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{Season 1|EP.8}

{Season 1|EP. 8}

"Congrats Alice!" Wendy cheered as she hugged Alice walking into the White Swan Corps. "This place is beautiful!" Alice smiled. The inside of the building highly resembles a small restaurant or pub, mainly constructed of wood. The room possesses a stone floor, and several small, round tables are scattered across it, paired with some chairs. In the right side of the room is a bar counter, complete with a sink and several bottles, which has a wooden platform in front of it, with some more tables and chairs sitting on it, plus some round bar stools by the counter. Behind it is a staircase, with its landing sitting on the only structure of bricks in the inner part of the building, a massive, rectangular column. Leaning against the walls are some bookshelves packed full of books, and at the entrance sides are a pair of plants kept in jars. Some lamps are attached to the pillars adjacent to the walls; one of such walls is covered in a variety of frames, of different size and shape, seemingly housing pictures. "I know! It's a bit smaller than Black Swan Corps but it's still really cool." Musa added. "Come on you have to get your symbol." Carla smiled as they walked towards the bar to see a girl with white hair smiling brightly. "So where do you want your symbol?" She asked. "Blue on my upper left thigh." Alice answered as the girl stamped the stamper on her thigh. Once she removed the stamped a beautiful blue swan silhouette was in its place. "Welcome to White Swan kid." Tequila patted Alice on the shoulder making her smile.

Meanwhile, Zayla was in a large tent text to the arena when Whiskey walked in. "Well, now we're all here - time to fill you in!" said Whiskey brightly. "When the audience has assembled, I'm going to be offering each of you this bag" - he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them - "from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different - er - varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too. . . ah, yes. . . your task is to collect the golden egg! The person who can get their egg in the quickest time get's the spot."

Zayla glanced around. Caleb had nodded once, to show that he understood Whiskey's words, and then started pacing around the tent again; he looked slightly green. Fiona Delacour and Keith hadn't reacted at all. Perhaps they thought they might be sick if they opened their mouths; that was certainly how Zayla felt. But they, at least, had volunteered for this. . .

And in no time at all, hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking. . . . Zayla felt as separate from the crowd as though they were a different species. And then - it seemed like about a second later to Zayla - Whiskey was opening the neck of the purple silk sack.

"Ladies first," he said, offering it to Fiona Delacour.

She put a shaking hand inside the bag and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon - a Welsh Green. It had the number two around its neck And Zayla knew, by the fact that Fiona showed no sign of surprise, but rather a determined resignation, that he had been right: Madame Maxime had told her what was coming.

The same held true for Keith. He pulled out the scarlet Chinese Fireball. It had a number three around its neck. He didn't even blink, just sat back down and stared at the ground.

Caleb put his hand into the bag, and out came the blueish-gray Swedish Short-Snout, the number one tied around its neck. Knowing what was left, Zayla put her hand into the silk bag and pulled out the Hungarian Horntail, and the number four. It stretched its wings as he looked down at it, and bared its minuscule fangs.