No Sense of Time

The sound of cheers flooded through the open window. Triti’s eyes shot open. She jumped out of bed with a speed that sent her blanket flying. The sudden motion set her head spinning. It took a moment while her eyes adjusted before she could confirm her assumption. She was the only one in the room. 

The magic hearth’s crackling cold flames filled the room with a flickering blue light. Several of the six fur-lined beds and matching armchairs had been pushed up against the walls to make room for dancing and sparring the night before. Snow-white tapestries, each with her team’s stylized violet dragon on the front, hung across the walls. Empty food boxes from The Seven Sisters and bags from the Monolith Fan and Fare were scattered across the floor. 

More cheers and the waft of fresh night air drifting through the window pulled her mind back to the fact that she had, once again, slept in. Royal had told her time and again that her abnormal relationship with time would come back to bite her sooner or later. Had he left her behind as punishment? It was hardly her fault that she comprehended time better than that scaly bowman. She understood time and it understood her. That’s just the way it was. Triti’s bare feet slapped against the room’s dark wood floor as she dug through the detritus of the night’s festivities to find her gear. 

It only took her a few minutes to slip into her midnight blue tunic over a padded leather chest piece and a set of midnight black trousers. She breathed a sigh of relief when, groping around her neck, she found her finger-length onyx hourglass still dangling on its thin golden chain. It was unlikely for a cleric to lose her focus, but it was also unlikely that she would be stupid enough to oversleep on the day of her event. She shook the thought from her head and thumbed her focus. With her hourglass in hand, the worries of punctuality slipped from her mind. She had plenty of time. 

Barely three minutes after her abrupt wake up, Triti had crawled out of her team’s one-person tent and was strolling leisurely across the Fields of Splendor. There were hundreds of tents and wagons like hers filling her view of the horizon, each enchanted to be large as a great hall within. Royal’s voice echoed in her head again, inquiring about her walking speed, but she waved him away again. Time was with her. She continued her easy trot through the avenues and lanes between the crammed temporary shelters and straight towards the sound of cheering that had woken her. A monstrous roar filled the air, followed by exuberant cheers. The events were in full swing.

At peace with the fact she was over half an hour late, Triti turned her eyes up to the glowing constellations and slowly spinning planets which crowded the night sky above. She had yet to adjust to the endless night within the interplanar nexus. Sun-deprivation had somehow not been a problem but it still felt…odd. Star-filled space, naked and exposed, hung over her head, as if there was no atmosphere between her and the void. As a time cleric, she knew space was like a sibling to time - interwoven and interdependent...still, she would be glad to return to the sun-dappled trails of Kora when this was all over, where there was a more sensible distance between her and the stars above. 

Bursts of flame and flashes of lightning split the night sky above the arena. The current bout was heating up. It was not magic any of her teammates used, which meant she was still not technically late. She did not walk any faster, but she focused her attention on the road ahead.

The town around the gargantuan stone complex blocked much of her view, but she could still make out the towering tree of white marble which wound through the arena’s walls and rose high above it. The tree was a vivid white silhouette against the starry sky, its crimson leaves catching the starlight. She gave an involuntary shudder at the sight. She hoped to avoid the tree, if possible. A trip inside would mean she’d suffered an injury serious enough to require the medical intervention of the arena’s Chrono Clerics. She respected the order’s devotion to the healing magic time could empower, but the idea of so much backtracking going on in one room made her nauseous. 

It was another ten minutes before Triti reached the town proper. White brick buildings with red-shingled roofs lined either side of the cobblestone thoroughfare. Each one sported banners and insignias of favored teams, creatures, or both. Her heart soared at the sight of several flags displaying a glittering violet dragon’s outline over a snow-white field. They were rooting for the Cosmic Dragons. They were rooting for her. 

As the feeling of pride bloomed so strongly she felt it might bring her to tears, a sudden flare of sapphire light burst over her field of vision. It was barely an instant, hardly any time at all, but when the light receded, she had lost all track of her location. 

She was looking at the same Cosmic Dragon banner, although it was hardly recognizable. Rather than seeing it across the cobbled street, she was looking at it from over a mile away, the violet dragon a mere smudge in the distance. Had she just…teleported? She looked around her to find the arena no longer on the horizon, but instead behind her, looming no more than an arm’s length away. Triti now stood below the eaves of the competitor’s entrance. Her magic had done mysterious things in the past, but this was beyond her. She had heard the Aides talking about the many strange ways space folded and pinched within the nexus - perhaps this is what they meant.

The sudden shift in spacetime dispelled her confidence, and the newfound anxiety led her to quicken her pace. There wasn’t a soul around to see her break into a run. Triti thought the emptiness in the halls was proof that her luck might be turning back up, before taking a tight turn and crashing into a tall figure. She bounced off of the stranger and landed unceremoniously on her rear. Her fall was accompanied by a number of small vials crashing down around her, splashing little puddles of liquid around her legs and feet. 

