Act 1 - Arc 1 - Chapter 8

As part of the Assignment celebration, the 11 Keyseeker Squads were paired up against each other in a mock battle. Foil’s team was on the attack, tasked with retrieving a totem from another Keyseeker team hidden within an artificial hunting ground. It tested a Keyseeker squad’s communication, strength, and teamwork; vital pieces for surviving in the real world and a direct reflection on the captain’s ability to lead his team.

Foil’s team failed. Miserably.

**

A few months passed.

Cynthia’s persuasion (in the form of incessant begging) had eventually won over Aleksandra and Cassian and the group received unenthusiastic yet informative  demonstrations of their Blessings. Foil was willing to showcase his abilities, but none of the others cared or trusted him enough to participate. He wasn’t particularly disappointed, but he did take the time to explain some of his tricks in words rather than actions. He could only hope that would be enough. In the time since their failure at the Assignment test, Foil had worked to grow his team’s strength, if not their ties to each other, to middling success. He took a breath outside the barred door. Voices could be heard inside.

Foil entered the underground antechamber that connected to the Academy’s arena. The rest of his squad were already there, bored and bickering. They had been training and learning together in the time since Assignment, but Foil felt a clear lack of kinship. It felt as if despite all of his efforts, he spent most of his time waiting. Waiting, or adjudicating conflicts neither party wanted him involved in to begin with. Now was one of those times. Cynthia was standing next to a hunched over Cassian as they drew symbols and strategies into the dirt floor, and Frayle was meditating in the far corner of the room as he often did when he was annoyed. The bickering members of his team were, this time, Perrin and Aleksandra. As Foil approached, he caught snippets of their argument.

“...shouldn’t be called that, are you insane?”

“Not any more insane than you! What kind of a name is ‘Emerald Seekers’ supposed to be?”

“It’s a real name! It shows off our worth. At least it’s a real name and not a code.”

Perrin twitched. “Our Expeditionary label is C4R08. We haven’t earned a nickname yet, so it makes sense to go by our label. ‘Team CR’ makes far more sense.”

Foil was generally inclined to support Perrin, especially against Aleksandra. But he did have to admit to himself that ‘Team CR’ was a horrible name. Not that Aleksandra’s suggestion was much better. Unfortunately, this was not the first time Foil had heard this argument, and tensions were running high. To add to his frustrations, it was far too warm in the small room and the cacophony of cheers and boos from outside the thin barred windows were making it hard to think. Foil had just come from being scolded for another of his team’s failings and was already in no mood to play games.

“Enough,” he snapped. “I don’t care what our team name is. Stop bickering, for once.”

It was to his credit that the two did, for a moment, considering listening. Aleksandra opened her mouth to respond, probably with snark, but Frayle spoke up his corner first.

“All right, Captain. We need a name to submit to the Lanista, and we needed to do it two days ago.” He smiled. “Not that it really matters, I guess. We aren’t going to win, so they have nothing to write on the history tablets.”

Why does everyone always have to be so Ells-damned pessimistic? Foil questioned.

“You don’t know for certain that we’ll lose,” he responded.

Aleksandra joined. “For once, darling, I agree with dear Foil. We are, far and above, the strongest of our year now that Lance is gone.”

Though she was boasting and overconfident to a fault, Aleksandra was correct. Foil’s team of the eight Keyseeker teams formed from their year were the clear favorites. This made sense considering that they were supposed to be the Prime Keyseeker team, but their lack of internal cohesion drove Foil mad. He had attempted to train with his teammates, but only Cassian and Cynthia had shown up to their sessions; and Cassian only under direct order. It wouldn’t matter if they were individually any stronger than their opponents if they were out-coordinated, but no one else seemed concerned. Frayle was concerned, Foil supposed, in the sense that he had already given up.

“I do know, if you recall. Knowing things is what I’m supposed to provide us,” Frayle argued. His eyes remained closed, though the ghost of a derisive smile touched his face. “I’ve Seen it.”

Foil rubbed his forehead with his fingers. Now or never, I guess.

“Okay,” he muttered. At a normal volume, he asked: “In that case, are you willing to bet on it?”

Cassian and Cynthia lifted their heads from their discussion. Something in his voice must have given it a weight, because Frayle even opened his eyes to listen. If what the guild of Seers had told him was true, Foil had found the leverage to bind the rest of his team to him and the scolding would have been more than worth it.

“I will stake my role as Captain on this tournament, and I will stake the sodality of your time in this squad as well.”

