Chapter 33: INVESTIGATION
The Tournament Grounds had returned to their mundane form, yet nothing felt normal anymore. The grass beneath Reed’s feet seemed brittle, as if the very earth rejected him after what had transpired. Guards flanked him on both sides—not escorts but wardens, their eyes never leaving his form, hands resting on sword hilts. The crowd that had once cheered now parted with fearful whispers, nobles covering their mouths as if the mere air he breathed might carry contamination.
Reed glanced back at Shia, who walked ten paces behind, surrounded by a tighter formation of guards. Her skin still pulsed with faint violet light beneath the surface, like veins of unholy ore running through pale marble. Her eyes, once amber, now swirled with inky darkness that occasionally coalesced into pinpricks of void-light. She moved mechanically, the guards keeping their distance as though she were a diseased thing.
"Lord Reed," the Captain of the Guard spoke, voice clipped with forced formality, "you will wait in the Interrogation Chamber while the Tournament officials prepare their questions."
Reed sneered. "Interrogation Chamber? I wasn’t aware the Noble Tournament included such accommodations."
"The Archon’s presence changes protocols," the man stated flatly. "Consider yourself fortunate. Were it not for the ancient rules of the Tournament, you’d be in chains already. The Trial of Nine buys you time, nothing more."
They were led through a section of the Tournament grounds Reed had never seen before—beneath the spectator stands, down spiraling stone stairs lit by cold blue mage-lights. The temperature dropped with each step, until their breath fogged before them. At the bottom, a circular chamber awaited, its walls carved from obsidian shot through with golden veins that pulsed with magical wards.
"Sit," the Captain ordered, gesturing to two stone chairs positioned at opposite sides of a black marble table. "Officials will arrive shortly. Any attempt to communicate with your... companion will be treated as conspiracy against the Crown."
Reed seated himself, maintaining the aloof dignity of nobility even as his mind raced through escape scenarios. The slum rat in him calculated distances to exits, counted guards, assessed weapons. The noble lord in him knew such thoughts were futile. The Archon had spoken. The Trial of Nine awaited.
When the door sealed behind the guards, Reed was left in silence broken only by the occasional crackle of ward-magic and Shia’s labored breathing. She sat rigid, her fingertips leaving frost patterns on the stone table where they touched—patterns that resembled the nine interlocking circles.
"My lord," she whispered, her voice layered with another, deeper tone beneath, "they are coming. Not just the officials. Something else stirs."
Reed raised an eyebrow. "Can you be more specific?"