She looked up to find the source of her sudden spill, expecting a stone-muscled giant. Instead, she found a tall, thin, bald woman in a floor length green robe, carrying a recently-emptied carrying case. The woman had dark black skin and prominent cheekbones, which were lifted in a playful grin. 

“Oh my,” the woman’s voice was clear and bright, “if it isn’t another godless cleric. The pacifist as well, if I'm not mistaken. Which I'm not. An odd choice for competing in the Arena, wouldn’t you say?” Her tone was warm and curious. Triti felt like she was speaking to an old friend, a familiar face in an unfamiliar place. The kind woman looked to be wearing a crown of flowers, but when Triti looked closer, she saw there were dozens of cut plant stalks somehow balanced over the woman’s ears. They looked like a nebula floating around this woman’s face, deep violets with specks of flickering white and gold. Triti thought she saw a shooting star pass from the mouth of one flower to another.

Triti shook her head and gently probed at the scales of her cap, which ran from her forehead to the nape of her neck. They were uninjured, despite the force of her fall. She was still shocked at how solid the woman was. Though several heads taller than Triti, even when the cleric wasn’t splayed on her ass, the statuesque woman was wiry. She stood with a kind of bony strength, reminding Triti of the knotted trees that she would climb as a child. 

“Sorry, do we know each other?” Triti asked, her head still ringing. She wanted to be more skeptical, but it took most of her focus to stop the room spinning. 

“Ah,” the woman flapped her free hand, her smile holding fast, “how rude of me. No, we do not.” The woman lowered her hand to lift Triti up to her feet. “I am Amaris, apothecary absolute. I run the Materia Medica, to the North of the Arena.”

“Ah, I see. Nice to meet you, Amaris.” Triti brushed herself off. She had heard of the Medica, the dedicated potion shop in the Arena town. “I am terribly sorry about your potions…” she looked down at the mess of broken glass beneath them and trailed off. The smell of freshly-picked mint and lemon juice filled her nose. 

“Oh, do not worry about that, dear. There are always more to be made,” Amaris touched absent-mindedly at the crown of flowers on her head, her fingers catching on one of the thicker petals. 

Neither of them spoke for several seconds. Another burst of applause from the arena pulled Triti back to reality. “It seems you are late,” Amaris observed. 

“It’s what I get for not staying at the Sapling,” Triti noted. The smell of mint and lemon had changed, transformed to citrus and allspice. 

“I always preferred the Fields of Splendor,” Amaris replied with a warm smile, “they feel more…homey.” She seemed to float in her memories for a moment. 

“Did you used to--” Triti began to ask, but Amaris interrupted her.

“Right! You must be going,” Amaris propped her carrying case on her hip and whistled a sharp note to the mess on the floor. The shards of glass and puddles pulled together into a small vortex and flew into the potion-makers case. She then reached her free hand into a fold of her dress, pulled her closed fist out of her pocket, and offered it to Triti. She opened her palm to reveal a small, crystal vial. There was vibrant violet liquid within that appeared to regularly vanish and reappear as it swirled in its vial. “Please take this as an apology for making you late.” 

Triti attempted to respond several times, but Amaris briskly turned on her heel and departed down an alley away from the arena. She felt a pang of loss as the smell of spices faded. It was only several blocks later that she realized she had not asked Amaris what the potion does.

Her thoughts remained jumbled all the way into the arena proper, the labyrinthine hallways of the competitor’s area blending together in her mind’s eye. The banners on the wall waved at her without wind, the gentle flapping echoing around her as she hurried past, finally breaking into a light jog. Was she still on time? 

Four enormous stone archways finally resolved out of the darkness, outlined by warm lanterns on either side of each arch. Triti stepped through one of the towering arch entryways and continued to jog down the stone corridor. She passed several Menagerie Aides in dark violet and blue robes, who paid her no mind as they went about their work hauling crates, sweeping floors, and moving armory stock from one space to another. 

Her steps echoed through the halls, as her pace slowed back down to a walk. Several turns, accompanied by more than a few apologies to Menagerie Aides she bumped into while gawking at the nebulae within the lanterns, and she arrived. In front of her was a simple wooden door with a violet dragon on its surface. 

She stepped straight through the facade of the door, into the portal behind it, to find a bright summer meadow. Several towering trees dotted the emerald green field before her, the same trees from Kora that the apothecary reminded her of. A cool, fresh breeze blew across her face as she stepped into the extradimensional space, and it carried with it the sound of clashing weapons. She saw the source a few yards away, where her teammates warmed up in a clearing ringed by weapon racks and practice dummies. 

