Chapter Fifty: A Mirror of Us
We spent the better part of the day asking around. Every tavern, stall, and innkeeper. Tory even tried charming an old herbalist—and he's not even that charming. All for the same answer: no one in this city had seen or heard of anyone with strong magical power.
Or maybe they had… and just didn't want to talk about it.
There was a tension in the air—like everyone was waiting for something to explode.
And, well… they didn't have to wait long.
A fight broke out in a tavern two streets down from the central market. Two big drunk idiots, shoving each other and yelling about stolen coin or wives or whatever. I didn't care enough to listen. But Tory, of course, did.
"Wait here," he said, stepping in like some damned hero.
Instead of backing down, they both swung at him.
I just sat down, ordered a glass of water, and waited. I already knew how this was going to go.
Tory didn't disappoint. He was faster than either of them could follow—one got slammed into the bar, the other flung into a table. The barkeep barely flinched. Tory made sure not to wreck the place too much.
While he was finishing up, a man slid into the seat next to me.
"Your friend's got some good moves. I know a place where you two could make some coin."
"We're not exactly looking for some coin," I said, not taking my eyes off Tory.
"If he beats the young champ, it won't be some coin—it'll be a fortune."
Now that got my attention.
Not the prize. Not the fight.
The champion.
Tory returned a few moments later, brushing dust off his shoulder. I stood up.
"We're going somewhere," I told him. "Might be a lead."
We followed the man through alleyways and down a staircase hidden behind a storage door. The air grew heavier—humid. Magic hung in the walls. In the blood.
We arrived at what could only be described as a pit. A stone arena. Enchanted barriers. A roaring crowd.
A man with a magically-amplified voice stood at the center:
"The champion fight is about to begin!""On one side, our standing champion!""On the other, a loser who thinks he can beat him!""LET THE FIGHT BEGIN!"
The crowd roared.
The champion was a tall elf, maybe forty. Not just brawn—magic, too. You could feel it rolling off him like heat. On the other side of the ring? A sixteen-year-old boy. Scrawny. Calm. Didn't even look like he was using magic.
Tory tensed beside me.
"He's just a kid—"
"Wait," I said, smirking.
The elf charged. One hit. Two. The boy collapsed like a ragdoll. Blood. Bone. Skull?
"Hahaha! This is your champion?" the elf jeered, arms raised.
Tory's fist clenched.
"Wait," I repeated.
Then the boy vanished.
Just disappeared.
He was suddenly sitting across the arena, legs crossed, a mug of ale in hand.
"Really? Cocky much? You didn't even notice that was an illusion clone."
He stood, tossed the drink aside, and walked back into the arena.
This time—he fought.
Fast. Deadly. No words. No wasted motion. Layers of illusion and feints. Real attacks disguised as false ones. He was casting magic without speaking—something I rarely do myself. Too risky. Too draining.
But him?
It was like breathing.
The elf never stood a chance. He was on the ground, bleeding and unconscious, before he even realized the fight had begun.
"AND THE WINNER—THE STANDING YOUNG CHAMP—JAMES KANT!" the announcer roared.
The crowd exploded in cheers.
And I just stood there, watching that kid with eyes too full of fire. He reminded me of Tory—naïve, idealistic, still believing justice was real.
The elf was dragged away, dazed and bloodied.
James? He didn't even seem tired. Just a boy with a smirk that didn't match the weariness in his eyes.
"Doesn't look so cocky now, does he?" James muttered, dusting his sleeves. "Old bastard should've stayed in bed."
Tory leaned toward me, eyes never leaving the kid."I guess we found the godsworn."
I nodded slowly."Most likely. And if he keeps flashing that kind of power around, every god with a grudge will be here soon."
James was walking past us when I stepped in front of him.
"Nice work," I said. "Mind if we talk?"
"If this is about betting tips, I don't give those out."
"Do I look like I bet?"
He looked me up and down."Fine. Come on."
He brought us to a small hut nearby.
"So? What is it you two want?"
"Do you know what a godsworn is?"
He frowned."A what?"
"A godsworn," Tory explained. "Someone tied to a higher being. Chosen. Empowered."
The boy scoffed."Oh—those. I just call them cockroaches. Using someone else's power? That's pathetic."
I almost laughed.
"Well, sorry to say it, kid… you're one of them."
He glared at me."You accusing me of cheating?"
"No. I'm accusing you of having the misfortune of being born a true godsworn. Your skill? Your power? It's not normal. You were made for this."
"Well fuck you! I'm no puppet. Want to fight me over it?"
Tory moved, but I raised a hand to stop him.
"See that sphere of magic around the entire city? That's you. You can't even control what's leaking out of you—"
"Blah blah. I don't care."
I sighed."Okay. What will make you listen for one damned minute?"
He studied me, then pointed to the ring.
"One round. You win, I'll listen. If I win—you leave me alone."
I raised a brow."You sure about that?"
"Didn't you say I was born for this?"
[Fight Scene]
The crowd had mostly left, but a few stayed. James entered the ring, stretching like it was just another day.
I climbed in slowly, ribs aching.
"No weapons," I called. "Just skill."
"Your funeral."
The bell rang.
He moved fast. Illusions everywhere. I could barely see what was real. His magic was clean, precise, overwhelming.
But I wasn't trying to win.
I was trying to outsmart him.
I slumped, casting an illusion of myself panting, on the edge of collapse.
He lunged.
I slipped behind him, flicked binding dust onto his back. One second of stillness—that's all I needed.
I swept his legs and pinned him, a blade at his throat.
He glared up at me.
"You fought dirty."
"Don't you always?"
I helped him up.
He sat on the edge of the ring, rubbing his neck.
"Fine. I'll listen. But I'm no one's puppet. Not even the gods'."
"Fair enough."
Tory clapped my back, smiling. We followed James into his hut again, ready to explain who he was when—
CRACK.
A lightning bolt split the sky—unnatural, magical.
Then a voice, booming like thunder, shook the entire city:
"LOKI!" it roared."I FOUND YOUR GODSWORN. I'M GOING TO KILL HIM, YOU MISERABLE BASTARD!"
I felt the chill run through my bones.
This just got a lot harder.
[Day 18 / 3650]