M.S. Davidson
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62. Playing Both Sides
🕑 Added 2025-09-25 16:12:01 +0000 UTC"Theadora."
Lana stood in the doorway like a predator sizing up prey, goggles firmly over her eyes. Several Gaian officials flanked her, their robes marking them as staff—or executioners.
"Lanavelle." Thea rose from her chair, Darla snorting beside her. "Thing wasn't supposed to start until tomorrow night. What gives?"
"Unfortunately, Archon Valerian proved all registered competitors had arrived at the Academy, so the Oathbound allowed it to start early."
Shit. They were moving the timeline up. Why?
"Oh." Dara's voice echoed my thoughts, her brow furrowing with genuine concern. "She asked me about it, and I can't withhold that kind of information from her. But there's no reason to start things early."
"Besides being vindictive," Malcolm said, his shrug too casual for the bomb he'd just dropped. "This is more than just you, Ben. She's determined to win something here."
The words landed like a punch to the gut. I'd been riding high on training adrenaline and Valor's raw power coursing through me, almost excited about the tournament. But this wasn't just friendly competition.
This was war.
Factions and entire nations solved their feuds with tournaments and duels here. I wasn't walking into a game—I was stepping onto a battlefield.
As Thea and Lana's argument escalated, puzzle pieces started clicking together with now-obvious clarity. Diana had pulled every string to get me here. Lana had been involved from minute one, lurking in the shadows. Diana's plotting had slighted her, then she'd shown up and goaded me into over-performing at the registration trials.
We were only competing in our own bracket because of a technicality—because someone wanted us to fail.
"Fuck me," I said, cutting through their noise like a blade. "You're working with Maris, Lana?"
Silence dropped like a hammer. Lana's goggled face snapped toward me. Thea's eyes went wide as dinner plates.
"Fuckin' what!?" Thea's shout could've shattered glass. Darla oinked so loudly it sounded like laughter.
Lana stared at me through those goggles, stunned for a heartbeat. Then her expression melted into something almost... amused.
"You really are fascinating," she said, her tone flat and clinical, like I was a specimen under a microscope. "I look forward to studying you thoroughly, no matter how this plays out. Now, gather your team and follow us. Ms. Summers and Master Winters, you'll be shown to the spectator's wing of the Arena."
"What just happened?" Cass demanded, her gaze ping-ponging between the two Vildar sisters and me.
I glanced back for Dara, but she'd vanished like smoke. "Lana's playing both sides," I said, pieces falling into place with brutal clarity. "If we win, she gets what she wants but has to teach. If we lose, she gets what she wants for free. Right? You've made an arrangement with Maris?"
"Of course." Lana's voice could've frozen hellfire. "I wouldn't put the effort in without one."
Thea's face twisted into something murderous. "You caused a scene because you knew I'd insist on taking them," she snarled, stepping forward like a wolf ready to pounce. "Stupid ol' Thea-dumba will fuck something up in your favor, that it?"
Darla stepped between them, but Thea's rage was volcanic.
Lana's smirk could've cut diamonds. "And you failed at failing, sadly."
I laughed—actually laughed—at the sheer absurdity of it all. Here we were, caught in some elaborate chess game where we were apparently the pawns everyone wanted to sacrifice.
"So that's why you ran my measurement tests," I said as Malcolm and Cass grabbed their gear. "To goad me into going all out, pushing our team ranking too high so we'd get slaughtered."
"And Dorian's dad insisted he didn't send messages to my mother," Malcolm added, hefting his pack. "We asked him, and he was way more open than expected about it."
I shot him a look. "If that was Lana, then why screw over Dorian?"
Malcolm's shrug was pure venom. "Fuck Dorian. Everything around him turns to shit, including me. You just helped me realize it."
"Ah man, that should've been our team name," I groaned. "Team Fuck Dorian."
Cass burst into laughter that cut through the tension like a knife. "Not in his lifetime."
The serious atmosphere deflated like a punctured balloon. Lana's frustration was visible now, her scowl deepening as she motioned for two officials to enter.
"Please take the spectators to their area. The competitors can come with the rest of us."
They led Katie and Henrik toward the door, but Katie broke away, spinning back to face me. Her eyes met mine, and something passed between us—something electric and dangerous and right.
She kissed me.
Not deep, not desperate, but with a confidence that sent lightning through my veins. The shy girl I'd met two weeks ago was gone, replaced by someone bold enough to wink at me before rushing into the hallway like a queen claiming her throne.
