Trace of Arcane - Book 1

Chapter Thirteen

The air is very thick, electrifying even, with the thrum of anticipation, having the feel of a vibrant, tangible force that inflames my nerves. Today, this spectacle sets my soul on fire — the Ruki. This ceremony lords over everything that has ever burned in my gut, but this year it goes on without me - having deemed it unfit because the antiquated traditions that form a barrier, impossible for me to breach.

Bitterness twists inside me as I look from a distance. The arena comes alive as the Ruki for boys gets underway—it's the boys, along with a few girls, for the very first time. All this is the fruition of months and months of sweat and sacrifice. Their youthful faces are a canvas of emotions in juxtaposition—nervous anticipation warring with steely resolve.

Drums boom in rhythmic beats, and shrilling blares of trumpets rend the air as they take their positions. Sunlight dances across sharpened blades in mute promise for hectic competition. The crowd explodes into applause as the first match begins. Every contestant transforms into a whirlwind of focused energy, their level of combat prowess unprecedented for their age. Weapons meet in flashes of a furious attack and defense, bodies twisting and spinning in a dance.

High above, judges—stoic observers on a raised platform—scrutinize every move. But it's one girl who steals the show. Her movements are symphonies of lethal grace, whirlwinds of calculated strikes, and almost effortless dodges. The crowd gasps in unison as she disarms her opponent with a maneuver so speedy that it would flout ordinary gravitational pulls.

Finally, the verdict rings out. The girl's chest heaves, but her eyes blaze with victory. A thunderous wave of applause washes across the arena, a tide of admiration for the newly crowned champion. I clench my fists, a knot of...... something tightening in my chest - a flicker of envy and begrudging respect for her skill, but mostly, simmering frustration. Though I don't see any worth in the Ruki, next year I vow to myself, they will see the warrior that I am. Even though this custom of coming-of-age may lead to marriage—a fate that I reject—by Ceilis, I shall let them know who is the best!

The cheers of the Initiation fade into a dull roar as the crowd thins. Sweat dries tacky on my arms, a stark contrast to the cold knot of frustration tightening in my gut. Victors preen, losers nurse their wounds, both physical and emotional. But I remain rooted to the spot, a statue carved from envy and simmering anger.

A shadow falls across me. Zig, flushed and damp from the competition, shuffles his feet awkwardly. He always does that before something important.

"Eden," he mumbles, barely audible over the dying cheers and calls me to the side. He fumbles with a pouch at his waist, finally pulling out a small, metallic object.

"No!" I can barely believe it.

"Yes," he responds.

"A real gun!" For a moment, my breath catches. The gun speaks of everything I yearn for – a rebellion against the Ruki's stifling traditions, a fight against the suffocating grip of Lux, a yearning to break free from...... from what?

"I joined the Vanguard," Zig blurts, his voice gaining strength with each word. "That's how I was able to get it so quickly. We're organizing protests against the new Lux temple, against their growing power..."

"Are they planning an attack?" my voice trembles.

"No, of course not!" he responds, "just a protest."

The gun, once a symbol of liberation, now feels like a gilded cage. Visions of myself chained to a life of activism flash before my eyes, a life spent shouting slogans instead of carving my own path.

"No," I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite the storm brewing inside. "I want a different path. I want to join the Troopers," I declare. "They're searching for the cursed ones. If we find them, our debt to Lux will be paid off and we will be free."