Huinos and Theria, gold dragonborn twins, sparred with one another, eyes narrowed and teeth gritted. Huinos, his chest bare and covered in ruby-red runic tattoos, swung his battleaxe in wide, practiced arcs. His sister blocked his blows with the pauldrons of her burnt-gold plate armor. Several feet away stood her remaining companions, Bitty and Royal. Bitty, small even by gnome standards, thumbed through her spellbook, a look of tight concentration plastered on her face. Royal loosed arrows into nearby target dummies, each one producing a loud thwack as it hit. The tiefling had painted his horns the same gold as Theria’s armor.

“I told you she’d be late,” Royal said as Triti stepped into the practice clearing. The midnight blue scales across his arms and neck shone under the artificial sunlight. 

“You would think a cleric of time would have a better sense of…well, time,” Bitty remarked, her nose still buried in the pages in her spellbook. A bandy-legged spider, Bitty’s familiar, crawled across the page.

“What do you mean? I am here as time dictated I should be,” Triti tried a confident smile, but it faltered at the looks she received in response. “Plus,” she added in a sheepish whisper, “I forgot to set an alarm.” 

“Poor memory too,” Bitty added, hearing Triti clearly. 

“Well, I’m here now,” Triti said, “when do we go on?” 

“Maestro pushed our fight back,” Theria spoke up, her words staggered as she dodged her dogged brother’s blows, “and they didn’t think we should fight without a cleric.” 

“And do we know what we’re facing?” Triti asked.

“We don’t learn that until we’re on the field, remember,” Royal said, stowing his bow and collecting several more arrows from one of the weapon racks. “Have everything you need?” He spoke to the cleric without looking at her.

She nodded with a confidence she did not feel. Her ranger friend stayed quiet as he stepped over to an armorless mannequin and pulled a dragon-scale shield from behind it. He raised an eyebrow at Triti, finally meeting her eye as he raised the shield into the air. 

“Oh,” she could feel her cheeks fill with blood, “yeah.” She sheepishly took the shield from him, stowed it on her back, and checked her gear once more for good measure. Her eyes lingered on a small mace hanging on a weapon rack. She turned back to her teammate and caught him watching her staring. He turned away without a word. Royal knew she would not pick up a weapon, even if her life depended on it. And he would never ask her to. 

Her hand brushed against the vial Amaris had given her, tucked safe in her trousers pocket. 

“Can we have potions for this one?” she asked no one in particular.

“One each,” Bitty squeaked. 

Triti nodded and stowed the vial. Worth a shot, even without knowing what it did. 

Eventually, Theria and Huinos finished sparring, Royal quit scrutinizing Triti’s gear, and Bitty stopped fussing over her prepared spells. They discussed maneuvers only briefly; there was only so much preparation you could do when the enemy, scenario, and battlefield remained a mystery. 

The conversation veered away from the impending bout. Bitty planned to adopt a fae cat from the Peculiar Pastures shop. Hunios insisted he had seen a spectator dressed exactly like him. Theria shed tears laughing at the idea. Royal brooded.

Triti could feel the nerves winding through her companions, thick and foreboding. Even Royal, always stoic and well-prepared, shifted from one foot to the other. She understood. There was so much riding on their victories in the coming days. This was only the first. They had to win, or be turned away, empty-handed. Other groups stood to lose gold or reputation, but her team stood to lose it all. 

The anxious fog was disrupted by a Menagerie aide, a massive cloud giant with snowy eyes the size of saucers, calling from the doorway. 

“I am to escort you up top. You fight in five.” The giant’s wide, pale-blue face nearly filled the doorway. It would have seemed silly, if the situation were not still so fraught with tension.

Royal cleared his throat. They had never had an official conversation about a team leader, but the rest of them gravitated to Royal, in one way or another. He fit the part well enough. Plus, the ranger had spent so many years out on his own in the wild, he had a way with language that felt resourceful, without waste. As someone whose timing with words was always off, she appreciated this quality in him. 

“We can do this. Stay smart. Stay together. You know why we’re here. Don’t get captured. Yaelen needs us.” He looked at each of them for a moment in turn. There were no jabs at his sentimentality. Yaelen’s name hung leaden in the air. Triti still felt her sudden absence like the loss of a blazing torch in the dead of night. They nodded as one and turned to follow the cloud giant to the arena.

Triti and her team were greeted by a dull, formless roar as they entered the tunnel to the arena. The cloud giant aide loped forward at a steady pace, forcing them to walk briskly to keep up. Triti found herself marveling at the grand size of the arena. Any city on her home plane, Kora, and the giant would be three times the size of a typical building. Yet here he could have sat on the shoulders of another giant and walked three giants wide and they still would have fit in the arena’s massive stone halls. A group of bloody and combat-weary combatants limped past them in the opposite direction as they marched up the ramp to the battlefield. Sections of their armor and clothing had been burnt away, revealing skin bearing the tell-tale burns and scars of a hard-fought battle in the Menagerie Arena.

