As the Wardens dispersed to their newly assigned teams, the hall echoed with the scrape of wood on stone. Several servants wheeled in a massive board, taller than a man and wide enough to fill half the dais of the Basilica. Its surface was covered in two hundreds of small scraps of parchment, each affixed like a patchwork of secrets.
Aurelius stepped forward, seized the heavy cloth draped over it, and pulled. The fabric collapsed in a wave, revealing the mosaic of parchment. The Grandmaster's grin carried the mischievous glint of a teacher about to watch his pupils sweat.
"Your tasks," Aurelius announced, voice carrying across the vaulted ceiling. "Each of these slips bears a trial. Some simple, some impossible. Each marked with the flames of difficulty—one to four. One flame, a test for novices. Four flames… for the ambitious."
Before he could continue, Juan suddenly bolted. His boots struck the marble with sharp echoes as he dashed past the other initiates and tore a scrap from the very bottom corner of the board.
"Juan!" Azazel hissed, but it was too late.
Ino and Matteo sprinted after him, colliding at his side just as Aurelius raised his brows, utterly amused.
"Well, well," the Grandmaster chuckled, spreading his hands. "Our first claimants. Bold—or reckless. I haven't even finished explaining the rules." The room rippled with laughter, whispers, and curious stares.
Azazel's gut twisted as Aurelius leaned forward. "Tell me… how many flames mark your trial?"
Matteo pried the parchment from Juan's grip. His olive skin paled as he saw the ink. "Four," he said softly. "Four flames."
The hall erupted in gasps. Aurelius barked a laugh, smacking his hand against the board. "Four flames, straight away! Truly the fire of youth burns brightest in fools."
Azazel groaned inwardly. Of course he grabbed the hardest one without thinking…
"And what is this daunting task?" Aurelius pressed, his eyes glittering. "Would you be so kind as to enlighten us all?"
Matteo swallowed hard, cleared his throat, and began to read. "Task: Defeat your Warden—" His voice faltered. He blinked, then finished in a stammer. "—defeat your Warden-supervisor in battle."
The laughter and chatter ceased in an instant. Silence thundered louder than any crowd.
Azazel's stomach dropped. Slowly, he turned toward Juan, who stood with head bowed, shoulders trembling.
"Juan," Azazel muttered, panic rising.
Then he saw it—the curl of a smile tugging at his friend's lips. Not shame. Not regret.
Excitement.
"But! The funny part," Grandmaster didn't give the time for the group to discuss Juan's reckless behavior, "If your balance of fires reaches negative – you are automatically eliminated from the competition"