Castle of Ashes

Chapter 10

The girl in the white cloak exudes a quiet calmness, akin to the soft breath of winter. I catch her stealing a fleeting glance at me, only for her eyes to dart away the moment our gazes meet. An odd sense of familiarity settles in, as if I've encountered this girl before. Her presence feels like a shadow, a presence that used to follow me during my foraging trips in the Parington forest. A shadow that gave me chills—a harmless yet eerie companion.

As she settles beside me, a chill creeps over me, not unlike the sensation that shadow used to bring. Her discomfort seems to mirror my own, a frosty but harmless aura that envelops us.

"Maia will kick off the ceremony," the girl in green remarks.

"She always does. She's the kingdom's most powerful mage, after all. Maia's practically the head magistrate of the assortment."

"Having her here is a privilege. I wish I could be her apprentice."

"That's when you become too powerful for your own good!"

The holding room transforms into a cacophony of chatter, like a gathering of gossipy birds. Leaning back into the cushioned gray chair, I listen as shoes shuffle, lips whisper, and chairs scrape across the floor. The distant echo of footsteps and the closing of doors hint at the bustling activity beyond these walls.

The two contenders in red and white to my right remain as silent as I am. I find refuge in the depths of my hood, as the girl in red sighs in irritation. The contenders' voices cascade like rain, an incessant noise that gradually morphs into a background buzz.

"Contenders, get ready to move. The opening ceremony is about to begin!" A commanding voice slices through the din, transforming the room's dynamic. All eyes turn toward the source of the voice.

A figure cloaked in bronze with silver-trimmed trousers emerges from the doorway. His stern gaze scans the room, settling on me with an intensity that demands obedience. His demeanor screams rigid adherence to rules, standards, and expectations.

"Primary colors first: red, blue, and yellow!" he calls out.

The girl in red rolls her eyes and strides toward the doorway, not bothering to notice the blue and yellow contenders following her. The three primary color contenders queue up before the bronze-cloaked figure.

At this moment, the caste system of the kingdom becomes palpable. Those who have proven their mettle in service of the royal castle claim the primary colors. They are called first and chosen first, emblematic of their prestige and past successes. These are the contenders who have secured the kingdom's victories and privileges through the years.

As I represent the militia—a group known for their physical strength, rather than magical prowess—I belong to the final layer of contenders. Those who are given a chance to compete merely to represent their sector, a sector that holds less promise in the eyes of the castle. In my case, I am an embodiment of the militia's desperation. They forcibly brought me from Parington to serve as their representative, knowing full well that my chances were slim.

Despite Lieutenant Ferran's kindness, I sense the militia's lack of expectations. Before being sacrificed in this assortment, they extended their gratitude for my representation, not expecting me to progress beyond the initial stages of the competition.

"Next, cyan, magenta, green. Then orange, followed by chartreuse, spring, azure, purple, wood, and rose. The final line consists of black, white, and gray."

As my color is called, I rise from my seat. The young girl in white beside me fidgets nervously as she stands, her apprehension palpable. I observe the girl in black, her fair complexion contrasting with blood-red lips, as she joins the line, unmindful of the contenders behind her. Another girl walks timidly ahead of me.

And so, the march toward an uncertain fate begins.

My heart races as the primary colors disappear through the doorway, leaving behind applause and excitement. The room's noise overwhelms me, a disorienting mix of anticipation and tension. Taking a deep breath, I shake off my hesitations and move toward the carpeted stairs. The clamor from within the hall crashes over me as I step onto the threshold, my presence announced to all.

Petrichor's rectangular stage feels excessive, the crystal-lined platform is a gilded cage for us, with fifteen commodities on display. Luminous lights emanate from three floating energy balls above us, illuminating the crystals' brilliance.

The civic hall itself is a grand spectacle, with round tables adorned by opulent spring decor. Those of authority occupy these tables, while the royal chairs perch upon an elevated platform, where four members of the Charming Kingdom's royal family sit.

Adorned in layers of colorful robes, the royal council exudes prestige and power. The Master of the Assortment stands out, her slim waist cinched by a silver and black belt, translucent stones glinting like stars. Her hood bears a delicate circlet, a band of silver crowned with a central gem. A layer of black and white silk is draped beneath the circle, a gesture of humility.

Maia, the great mage, stands in the center of the Great Hall, a figure of unmatched elegance. Above her, stained glass windows depict the royal family—the deceased king, the queen, and the crowned prince—framed by three arched windows.

As she removes her hood, her ash-colored curls cascade free. Accessories glint, embodying her power and prestige. Maia's presence commands respect, an inspiration to many. Her legacy as a mage who helped rebuild the kingdom after the Golden War is awe-inspiring.

Amidst this grandeur, a single figure on the elevated platform catches my attention—a silhouette that leaves me feeling numb.

Prince Hekter's smirk was aimed squarely at me.