That got their attention. Good.

“If we lose the tournament, even by a single match, I will forfeit my role and absolve you of all obligation to remain in this squad after we graduate. You will get to enjoy all of the prestige of being a Keyseeker with none of the burden.”

Frayle smiled, gleeful at the prospect of assured victory. Aleksandra tilted her head. “And if we win?”

Foil smiled, too. “If we win, you all swear to abide by three of my commands. I reserve the right to use them as I desire, and you will have to obey them without question. You commit to staying in this squad in an official and real capacity until the end of our probationary mission. Finally…

“You let me name this team, and you do it without complaining.”

There was short, heavy silence in the room. Foil waited, patient. Cassian was the first to speak.

“Those are… high stakes, Captain.”

Foil turned to face him. “They are indeed, Cassian. But I intend to fulfill my end of the wager.”

Frayle’s brow was furrowed. “I… believe you. Strangely, I believe you’re telling the truth. But this bet would only incentivize us to throw our matches, or sabotage them. Not to mention the fact that we are going to lose.”

Foil smiled again, but his grin seemed nearly malicious. “You would be right, Frayle, if this were a normal wager. But given the stakes I would require us to submit to a Soul Oath.”

Nobody reacted, because none, save Frayle, knew what a Soul Oath was. But the Seer paled considerably, turning his porcelain skin almost translucent.

“You can’t… we don’t… how do you know about that?” he stammered.

“You aren’t the only one with knowledge beyond his means,” Foil grinned. “Now, for the rest of you: it’s not dangerous, won’t hamper you, and won’t tie you to anything other than what you explicitly state.”

After a few more comforting statements and assurance from Frayle that Foil was telling the truth, the group reluctantly agreed to stand in a ritual circle and grasp hands.

Foil, Cynthia’s hand in his right and Cassian’s in his left, spoke: “On the weight of your souls and the bonds of your Essence, you so swear.”

“On the weight of our souls and the bonds of our Essence, we so swear.” The rest spoke in unison. Immediately, Foil could feel their Essence circulate and twist together in the center of the circle.

Foil repeated the terms of his wager, then added: “You swear to compete in this tournament to the best of your ability, to fight with pure intention and desire for victory.”

The rest of the circle repeated, again, his words. Cynthia’s voice caught, slightly, on the word “ability”, but she powered through. As the incantation finished, the bundled Essence dissolved back into the air and around the group. For just the briefest of moments, an infinitesimal spark shone and Foil felt a connection with the intermingled souls of his peers. He understood everything they were and everything they would ever be. He loved and hated them, reviled and admired them. Then it was gone.

Cassian jerked his hand out of Foil’s before regaining his composure. He took a stiff cloth from one of the folds of his robe and his face and both hands, all of which had become sheen with sweat. The others hadn’t fared much better; Frayle looked nauseated and Perrin had stopped his characteristic fidgeting. In reality, the ritual was little more than placebo, the slightest touching of Essence as a bonding ritual. They did swear an oath marked by Essence, still, and there would be karmic consequences if anyone reneged, but Foil had more faith in their choice to make the promise to abide by the rules of his gamble than any esoteric magic he plagiarized from the Seers.

After a few more moments, normalcy returned in part to the antechamber and, Foil felt, some of the tension had dissipated with it. Perhaps the role of a captain was to burden the individual to ease the weight on the many. In that regard, Foil had risen to the occasion, but had likely nipped any respect he had gained over the last few weeks in the bud. He sighed.

It doesn’t matter if they like me. It doesn’t matter if they don’t respect me. So long as they listen to me and follow my orders, I can get us all through this and go home.

The sound of Cynthia scratching the dirt drew Foil out of his rumination. She had gathered the rest of the squad and was gesturing at her drawing. As Foil approached, she glanced at him before opening a spot in the circle. On the ground she had drawn a long line interspersed with vertical tally marks from end to end. At each of these tally marks she had written out abbreviations for all of the known Aspects that Seruleans have been known to embody. Foil’s heart still ached seeing Conduit on the farthest left tally.

“Okay everyone,” Cynthia announced. “As you know, there are 13 Aspects, with the selfish and destructive ones on the left,” and she drew an arrow capping the line on that side with a sharp stick, “and the selfless and constructive ones on the right.

“We have a very well-rounded squad. A Conduit, a Voider, a Chronicler, a Seer, a Builder, and… well, me. The farther from the center you go, of course, the more spiritual your Aspect becomes instead of staying grounded and physical. The good news is that few of the other teams I checked out are as varied, so we can plan our strategies around just a few niches.