The haggard group was trailed by several white- and gold-robed clerics, worrying after the combatant’s wounds with minor healing spells which flared white in the hall’s warm light. Each cleric wore an hourglass symbol somewhere on their person. Cloudius’ Chrono Clerics. She wondered if Maharacus had every time cleric in the multiverse at the Menagerie. How many faithful could possibly be devoted to lost gods?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the aide coming to an abrupt stop and waving them forward into the light. He muttered something that might have been well-wishes before heading back down the tunnel into the arena corridors.

The burst of light and sound as they stepped through the arena entrance nearly knocked them back onto the sweeping, dirt floor they now stood on. The arena was in full swing.

Tens of thousands of spectators hollered, jeered, and booed at everything at once. Splashes of color from brilliant banners and bursting fireworks filled the crowd in with blurry patches, looking like so much watery paint in the distant canvas. The arena’s seats rose at a steep angle, providing each spectator a clear view of the sprawling battlefield. The marble white tree of Cloudius’ Chrono Clerics wound in and out of the opposite end of the arena’s stone walls. The tree’s canopy leaned precariously far, as if the towering structure would fall into the center of the arena at any moment. The arena floor stretched on for what felt like miles. Funny what spatial magic can do for a few hundred yards of dirt, Triti thought with a giddy smile. Teams of spellcasters worked together to create illusions of fearsome krakens and armored dragon turtles for the spectator’s enjoyment in between bouts.

“Look!” Bitty yelled over the roar of onlookers, “I think that group up there is wearing our colors!” Triti glanced in the direction the wizard was pointing, but couldn’t see anyone past the lights. Dozens, if not hundreds, of teams competed in the arena throughout the week, and Triti’s team were new to the event. She doubted she’d see their colors, let alone audience members dressing as them, like Huinos had boasted. Only the most famous adventurers got that sort of attention.

Triti looked around for Maharacus, but there was no sign of the host. She had heard legend upon legend about the mysterious Maestro, ever since her team arrived days prior, but each seemed less plausible than the last: they were a bored god looking for something to do; a powerful djinni fulfilling an errant wish for the rest of eternity; an aspect of the cosmic couatl. Whatever they were, she had only seen them from a distance, and never in the same body twice. She was already engrossed in her own philosophical debate regarding space and time, she did not have the brain space to deal with the Maestro’s brand of mysterious trickery.

“The team before us fought a fire breather. Probably a dragon,” Royal noted, “I doubt The Maestro would pull the same trick twice in a row. So no fire.” Triti breathed a sigh of relief, though the dragonborn twins looked put out. We’re not all so thick-skinned, she thought.

The team crossed the flat arena floor to a continued mixture of cheers, though Triti had a hard time making out whether they were for her team or the competition. It was not uncommon for spectators to root for unknown teams like hers. Glancing around at her companions, it was clear that none of them cared who the cheers were for. Their minds were focused on the win. On Yaelen.

The plain dirt floor of the arena gave no clues as to what terrain they might find themselves in. From the opposite side of the field her team had entered from, Triti saw another tunnel open at the edge of the field. A group of competitors entered. Their opponents.

At their lead was a hulking rhonine with a horn as thick as Triti’s arm jutting above the nostrils at the end of their long face. They wore nothing but a simple set of trousers and leather boots. They don’t really need armor, she thought. Their thick, gray hide was better than any leather padding. A wicked-looking greataxe was strapped to their back. Though the rhonine wore a look of careful neutrality, the weapon oozed violence.

The rhonine was flanked by two slim figures, a half-orc wearing simple wraps around his lean, well-muscled form, and a seedy-looking human with greasy black hair and hard eyes. Only the latter was armed, and he only wore a belt of daggers across his narrow chest. To his right walked an ancient-looking lavender tiefling in forest-green robes. She seemed to shudder with every step she took. Her glazed eyes glanced around the audience as if they were not there. Triti wondered if there were only four of them. It was not unlike Maharacus to force uneven numbered groups to battle it out, but the newcomers were soon joined by a scalene dressed in sky-blue robes with black trim.

Unlike the midnight blue and dark violet of Triti’s scales, the robed woman’s scales were burnt orange, like sunsets back home. It was not uncommon to see other scalene, but Triti still enjoyed the novelty of it. While they may have come here from different planes, the sight of the light on the woman’s cap reminded Triti of her family.

The two teams stared at each other across the empty field, sizing each other up. Triti knew the twins were fixated on the rhonine’s sharpened horn. Some people were never taught not to stare. Bitty was uninterested, whispering to her spider as she let it tumble between her hands. Royal, on the other hand, stared ahead with unabated interest. His bowstring hand tapped against his thigh so loud that Triti could hear it over the audience. She had seen him like that before. He was mapping out the ways he thought the fight would go. Trying to prepare contingencies, always ready for every possibility. Triti appreciated that about him.

