Realm of Monsters

“And last of all…” Ophelia closed her eyes painfully and tried to steady her breathing. After a few moments, her blue eyes opened slowly. “...The third and final Trinity Prize.”

Four servants dressed in the black robes of mages stepped forward solemnly. In their hands, they carefully held a pale cloak made of white flower petals, streaked with lavender veins on the undersides.

Ophelia turned to Stryg and slowly unbuckled the clasp of his black cloak. 

The cloak fell unceremoniously on the sand. Stryg stiffened but he did not move or back away, he simply stared at her cautiously.

Ophelia smiled painfully and spoke in a soft voice, barely above a whisper, “To the Champion of Spell & Steel, the final victor of the tourney… I gift you my family’s treasured heirloom, ‘The Snow Petal Cloak’ Blossom.”

She grabbed the pale cloak of flowers and carefully wrapped it around Stryg’s shoulders. A pair of thin white vines slowly grew out from the bottom of the hood, one on each side, and tied itself into a knot, forming an organic clasp.

Stryg’s eyes widened in admiration, “That’s pretty neat.”

Neat? Is that all you have to say about Blossom? Neat!? Ophelia thought, outraged, though her face stayed still. “...Blossom is an elemental cloak of life and light magic. It is not bound by the same limits of chromatic magic… So treat my Blossom well.”

Stryg nodded, “So how do I fly with it?”

“...Pardon?”

“When the tourney started, you flew into the arena with the cloak. How did you make it do that?” Stryg asked.

“That wasn’t Blossom’s doing. It was my Yellow wind magic.”

“Oh… I was really hoping I could fly…” Stryg said disappointedly.

“Imbecile,” Ophelia muttered.

“What did you say?” Stryg glared at her.

“I called you an imbecile,” Ophelia said, poison dripping from her voice. “Because that is exactly what you are. A fool who does not even understand the gifts he has been given. You stand here with all ten colors of magic flowing through your veins and literal treasure in your hands and all you can think of is flying!? Your mere existence is destined for greatness and yet you squander it by binding yourself to a House of orcs!?”

Stryg hissed at Ophelia and Tauri stepped forward, but it was Ismene who spoke first, “Careful with your words, Thorn.”

“Or what!?” Ophelia snapped. “What will you do, Tempest Archmage, hm? Will you try to strike me down in my own city, surrounded by my armies?”

“You are not only surrounded by your armies,” Ismene said coldly. “You are surrounded by diplomats from the other three Great Cities. Or did you forget they were in the coliseum?”

“And? Am I supposed to be scared by a couple of diplomats?” Ophelia laughed in disdain.

“No, but only a fool would not be afraid of their cities’ armies,” Ismene said.

“Has old age finally made you senile, human? Do you really think Murkton and Frost Rim would dare attack my city? Without just cause?” 

“How about for interfering with the tourney’s Challenges?” Ismene raised her eyebrow.

“What?” Ophelia stiffened.

“I have had my suspicions about your interference the last few weeks,” Ismene said. “I have spoken to the representatives of the other Great Cities and the professors of the other teams. We have kept a close eye on you, Thorn, and we have come to the conclusion that you have interfered in the 1st Challenge and have altered the Selection Vase of the 3rd Challenge, both of which are incredibly grave offenses. So I guess I should be the one asking, have you gone senile, imbecile?”

Ophelia laughed shakily and shook her head, “Bullshit. I haven’t interfered in any Challenge. You have no proof. If you had, then the diplomats would have already arranged a meeting.”

“They already have,” Ismene said calmly. “The meeting is scheduled to begin soon after the award ceremony is over. Unlike you, the diplomats thought it best not to interfere with the sacred rites of the tourney. Your trial will commence shortly after the tourney is over. Unless of course, you wish to be brash and try to strike at my students as you seem so eager to do. Then the need for a trial would be nullified and our suspicions would be confirmed. Undergrowth will immediately become the enemy of Hollow Shade, Frost Rim, and Murkton, and your precious city will fall under the power of our combined might. Is that what you want? Hm?”

Ismene tapped her cane, “Or perhaps you wish to behave and finish this ceremony with elegance? And maybe, just maybe, your trial’s punishment will be lenient.”

“…You are a bold old cunt,” Ophelia sneered.

Ismene did not bat an eye, “So what will it be, Queen of Undergrowth? Or should I call you Queen of the Ashes? It’s your choice, really.”

Stryg stared at Ismene shocked and was once again reminded why his Blue master was never to be trifled with.

Ophelia’s eye twitched in anger and she suddenly snapped her fingers. A servant ran to her side and presented her with a wooden box.

Ophelia forced herself to smile, “…Where were we?”

She opened the wooden lid of the box and pulled out four mage amulets, each made of silver and embedded with a set of precious jewels. “Due to this year’s tourney’s late start, none of you have officially graduated and been given your mage amulets. It is time to rectify that decision.” Ophelia glanced at Ismene, “Feel free to inspect the amulets for any tampering. I’d hate for you to think I had them altered in some way.”

