At first, the darkness of the unchained summoner's magi swallows me and my cloud of light. Less strain comes at the cost of using light magi, with no consequences besides a slight muscle snag from my ankles to my stomach.

It clears as I reach the edge of the expansion of grey, dipping below the skull's touch and only leaving me with magi that lingers at the tips of my fingers. Here I am weak, but the honored are strong. They are free, stronger than when they reside in the walls of the last natural magi, the last place touched the goddesses themselves.

A watcher sits below, their natural magi lifting from the back in purple and black to the skies that create the divergent. Her mount keeps its head down, a horned serval with a finely spotted coat gliding over muscles.

I hit the ground as a drum bangs against a hide drum, calling to all those who want to watch the fight between an honored and me who both hope to be riding towards the palace by the peak of the first stars.

Maybe one of us will make it or both.

Maybe the honored will kill me. If they do, they'll still be awarded as the hero while my blood stains the sandy ground below.

A giant cauldron in the middle of the camp boils over with an oozing white, smoke billowing up to the magi barrier before disbursing into a cloud of the soft scent of warm rice and jasmine. A meal for after the fight that only those staying with take part in.

I'll be eating a meal from the king before killing him. I'll bite into the fine meats and fresh vegetables, and drink wines that only the royals are allowed to taste before stealing away the only thing that keeps him alive.

The skull.

Children of both honored and the normal run around the grounds, moving a ball made of dried mud with their powers, trying to get it to a goal built from tightly woven vines and sticks that poke from the violet sand. Their mounts are little more than specks on the wrist, waiting to be freed on their tenth anniversary of birth.

Women and men alike paint each other's faces to give thanks to their mother goddess or to mimic their mounts. Their gold and silver flash and shimmer, showcasing how much they stole from the raid on the King's treasury.

Their skin tones range from onyx to sunkissed, all glimmering from the coconut oil smeared about their arms, legs, and faces. They stop, their voices silenced as they catch sight of me marching through the pathway made by dozens of mounts or handmade carts.

"Xeli!" My name feels strange being called like I'm important nevertheless, I find pleasure in it.

A collective of elders sit at a blazing blue flame that paints them azure and runs along wrinkles that smudge their skin. With them is the pinnacle of my attention, a girl who watches me through eyes the color of the sun. Her mount settles farther near the trees, a white crocodile that could kill with a thought.

"Did you find them?" An elder named Kirabo questions.

I nod and pat the satchel slipping off my back. "All was right where you advised."

Kirabo rubs her ringed fingers through her luscious white hair. "The power of the skull is weak here, therefore I couldn't ensure your journey was safe."

I dip my head. "Zixo's paws were sure."

The seer shares a glance with her fellow elders who look as if their death is nearing. Asha, another seer reaches out for my bag while the third elder chews on bits of dried meat. He has yet to share his name and his bald head leaves him as even more of a mystery.

Asha takes my bag and with one look inside, her face lights up with comfort. Her mouth moves quickly, saying aloud all that I was sent for, moving her hand throughout the present items.

Olori only moves slightly as I sit beside her on a stone poking from the ground. She sharpens a bone knife with a silver rock, adding precise arches and crooks in the blade.

"If you give up now, I won't have to use this." Olori draws the blade up in the air, close to the flame.

Tattoos up her arms mark her as an honored who has traveled to the place of the lost goddesses, one who has felt their magi run through her blood. A streak of glittering silver runs through her white hair, as beautiful as the moon upon a creak. She is one to envy in both power, grace, and beauty but I will not bow to her.

My rage is stronger than hers, raging for what was lost. My blade, though rusty and dull should be the one that kills the king.

"If you give up, I may leave something to be retrieved." I warn against her subtle taught, basking in the fractured hope of victory that it births.

"Is that so?" Olori lifts an eyebrow and ends her fight for perfection with the blade. "Do you think the skull could grant you what the goddesses couldn't grant me? I am a child of them-."

I cut her off. "As I."

"As you would've been." Her voice is as soft as a dove's wing but cuts deep.

"You use your privilege as a way to hide your cowardice." I force myself to grin as her dark skin blazes with a soft red.

Kirabo prods a stick into the back of Olori who pulls away in pain. "Olori, if it wasn't for us who aren't honored you would walk the same path as we do. We are all children of the goddesses, even those who deny magi."

Olori narrows her golden eyes. "Of course."

I reach into my pocket and hold my own knife out to the flame, the intent of using it to kill Olori nowhere in my mind. She isn't my enemy.

"I'm going to meet the travelers." Standing, I don't give the elders time to protest against my declaration. "The drums will call me back to the training grounds."

I move through people who stop to wish me luck or offer me good luck charms in the form of gold charms or coins that I kindly reject. Zixo doesn't stir on my skin so I keep moving without her, not stopping until I find myself at a tint at the edge of camp where two sleeping antlered lion mounts stir to give me an annoyed glare.

The tent welcomes me, but the honored guard doesn't, moving his staff to block my way through the leather flap. His face is hidden by a hand-painted mask, showing off his goddess's designs. The goddess of the tides leaves swirls of blue and white in his locks while silver sticks out from the mass.

"No one is to enter in regards to the judgment of Kirabo." His voice is stern and it grows with warning as I grip the wooden stick in my hand.

"I just left her collective. If she wanted to keep me away from these captives she would have never allowed me to leave her group."

I look at the group shadowed by thick foliage and elephant ear plants. The group still rests in the shade despite the darkness that captures our area in the absence of the sun. They don't spare me a glance, but rather go about their afternoon.

"Demands are demands." The guard keeps his stick in the way, shaking my hands off with two hard pushes of the wood.

