The meal proceeds relatively smoothly, with only a few more questions aimed toward me. Soon enough, I’m following behind Sylvestri and the others to his pavilion, a dome-shaped, all-glass enclosure about half the size of a professional dueling stadium. I’ve since voiced my interest in participating in the duels to one of the waiters, who assured me that the dueling lineup would be projected for all to see before the first duel.

I have a sinking feeling that this is a bad idea, but I want to make a good impression on these powerful decemancers. I’ll just have to be careful–perhaps using only osteomancy, to imply that I only have skill in one specialization, and even then only controlling the bones making up my gloves. Certainly no snapping people’s bones from within their bodies or anything like that.

As we enter the pavilion, people begin to sit down at circular tables bordering the dueling ground. I find myself at a table with people I don’t recognize, and find it a relief when a waiter swiftly brings over a platter full of teacups filled with coffee. Sipping the drink is a welcome distraction.

“So, a new face,” one of them begins. “How old do you think he is, Don?”

Another man seated at the table fiddles with his emerald tie before responding. “Late twenties, maybe?”

“What guild do you work for?” the first man asks, his teeth unnaturally white.

I fake laughter. “I look older than I am,” I reply. “I’m a fourth year university student.”

The entire table bursts out into laughter.

A woman takes a puff from her pipe and gives me a lazy grin. “And yet you’ve already managed to secure an invitation to old Sylvestri’s yearly gathering.” She shakes her head and chuckles. “You planning to duel?” She looks around the table. “We’re all curious to see how fresh meat like yourself fares.” They way her teeth clack on the word “meat” strikes me as particularly aggressive, causing me to recoil slightly.

“I did put in a word,” I say, assuring them. “What are all of your specializations?”

The bright-teeth man answers first. “Animancy.” He raises a hand to the gentleman with a pink soulstone lapel on his left.

“Also animancy.”

The man further to the left scans the table. Suddenly, a snake slithers out of his sleeve, coiling around his arm and hissing.

“Thralling,” he says, his voice steely.

The next person, a middle-aged woman wearing a string of pearls radiating death energy, smiles. “I’m a diagnostician, though I also dabble in carnimancy.”

Next is the woman with the pipe. “Carnimancy.”

A man in a pink dress shirt snorts playfully. “Also carnimancy.”

Then it’s my turn. “Osteomancy.” The man with the snake inclines his head toward me. Nobody else pays my announcement much mind.

The final person at the table, the man in the emerald tie, states: “Animancy.”

So, in total, three animancers, two carnimancers, a thraller, a diagnostician, and an osteomancer (myself). Compared to the table I dined with, of which roughly half of the people were carnimancers, this distribution seems unrepresentative.

Somebody begins to say something else when, once more, the lights go out completely, save for the light shining onto a projector screen next to the dueling ground. A white light flashes and in its wake, the screen is filled with a tournament-style lineup. This is good, I think to myself, already planning how far I should go before intentionally losing.

I’ll be participating in the fifth match against a woman named Erika Reinhart. I vaguely remember seeing her name on the list displaying dining table placements, but haven’t personally met her.

While others at the table talk, I try to decide how far to push things if Erika, or the next opponents, are too skilled. It might be smarter, in the end, to lose even the first match but do so while showing talent. The goal isn’t to win, but to position myself to secure guild recruitment offers.

Just as the list goes up, Sylvestri appears in a dazzling flash of light that restores illumination to the pavilion.

“Now that everyone is comfortable, I’m going to outline some basic rules and guidelines. First, duelists can use whatever equipment and weapons already on them. Additionally, they may choose up to four items from the racks adjacent to the dueling grounds. Duels will follow standard Fassari protocol, in that they will immediately end upon incapacitation or forfeit of the match by one of the duelists. Remember: No attempts to permanently kill, maim or dismember opponents is allowed. Any attempt to do so will be met with a swift intervention from myself, as well as expulsion from the premises. Additionally, the use of abilities that stand to threaten the spectators is completely forbidden.” He holds his hands out to the sides of the podium. “With that, let the first duel commence!”

The two duelists make their way from their seats to the center of the dueling grounds. I recognize one of them from the table I sat at for dinner.

A minute passes as the duelists select various objects from the racks. It’s difficult to make out exactly what the objects are from my angle, as most are enclosed in boxes and chests that mute Death energy.