A chorus of cheers erupted from the crowd as a burst of stardust broke from the night sky and shot like a comet onto the battlefield. Just before it smashed into the ground, the shimmering chunk of sparkling rose-colored dust flicked back up into a rapid spin, forming a blur of spinning, twinkling grains. The vortex spun up, growing larger and spinning faster, until it dissolved into a golden-skinned halfling with flowing black hair. Their soft face was speckled with small curls of silver and red glitter. They wore a sheer, star-dotted black cloak made of an impossibly dark crushed velvet. The crowd exploded in uncontrolled elation. Even Triti found herself agog at the spectacle. She expected nothing less from the mysterious Maestro of Ceremonies.

Maharacus’ gaze fell to the crowd and then to each of the teams in turn. Her teammates stiffened as the their piercing eyes fell upon them. The team had waited for this moment for a long time.

“My friends,” Maharacus began, their melodious voice carrying across the arena with magical ease, “it is my pleasure to be here with you once again, to introduce our next two teams of competitors!”

Triti could hear Royal mumbling as the Maestro dragged their words out.

“Just get on with it,” Royal mumbled. As if hearing her impatient leader, Maharacus continued.

“Today we are lucky to greet two teams from the same plane of existence, the sun-filled lands of Kora! On one side, known for their slaying of the were-vampire, Oregamos: the Cosmic Dragons!” A smattering of cheers and booes followed. She flinched at the mention of Oregamos. They had killed the bastard, but at a great cost. “And on the other side,” Maharacus continued, “known for their triumph over the stone giant monarchs, Renault and Phaesa: the Fangs of Chaos!” A clear roar rose from the crowd, which told Triti everything she needed to know about which team was favored. She was not surprised. She had heard of the stone giant king and queen, known for swooping down on enemies atop screeching rocs.

“I will hold you back no longer, my fellows in the stellar frequency. Let us proceed to the proceedings!” With a sweep of the Maestro’s arm, the teams were gently buffeted by waves of stardust, ushering them to the outer edges of the arena, as Maharacus twirled on the spot, once more crumbling into stardust and disappearing into the air. Royal’s eyes took on a determined look. This is what he had been waiting for. She could feel their time slipping through her fingers. Once this began, there would be no turning back.

With the arena floor cleared, the burst of stardust that was Maharacus wound its way across the vast space, as if caught up in a tumultuous burst of wind. The ground rumbled and began to rise in uneven patches, from one end of the battlefield to the other. The stone-and-dirt floor churned up from within into dark soil and soft grass as the field rolled off sheets of dirt, leaving behind slowly rising hills on the outer edges of the arena.

In the center of the arena, from beneath the upturned dirt, rose a hundred-foot high craggy rock. It looked as if someone had cut the top off of a mountain and dropped it into the middle of the arena. Another wave of stardust floated like a flying carpet over the arena, this time dropping thick blankets of snow behind it. Triti began to shiver as the temperature plummeted.

“Definitely not fire…” Bitty muttered to the spider on her shoulder.

If Royal looked annoyed, then Huinos and Theria looked downright apoplectic. The twins exchanged annoyed glances, wringing their hands. They had never favored the cold. Triti attempted to gauge the reactions of the Fangs of Chaos, but they were hidden behind the now-snowy mountain peak and sheets of thick, arctic winds.

Unlike her team, the crowd did not seem disheartened by the cold. Sellers ran across the stands offering thick woolen jackets and warming charms as the spectators’ cheers grew so loud that Bitty plugged a tiny finger into each of her ears.

“Today, we shall witness: Mountain Monarch!” Maharacus yelled from high above, once more in the form of the dark-haired halfling. “Our combatants must make it to the mountain peak and hold their position for 30 consecutive seconds. If an opponent should make it to the peak with them, then the timer freezes until one team stands alone! Of course, the opposing team will not be the only obstacle, as fearsome creatures may make an appearance! We shall wait not a moment longer. Teams, to your places!”

One of the aides next to Triti stamped her staff on the ground and an illusory red square appeared on the frosty ground several yards in front of them.

Triti’s team huddled in the red square as an illusory hourglass appeared in the night sky above the mountain’s peak. Golden grains of sand within began to countdown.

“Okay,” Royal said, lowering his voice, though the continued shouts from the crowd made the secrecy unnecessary, “I did some digging last night. The Blades of Chaos have won two of these arena battles already. They know the game, but we we won’t be playing to their strengths.” Triti felt the seconds tick by. Tick. Tick. Tick. A quarter of the sand had fallen. The scales along Royal's arms reflected blue and violet light from the magical starry sky above the arena. “Theria and Huinos, ignore the rhonine,” The twins looked aghast, “your weapons will bounce right off their hide. Bitty, your spells will get through with no problem. You handle the tank.” Bitty nodded slowly, still whispering to her spider. “You two,” Royal said to the dragonborn twins, “you’re on literally everyone else. Cause chaos.” The twins gave him wicked grins, egos soothed. Tick. Tick. Tick. A little over half of the sand left. Triti felt the timer running down, each grain of sand building a weight on her shoulders. “I’ll focus on problems. Triti, same as always. Slow ‘em down and keep us safe.” She nodded and tightened the straps of the dragon-scaled shield on her forearm. The last of the sand was falling. “For Yaelen,” he added in a whisper.