"Fucking finally," Cass muttered under her breath.
I stood there like an idiot, heart hammering against my ribs, stupid grin plastered across my face. The weight of impending doom had completely evaporated.
"Got your packs?" I asked, my voice slightly breathless.
Cass and Malcolm nodded, but I could see Cass fighting back another grin.
Cass fastened her sword belt and grabbed her armor case. I reached into my soul-space, willing my new armor to manifest and praying I wouldn't end up naked in front of everyone again.
The brass scale mail materialized around me, replacing my linen clothes with reassuring weight across my shoulders. Each scale caught the light like golden fire.
I summoned Winchester into my hand and, just for flair, willed the orb to extend into its full blade form.
"Well, Lana," I said, letting steel creep into my voice. "Lead the way."
I swear I saw her eye twitch.
***
Lana and her officials herded us through corridors that twisted like a labyrinth, back into the enormous lobby where we'd first arrived. The silence stretched taut, broken only by Lana's whispered exchanges with her people—words just out of reach, but loaded with intent.
We climbed the same stairs Diana and Maris had descended earlier, passing through massive double doors that opened onto hallways dripping with wealth. Unlike the Hunter's tower in La-Roc—all bare stone and functional emptiness—Sylvarus was a palace. Lavish carpets, ornate benches, polished wood trim, and lantern orbs hanging from vaulted ceilings like captured stars.
This couldn’t be a school; it was a fucking palace.
Cass moved beside me with a predator’s awareness, her head turning in constant, practiced sweeps. She was cataloging exits, threats, advantages. Malcolm looked almost bored—maybe because Lana's scheming hadn't involved him until now.
At least, I hoped.
Red paced beside me like he expected the walls to explode. But Thea surprised me most. Her rage had cooled into something sharper, more dangerous.
The silence dragged until she finally spoke.
"Why start early? Everything else makes sense, but I'm missing something."
"I'll answer that," Dara said, materializing beside us with her usual serene smile that somehow felt anything but peaceful. "The information was just presented to the Oathbound, so it's free to share."
She cast a razor-sharp glance at Lana. "Something seems to have delayed Alexander Kane and his participants at sea, along with their registration intent."
We entered a chamber packed with hundreds of people clustered like confused cattle. The sudden schedule change had everyone thrown off balance—exactly what someone wanted.
Thea snickered, the sound sharp as breaking glass. "Let me guess—Maris's goons are the only ones competing. She stacked the deck against Ben until he got bumped down to Seeker."
"That's correct," Dara confirmed. "And with limited competition, the Adept exhibitions will probably go to Maris by default. So even if Ben places as Confirmed, the Tournament may still be claimed by the Strikers on a technicality."
The words hit like ice water. Even if we won, we could still lose.
Thea's eyes narrowed. "You orchestrated all this?" She turned to her sister, disbelief melting into molten fury. "If the tournament can't take on more participants, then a fucking duel. By her own scheming mouth, my sister is responsible for all this. I'll challenge her for the Adept bracket."
Lana's eyes went wide. Even the officials froze mid-step.
"You aren't a Master yet?" Lana's laughter was pure condescension. "You've had years more than I did to form a core! Are you truly stuck in your Runebinding already? Besides... it's not allowed."
Dara raised one hand, her smile turning predatory. "Actually, the Oathbound has just accepted the terms for the duel. Much to Maris's outrage." Her eyes glittered with satisfaction. "I just passed it on. You're doing great, Lana. Please keep talking."
A roar erupted across the chamber—Maris's voice, murderous and raw. Diana and Grace flanked her as she stormed toward us like a hurricane given form. Grace's gaze locked onto Winchester, her expression unreadable but intense.
"All you had to do was keep your fucking mouth shut!" Maris screamed at Lana, spittle flying. "But you had to monologue about how you orchestrated all of this? In Sylvarus. While Dara was in the gods-damned room. How stupid can you be?"
Thea cackled like a maniac, and even I couldn't help but chuckle. Lana had stepped directly into the trap, and the classic villain monologue had just blown up in her face.
Grace stepped forward, her voice cutting through the chaos with surgical precision. "The subterfuge is commendable, but now that it's all in the open, it seems fitting that the Champion of the Arcanists challenge the Strikers directly."
"The what?!" Cass blurted as Malcolm and I both stared at Thea.
She shrugged like discussing the weather. "I like to duel."