“Don’t worry, Brown Manifold High-Master Cornelius will take care of the inspection,” Ismene said.

“As you wish, Lady Ismene,” Cornelius bowed with a deep flourish.

“Feel free to give Cornelius the box. I will give my students their amulets later,” Ismene said.

“Fine by me,” Ophelia nodded. She glanced at the four youths and cleared her throat, “By the power vested in me as an arch-mage of the Ebon Realm, I declare Stryg of Ebon Hollow, Sylvie of Hollow Shade, Freya of House Goldelm, and Callum of House Veres, official mage adepts of the Realm.”

Stryg and his friends couldn’t help but smile happily. It had been three long years, but they had finally obtained the title they had worked so hard for. Belle seemed to be the only one who did not care for the title.

“Furthermore,” Ophelia said. “Due to your outstanding display of magical skill during this tourney, Stryg and Sylvie, I grant you both the rank of Master mage of the Ebon Realm. Congratulations.”

Stryg blinked in surprise, “Huh?”

“A little underwhelming, but I’ll accept,” Belle shrugged.

Ophelia ignored them and turned to the crowds, “May I present to you, the Ebon Realm’s four newest official mages and the winners of this year’s tourney, TEAM HOLLO SHADE!”

The crowds finally burst into cheers, their voices so loud that the sands of the arena shook underneath Stryg’s feet.

~~~

…Thorn Castle…

Ophelia stomped into her chambers, her grey skin flushed with rage. She reached for a bottle of wine and drank it straight from the bottle.

“My lady?” her general knocked on the door.

“Come in, Lord Loch,” Ophelia said bitterly.

The door creaked open and Loch walked in, his eyes filled with worry, “My lady, are you alright? What did the Tempest Archmage say to you? Was she threatening you?”

Ophelia gripped the collar of his tunic and knocked him into the wall, “Did you hide the Nether Flask in the arena’s sands?!”

“Of course, I did,” Loch grimaced. “I’d never lie to you, my lady. You know that.”

Ophelia sighed and released him, “…I know… I know… I just don’t understand why it didn’t work.”

“Neither do I, my lady. We may both be archmages, but neither of us truly understands the gifts of our dark god, especially something like that flask.”

Ophelia took another swig of wine and wiped her lips with the sleeve of her dress, “Why did you come here, Lord Loch?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright. The Tempest Archmage, was she threatening you?”

“It was nothing, just a stupid bluff about diplomats, and I fell for it like a fool,” she shook her head. “Best not to worry about it.”

“Diplomats?” 

“It doesn’t matter, they never showed up.” 

Loch licked his lips, “My lady. Before coming here, one of our messengers told me the diplomats of Murkton, Hollow Shade, and Frost Rim, have called a meeting. They wish for you to attend.”

The bottle of wine slipped from Ophelia’s grasp and shattered on the floor. She slowly turned to Loch, her eyes wide open, “...What did you say?”

“The diplomats… They are holding a meeting and they wish for you to attend. Is something wrong? Do you not wish to go? Should I speak to the diplomats myself?”

Ophelia shook her head and wrapped her arms around herself. She shook with laughter, a small hoarse noise from the bottom of her throat that became louder and louder until her voice echoed sharply across the room.

“My lady…?” Loch whispered worriedly.

“Ah… it seems so simple when I think about it,” Ophelia smiled to herself, “Lord Caligo did not place me in this position so that I could be interrogated by the likes of that diplomatic council of self-righteous bastards.”

“…If those diplomats have threatened you in some way I will have words with them,” Loch scowled.

“You misunderstand me. There is no need to tell the diplomats anything. Rally the armies, I want this city on complete lockdown. Lord Caligo did not want someone of interest to leave this city. I don’t know for certain who that may be, but I can make sure they won’t leave. No one gets in or gets out of Undergrowth, not a single soul, I don’t care what their reasons are.”

“But the tourney has just ended. Thousands of visitors will wish to return to their homes. The diplomats will be outraged.”

“Not if they’re dead,” she smiled maliciously. “I want you to kill them all, every single last fucking one of those bastards.”

Loch frowned, “If we harm even a single diplomat it could lead to war with the other Great Cities.”

“We are already at war, Lord Loch. They just don’t know it yet. Soon, Undergrowth’s armies will march on Hollow Shade and then the Realm. It is time I stop pretending otherwise. It is time the Thorns deal the first strike.”

Loch nodded gravely, “…I understand. I will rally our armies.”

“Oh, and Loch.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“I want you to personally capture the tourney team from Hollow Shade. I don’t care how many soldiers it takes. Retrieve my cloak, and bring the dire hybrid called Sylvie and the Ebon Aspirant to me, alive.”

“And the others?”

“Kill them,” Ophelia snarled, “And bring me that old Tempest bitch’s head.”

Loch bowed, “As you wish, my queen.”