnerve him, it couldn't have been by much. Because he spread his arms.
And dove off the Tower of Stone.
"Merriline!" Karthwyn ordered from behind me.
"Yes sir!" The Paladin nodded, poising confidently before the humongous column. She gathered her hands close, as if giving asylum to something tiny.
"Will she actually be able to catch him!?" asked a nearby woman.
"Naysayer!" chastised another. "She's a Paladin for goodness' sakes!"
Reason told me the latter was right. I mean, the Templars wouldn't risk hundreds of lives during the safe part of the Ordeals. But gauging where Yamui would land couldn't have been easy. And he plummeted like a jacket-draped anvil.
"Air Cushion!" incanted Merriline. Inside her fingers materialized a green orb, filling the space between her hands. Pushing them apart, it expanded gradually, at first a barely-contained tempest of whipping winds. Though as it grew to a torso's size, it changed. The winds became tranquil. Like the eye of a storm.
Seconds before Yamui landed Merriline extended her hands and fired the orb - growing even as it flew.
Under Yamui's shadow it stopped mid-air. He fell straight into the human-sized winds. And stopped in an instant.
Viscera and a current of gore should've floated inside the orb. Coming to a sudden stop, after all, was exactly the same treatment the ground would've given him. But Yamui hovered inside. Completely unharmed. In fact, he crossed his arms and legs inside the buoying winds.
Probably feeling rushed, Merriline snapped - dissipating the art. Sandals touched vibrant grass again. And he immediately set foot across the field - not giving the Paladin who saved him so much as an appreciative glance.
His eyes anchored firmly to the stage. Though as he came closer, I noticed rising and falling in his chest: barely-contained panting.
…I shouldn't be surprised. He made a cliff face look like a casual stroll - of course he's short of breath. Plus that was a power art. Not exactly easy on the body.
Eventually, Yamui got his breath under control. At about the same time he neared the stage, and jumped. He landed over our heads. Face-to-face with the Commandant.
"I passed," Yamui told the man still nearly double his height.
Other Templars stared daggers, with only Valérie unruffled. There wasn't an attempt to hide it; they saw every word and act of Yamui's as disrespect - blatant irreverence. His talent was besides the point; they figured him unfit to be one of them.
And yet, Karthwyn, Commandant of the Order, smiled proudly upon him. "Without question. Long has it been since an applicant exhibited your level of promise. You may remain here atop the stage, to witness the others."
"I'll not," said Yamui. "The sun's heat in these lands serves as thorns upon my skin."
"Very well." Karthwyn didn't miss a beat. "Warden Valérie? Show Yamui to his quarters. I should think the temperature there much more to his liking."
"Yes sir," nodded the Warden. Without so much as an errant glance she gestured for Yamui to follow. The two headed for steps leading down the stage's side, and set off for someplace deeper in the Citadel's surreal landscape.
He's… moving ahead? Just like that?
It was a humbling experience, to be sure. For all my training, I couldn't imagine ever making short work of anything so imposing. Though judging by the stares around me, I could take solace in not being alone.
Karthwyn returned his gaze to the split crowd of applicants, smile fading. "Do any others wish to make the climb, under the same circumstances?"
Somehow, our numbers became even quieter.
Abyss no.
"If I offered to climb it in two," whispered Niles, "you think I'd get a huge, buff guy to send me to my room?"
"I don't know," I muttered dryly. "Ask him."
Niles raised a hand. "C-"
I clasped a glove to his mouth. "I wasn't being literal!" I shouted in his ear.
"I see," Karthwyn didn't notice - I prayed he didn't notice - the two of us. "Best hope those amongst you prove half as talented as he. In any event, let the preliminaries start properly. Templars. Show to them their positions."
—————————————————————————————————
Over four hundred applicants. All wrapped around the Tower of Stone's brightest side, in ten or so bands of semi-circles. Each layer would make a run for it; seconds later, the next would be allowed to start their own climb. After the last group of applicants were called, the ten minutes would tick down.
I wasn't sure if I was lucky or unlucky, to find myself in the very first group.
I'll have a bit more time, true. But if I'm up front, I can't study those ahead - watch what spots to avoid. And I'm definitely not looking down.
"Overthinking things again?" Niles stretched, standing further down the first semi-circle. "Don't tell me; I see it on your face."
I motioned to the massive column looming over us. "Of course I am - look at what we're dealing with here."
If we weren't several feet apart, he would've probably laid a hand on my shoulder. "Relax, Purple. Just follow my lead, eat my dust, and try not to bawl when you find me waiting for you up top."
My eyes snapped from the tower to him. "Like I'm letting you reach the peak first. When you finish, ask me how many blades of grass are up there. I'll know."
Niles opened his mouth to deliver what I assumed to be a comeback not half as clever as mine, when a voice similar to the sound of boulders rumbling down a hill came from far behind us.
"My Templars tell me all is in place," stated Karthwyn. "Prepare yourselves for the climb. I will count down from ten seconds."
At that, the entire crowd tensed. Some tied their hair up; others spat into their palms, and more still struggled to steady their shaking hands. Really, the entire scope of emotion was clear on the faces around me. Hardened resolve, or pliant fear. Anxious anticipation. Or the instinctive drive to prove oneself.
A dab of them all applied to my glamour as I stared down the tower.
Karthwyn dropped to four seconds in what felt like one.
"Three."
"Ready, Niles?" My fingers itched; my back arched.
"Two."
"Was born ready, mate," he beamed.
"One," Karthwyn probably said. I wouldn't know.
The stampede of footsteps drowned out all other noise.