She thumbed her hourglass in hand and whispered a prayer to the lost gods of time. She had never heard an answer, but this time she swore the sand falling through her magic focus slowed, almost imperceptibly. She could not be sure.

The illusory hourglass above the mountain shattered in an explosion of stardust, and a blaring horn erupted across the stadium. The game had begun.

Triti whispered a quick prayer and spun the hourglass in her hand, creating a shimmering shield of light around Huinos. Her dragonborn teammate grunted his thanks and darted off the starting square, joined by his sister. Royal nocked an arrow in his bow and sped off around the opposite side of the mountain, followed by Bitty, who had conjured a barrier of force around herself.

Icy snow crunched underneath Triti’s boots as she set off after her teammates. The sounds from the crowd were dampened within the bounds of the battlefield. She could only hear the sound of her pulse pounding in her ears. She felt her awareness amplify as the adrenaline shot through her body, the straps on her shield biting the skin on her arm, the muscles in her legs pumping as she ran after the twins. Bitty and Royal could handle themselves without help, but the twins would leap into the first fight they found. If Triti was there when that happened, their chances of surviving were dramatically improved.

The air in front of her face split as a steel dagger missed her nose by mere inches. She did not wait to see where it came from before throwing herself to the ground, dodging two more daggers that flew into the space her body had just occupied. She looked up from the snow to see the greasy-haired human flash her a wicked grin. They drew a long, thin rapier from the bowels of their cloak and flicked another dagger into the other hand, advancing on Triti’s prone form. She could hear the twins’ battlecries from atop the rocky mountain peak ahead of her. She was alone.

The rogue rushed forward, flinging the dagger from their offhand before side-stepping into a tear of spatial magic and vanishing. Triti lifted her shield against the dagger, deflecting it just as the rogue emerged from a spatial tear identical to the first behind her.

She cried out as the rapier’s point slipped into her padded leather and bit into her back. She barely held the magic maintaining Huinos’ shield together as the rapier came away, dripping dark blood into the snow below.

Triti shouted out again, but this time she weaved magic into the cry.

“Grovel!” Her command shot out with enough force to push the falling snow away from her face. The rogue’s eyes glazed over as they fell prone to the ground.

She was able to put a single pass of healing magic over the wound in her back before the rogue shot up again, crystals of snow and ice sticking in the lank hair covering their face. Indignation shone bright red on their face as they leapt from the ground towards Triti. She moved in time with them, backpedaling, leading them towards the mountain ahead. The sounds of battle grew closer. She knew it would be mere moments before she or her assailant received backup. The rogue vanished once more, reappearing behind her again, but this time she was ready. She dove out of the way and broke into a full sprint towards the mountaintop.

Triti prayed to any gods that were listening that the rogue, whose padded footsteps she could hear trailing behind her, had run out of daggers to throw. Her legs began to burn with the effort of keeping ahead of the nimble assailant. Her body still ached from the sudden start to her morning, but the memory brought an idea to mind.

She drew Amaris’ bottle from her pocket, ripped out the stopper, and quaffed the contents in one gulp. The pleasant taste of hibiscus and sage was followed by a sudden and pressing urge to…jump? She surrendered to the instinct, pushing off from an outcropping of rock and leaping towards a rise in the path ahead.

The moment she hit open space, Triti vanished through a tear in the empty air and landed at the top of the rise she’d been aiming for, a good thirty feet ahead of where she had started. She turned back, the exhilaration stopping her still for a moment, to see the rogue staring at her, slack-jawed in confusion. Triti waved at them before turning and taking off up the side of the mountain.

Triti took advantage of her new ability, which she could feel draining from her with each use. She teleported from one jutting rock to the next with no real plan, relying on there being another ledge, another outcropping to climb to. She could hear the sounds of harrowing battle growing closer above her. The rogue had long since vanished in the blowing haze of snow below. When the potion wore off, she scraped her hands raw clambering up and over the remaining 50 feet of the cliff face.

Triti stood up from the cliff edge, her muscles trembling with exhaustion as she lifted her head to survey her surroundings. A sudden wave of biting frost lit up the side of her body, her spent muscles flaring white-hot. The cleric knocked frost from her shield and turned to see the ancient tiefling standing ahead of her, teeth gritted in concentration. A thin snake of ice wound its way around the druid’s notched wooden staff. Bitty lay motionless on the opposite edge of the plateau. A roar of anger split the chill air as Huinos leapt from beyond the cliff edge under Bitty, swinging his glowing gold battleaxe in a massive arc.

“Get to Bitty!” Huinos yelled, as he lunged for the druid. His weapon left a trail of sparkling gold light with every swing. He still shone with the thin shield of magic around him. Triti grinned. And Royal said she couldn’t concentrate.

