Eraphim had to admit that the God of Death's keep was quite a work of art, architecturally. It had been constructed on pieces of floating black rocks joined together. Black spires, stone pathways, moving statues, and an entrance lit by green and black fire.

   None of Hallas's servants stopped him when he shoved the front doors of Hallas's keep open with a burst of golden magic. They simply halted and stared after him, silently gazing at the trail of magic he left behind in his flurry for attention. "SAIRON!"

   This wasn't the first time he had seeked an audience with Hallas. The first time hadn't exactly gone well, but, he had gotten what he wanted in the end: peace and quiet from those around him. His former position as the Light Court archivist and librarian while he had been alive had granted him just enough bargaining power with the God of Death.

   Servants stared after him as he passed in an angry storm of sunlight and dangerous flares of fire. He knew his eyes had accidentally changed to orbs of flaming suns when a servant approached and had slightly seared his clothes. He dimmed them. The green flames burning on torches nailed to the black walls flickered in his presence. Light of all kind was naturally drawn to him, it was quite annoying sometimes.

   Not a moment later after the echoes of his voice died down did a familiar messenger teleport directly in front of him. Sairon stared at him in a satisfied way, red demon eyes bright with triumph. "I knew you would seek an audience with Hallas. Everyone does eventually. It's quite tiresome on his part, really."

   "Take me to him. Now."

   Sairon grinned and gestured in front of him with a grand sweep of his arm. The large double doors at the end of the hallway opened with a deep groan, red runes flaring brightly on the command of 'open.'

   Sairon entered first, bowing low to the figure seated on the grand throne made of onyx, a black aura of power surrounding him. Eraphim merely nodded.

   The God of Death growled at him for it, but having dealt with Rinaren's bad temper, Hallas was nothing.

   "Do you not bow to me because you are a powerful Ancient, or because you think that since you are the son of the God of the Day and Sun, I must respect you?" Hallas asked coldly, shadows coiling around Eraphim's feet as he spoke.

   The eldest son of the god Dracken really was beautiful in a cold way. Like his father; the God of Time, he had silver-white hair that sometimes reflected light, perfectly tanned skin, and the famous trait of the family: black, pupil-less eyes.

   Those black eyes currently studied him with contempt.

   Eraphim bowed, but not low at all. "Neither of those, My Lord."

   "I see. Do not play with words, boy. You will not win." The shadows in the room slid towards Eraphim as a point.

   "I understand that, My Lord. I merely came here to express that I am willing to participate in the Trial of the Fade."

   Silence.

   Hallas let out a barking laugh. "Finally." He drawled in cold amusement. Eraphim withheld a cringe, hoping he had made the right choice. "Sairon, why is he still here? Prepare him for the first match. It begins in an hour."

  Eraphim gaped. "An hour?!"

   Hallas was already waving him out of the throne room. The grand, black doors were already beginning to close as he was rushed out, "But—"

   The last thing he saw of the God of Death was a shockingly sly smile directed at him. "Do impress me, Son of Henoss," Hallas said wickedly.

   The doors closed with a bang.

⚔~ . . ~ . . ⚔ . . ~ . . ~⚔

   The second those stone doors had slammed in his face, Sairon had ushered him towards the armoury.

   "I do hope you know how to fight."

   Eraphim glared at Hallas's messenger and purposely summoned a glowing golden sword, slicing it neatly through the air to rest not a millimetre from Sairon's throat.

   "Yes."

   Sairon shoved the blade down annoyed, "I can see that. Let's get this over with. Do you remember the rules of the Trial of the Fade?"

   "Sairon, I've been dead for four thousand years." He said it with half his mind, the other willing his sword to disappear with a flash of magic.

   "It's a yes or no question."

   "Y-"

   "Let me tell them to you anyways. The rules are frequently changed by Hallas to make it more exciting."

   "Sairon, I know them. There's a series of matches, at least two or three, where participants battle each other one-on-one until the other is hit in a place where they can be killed. Except we're already dead and can't die again. The winner is promised another chance at life."

   Sairon was quiet. Eraphim hesitated, surely he had gotten that right. He had a reputation as the all-wise librarian to maintain.

   "Not quite. Like I said, Hallas changes the rules frequently. Participants can cease to exist now. Our legendary forgers from across the ages created new weapons that can destroy a person's remaining soul until nothing is left. So yes, you can die again."

   "...what." Eraphim's voice was too quiet.

   Sairon studied him with slightly amused eyes and walked over to a weapons rack holding swords, daggers, spears, and other assortments of weapons. He selected a short sword and lifted it up, giving it a practice swing. Upon contact with his hand, the runes etched into the blade glowed an eerie shade of dark red. When Sairon spun around and sliced the nearest dummy holding up armour in half, it swept right through like nothing. As Eraphim watched, the slice mark widened in a growing circle of green flames until nothing was left but charred ashes.

   "Fate help us. What in the name of the gods--"

   "We call them arclyph blades. They're made from the strongest metal in all the Four Realms and infused with the strongest magic of demons or Ancients. The most powerful ones are infused with the magic of a god or goddess."

   "And the gods and goddesses allow these weapons to exist?"

   "Of course. They can't kill celestial beings, only dead souls."

   "Of course."

   Sairon gave him a manic smile and flipped the blade, offering it to Eraphim handle first. He took it, testing its weight as the blade flared up in colours of yellow and black. Satisfied, he grabbed a weapons belt and attached the arclyph blade to it. Sairon gestured at the entire armoury room.

   "Take anything you like. Although I recommend wearing armour as well."

   "Bastard." Eraphim walked over to the armour section.

   Armour throughout the centuries stood before him on training dummies. Most were from the Light Court, not exactly an encouraging thought...but there. At the back of the room.

   Eraphim weaved his way through the sprawl of supplies and armour until he reached the one that had caught his attention.

   Dark Court armour.

  Eraphim's mouth formed a smile as he took it off the dummy and put it on himself. For Rinaren. His allegiance had; and still was, to the Light Court, but Rinaren had belonged to the Dark Court. And he had been the one person Eraphim had loved with his entire heart. It was only fitting that Eraphim fought to avenge Rinaren in the colours of  his court and not Eraphim's. I do this to make a point to everyone. I am not afraid of anything.

   Let them see his golden hair and eyes that marked him as Light Court. But when his opponent saw the Dark Court armour, they would understand what he was fighting for, and why.

   Wanting to return to life for your own reasons was selfish. Do it because there are still people alive who need you.

That is what Eraphim wanted to prove. Let them know he was more than just an old librarian.

"Quit gawking at yourself. Time is limited and you still need to meet the other participants."

   Eraphim growled at Sairon but obliged nonetheless as they made their way down the hallway.

   "I suppose you're a neutral party in this tournament-of-sorts."

   Sairon grinned, "I am. But everyone has favourites."

   "Was that a compliment?"

   "No."

   Eraphim grinned and pushed open the door marked "Contenders" in the language of the Ancients.

   And for the second time today, he was greeted by a sight that turned him to confusion.

   The other contenders turned at the intrusion, but it was a pair of golden eyes rimmed with red that caught his attention, and it stayed there.

   "Oh. Why hello, Eraphim."

   "...Ingresh?"