Maria and I have a good run, incapacitating and using three ascendants as mana batteries. But in the end, one of the proteges manages to take us out. Since we both die, I come back as a stalker. Spectral, purplish-blue shadows shroud me, covering clothes and skin.

Maria doesn’t revive with me. To kill Maria means thoroughly destroying her body, and whenever she’s died before–primarily when testing the limits of our practice in training–her body reformed close to the phylactery’s physical location. If it’s her first death in a while, she’ll respawn in under fifteen seconds. Because I no longer possess the void storage with her phylactery, I have no way of knowing where she’ll appear.

As I make my way into the citadel, my bond with Maria is restored. Hey, where are you?

I’m next to Alan, she replies, her thoughts conveying urgency. He’s under assault from a water elementalist wielding ice–I’m in the crossfire.

Well, if you don’t want to die again, pick a side. Probably not Alan, so you can pilfer the void storage–and hopefully my whip–when he dies.

While I rush into the interior, Maria teams up with Alan’s adversary. Alan falters soon after; Maria snatches his dropped belongings–among them, my void storage and whip. Except then Alan’s opponent kills Maria by flash freezing and shattering her body.

My flight through the underground falters. Subsequent deaths in a short period of time lead to longer wait times before her body naturally reforms. If I had the phylactery, I could channel my own energy to revive her earlier. Still, I got a sense of where she was located in the citadel before she died, somewhere on the far left side–far from my assigned entrance tunnel.

Gritting my teeth, I turn back the way I came. If my starting tunnel heads in the wrong direction–away from Maria–then why not take a different tunnel? Nobody said I had to take the same tunnel each time.

Most people ignore me as I skirt through the halls since I’m no longer an orb-carrying player. When Maria reappears thirty seconds later, I lock onto her location and shift direction. Maria, can’t you use your Sun affinity to resist his ice? How did he kill you?

The man’s Moon affinity is potent, she replies. He’s able to lower the temperature faster than I can raise it.

And your ascendant energy?

His ascendant energy is denser than mine, she says. I wonder if this is what our energy will feel like as we make the transition from blue to red. Unfortunately, he took the ring off Alan, so I respawned next to him...and he’s attacking me again.

Why does he kill you, rather than let you retreat? You’re just a stalker. Killing you serves no advantage.

She doesn’t respond, our bond severed by her death. I was able to get close to her location this time, so I can sense her assailant within a medium-sized chamber. I wait for Maria’s body to reform before making a move.

When I sense her return, I attack her assailant from beyond the walls with my practice. I catch him by surprise and he flinches, clutching at his head. If he hadn’t reacted almost instantly by reinforcing his flesh with ascendant energy, I would’ve killed him right then.

I don’t let up. He can defend himself, but it’s easier to attack than defend, and Karanos always said my ascendant energy was rather well inclined to penetrate people’s defenses.

The swarthy ice wielder darts into the hallway, his pale hair pressing against his head. I fly through the halls, trying to maintain a solid distance, but he steadily closes the gap, painting the ground white with slick ice.

When Maria finally respawns, the ice wielder’s attention wavers and he focuses on her instead, attempting to catch her body in a casket of ice. Without thinking, I interpose myself between them, taking the brunt of the attack myself.

You’ve trained for this, I tell myself, recalling the strenuous hours spent manipulating Death energy bindings while traveling through the frigid void. On instinct, threads of black, oily Death energy wrap around me, covering everything. Just as the frost reaches my extremities, ascendant energy coats the Death energy like a fire on oil.

It isn’t enough–I can feel the cold surpassing my defense, sinking into my bones like knives. Unbidden, fear takes over. I find the memory of my mortality, the reminder that some scars–like the feathery rings of frost burn around my hands and arms–refuse to go away.

But then, warmth, like the summer sun, melts my fear, easing me into the exhaustion of relief. With my vital vision I sense Maria moving her hands to direct her practice to me. Over our bond, I don’t sense concern, but determination. Alone, we die to this more powerful, experienced ascendant. But together...triumph.

The elementalist scowls. Recognizing that he’s outgunned by two stalkers–whom killing provides no benefit–he retreats, ascendant energy just barely visible as wisps of blue around his shins as he skates on moving ice, immediately out of sight and quickly out of my range.

Until the end of the pageant exercise, Maria and I stalk around, searching for people who still have water orbs, but they’re few and far between–we mostly see other stalkers, and even when we do find extant players, they’re usually embroiled in conflict with multiple individuals, everyone competing for the orb.

Eventually the exercise comes to an end after one of the last orbs is impaled by a stray pillar of earth.

“The first round is now over,” a voice–perhaps Jeseria’s–calls out, wind elementalism enhancing the words to be audible by everyone in the citadel. “Open the nearest door and you’ll be transported back to the main stage for judging.”

The door is half charred around the edges, but opens easily enough, revealing the main stage rather than the hallway. I step through–and broad, fang-like spikes impale me, cresting up through my shoulders and chest. Gurgling blood, I die while staring confusedly at Maria.

I reappear on the main stage. That’s one way to transport us back, I think bitterly, dusting off my clothes.