“The bad news, though, is that I don’t know any of their Manifests. And those are as infinite as anyone can imagine. I tried to get close and overhear them but they realized I was there even without Essence. It seems like we are, no matter what happens, going to have to adapt our strategies during the fight. We also don’t know who we’re fighting first, so we’ll have to………”

Foil stopped listening. His chest hurt, a sharp pain blossoming under his right clavicle. He rubbed at it, but it became difficult to concentrate on anything other than the ache.

“...oil. Foil. FOIL!”

He refocused his eyes to see Cynthia’s hand on his shoulder and shouting in his ear. He blinked, the pain fading.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “What did you say?”

Cynthia’s eyes were worried. Cassian stood behind her, and the others averted their gaze.

“Our strategy, Foil. You said you had a plan at breakfast this morning before you ran off.”

“Right… Right. Yes.” Foil rubbed his chest again before squeezing his eyes closed. “I do have a plan. Here’s what we’ll do…”

**

The crowd roared as Foil and his team emerged from the underground tunnel. The small colosseum they occupied was one of the few external buildings allowed within 20 miles of the Academy’s campus, and one of the extremely few times students were allowed to leave its walls. Foil had tried escaping, for escaping was the only word to describe his attempt at freedom from “training”, many times, but had been foiled by supernatural security and surveillance. In the history of the Academy, only two students had ever breached its barriers and had done so together. The colosseum was connected via an open path to the Western segment of the clover-shaped campus but was nonetheless protected by charms and wards. Besides, any student traveling the few miles off-campus to the Colosseum was often enthralled by its presence and the opportunity for new scenery.

The colosseum was one of the largest buildings Foil had seen, a speckled marble and granite monstrosity fitting nearly 10,000 figures in its ascending, ovular benches. Every student of every year was present, of course, separated into boxes by year and guardians. Filling out the remaining seats were hundreds, if not thousands, of strangers. Several boxes were filled with older men and women wearing formal military uniforms, but others wore strange costumes and some seemed to not be human at all. Foil remembered his previous years as a spectator, but the scale of the event was far more daunting as a participant. A light breeze swirled around the stands and arena and brought with it the scent of sweat and dust.

From ten other tunnels leading underground that ringed the perimeter of the colosseum, the other Keyseeker teams entered the packed dirt center. Foil had to shield his eyes in the harsh light as they exited the short overhang protecting the tunnels from the sun. There were large stone circles marking each team’s ceremonial role in the carved archway that connected the circles. The design was a copy of the real archway in the Academy’s spire, a massive stone semicircle with eleven slots for Gate Keys. Once all were assembled and placed in their respective sockets, it was said, a true Gate would open and establish supremacy over every other Rift in Serulea. That would stabilize the dimensional tearing, end the war, and allow anyone to travel to another world at will. Collecting the Gate Keys was Foil’s sole goal, but he was not alone in searching for them. Keyseeker squads had been trained and sent out into Serulea by the Academy for decades.

Since the war against the Torvani began, Arkanite Keyseekers had managed to find and successfully claim only a single Key. The Key of the Melter was found three years before Foil was orphaned in Serulea and was kept under such intense security that few students ever got the chance to see it up close. The lack of Keyseeker success during Foil’s lifetime engendered a deep despair and resentment from the Academy’s elders, and each year they pushed the graduating cohort further and more dangerously. Today was one such example. Everyone had long tired of ceremonies and celebrations but the Academy faculty understood that if they did not dress up their trials and torture in competition and accolades, the students likely revolt.

In the very center of the arena stood four tall, ashen columns that marked the corners of an elevated stone square about 50 feet across. Inside the square stood a young man swallowed by a long, red cape that was several sizes too large for him. Nevertheless, the young man’s voice carried through the entire open space and quieted the thousands watching and cheering.

“FRIENDS! ESTEEMED COLLEAGUES! SCOUTS, GENERALS, AND EVILDOERS! I WELCOME YOU ALL TO THE ACADEMY’S KEYSEEKER SELECTION FIGHT!”

The crowd cheered, voices blending into an eldritch beast that jostled and throbbed with rage and excitement. It made Foil’s head ache, and as he looked at his squadmates he found that they, too, seemed uncomfortable. The announcer continued, booming voice echoing.

“EACH YEAR, WE CELEBRATE THE ELEVATION OF STUDENTS TO THAT OF KEYSEEKERS, WHERE THEY BURDEN THEMSELVES WITH THE GRUELING AND GLORIOUS TASK OF SAVING THE WORLD!

