Pallock sat in the circle of the firelight, staring at it, completely fazed out of the conversation happening beside him.
Like a backdrop, he could hear the others laughing and swapping stories, the kind of camaraderie that came naturally when people had histories and alliances that reached beyond the Gate Trials.
But Pallock wasn't part of it. He wasn't laughing. His complete attention was on the rabbit pinned over the fire, sizzling as its juices fell to the flames.
Pallock wasn't even sure why he was here, not really. Dane was the closest to him amongst the group. He was quieter, more feeble and frightened, just like Pallock. But at least he had Alfis, his elder brother. They were both descendants of the Fire Clan, and because of that, they had each other's backs.
When it came to Mist and Faya, they had known each other since they were babies, lifelong friends despite their different lineages. Mist was Ember Clan, Faya from the Storm Clan, and somehow they had managed to be best friends.
Pallock was the odd one out. He was from Stone Clan, which was bad news on every end for him. Not only was Stone Clan not as 'strong and sturdy' as before, but there weren't many members of his Clan inside the Gates with him.
Alfis and Dane, Mist and Faya, they were so lucky to be placed in this Trial together, and even though they were familiar with him and his Clan, they were not sharing their rabbit and working with him for any other reason other than that.
The Stone Clan was collapsing, and no one would want to join forces with a failing Clan. In fact, the only reason he was allowed here was because Dane had vouched for him and Mist — who mechanically took the role of team leader — allowed him to stay.
Pallock sighed inwardly. Why was he even doing this? No one from his Clan believed he would make it far anyway, and to be honest, he wasn't sure they were wrong.
He clenched his hands, watching the fire dance over the rabbit. Crackling. Popping. Maybe it was foolish, maybe even naive, but all he wanted right now was just a taste of that meal, something to hold onto before his luck ran out.
'You're such a loser, Pallock,' he said in his thoughts. 'A stupid loser who's also a glutton!'
'You're inside the Gates and instead of thinking about ways to survive, all you're worried about is food!'
His eyes clenched, but once he looked at the food again, he gave in and sighed. 'But even though I know it's wrong and pathetic, I still can't help but want it. All I care about is food that I didn't even earn. My Clan is right to have little faith in me. I have little faith in myself as well. I'll never amount to anything, and somehow... I'm okay with it.'
He heard Mist's jovial laughter and Alfis saying something as he usually did to try to impress her. The fire, the smoke, the slow cooking meat, and their voices all blended together like waves on a shore.
But then he heard something else.
It was a crunch. A quiet one, like a twig snapping underfoot. The others didn't hear but Pallock's head jerked up immediately as he did.
His eyes instantly turned bloodshot and he froze, every nerve alive with dread as his gaze locked onto a figure standing just beyond the edge of the firelight.
It was a boy — no, a boy didn't fit this person. It was a young man. Pallock didn't know how, but there was something ghostly about him. His hair was a full, wild mane of silver-white curls falling loosely to his neck. His eyes were a shade of purple that pierced right through Pallock, like staring into the depths of a storm.
The stranger's face was sharp, his jawline was chiseled, his brows naturally arched in a way that made him seem both raw and fierce. He wore a tired and torn garment that looked as though it had been dragged through the Trials, making him appear wild and untamed.
In his hand, Pallock saw a terrifying sword with a purple stone on its hilt. The blade was a darker silver, yet it shone from the fire's glint.
A tremor of fear seized Pallock, and he could tell that there was no way this was someone safe, someone they could just invite to share a meal.
Without thinking, he gasped, recoiling back on to the grass, with his hands protecting his fall. All laughter and conversation stopped. The others glanced at the boy on the ground, alarmed.
"Pallock, what the gods is wrong with you?!" Alfis growled.
But Pallock's wide eyes and pale face said it all. Almost in unison, they all turned to what he was looking at, and they all saw him.
☆ ☆ ☆
Deremiah wasn't sure how to handle this. All five of them were now staring at him, clearly aggravated by his intrusion. His mind raced with his usual mathematical possibilities.
These were the noble children of powerful Clans, and it came without saying that killing other participants inside the Gates was an inevitability, especially when one believed their survival was being threatened.
But for these Clan descendants, they barely needed a reason to kill someone. Breathing funny around them was a very viable justification for them to pull out their blades.
That being said, he calculated his odds of getting attacked at 75 to 25. And if he did get attacked, there were five of them, and they were well-trained fighters, so his odds for survival then would be around 7 to 93.
Not at all good odds.
Standing there, his eyes moved from one of them to another, studying the looks on their faces, checking for which of them was likely to attack first.
His fingers clenched on his sword's hilt, his heart pounded with cautious anticipation as they all gaped at him, also frozen.
'Why are they just staring? Aren't they going to attack?' he wondered.
"Who the hell are you?"
Deremiah flicked his eyes to Alfis of Fire, who had asked the question with one of his brows raised.
"Yeah, why are you just standing there?" Faya also asked.
"Oh, Pallock. Can you get up from the ground?" Dane gave his friend a hand while Deremiah still stood there, looking at all of them.
'Seems like they're not at all threatened by me,' he thought. 'Even though I have this sword.'
Mist narrowed her eyes at him, but she stayed silent.
"Well?" Alfis raised his voice aggressively. "Tell us who you are! Or are you here looking for trouble?"
Deremiah slowly took his eyes away from Mist and focused on Alfis who was now on his feet, face hardened to show how serious he was.
"I'm a participant," he replied briefly.
Alfis frowned then looked at Mist who was still gazing at the stranger. "I think that is obvious. We are all participants here."
"What is your name?" Mist asked assertively.
Deremiah's eyes met hers again. "Deremiah," he said.
They were all silent after that, a very weird silence with the sizzling rabbit being the only sound in the awkwardness.
"Alright then, Deremiah," Alfis finally ended it with his braggart voice. "This is a party that you weren't invited to. So..." he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. "...move along."
Deremiah stayed silent. When he thought about it, he felt a little lucky that the descendants didn't see him as a threat because then he wouldn't have been able to defend himself.
All he had wanted to do earlier was to investigate the noise. Now that he had done that, leaving was the best option, especially since he knew that nobles like them wouldn't associate with a slummer like him.
If he left now, he could hopefully find another party that he could work with to complete this Trial. Although he would have loved to have a bite of that rabbit, causing trouble with nobles wasn't advisable.
"Okay," he simply said.
As they watched, he took some steps backwards, turned around and began to walk away from them.
'Don't attack, don't attack,' he prayed silently in his mind.
But he only walked a few steps when he heard Mist's voice demand him to stop. "Wait!"