People begin to appear around me, though none are naked. If they fell for the same trap and died, they must have persistent clothes like me–likely gifts from their sponsors.

Maria appears in the center of the room without our bond cutting off, leaving me bewildered.

The doorway really did lead to the main stage, she explains.

So dying wasn’t necessary?

No. To be fair, they never said that you’d been added back to the security white list. The doors remain armed against intruders.

Rescanning the room, I reconsider my previous assumption. Perhaps people didn’t arrive naked because they hadn’t died. I’m the only first-timer here–the only one likely to make such a mistake as impaling myself on a door trap.

At least with Cayeun Suncloud’s clothes, no one will be the wiser.

Wait. My belongings... I still need to get my void storage back.

Jeseria floats down from the ceiling as she did in the beginning, wind tousling her clothes. Somewhere during the round, she changed into a pale dress with a billowing white shawl draping around her shoulders.

“Welcome back,” Jeseria says. “Will the panel of judges bring their thrones over?”

Like wheelchair-bound geriatrics, the judges approach too slowly, like they’re trying to avoid their duty. While they make the journey across the room, leaving the spectator area, Jeseria launches into an explanation.

“The judges were selected based on how closely they followed the round, to ensure that only those paying most attention weigh in on final scoring.”

Ten ascendants park their elaborate seats in front of us, suspended in the air. At the center of the group is a woman with a raven-themed chair, Karanos on his uncharacteristically-flashy phoenix throne, Kuin on a seat of violet crystal, and a man sitting on a chair of bones–staring right at me.

Maria, do you see that guy? The bone guy?

You’re the bone guy.

No, next to Kuin.

Obviously I see him, Maria says. He’s looking at you like he either wants to kill you or take you as his wife. She raises an eyebrow. Ian, don’t give me that withering look.

Jeseria clears her throat. “There are quite a number of you and this is only the first round, so for the sake of expediency, we’re going to go down the line and ask judges to give only a composite rating for each competitor. For the top five, we’ll reveal the final scores in each subcategory.”

They never told us the subcategories, right? I ask.

Right. Not the most transparent pageant.

After a minute, I see why the ascendants chose to give only composite scores–ten judges weighing in on each of the twenty five ascendants takes time. Positioned on the right side of the room, I’m one of the last to be judged.

The judges are scathing in their scores, so I’m not particularly enthused to hear mine. The mean is roughly a five out of ten. Alan only got a four out of ten, likely because he died so early on. Kuin–his own sponsor–gave him a piddling two. Vik did a bit better, scoring a six.

“Ketu Bryant,” Jeseria announces. All eyes fall on the Moon practitioner who faced off against Maria and I toward the end. “Since you won the round, you get an automatic perfect score. Congratulations.”

Stunned, I turn to Maria. That ass won?

Seems like it.

Did he feel that powerful to you? We were able to fend him off.

He probably could have won against us if he was going all out and didn’t need to worry about his orb of water. When we encountered Ketu, his water orb had swelled to the size of a bear. I don’t think he could have moved it properly without his elementalism.

A few names later and it’s finally my turn.

“Ignatius Julian Dunai,” Jeseria calls out, gesturing to the judges. I shunt down my nerves to face them with confidence.

A thin man with pale, lanky hair sits on a throne of fresh lavender, the scent wafting several feet to my nose. “7.1.”

The next few give me a 7.8, 6.8, and 7.4. The woman next to Karanos whispers something in his ear before turning back to give her assessment. “7.3.”

Karanos nods to me before he gives his number. “6.9.” The second lowest yet. If Karanos and Kuin are anything to go off of, sponsors give deflated evaluations of their own proteges–perhaps because they more easily spot our mistakes and recognize our true limits.

Kuin is next. He gives Karanos a baleful look before turning to me and sighing softly. “7.0.”

I meet Maria’s eyes. Higher than I thought, given his relationship to Karanos.

Finally it’s time for the Death practitioner ascendant who’s been staring at me the entire time. His assessment: “7.16.” It’s the most specific number yet, going into a second decimal digit.

He scored you at the exact average of all scores so far, Maria realizes. Almost like he’s trying to pass on scoring you, like he’s reserving judgment.

After the final three scores come in, my final score is an above-average 7.2. Not the best score in the room, or in the top 5, but given that this was my first pageant, I’m satisfied.

When the final few people after me are judged, we transition to the next round.

“This round’s activity was suggested by Karanos,” Jeseria says. “Cards.”

The others around us don’t seem surprised by the shift from a fast-paced combat exercise to a nonviolent game.

It can’t just be cards, Maria asserts.

Jeseria continues her explanation, toying with her shawl’s tassels. “While Karanos suggested cards as the category, the committee selected the specific game: Quiggam.” She surveys the twenty five ascendant proteges. Most of them have stoic expressions, betraying no reaction to Jeseria’s announcement. A few smile and raise their eyebrows in surprise. “Is anyone incapable of using the rings of flesh shift?”

I’ve never used one, I think, giving Maria a questioning look. My only experience with them was in Vracoola’s Domain when I dueled against a woman who transformed into a boreal vike.

“No?” Jeseria verifies. “Then we’ll distribute them.”