“WE HOPE THAT EVERY KEYSEEKER WILL BE SUCCESSFUL, BUT THERE ARE ALWAYS THOSE SPECIAL PRODIGIES, LIKE THE HERO ALKAMER!”

Alkamer was the Keyseeker who had found the Key of the Melter. He had lost his entire squad in the effort and soon after retired and disappeared. Nobody had heard from him in nearly two decades, and most assumed him dead.

The announcer continued this fashion for some time, praising the Academy and the Keyseekers and describing the enemies they were likely to soon meet. The tournament that Foil and his squad were taking part in was, in essence, an evaluation of sorts to determine whether their Assignment had been in vain. They were to compete in a double-elimination tournament from which a winner would be declared and favoritism conveyed. Foil’s Prime Keyseeker status would mean little if they did not win the competition; he had seen it happen in previous years to Prime Keyseekers who failed to perform after a few weeks with their team.

Eventually, the announcer finished his spiel. He called the first two Keyseeker teams from their platforms to stand facing each other in the center square. Foil’s team was not first, which awarded him the chance to see his future opponents in action. The rules of tournament combat were strict: no weapons were allowed, nor were participants allowed to kill or maim. Victory for each match could only be achieved by pushing all opponents off or out of the center stone square. Additionally, only three fighters from each squad took part in each match. Of the 11 Keyseeker squads formed from the Assignment, Foil’s was by far the largest with six members; most had four or less, and one was made up of a single pair. Unfortunately, their advantage was little consolation to Foil. Cynthia, though trained and determined, was nearly useless in a combat between Blesseds. Perrin, too, was debilitated by the prohibition of weaponry. If he were allowed to bring any iron, or even the wasted metal shavings he kept in his pockets, he would be a powerful combatant.

Thus, Foil had only four real candidates from which to choose for each match. As he watched the first two squads begin battling in the arena, he thought about his options. He wasn’t able to glean anything from his observations, however, and his trepidation grew. Soon though the match ended decisively, with one team claiming victory without losing a single member, and Foil’s team was called to action.

“OUR PRIME KEYSEEKERS, EVERYONE!” the announcer introduced. His voice had become noticeably hoarse after nearly an hour of yelling. “VERSUS THE SCRAPPY UNDERDOGS: EXPEDITIOUS SERENITY!”

Foil groaned. They figured out a good name, he complained to himself. Their team probably didn’t waste weeks arguing and complaining, either.

Cassian and Frayle stepped forward on either side, and Foil joined between them. Aleksandra was a skilled fighter, probably the most capable of winning a street brawl of any of them, but Foil was worried about her willingness to follow the tournament rules. Her illusory knives would also be less helpful when their opponents knew no real knives would be forthcoming. There was, in reality, little choice; the three competing in the day’s matches would be the Conduit, the Chronicler, and the Seer.

The announcer continued to drone on, but Foil’s vision had already narrowed. On the other side of the stone square were three unassuming members of the squad that had dubbed themselves the Glory of Serulea. Two women marked the left and right flanks, both thin in the face, with long, black hair and almond-shaped eyes. They seemed at ease, though one was wearing thick padded armor while the other wore thin, unrestrictive cloth. The man in the center was almost assuredly their captain. He had dark black skin, a fully shaved head, and was baring his bright white teeth maliciously. Foil had seen the man and the armored girl before, training in the sparring yard in recent weeks. They were experienced and capable, and, worse, they were unarrogant.

The proceedings finished while Foil was observing his opponents, and with a loud crack the firework erupted from the announcer’s finger to signal the start of battle. Foil didn’t hesitate. He rushed straight towards the captain, ignoring completely the two women who had dodged away when they saw his approach. Foil flung off his left glove and tossed it into the air as he ran, hoping to draw the boy’s eye. It didn’t work, and as Foil thrust his exposed hand forward the boy (whose name Foil remembered was Rook) stepped off his right foot to turn his body without moving backwards and caught Foil’s wrist with his hand. He had avoided letting Foil touch him with his fingers, but his wariness distracted him. Foil pulled backwards, and when Rook did not let go of his wrist, bent his knees and dropped using him as a counterweight. Before the boy could let him go, Foil snapped his hips and delivered a heavy kick directly into his exposed knee.

