Page 37 of Angel of Ruin
"Remember," the General's voice drops to a menacing whisper, "no human leaves this arena. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir!" We respond in unison though the words stick in my throat.
As the General dismisses us, I linger behind, my thoughts a maelstrom of conflict. How can I protect Lyra without betraying everything I've ever known?
I stand at my designated post, overlooking the sprawling arena. As the humans pour in, already spelled with the phantom wings, I prepare to unleash the magic that will seal the fate of these human candidates.
A flick of my wrist sends a ripple through the air, distorting the path ahead. What once appeared as a solid bridge now shimmers and wavers, an illusion masking the yawning chasmbelow. I watch as the first group of humans approaches, their faces etched with determination.
The lead candidate steps forward confidently, unaware of the deception. His foot passes through the illusory surface, and his eyes widen in terror as he plummets, too slow to even beat the wings he is unaccustomed to having. His screams echo through the arena, cutting off abruptly as he vanishes into the mist below.
I feel no remorse as I do it — why would I? — but I don't find the sick satisfaction the other overseers do, either. With a wave of my hand, I conjure swirling vortexes of wind, their currents designed to throw off the humans' balance and send them careening into deadly obstacles. Whatever it takes to slow them down.
But then I see Lyra in the distance, her blonde hair whipping around her face as she fights against the gale. Without even thinking, I send the current gliding around her.
Next, I summon phantoms - shadowy figures that resemble loved ones or feared enemies. They flicker at the edges of the humans' vision, drawing their attention away from the real dangers that surround them. One man reaches out to an apparition of his child, stumbling off the edge of a platform in his desperation to reach her.
As the trial progresses, I layer illusion upon illusion. Distances stretch and contract, making jumps impossible to gauge and few of the humans are even remembering their wings. Solid ground turns to inescapable pits, swallowing candidates whole. Beams of light blind and disorient, leaving the humans vulnerable to the arena's many traps.
With each act of sabotage, I find myself looking for Lyra. I don't care about these other humans, but each attempt sends a pulse through me as I remember that another overseer is doing the same to her.
But I can't help her. It would only make her a target at this point. All I can do is watch as the human candidates fall, one by one, victims of my magic and their own misplaced hope.
I can't tear my eyes away from Lyra as she navigates the treacherous arena. My heart pounds in my chest, a mixture of pride and fear coursing through me. She's doing better than I ever expected, her determination shining through despite the odds stacked against her.
I watch as she gracefully dodges a sudden gust of wind, her phantom wings adjusting instinctively. She's learning fast, adapting to the challenges in a way I've never seen before. A small smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it.
"Focus, Sariel," I mutter to myself, clenching my fists. I can't afford to show any favoritism, not with the other xaphan watching so closely.
But as Lyra approaches a particularly nasty illusion trap, panic grips me. My hand twitches, ready to intervene, to save her...
No. I can't. I force myself to remain still, my jaw clenched so tight it aches. The other overseers would notice if I helped her. It would only make things worse.
Still, I find myself silently willing her to see through the deception. "Come on, Lyra," I whisper, too low for anyone else to hear. "You can do this."
As if hearing my thoughts, Lyra hesitates just before the trap. Her eyes narrow, scanning the area with suspicion. At the last second, she veers away, avoiding the illusion entirely.
Relief floods through me, so intense it's almost dizzying. But it's short-lived as I remember the countless other dangers she still has to face.
I continue my assigned tasks, setting traps and creating illusions. But with each spell I cast, I find myself looking for Lyra, making sure she's still alive, still fighting. The conflictinside me grows with every passing moment. How can I protect her without putting her in danger?
Soon, I'm out of options.
Lyra is nearing the center of the arena, where the most lethal traps await. My heart pounds against my ribs as I watch her approach a shimmering barrier - one I know conceals razor-sharp spikes. If she does it right, she'll be able to move and dodge them, but more than likely, they'll shred the wings and leave her to fall.
"Fuck," I mutter under my breath. She's moving too fast, too confidently. She hasn't seen through this illusion.
Time slows to a crawl. I see Lyra's foot about to step onto the false ground. In that moment, everything else fades away - my duty, my orders, the consequences of disobedience. All that matters is her.
My hand moves before I can think, a quick gesture sending a gust of wind her way. It's subtle, could be mistaken for a random current in the arena. But it's enough to throw her off balance, to make her stumble back from the edge of the pit.
Lyra's eyes widen in surprise as she regains her footing. She looks around, confused, then takes a more cautious step forward. This time, she notices the faint shimmer in the air, the telltale sign of an illusion.
Relief floods through me, but it's short-lived. I've broken protocol. If anyone noticed...
I glance around quickly, heart racing. The other overseers seem focused on their own sections of the arena. But I can't shake the feeling of eyes on my back.
What have I done? I'd risked everything - my position, my life - for this human. And as I watch Lyra carefully navigate around the hidden pit, I can't bring myself to regret it.