Mimus had always believed that life on Terrasyn was complex enough without needing to consider other worlds. Yet here he was, standing on a platform of obsidian that floated in a void of stars, with the echoes of a voice not his own rumbling through his mind.
> "Champions of Terrasyn, you have been chosen. Prove your worth. Survive and ascend, or fall and watch your world perish."
The words had been spoken by the Eternals—or rather, their presence. No one had ever seen the Eternals, yet their whispers were etched into the myths of every civilization across every exoplanet. They were the architects of the Tournament, a cycle of trials held once every century to ensure balance across the cosmos.
This was the first thing every champion learned upon arrival: the Tournament was not a battle for glory but for survival. The losing planets faced ruin, their life forces drained to maintain the stability of the universe. For Mimus, this was no ordinary fight—it was the end of everything if they failed.
---
The Arrival
Mimus blinked, his vision adjusting to the arena's surreal glow. Around him, the other champions of Terrasyn began to materialize, their forms shimmering into existence. Twelve in total—chosen from every corner of the planet. He recognized no one at first, their faces a blur of strangers until—
"Rynor?"
The figure nearest to him turned. Mimus's breath caught in his throat. The man was older, his once-youthful face now weathered and scarred, but there was no mistaking him.
"Mimus," Rynor said, his tone a mix of disbelief and amusement. "You look terrible."
"Four years, and that's what you open with?" Mimus shot back, his grin belying the tightness in his chest. He wanted to ask a thousand questions but held back, the weight of their surroundings pressing down on him.
Before they could continue, the platform beneath them began to shift. Cracks formed, spreading like veins of light. The ground trembled as pieces of the arena broke apart, creating barriers of jagged rock and glowing fissures. The twelve champions were divided into smaller groups, each cluster flung to a different corner of the vast arena.
---
The Fragmented Teams
When the tremors stopped, Mimus found himself standing with Rynor and three others in the middle of an otherworldly forest. The trees shimmered with bioluminescence, their roots pulsing with an energy that felt both ancient and alive.
The others stepped forward cautiously, their expressions a mixture of confusion and suspicion.
"Great," Mimus muttered. "Thrown into a death match with strangers. This keeps getting better."
The first to introduce herself was a young woman with short, dark hair and daggers strapped to her thighs. She had the sharp, agile movements of someone who knew how to disappear into shadows. "Kaya," she said simply, her gaze flicking to each of them before settling on Mimus. "Rogue from the Ember Isles. Don't slow me down."
Mimus raised an eyebrow. "Good to meet you too."
Next was a man wearing a harness of strange mechanical devices that clicked and whirred as he moved. His face was streaked with soot, and his fingers were stained with oil. "Ezra," he said, his voice steady but laced with tension. "Engineer. I can handle traps and tech. Just…don't ask me to fight unless it's absolutely necessary."
Lastly, a tall woman in flowing green robes stepped forward. Her hands glowed faintly, and the air around her carried the scent of herbs and fresh rain. "I'm Sera," she said, her voice calm but firm. "Healer from the Verdant Grove. I'll keep you alive—if you don't get yourselves killed first."
Mimus glanced at Rynor, who shrugged. "Guess I don't need to introduce myself," Rynor said, his tone dry. "Swordmaster, survivor, and apparently your babysitter."
The tension was palpable, but Mimus forced a smile. "Well, isn't this a charming group. Let's hope the rest of the team is just as delightful."
---
A Brief History of the Tournament
As they moved through the glowing forest, the group began piecing together what little they knew about their situation. The Tournament was older than any civilization, held every hundred years by the Eternals to prevent the collapse of the cosmic balance. Each planet sent twelve champions, chosen by the Eternals themselves as the strongest representatives of their world.
"Funny how they never tell you what you're actually fighting for," Kaya muttered as she sliced through a vine blocking their path.
"It's simple," Ezra replied. "Win, and Terrasyn thrives for another century. Lose, and we all die."
"Cheery," Mimus said.
"It's more than that," Sera added, her voice thoughtful. "The Tournament isn't just about survival. It's about unity—or the lack of it. The Eternals don't care how strong we are individually. They care about how well we work together."
Mimus glanced at the group around him. Strangers, every one of them. Yet they were supposed to fight as a team? He couldn't help but laugh—a low, bitter sound. "Unity, huh? They've got a sense of humor."
---
The Glow of Danger
The forest began to darken as the group ventured deeper, the glowing trees casting eerie shadows. The air grew colder, and the sounds of distant movement set them on edge.
"What do you think the others are doing?" Sera asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Hopefully not dying," Rynor said, drawing his sword.
Mimus tightened his grip on his weapon. "We survive this, find the rest, and figure out how to win. Simple as that."
"Simple," Kaya echoed, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
The group pressed on, their steps careful, their breaths steady. The Tournament had begun, and the fate of Terrasyn rested in the hands of twelve strangers who barely trusted one another.