Rook grunted, letting go of Foil and limping backwards. Foil pressed his advantage, delivering jabs and feints with his left hand and following through with his right. Rook quickly caught on the pattern, ignored Foil’s outstretched hand and connected with a jarring hook to Foil’s cheek. His vision blurred for a moment, but with his un-gloved hand he managed to grab Rook’s forearm. The larger boy reacted immediately, trying to jump away and disengage. Foil didn’t let him and instead purposefully allowed Rook to pull him off balance in order to entangle himself in Rook’s arms. The two boys grappled before falling to the ground. Rook was on top, but Foil didn’t care. He wrapped his legs around his foe and began channeling Essence.

Foil was a Conduit. The most selfish Aspect. The most destructive Aspect. The most evil Aspect, hated by all. He avoided using his abilities whenever possible because he hated them, too. But he swore he would never lose a fight again, and he swore that he would do anything to find the Gate Keys. Foil’s Essence poured into Rook through his open hand against Rook’s dark shoulder, emanating a soft, golden glow. Rook’s eyes took on a panicked look, and he channeled Essence in defense. Rook was probably a Defender, or some other physical Aspect that required him to fight “fair” in order to get the most of his abilities. The poor kid didn’t seem like he could even Manifest.

Too late. Rook’s Essence began draining out of his body, captured and conquered by Foil’s overwhelming will. As Rook became weaker Foil grew in strength, multiplying the energy he stole. He couldn’t transform his pilfered energy into his own, but he was able to keep it within his body, swirling and emboldening him. He could use stolen Essence to Manifest, to enhance his body, and to accelerate his natural healing. The only thing he could not do with someone else’s Essence was absorb it completely or integrate it into his soul. But he didn’t need to, especially not today.

Rook was punching him, slamming his fist down on Foil’s face and trying to break his nose while trying with his other hand to rip Foil’s fingers off of him. But he had already become weak. So weak. And Foil had become so strong. It felt so good to be strong. He laughed, a delirious cackle. Soon Rook lost consciousness, and Foil uncrossed his legs to let the boy slide off of him. He turned to the watching crowd, hoping for cheers, but he was unsurprised by the looks of horror that awaited him. He shrugged dramatically. It didn’t matter what these weaklings thought. He finished his slow, triumphant spin to see Cassian fall to a knee, breathing heavily. Frayle was exchanging rapid, shallow chops and punches with the lightly clothed girl. Neither looked particularly injured or tired.

Foil was so fast, now, with Rook’s Essence supplementing his own. He burned a great deal moving behind the girl about to strike down Cassian. She was wounded, her armor rended and her right arm dislocated. Cassian had done a good job, giving at least as much as he got. As the girl swung down on the defeated Cassian, Foil caught her hand in his left hand. She turned in horror as she felt Foil’s Essence consume and capture hers. It was easier this time. And would be even easier the third time. Foil licked his lips in anticipation. The girl’s Essence tasted different from Rook’s; she was probably an Amplifier who boosted her own strength. Cassian would not have lost otherwise. She may have even posed a threat to Foil. But she dropped like Rook, sliding to the ground, unconscious.

Foil barely felt the ground underneath his feet, but as he looked down he could see that he was leaving cracks in the tile from the force of his steps. The girl clothed in ribbons felt him coming, or Saw him, and whipped around to jab her fingers towards his eyes. Frayle didn’t lose a moment, and punched her in the midsection from behind. She stumbled, and that was all it took for Foil to envelop her in a bear hug that left her breathless. He didn’t need to take her Essence, but he did anyway. She put up the strongest fight; she had a fierce will that took longer to overcome. But Foil was so much stronger. It wasn’t a fair fight, and soon she, too, fell asleep.

Foil had a difficult time letting her go. He wanted to drink more of her Essence. But he felt Frayle and Cassian standing near him and something in their aura told him they wouldn’t countenance his avarice. He opened his arms to let her fall and turned with arms wide.

“We won!” he yelled. He felt amazing.

Cassian’s nose was bleeding, and Frayle was breathing heavily. Neither looked particularly pleased, but that was all right. Foil would celebrate for both of them. Foil lifted his hands into the air and launched two large bursts of golden Essence from his palms. He Manifested enough energy to burn through all of the energy he stole from Rook, but he kept what he had taken from the two girls.

The crowd, disgusted and horrified, was somewhat mollified by Foil’s fireworks. He even earned a few half-hearted cheers among the gasps of awe. The announcer was similarly speechless, but found his voice eventually.

“AND THE WINNERS: SQUAD C4R08! Congratulations!”

Congratulations, indeed.