Twilight
Even now, at twilight, Kragmoor never dimmed. Strange lights hung high in the trees, spilling bright over the camp until it looked closer to daylight.
The whole camp had gathered. Warriors young and old, every kind Kragmoor called its own, stood packed shoulder to shoulder, eyes lifted to the leader on the platform above them.
Thoren raised a hand, and the crowd went silent.
"For ten thousand years," he began, "we have felt her stir. The Rot, who was once one of us. The Tide that turned against its own kind." He paused. "For ten thousand years, we have held her back. Every generation of Kragmoor has bled for that. Our parents. Their parents before them. Warriors whose names are carved into the walls all around us."
He looked out over the crowd.
"Every thousand years, the moon gives its purest essence to one soul. To bind the tides. To hold back the ocean that would swallow this world whole, and every world beside it. That soul has come again."
He gestured to Alya.
She stepped forward. The crowd gasped.
Murmuring erupted.
"She's just a girl!"
"How's she supposed to defend us?"
"Can she even survive the Rot?"
"Other Pure Tides had a hundred years of training and still fell. What has she learned?"
"Is she even a hundred years old? Two hundred?"
"We're doomed."
"Calm down. All of you." Thoren's voice boomed. "I understand your fear. I feel it too. I know you're scared. I know you worry for the people you love. That's why she's standing here."
The crowd quieted.
"She didn't ask for this," he said. "No one asks to carry the purest Tide there is. She was chosen. And she came to us, on her own feet, because she understands what's at stake better than most of you standing here."
He turned to look at her.
"We'll train her. We'll make her stronger than any Pure Tide who came before her, because we're not losing another one to the Rot. Not this time."
The crowd roared. War cries rolled through the field with weapons raised high.
Nyla grabbed Alya's arm, grinning ear to ear. Alya managed a smile back, even as her stomach churned.
Thoren led Alya and her cousins through the different sections of the camp.
The first stop was the fist-combat arena. Two beings faced off in the sand: one had reptilian eyes and a long tail, scales running the length of his back; the other had a human face but two extra arms sprouting from his shoulders, four hands in total. The reptilian fighter caught his opponent by the waist with his tail and hoisted him into the air. The four-armed being thrashed, trying to find an opening to free himself, but his opponent whipped his tail hard, sending him flying across the arena. The crowd roared. The reptilian fighter flicked his forked tongue out in triumph, hissing through the cheers.
"Isn't this supposed to be a fistfight?" Nyla asked, raising a brow.
"Well, the other guy has four hands," Kellan said. "So gator dude's got a right to use his tail too."
Thoren chuckled. "The young man has a point."
Nyla shrugged.
They followed Thoren past more arenas. Fighters clashed with spears and knives. Others conjured bolts of light in every shade, or called down crackling ropes of lightning from a clear sky. One woman planted her feet, and the sand wrapped around her opponent's legs. Another hurled loose boulders, handling the massive stones as if they were foam.
Soon, they reached an arena with more spectators than any of the others. They could feel the heat rolling off it from yards away.
As Thoren led the way through the crowd, a path cleared ahead of them. Alya could feel eyes boring into her from every side, and she held tightly to Nyla's arm.
They reached a platform clearly reserved for Thoren and the other leaders, overlooking the whole arena. Thoren strode straight to the front and gestured Alya up beside him. Nyla and Kellan took their places on his other side.
Down in the arena stood a bulky man. All around him lay fallen fighters, wriggling and grunting in pain.
"That bulky man should fight someone his own size!" Nyla fumed.
"Oh, just wait," Thoren said, smiling. "Look closely, he's fidgeting under that helmet."
The trio's eyes widened as the referee stepped aside, and a woman came forward, pouring water over her face.
"That's Sayana, the strongest warrior of Kragmoor," Thoren said proudly. "No one can compare. Although, I believe Kaelith may give her a run for her money."
Sayana spat the water from her mouth and walked to stand in front of the big fighter, the muscles in her arms and legs rippling as she flexed.
Alya's gaze moved over her, from the ponytail damp with sweat, to the fitted metal breastplate, then down to the sandals strapped over her feet.
When she looked up, their eyes locked.