Triti dashed to Bitty’s side of the plateau, murmuring a prayer and twisting her hourglass, weaving a burst of life magic through her companion. Bitty gasped and tottered to her feet.

“Where are Royal and Theria?” Triti yelled over the sound of Huinos crashing through the druid’s walls of ice.

“Theria is down,” Bitty flicked her hand out and her spider familiar unfurled from her sleeve, rolling her spellbook out with it to hover in the air before the small wizard. Huinos let out a fierce growl as the old druid dodged another swing of his axe. The tiefling smiled as she conjured a jagged knife of ice and hurled it at her opponent. It missed Huinos’ body, but exploded into a dozen sharp icicles that pierced the protection Triti had placed around him, and he fell to one knee. The druid moved to push her advantage, but caught three of bolts of magical flame in the face and chest for her effort. Bitty moved up to stand beside her dragonborn teammate, another bolt of flame in hand, as he rose to his feet. “She took two of them with her, though,” Bitty added with a smile. The concentration on Huinos’s gave way to a fierce, toothy grin of satisfaction. The old druid’s face fell.

“What about-” Triti was cut off as a dark shape flew down on her from above. She jumped to avoid the falling shape, only to regret her choice when she caught sight of the crumpled form which had landed nearby. Royal’s body was limp, covered in blood and bruises. His bow was missing. The scales on his arms were dull, lightless. Two more shapes flew up from over the side of the cliff, and the rhonine and rogue landed behind Royal. The rogue looked worse for wear, but the rhonine looked untouched. They grinned at the fallen form of her ranger companion and then up at Triti and her remaining teammates.

The battle came to a halt. Each team was down to three combatants, though Triti’s antipathy for violence made her ability to contribute limited. She knew that Bitty and Huinos would have to fight twice as hard…if only she could get to Royal and heal him. The rhonine must have caught her glances at the fallen ranger, as they placed a heavy boot in front of her friend’s twisted form.

A cold wind sent shivers down Triti’s spine. She was suddenly aware again of the enormous crowd at the edges of the battle...watching, each spectator a little god, casting judgment from their safe place, far away on high. Huinos cracked his knuckles, the sound bringing Triti back to the present moment. She steeled herself. The rogue drew a dagger. Bitty whispered to her spider, once more at her shoulder. The druid eyed Bitty like prey.

Then, Maharacus laughed. A long, echoing cackle which came from everywhere at once.

A glowing halo of light cut a hole in the night sky above them. The ring seemed to be a window into a world of frosty plains and frigid ice. Visible gusts of biting cold blew through the halo of light and washed over the combatants below.

“Why are they laughing?” Huinos trailed off, his body drenched in sweat and the gold aura sliding from his body.

Another peal of ghostly laughter rang out as the winds coming through the portal sputtered momentarily and a great roar shook the arena. From the icy window to another plane crawled an enormous, ivory dragon. It catapulted itself off of the edge of the portal and plummeted towards the mountaintop. Ice and rock blew apart as the dragon’s clawed feet smashed into the plateau of the mountain. Before any of them could react, the monster whipped out its tail and sent the rogue sprawling.

Both teams burst into action. Bitty flung handfuls of scorching-hot flame at the dragon, as Huinos, screaming with rage, grew thick red scales over his body and hurled himself at the enemy rhonine. Triti stood aghast, wondering why the fool would bother with the opposing team, when the dragon was clearly the larger threat. As Triti turned to raise her shield against the dragon's freezing breath, the Maestro cackled again. And she remembered. They only had to stay on the mountaintop for 30 seconds without the opposing team. No one said anything about defeating a dragon.

The other team seemed to have the same idea as the druid began firing several spells at the dragon. The spellcasters' attempts to distract the towering creature proved effective, as it lashed out with serrated claws and gnashing teeth at the onslaught of magic. Triti turned back to see Huinos collide with the enemy rhonine, red sparks flashing off the scales the dragonborn was gifted by his rage. He and the rhonine traded blows, battering each other with unbridled fury. Yet for every hit Huinos took, the rhonine came away with a searing burn from his fiendish armor. Behind them, the rogue, now covered in snow from their many falls, clambered up from beyond a rise. They saw the rhonine battling Huiros and limped to join them, making to flank the dragonborn.

Triti would have none of it. She raised her hourglass into the air, marked her targets, and twisted it once. She felt the grains of golden sand rush between the globes of her hourglass as a flickering blue light fell over the rhonine, the rogue, and the massive frost dragon. Triti’s magic had taken hold just in time. Her enemies had become sluggish as the time in their immediate vicinity slowed, allowing Bitty to dodge an incoming claw and Huinos to maneuver himself away from the flanking rogue. Not for the last time, Triti gave a prayer of thanks to whomever answered her call.

