The Storyteller (THE LEGENDS OF AARYAH #1)

TALE ONE OF THE REGRETFUL LEGIONARY - Why Fight?

Donovan's eyes slowly adapted to the darkness of the labyrinth, engulfed in shadows as he tip-toed through the maze, trying to distinguish what was real and what was only a trick of the mind.

He couldn't exactly tell where he was. But he knew why he was there. The Competitions for the title of Grand General Rector of the Fifth Division had begun what it seemed to be an eternity before.

He almost threw up thinking about the fury the Demons attacked with, unstoppable and excited at the sight of blood and limbs of flesh ripped apart.

What held him from letting out all his disgust was the awareness that he couldn't leave traces of any kind if he wanted to survive another minute in that jungle. Or perhaps another hour too.

He wasn't arrogant enough to think he'd make it and win the Competition, but his life had still been too short for him not to pretend to get one second more to see, to hear, to feel...

A centuries-long lifespan could seem boring to others. To him, the time flew by like the briefest flashes, like a firefly in the summer, that was there for a moment and a second later it had already vanished.

Donovan lost his balance, his head suddenly spinning. Something cracked under his foot and a flying creature was immediately upon him.

An air demon, he realized. An instant later, there was only a pile of dust left of him. Air could do nothing against fire as it was the one to feed its own killer.

Thanking luck for being on his side that day, he hastened to find shelter in the black cave that lied right in front of him. It was barely visible in the dense fog that hung in the air.

Donovan knew that could have been both a benefit and a disadvantage at the same time, but he decided to be positive on his last life moments and wished for the best.

As soon as he got into the cave, Donovan fell to the ground, breathing fast and irregularly, unable to feel the air get into his lungs. The poison was already doing its effect.

His vision began to falter, images blurring together. He had to hurry.

He placed a hand on his chest and tried to calm down. That was the only way he could use the Healing Arts. The familiar and warm feeling of scratches and wounds healing, initially slowly and then progressively more quickly, comforted him and sent a chill down his spine.

He let out a curse addressed to the precedent Grand General Rector, that had died only some days before. Did he really have to leave so suddenly?

The Competitions were one of the three demonic Rituals, as the Djimanatá called them. They usually took place a month after the last Rector of a Division died. These were war times though, so the Sultanates needed a new leader as soon as possible, even if it was Jylan they were talking about.

That time the candidates considered worthy of taking command and lead charges in the Fifth Division hadn't received enough time to get ready - just about one week - and yet, they all agreed to participate. All competing for the position of leader. All determined to be the last one standing.

Pure and Half Blood Demons would have fought to death, up until only one was left alive.

Of course, Impure weren't allowed to join the Competitions. No one would have accepted one of them to be a General, or even to be part of Aaryah's society. Their existence was enough of a shame for the Djimanatá already. They were imperfect, unworthy of its blessings and therefore, of a religious veneration from the Demon believers.

Donovan was feeling better now that his magic had taken care of the poison in his heart, so he tried to get going as quickly as he could yet move. He couldn't stay for too long in the same place. Risks of being caught became too high like that.