She hung back and watched as almost half of the participants rushed for the other side, creating a stampede of the likes she'd never seen. Val rushed to pick up those in danger of being stomped on, surveying her surroundings all the while. About a quarter either jogged lightly or walked after the leading crowd, the last quarter not even taking one step, herself included.
And in a mere second, it proved wise to do so.
The participants up ahead ceased their steps, tumbling to the ground like a toy whose batteries died. 'The hell?'
Val froze, stuck between checking what was happening up ahead or staying where she stood.
It didn't matter.
The shadows of the participants elongated and burst out from the ground, wrapping her in a boundless, pitch-black bubble without notice.
She spun on the spot, taking in her surroundings. Pervading darkness, no directions present.
"Breathe," she told herself, voice loud in the deafening quiet. "Breathe."
To solve a problem and arrive at a question, there must be something asked of you. So, what was the main purpose of the second trial?
'Drive. Willpower. To never stop.' Collins' words popped up in her mind. 'Right,' Val thought. The test required them to prove they could press onwards, whether or not the participants could glimpse a finish. A tall task.
The darkness seemed oddly specific, a demon of days long past. 'This is catered to me,' she realized.
A fear that stole hours of sleep from young Val, a nightmare that followed at her heels.
It was why she could tell a fake at a glance.
There was no depth, no hunger in the darkness that wanted to swallow her whole.
'Never stop.' Val took a step forward, steadying her unstabilized breathing, a part of her believing she'd fall into an abyss and never come out.
Another step. 'I won't fear mage-muggers.'
She fell into a slow walk. 'I will be strong enough to protect those close to me.'
She ran and sprinted. Unable to guess at the dimensions, she tripped on her own legs three steps in, tumbling in omnipresent murk. Hoisting herself up—was it even in that direction?—she was met with a sky identical to the solid shade she resided on, like taking a stroll in the deep of her mind at night.
And yet, Val's breathing stayed even, skin free of sweat and heart full of vigour.
On two feet, she began a gentle pace, faster than a walk and slower than a jog.
Seconds blended into minutes, and minutes may have very well been hours. Val kept up her speed, unknowing if she was running in circles or, in a worse case, backwards.
One aspect stayed the same. In the depths of her soul, a wish—a dream that will be made a fact—settled in the framework of her being. 'My mother's eyes will open.'
In the same manner the darkness came, reality returned as twirling strands of light.
Val took a deep inhale, sucking in stale, but real, air. Resolve hardened beneath her heart, a solid source of strength she'd be able to scoop out in times she faltered. Done fighting battles within, she took the time to reevaluate the horizon.
To her shock, half of the ocean of participants vanished, defeated by their inner troubles. The rest lay motionless like puppets cut from their strings—sprawling limbs, slouched backs, limp muscle. Resonant silence buffeted her line of thinking, leaving her massaging her throbbing head in an eerily still stadium.
Jogging onwards and making her way past the human obstacles, Val noticed a flailing leg amidst a pile of immobile participants and paused.
It jerked again and Val glanced around, hoping there was at least another awake to consult with. 'I guess I'll help.'
With a grunt, she hauled the bodies away, one by one, and dug up the trapped person, surprised at the recognizable face beneath.
Williams wheezed, hands clutched against his chest and legs trembling. His skin was alarmingly pallid, like he'd never spent a day outside.
"Saints." Val knelt beside him, scared he'd suffocate himself before being able to ask for retreat. Not that he seemed like the type to do so. "Williams!" She patted his shoulders. "Williams, wake up!"
He shivered, eyelids shut and forehead wrinkled. "...disgrace to the Belov fam… family…"
"C'mon, we haven't got the time," Val continued, "the clock is running!"
"...needs help… needs…"
"Don't you want to pass?!" she shouted. "Don't you want to—" Val sighed, biting her lower lip. This wasn't going to work.
He kept muttering about the decrepit shape of his family, yet for some odd reason, the last names Belov and Williams didn't match. Would his first name work better?
"What was it, though," she wondered under her breath. Under normal circumstances, she'd memorize it the second it was announced, but the attention spurred from the overseer's mouth took precedence.
"It was 'Mi' then something… Michael?" Val tried. No response. "Mitchel? Mikhail?"
The creases on his forehead eased.
"Mikhail!" Val yelled. "You can do it! Mikhail, you have to wake up now, or else you might never again. MIKHAIL BELOV, wake UP."
Williams came to in a snap, bleary eyes jerking in Val's direction.
She waved. "Hey there."
"What are…" he rubbed at his eyelids, "what are you doing here?" He recoiled, sprouting to his feet and wiping off his brow. His grey-eyed gaze found its way to Val's bored expression, slithered down to the pushed-off bodies in proximity, and returned to her.
A gleam of understanding lit his irises, retracing his steps and determining how he ended up here, piled beneath bodies. "Thank you," he choked out, like the words strained his throat.
"Your welcome," she replied, dusting herself off and happy to be on her way.
"Wait!"
Val turned to meet a lifted hand. "Look, I don't like you, and think you'd be a waste of space as a mage—"
"Gee, thanks," she muttered.
"—but a two-headed dragon is better than a single-headed one, as they say here in Ciazel. Plus, we've no clue on what's to come. Partners?"
She mulled over it, searching the boy's face for any trace of insincerity. 'He's Erydian,' Val noticed. A foreigner.
Though colour returned to him, he was still pale like the snow from his northern country, a stark difference from the rosy complexion of Auriceans.
Val took his hand. "Deal."
"Crisp." He turned towards the opposite side of the stadium. "Shall we?"
Wishing all the best to wherever Caro was, Val started the run towards the ebony, markless arena barrier on the other end.
There seemed to be another type of illusion at play, taunting them by lengthening what should've been a two-minute jog into a two-hour marathon.
The same bodies Val laboured to remove off of Williams passed them by for the tenth time, other landmarks supporting the notion.
Crow High, a group of ebony-clad students that rushed ahead, marked the end of the cycle and a Kidraan girl, one she helped at the beginning of the stampede, started it anew.
"There she is again," Williams muttered, little more than a growl. Sprawled across the floor, Val was surprised the meek participant continued to duke it out within her personal illusion. It spoke of a great drive.
Once Crow High reared its head again, the two slowed their pace, waiting to witness the exact moment they were transferred to the beginning.
"I don't think this is working, Efron."
Val despised the way her throat constricted, scared to rebuff his doubt at her action. She held up a finger instead, eyes fixed on the impatient students previously at the forefront of the stampede.
Pickpocketing was all about drawing the mark's attention away from where you wanted it. If illusions worked in any way close to that, then all she had to do was hone in on a peculiarity—ensure her brain knew where she was.
She took a step, then two, gaze never breaking away from the very same people she fought against in combat tournaments—people she trumped. 'Wouldn't matter when magic's involved.'
Once they were all the way around, she turned back to the wall.
Val had to blink several times. The alternate stadium doors appeared to be bigger, closer.
"You know Efron," Williams began, "I think we make a decent team."
"Decent, not great?"
"Take what you get."
"Whatever." Val would've rolled her eyes if she were Caro. "We did it."