A thunderous crash echoed from the entrance, followed by shouts and the sound of people scrambling. The crowd parted like the sea as something—or someone—forced them back.
Alexander Kane stomped into the chamber, and the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. The russet Vildar was clad in silver plate armor that looked like it had been through a blender, his expression pure volcanic fury. His aura ignited into a raging blue inferno that made the air itself seem to vibrate.
Two dozen equally armored Runebinders flanked him, their faces grim and bloodied. Fluorescent green ooze matted Alexander's fur in places, giving off an acrid smell.
He hurled a broken rod onto the floor between us. Scorched runic symbols covered its surface.
"Archon Alexander," Grace said, her tone shifting to careful sympathy.
He ignored her completely, his murderous gaze fixed on Maris as he pointed an accusatory finger. "The Cerulean Axe challenges the Dancing Phantom to solo combat to answer for her apprentice's transgressions."
Maris looked genuinely appalled. "I have no idea what you're talking about. My Apprentice—"
One of Alexander's people shoved a bound figure forward. Jenny. Blood-red metal cuffs that gleamed like polished gold encased her hands and feet.
"That," Alexander said, his voice trembling with barely controlled rage, "is a Class-C monster lure. We found her planting it on our boat while at sea. She bargained for us to let her live—with information. A Dreadspire Kraken attacked our ship." His voice cracked slightly. "Three of my Adept Guardians perished so we could be here for justice today."
Gasps rippled through the crowd like a physical wave. Diana closed her eyes, her expression unreadable.
People had died. Because of this tournament. Because of me.
"Verdant Axe, I will present your request for a duel between Archons to the Rune Lords for—"
"Enough, Grace!" Alexander's voice was a whip-crack. "There's only one gods-damned person capable of supplying anything of that lure's level. The Lords are not innocent in this. I will have—"
"SILENCE."
Grace's Soulcry tore through the air like the wrath of the gods themselves. If mine was a whisper, hers was an avalanche. My ears rang, my throat seized, and my lungs quivered in absolute submission, refusing to even exhale. Red's fur stood completely on end. Even Ted in my soul-space looked stunned, his usual swagger crushed under the command. My reflection seemed to obey as well, frozen mid-gesture.
"You will not lay blame for our rules, Archon," Grace said, her demeanor shifting into something terrifying as the air itself rippled, totally overwhelming Alexander’s aura. Memories of the Oathbound's razor-sharp presence flashed through my mind—a blade held against reality itself.
"This Runewarden reminds you that treasures of our land are free to those who purchase them. It is not for us to determine the balance of power in the lesser realms. If not for our Runesmiths, your boat would lack a mana-engine to push it through the sea. You point fingers at us when we offer you so much to aid your struggles."
She sighed, the sound amplified by the absolute silence, tension dissipating like mist.
"You will have your duel, Alexander. But we must determine the outcome of this Grand Tournament beforehand. For you see, even after all of this—Maris finds herself up against the Cataclysm."
Alexander blinked, his shoulders trembling. Then he erupted into triumphant laughter that echoed off the vaulted ceiling. As his laughter faded, dozens of others joined in—relief, madness, or both.
"So we will see justice twice over," Alexander said, his rage tempered but burning steady. "Tell me, Valerian—who do you have that can stand against her? Surely not the Stormfire."
Maris sneered at Alexander before storming deeper into the chamber, Lana trailing in her wake like a whipped dog.
Alexander approached us, his gaze sweeping over our group before settling on Malcolm. His expression softened, a sad smile flickering across his face before he looked at Diana.
"Fucking politics," Alexander muttered, waving his hand. His Guardians began filing out, armor clinking like a funeral march. Grace lifted the scorched rod with careful precision, storing it in what looked like a mana sanctum. I caught the slight shake of her head—disappointment, maybe disgust.
A lot had just happened, and I had the sinking feeling I wouldn't get time to process any of it. This was my first encounter with a Runewarden, and it was clear that even Archons like Maris and Alexander answered to them. Grace was operating on a completely different level.
"You'd better not disappoint, Breaker." Alexander's voice carried more warning than encouragement. He spun on his heel and stormed after his Guardians, leaving us standing in the aftermath of something that felt like the prelude to war.
Diana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I was wondering how she'd delayed Alexander. There's no going back from that." She looked to Grace, who was still staring at Winchester with unsettling intensity.
Grace said nothing, just walked past us with posture rigid as a blade.