Eventually the duelists take their places, each standing at the midway point between the center line and their respective side of the grounds, such that half the field’s length lies between the two of them. As they wait for the signal to begin, they don’t seem particularly serious, probably because they’re dueling purely for fun. Most of the people here seem to know each other fairly well, and based on the fact that so many people are over the age of fifty, I doubt they’re that concerned about the outcome of a single friendly duel.

Me, on the other hand–I have a lot more to prove. I wonder if they paired me with someone who also feels pressure to win for a more exciting battle.

The person in a navy suit on the left makes the first move, holding up a sword infused with a soulstone on its hilt. The other person, a man in a cream-colored suit, waves a hand and a wave of pink flesh grows out from a chest by his feet to deflect the attack. Cream-suit steps backward and pulls out a bone whip, quickly coating it in pink energy. He then whips it at navy-suit, who deflects the move with the sword. Navy-suit ducks forward and kicks cream-suit’s feet out from under him, causing the man to stumble backward. However, cream-suit rebounds quickly, pushing himself back up with the help of a fleshy arm.

The two continue to fight for a while. I can see that they must know each other well by the ways that they respond to one another’s attacks. Sylvestri must have chosen them knowing that they would provide a good show.

I’m impressed by the display: Based on what I’ve seen at Academia Hector, these two duelists are gods. The confidence and expertise with which they execute attacks suggests decades of practice.

I find especially interesting the way the animancer uses a soulstone to empower his weapon–doing so gives it the ability to cut through flesh like butter. As the duel progresses, I realize that it’s both severing the connection between the carnimancer and the flesh-construct as well as afflicting the flesh with necrosis, forcing the carnimancer to generate more–and sacrifice more Death energy–to offset the loss.

Eventually, the battle of endurance comes to an end and cream-suit loses the duel with a blade pointed at his chest. The two men bow, laugh together, and then return to their seats.

Two more duels pass, though neither is as exciting or evenly matched as the first. Just as the fourth duel is about to commence, sirens blare outside of the house.

Sylvestri reappears on the podium. “We’re going to take a small break while we deal with the disruption. Please remain in your seats for the time being.”

Two minutes later, three guardians in riot robes appear, the sun and moon crests an indicator that each is an elementalist. One of them is holding a bulky black instrument in his hands. Sylvestri enters the room behind them, his face devoid of emotion.

One of the guardians speaks, her voice ringing out in the cavernous space. “High Death energy has been detected in this area over the past few hours,” she says. She can’t be referring to people’s symbols of power–such as my gloves–can she? “We were dispatched to ensure that this event has no ties to a recent act of terrorism perpetrated by a decemancer.”

Whispers quickly fill up the room.

“Please remain calm while we scan the room for the energy signature of the perpetrator in question. It should only take a moment, and I trust that no one at this gathering will find themselves implicated.”

I notice that Sylvestri’s countenance darkens. He must be incensed that these guardians have barged into his house and started scanning guests, all of whom are well-established and would never engage in terrorism against the state.

The man finished scanning the room, then pulls his to compatriots aside. They talk for a moment, then the woman nods.

“Like we suspected,” she says smugly, “the perpetrator is here. We encourage them to surrender themselves now, or else we’ll need to go scan each and every person present until we find them.”

Seriously? As I look around the room, I can’t help feel that the person they’re looking for is me. I don’t think I did anything that could implicate me for terrorism, but honestly speaking...If I’m powerful enough to level a city, I’m a weapon and a potential threat.

But nobody knows I have 99% affinity besides Jasmine...

“Do you guys know what that thing they’re carrying around is?” I ask.

The woman with the pipe levels her gaze at me. “It’s one of those new ultraportable micropotentioreaders,” she says. “Though I’m not sure how they’re expecting to use it to cross-reference a terrorist’s Death energy with any of our own.” She takes a drag. “I don’t trust it.”

My gaze hardens. So that’s how it’s going to be. It’s possible that someone detected a disturbance of Death energy caused by my bone construct. I do recall Sarah from Death Affinity I mentioning the illegality of creating bone constructs, though I didn’t think anyone would catch me if I created one over the open ocean.

So...they might actually think I’m some kind of terrorist, and they might actually be here just for me.

What are my options? Go with them, clear up the misunderstanding...and then what? At the very least I’ll be convicted of misreporting my affinity, a crime punishable by up to a year in jail. The worst part will be the indelible stain of a criminal record. There’s also a good chance Jasmine will be convicted of facilitating–or committing–potentiostat falsification.

Shit–I really screwed up.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

When I open them, I taste the salt of ocean air on my tongue and realize that I’m back on the dinghy.