"And I may die tonight." I ignore the sting that follows those very words. "Or I kill the king, at least grant me one thing. I want to see their faces."

He swings his staff out, not to harm but to strike fear and with that, it shatters as I thrust my hands forward and a shard of violet and black cuts through the material, leaving pieces of wood on the ground. His mount stands, one of the lions who warily moves across the space.

"I would advise you to leave." The guard lowers his voice, throwing his shoulders back.

"Because of you or your oversized cat?" I feel a lump grow in my throat as he takes a step closer, running his now free hands over his uniform made of thin layers of wool and tight stitches.

Zixo burns on my arm, her claws itching to be used in an unnecessary fight. I turn my back before giving the tent one more look and moving along the foliage walls.

Drums beat again, settling their flow in a pattern that doesn't cry out for those to know that the battle will begin soon but instead to them to know that it's now.

The beat comes on strong before faltering to a quiet fall against the material that picks up for a while and then sounds again. Before I can even think about moving towards the makeshift training grounds that lay behind the wall, my tattoo burns again. With a gentle flick of my wrist, a massive leopard appears, gripping her footing on the rocky ground under her.

Zixo blinks away the cruel light from distant flames and shakes out her fur before following the crowd of those headed for the entry point in the cavern wall hidden by thick vines and shrubbery that fold in and around the space.

"Time won't wait for your victory." She flicks her violet tail, blinking softly to summon my dormant confidence.

I follow in her paw steps as she pushes through the cavern mouth, barely keeping her antlers from scraping the stone overhanging. A hound pushes at my back, breathing and constant sniffing making me nervous as it loops forward with its towering size only to shrink back into the cold dark.

Light bleeds through at once as Zixo pulls out of the space, turning back to make sure I found my way. Grabbing hold of her, I crawl out and stand in the small space where many gather but only one waits motionless, her mount claiming the area under the cliff face as a place for rest. The reptile moves it's head about, giving me an empty stare as it moves its tail like a snake.

Kirabo stands off, her dashiki flowing in the warm wind. She looks more regal than what I expect the king to be, her gold bangles dancing up and down her skin the color of fresh coffee.

I pick my way to where Zixo waits, her head bowed low enough for me to meet it as she pushes it toward me. Her tongue traces my face, more than enough good luck as I run my fingers through her fur.

"Don't fear running away." She pushes her muzzle on my shoulder. "But also don't fear standing up for what's yours. The king's head is yours."

With one last trace, she pulls back, blinking away the steady burn of the sun in her eyes.

I bow to Kirabo, who nods me forward to the middle of the training grounds. I hold my knife hilt tighter as Olori holds it up, showing me her weapon but even I know that won't be what she's using. Her governing goddess will be with her.

Kirabo holds her staff to the crowd that gathers at the back of Zixo, who flickers her ears with annoyance as their drums stop beating and are replaced with the sound of voices howling and cheering for action and blood.

"Our work and endless hunger for freedom has led us to this very day." Kirabo lifts her voice, the bright yellow setting her skin alight. "Yet, after a long discussion with my fellow elders, we will not spill blood here."

The cheers in the crowd settle before it rises again, less enthusiastic than before. I spare a look at the feathers that flash and shimmer in the hands of spectators who sit atop ram-horned cheetahs, elks, and gazelles.

Olori spares no expression and just drops her knife to the ground. I follow suit and she sizes me up like a snake preparing to strike a mouse. 

Kirabo starts again. "This ring will hail its winner or winners by whoever falls first without the air of magic but with these."

She holds her staff up, bending to lift another from the ground. With a single toss, we both scramble to catch ours, the smooth curves falling perfectly into the palm of my hand. The perfect oil finish makes me wonder if I will be able to even hold without losing grip.

Olori looks at the wooden stick with bewilderment. She had never had to use anything available as a replacement when the skull put a strain on one's magic, it was always at her fingertips, ready to attack.

I smirk.

Kirabo waves her free hand to the air and pulls it back. "Fall into position!"

I bolt my feet to the ground and remain steady but just enough to be able to run and duck at the slightest movement from Olori. She straightens her shoulders and keeps her feet together with her staff ready to swing.

I keep mine buried in the dirt, deep between two jagged stones.

"Battle!"

Olori swings her staff but I simply slip down the stick and allow hers to collide with mine with a sharp clank. I heave it up from its place in the purple sand and aim for her knees to which she screeches in pain at the touch but doesn't fall.

Her golden eyes blaze with rage and her staff slams into my side, sending a spiraling agony up my flank and into my chest. My feet slide in the sand, kicking up sparks of color.

A sharp union cry sings out from the crowd as she comes at me with fury and speed, her stick hitting against mine as I block her every attempt to aim at my gut. Our strikes fall into a chorused ballad and our patterns on the sand become a beat full of more life than the drums.

Olori yanks away from our structure and takes a swing towards my skull but I duck and leap away from the strike, landing a hard hit at her thighs and block another aim at my head.

"No magic?" I mock her.

She pulls herself back from our circle and digs her weapon to the ground.

"I have plenty, I just know how to play the game with it as I do without it."

She pulls her staff from the ground with speed that I can't comprehend. Flashes of white and purple catch my eye. She is just close enough that I can see it. I open my mouth to protest against her trickery but all I can do is play along.

With all the speed that I can summon, I drop my staff and run forward, hands clasped on her weapon despite that angry pain that runs through my palm. She struggles to stay upright and balance her own weight but with mine added, her legs tremble.

I won't let go and the crowd lifts their voices. I swear that I even hear Zixo roar something but she pushes back with a sharp jab and in return, I do the same.

The sky twists and turns as it fills my sight. My feet lift from the ground and my scream fills the arena.

No.