The crowd had gone wild at the sight of the dragon. Their screams of joy were only interrupted by the occasional cry of concern as a claw came within inches of flesh or a burst of frost breath washed over the combatants. Triti ignored the crowd and their dragon and burst into a run. Her legs still ached and her heart thumped hard in her chest, but a few strides later and she was at Royal’s side, whispering a simple spell of healing. Joints popped and his scales flicked with life as the ranger’s eyes burst open.

“Triti!” he shouted. She turned to find the rogue bearing down on her, wicked daggers in each hand. Her shield rose a second too late to meet the attack, when she heard Bitty shout.

“Now!” A burst of electricity popped from the rogue’s neck and sent waves of crackling energy down their body. They fell to the ground, unconscious. A hairy, bandy-legged spider poked its head out from the rogue’s collar, gave what Triti swore was a sharp salute, and then scurried off towards Bitty.

Triti almost stifled a laugh, until she watched a dragon claw send the enemy druid flying. The sound burst from her, the joy of the turning tide swelling within. Triti rose, invigorated. She could see the rhonine still holding ground against Huinos, but they were all that remained. Triti looked down at the newly-conscious Royal, who was quickly pilfering daggers off the rogue’s body.

“What’s the play, captain?” Triti asked.

The air shot from her lungs as something with the force of a bull slammed into her from behind. She only flew a dozen feet forward, but it was enough. She made the slightest attempt to reach for a cliff’s edge that was just too far for her fingers to grasp. The mountaintop was behind, then above, as the ground came rushing up to meet her. Then everything went black.

“You think she’ll be okay?”

“She has to. Where would we find another healer?”

“Hush, Huinos. You’d have fallen much sooner if it had not been for her protection.”

“Was I not just saying how important-”

“I’m trying to sleep,” Triti barely managed to push the words between dry lips. Warm light poured in at the edges of her opening eyelids. Her friends, in various states of medical dressage, stood over her. Huinos sported a fat lip. A jagged line ran through the scales of Theria’s face. Royal’s lips were drawn tight, but she thought that might be his usual grimace. Bitty, standing on a stool, looked down on Triti like one would study an interesting lab specimen.

“Where am I?”

Triti struggled to sit up as Royal offered a glass of water from the bedside table. A burst of life exploded within her as the cool liquid swept down her throat. Only her fatigue prevented her from downing it in one gulp. When she returned the glass to its table, she noticed a basket of woven flowers, packed with small bottles and flasks. A note on the handle of the basket read “Congratulations,” in flowery handwriting. Triti did not recognize it, but she had an idea who it might have come from.

“Cloudius’ Tree,” Royal answered, “the cleric’s headquarters.” He gestured to the end of the hallway, where the rhonine from their match lay sleeping.

“Did we win?” Triti asked. Royal’s face became a genuine grimace, but Theria answered. “The rhonine took inspiration from your…,” she hesitated for a moment, “…fall. Threw Bitty off the cliff and went down fighting Huinos.” She clapped her brother on the shoulder.

“A draw?” Triti asked. The group nodded. That was it. They had hoped to fight their way through the ranks and gain the favor. They had failed. How would they save Yaelin now?

“You cannot go in there, they are resting!” The harsh whisper shot through the doorway.

The group turned as a sudden commotion on the far end of the ward disrupted the quiet. The doors burst open to reveal a violet-skinned tiefling with onyx horns specked with flecks of gold. The tiefling wore a sheer, star-filled black cloak that looked to be made of stardust.

“Maharacus…” Triti whispered.

“It is I!” said The Maestro, their hand sweeping in a dramatic arc over the ward before them. They seemed unconcerned with the sleeping rhonine or other recovering patients, instead crossing the room in histrionic strides. Their cloak trailed across the floor, leaving bits of stardust floating in their wake. Maharacus extended a hand, and a marble-white stool flew into it. The Maestro placed it at the foot of Triti’s bed, and sat. They perched there as if the stool was a royal throne, their head held high, arms resting on imaginary chair arms, giving them the look of floating in space. “Now, what have we here? The Cosmic Dragons, you call yourselves?”

There was a deep pause before Triti nodded, the rest of their voices lost in stupor. The legendary Maestro sat at the foot of her bed, addressing them directly. This enigma was a legend to Triti’s legends. This went beyond unprecedented, Triti was unsure if it was even real.

“Excellent. Let us get right to it. It has come to my attention that you were in the Arena for more than just glory, yes? You need something. Something for a friend?”

“Yes,” Royal said, finding his voice.

“And I assume that your loss means that all is lost, yes? Well then,” Maharacus’s face split into a wide grin, “what if I told you that I need a favor? And that I would be willing to provide a favor in exchange?”

The group, fellow adventurers and companions for the past five years, carried a shared grief in the loss of Yaelin. They had lost a friend, Royal had lost a sister, and Triti had lost a lover. They needed power beyond their own to get her back. They did not hear Maharacus’ terms. They did not need to confer or debate. They had come to the menagerie with a single goal in mind. They would do whatever the Maestro asked.