Jasper's golem marches toward the center of the sand pit. The little construct wobbles with its steps, far more than I have seen any of the others before it. Halfway to the center of the pit, its booted foot clips something hard buried beneath the surface, a chitinous plate from some monster or another. The golem begins to tilt. It reaches out with its staff, trying to steady itself, but the head of the staff merely cuts a groove through the sand as it falls face-first to the ground. All throughout the arena, laughter mixes with the groans of those who had placed bets on the little metal man.

"You're certain this thing will win?" Dovik asks.

"Of course not," I tell him. As the golem tries to right itself once more, the wall on the opposite side of the pit begins to slide open. Claws scrape at the rising section of wall; whatever is trapped inside is in a hurry to get out. "I just thought that what they had would be strong."

"You said it would win," Dovik accuses. He squints down at his drink, stirring it. "It isn't as if I have infinite wealth here."

"Maybe you will learn a lesson about gambling."

"Doubt it."

Before the hole in the wall can open completely, a monster slithers beneath the crack. I try to put the mess of black goo and claws into a framework in my mind, try to break it down into something that I know, but utterly fail. It undulates forward, pseudopods of glistening black tar dragging its mass forward as it warbles a pitiful cry. Despite the sheer ugliness of it, I can't bring myself to feel disgust at the sight of it. It is a monster; I hate it as much as all the rest.

The golem manages to gain its feet before the vile mass reaches it, raising its staff. Magic runs through the coils that make up the weapon, the silver embedded in the gold carrying the majority of the mana current toward the bundle of runes at the head, which control the output. A blinding flash issues from the head of the staff as an arc of lightning leaps forward, crackling over the fleshy blob. The monster squeals as it recoils, a sound not unlike a pig, giggling backward away from the arcing bolt.

"It seems somewhat like cheating to allow those kinds of attacks in this arena," Dovik says. "At least the little constructs that used blades and hammers had to employ some sort of skill. Zapping off a blast of magic hardly seems like it is in the spirit of the event."

"The staff merely amplifies magic," I tell him. "From the quick explanation I managed to drag out of Jasper and his team while they were assembling the construct, that is common. These exhibitions are as much about showing off magical wares as winning the contest. Mages need to buy equipment too."

"I suppose," he admits.

The gooey monster lurches forward again, only to be blasted back by another arc of lightning. I know that the mana inside the construct is limited; it has to fit within a certain set of guidelines approved by the event runners. Otherwise, this whole exercise would become a display of who can craft the most powerful construct, not who can make the best equipment.

Despite being thrown back, the monster lashes forward with one of its extending limbs. Rather than slice, the claws on the end of the pseudopod stick to the armor of the golem. Significantly outweighed, the golem is pulled off balance, its staff still firing bolts of lightning at the monster as it wobbles and draws closer.

"I wouldn't want to fight that thing," Dovik says. "It looks messy."

"I wouldn't either," I admit.

He looks away from the fight at that, staring down at me. "Really? I doubt you would have any problems."

I scoff at that. "I don't know how to fight," I tell him. "Every time that I face off against a monster, I spend most of the time doing all I can to keep it away from me. I'm not like you. I never trained with a weapon."

It is his turn to scoff. "Are you really trying to tell me that you can't fight? You killed a rank three monster when you destroyed that creature pretending to be a man. Then you killed another one with Jor'Mari, cut its head off from what I heard. You know how to fight."

I shake my head. Down below, the mass of black has managed to stick part of its body to the left leg of the golem. The little metal man beats at the monster with its staff now, every strike issuing a crack of thunder and an explosion of electricity. Arcs of light roil over the glittering surface of the monster's mass, but it shows no sign of stopping.

"We don't know how strong either of those monsters was," I say. He opens his mouth to object to that, but I cut him off. "I'm not so inept as not to see it, Dovik. I am not weak."

"No," he agrees. "You are a damned magical genius."

I smile at that, staring down to where the monster slowly pulls the golem into itself. "I'm not a genius. I have seen what a real genius looks like. I used to think that Corinth was the one; everyone always said that he was a genius, 'the man that reached the fifth rank in only a decade.' Then I spoke with him more, learned how he got there. We have more in common than I knew.

"Did you know that since my brother Halford reached the second rank, he has only fought a handful of monsters? We didn't have long to spend together after the battle, but he told me that. No, he went to the capital and became a duelist there. For most of my life, I have been told that the way to grow stronger is by fighting monsters. Arabella was the first one who told me there was another way, that there are those out there who can sit on a mat and grow stronger just by meditating on it. Halford figured that out somehow. For him, fighting other swordsmen is enough to help him grow in power. Can you imagine that? He always wanted to be a swordsman, always wanted to be the best, and proving that dream true grants him the power to keep proving it. I am so jealous, so jealous that it eats me up inside sometimes."

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Staring down at my hand, fire dances between my fingertips. Beyond, blurred by the distance, the monster has managed to half-consume the construct now. "Do you know why I became a magician?"

"No," he says.

I can't help but laugh, laugh at my old self. "I wanted to be pretty," I tell him.

"Seems to have worked."