"Focus on your liaison duties for now, Thea," Diana said. "But keep your guard up. Maris has already shown she's willing to break rules, and Lana's in her corner now. Keep an eye on things, Dara."
Dara shook her head, frustration twisting her serene features. "You know the rules, Diana. I'll do what I can, but I can't intervene directly."
I blinked, and both of them were gone. Just... vanished, in the same way Dara would appear and disappear—like reality had a revolving door.
"What the fuck just happened?" I asked. Cass's expression mirrored my complete confusion.
Thea started leading us deeper into the chamber, her footsteps heavy with purpose. "All you shit-baskets need to know is Maris ain't fucking around. If she loses this tournament, she's screwed. Lana working with her, though?" She shook her head. "Didn't see that coming."
"Cataclysm?" Cass asked, her tone sharp enough to cut. "What's that about?"
Thea's grin was all teeth and violence. "That's my Seal. I'm suspended from dueling 'cause I took out most of the arena last year. Diana says I'm a gold-coin solution to a red-coin problem." Pure pride radiated from her like heat. "Not my fault she said to go all-out."
She clearly loved causing mayhem on an industrial scale.
"But you won't be fighting Lana?" Malcolm asked.
"Nah, she's Sylvarus staff. Plus, she might be a Master, but she's never beaten me once. Maris'll have to find someone else." Her grin turned predatory. "And I need someone to test my new boom-stick against."
A sinking feeling settled in my gut. "All of this because of me? People died because Maris insists on kicking me off Ark? I'm... not okay with that."
Darla oinked, her voice oddly calm for a pig discussing death. "It's not all about you. This tournament was bound to happen eventually. You were just a catalyst."
"My mother's been pushing things too hard the past few years," Malcolm added, his face grim as stone. "I'm surprised it took this long. But using a monster lure against Alexander..." His expression tightened, concern flickering despite everything. Even though he hated her methods, Maris was still his mother.
"What happens if she loses?" I asked.
Malcolm shrugged, but Darla spoke up with clinical precision. "It's been a long time since the Hunter factions were this divided. The loss of life demands reparations. If Alexander wins the duel against her—and he will—he decides the punishment. But depending on how many brackets she loses—Initiates, Seekers, Adepts—she could lose everything. But if she wins them all, she walks away clean."
"And I get thrown off Ark, probably violently?" My voice came out smaller than I had intended.
Thea snorted. "She won't win against me. No idea what deals Lana made, though. She's fucking crazier than I remember—too much time screwing with transpiritual magic."
I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling just beneath the surface. Being used as a pawn in Maris's schemes was infuriating enough. Knowing people had died because of it made me want to punch something very hard.
We took a sharp turn, and the hallway opened onto a massive staircase. As we descended, my jaw dropped, and I caught Cass making the same expression.
We'd entered a library that belonged in myths and legends. Stone pillars stood in perfect rows, framing floors upon floors of bookshelves that stretched until they disappeared in shadow. Some sections were locked behind iron bars, making me wonder what knowledge was too dangerous to browse.
It was a maze of accumulated wisdom, more books than I'd ever seen in my life. The air was rich with the dry scent of paper and something herbal that made my head feel clearer.
Ahead loomed a building-sized bookshelf standing free under a domed glass ceiling, spiraling staircases coiling around its structure like DNA. Swirling runes tinted the glass above, dancing with the sunlight to cast moving patterns across the floor.
Dozens of white-robed women moved through the space, turning pages or murmuring to each other as they worked. They moved with identical grace, faces serene, fingers gliding over text as if they were reading invisible meanings.
It took me a moment to realize they were all copies of Dara.
One of the closest versions glanced up and smiled, pointing to a bookshelf across from her with the same gesture I'd seen from the original.
"I thought we were going to the arena?" I asked, unable to keep the awe out of my voice. "This is incredible."
"Taking a different path to the prep rooms," Thea explained as the bookshelf swung open like a door, revealing another chamber beyond. "In case Maris had something planned. Can't be too safe."
"Right, tower magic." I nodded, remembering Gary's similar tricks back in La-Roc.
The room beyond was lavishly furnished, resembling the meditation chambers but somehow more luxurious. We stepped through, and the door behind us vanished without a trace, leaving us in a space with no visible exits. The usual tower bullshit.
"Ah, the Godsdamned Problem! How accurate." Gary's voice came from behind an ornate desk, his smile almost predatory. "Let's get you prepped for your first event."