"I was so jealous," I say, ignoring his comment. "Everyone in my family had a set of essentia. Corinth sent essentia to them, but he only sent me one. They were all running around, more powerful than anyone has a right to be, better than everyone else, and it ate me up inside. Every time I looked at my mother, I was caught by how beautiful she had become, how little I looked like her anymore. When my dad or Halford had to work around the orchard, they could carry entire trees between the two of them. If they wanted, they could finish their chores in just an hour. Every time we went into town, every time I saw someone's head turn to look at them after they passed, I wondered why that wasn't me. I wanted it so bad, to be better, to be beautiful, that I would have done anything to get it. For so long, I felt like Arabella gave me a poor deal, sticking me with the Willian guild, but now I'm thankful that she was the one. I would have agreed to anything, I think, just to be pretty. It's pathetic, isn't it?

"Then I got it, got the pretty face that I always wanted, not that I ever did anything with it. And once I had it, I had nothing. It just took me a long time to realize that. Halford has something, a dream that he loves. When he wades out into the dueling arena, pitting his sword against that of pampered nobles and centuries-old fighters, it fills his soul so much that he comes out the other side a better man. He doesn't need to kill monsters because his soul and his dream are already matched. It took me literally being tortured for weeks, kept awake all the time as I begged for someone to come and save me, being run through by rusty blades, just to reinforce my soul twice. Only twice.

"That's the difference between us. He has that thing that genius requires, love. He loves what he does; it is his dream, and he can do it for eternity. I doubt he even cares that it brings him more and more power. I don't love this, Dovik. I am a shallow girl; my dream was accomplished in an afternoon, if you can even call something so petty a dream. You can't be a genius without love. You can't be a genius without a dream. I don't have these things."

The sound of the cheering crowd is gone now. I am alone with my friend here, standing on the precipice of blinding light. Only the dull quakes running through the stone beneath my feet signal that the world exists at all. Fire dances across my palm, changing color in a cascade of affix, a rainbow of destructive potential.

"All I really have left to push me forward is hate. I hate them all, these monsters that don't belong in our world. All of the power that I have, I had to claw from the world. I use it, almost every day, to burn, crush, and tear these creatures to pieces. I don't fight them, not anymore, if I ever did. I hover above these creatures, creatures that by all metrics should be as strong as me. They wail and screech, trying to scratch their way toward me. It is pathetic, watching them try to touch me, watching them fail. Sometimes I let them hit me just to see how bad it might be. I don't fight monsters. I kill monsters.

"I'm not delusional, Dovik. I know that I am stronger than most. I know that if I gave it my all, I could kill some third-rank monsters, but I am not a genius. I'm not strong either. Everyone else is just weak."

The silence rings heavier between us than anything can drown out. I've never told anyone this before. No matter how many times it has run around in my head, no matter how many times I have tried to rationalize everything I have felt, telling it to someone else always felt impossible. Why now? Why did I have to ruin it all…

"You're right," Dovik says.

Slowly, sound seems to come back to the world. The roar of the cheering crowd climbs from a bare whisper to a roar. The fire dancing on my palm dies, and beyond it I can see the bed of sand once more. The gibbering mass of vile flesh screeches, and lightning continues to arc over it. The golem below struggles, its staff firing bolts of lightning that are now hardly more than suggestions of magic. Yet, it continues to drag itself free, bit by bit.

"We are weak." He raises his hand when I begin to contradict him, his face suddenly sober. "I always knew that I was. You aren't the only one jealous of your siblings. All my life, I have grown up with the stories of how strong my family is. I have seen it firsthand. I have watched people nearly crushed to death with nothing more than the disparity between two people's presences. I worked, I worked hard, but I never managed to climb to even a fraction of where they were.

"Then, I joined the trial. Suddenly, I was strong, I was competent. People looked to me for answers, and I actually had some. I couldn't return to how it had been after that; I couldn't go home. I found friends, and I wanted to be with you all. More than anything, I wanted to be strong and with you. Then, that bastard showed up. I couldn't stop him, Charlene. Not since I had to face my father in a fight have I felt so powerless. I realized that I stopped moving, that I let my feelings of strength make me weak." He stares down at his drink. Dovik sniffs, taking in a deep breath and forcing a smile. "But I won't remain that way. You have shown me how to get strong, stronger than those things. That is why I have to follow you, even if we have to go to hell because of it. Because I know that you are going to kill those fucking monsters, and I am going to help you do it."

With a final, futile cry, the blob of a monster begins to disintegrate into the sand. The bubbling ooze that makes it up gives way, revealing a twisted skeleton beneath.

"I know you will," I say to Dovik, putting my hand on his arm. "I know you will."

I find Jasper and his team ecstatic after their match; only three teams managed to defeat their given monsters that night. With their match finished, the man shows me their creations in more detail, showing off how all of their pieces work. Gaz, his sister, isn't very excited about her brother giving away trade secrets, but she changes her tune the instant Dovik kisses her hand in greeting. We don't waste the entire night on enchanting; I have plenty of that at home. The music blasting through the air in the dance club begins to grow on me as the night stretches on, and I eventually figure out how exactly one is supposed to move to the music.

The sun is already threatening to climb over the emerald wall by the time we leave the club. The trip home is a blur. Sleepless nights begin to catch up with me before we make it halfway back to the penthouse. I wake up to the sound of a door opening, finding Dovik carrying me in his arms across the threshold and to my room. I pretend not to wake up as he sets me on my bed, and he pretends not to notice I'm awake. I fall asleep as the sun makes it above the wall, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. Before I finally drift off, I pray to be free of nightmares. My prayer goes unanswered.

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