"Nothing, sir. Archimedes."
One of the scribes shrank back.
Gwyn turned around, and a seven-foot-seven elf stood behind her. He was towering over her, in fact. His face was gaunt, and he looked annoyed. His long, gray hair dangled to his waist. He pushed past the young woman and shouted to the upper platform.
"Why are you here, Rattail?"
Archimedes shouted, and the walls seemed to shake with his words. Gwyn nearly lost her balance. Books fell from the shelves like rocks from a landslide, and some scribes cast spells to prevent them from reaching the ground.
Mr. Keeper hastily unbuttoned his cloak.
"Aye, Archimedes. I'll be down in a moment; I forgot 'twas today."
"Once every hundred years, how could you forget?" Archimedes scolded. "Fucking idiot."
Gwyn found confidence in herself; someone was here to help.
"Thanks for saving me Archi—"
But Gwyn had no idea who this man really was—the man who tried to prevent her summoning in the first place.
"Keep my name out of your filthy mouth, whelp."
"Sorry…"
Gwyn squeaked.
Archimedes made eye contact with the woman he looked down upon and noticed it was the twenty-fifth Chosen One.
"Oh dear, I'm sorry. I didn't realize I had a Chosen One," he said sarcastically. Archimedes placed a hand on her shoulder. "This meeting is also for you; I was going to retrieve you after I retrieved the avaricious reader over here."
He pointed towards the goblin slowly descending the stairs.
"What sort of meeting is it?"
Gwyn asked, less afraid now.
"Meeting of the Chosen. We have it shortly after the summoning every one hundred years." He leaned closer to her and whispered. "I have a feeling this one will be perfect."
His tone was very sweet, and he sounded genuinely excited.
"I hope it is! Should I go with you?"
"Indeed, you shall. Two birds, one stone, or whatever." Archimedes's large smile comforted Gwyn. She relaxed her shoulders and breathed calmly.
"You walk as if we can't be consumed by the Red Death, Rattail."
Mr. Keeper finally reached the end of the stairs.
"Aye, my little legs only go so fast, ye lanky bastard."
"Indeed. Ripe fruit, you are."
Archimedes turned, and the others followed.
"Where are we going?"
Gwyn asked, briskly walking beside the giant elf.
"As I just said, the Meeting of the Chosen. The most powerful minds in all of Keceo will be there."
Archimedes' strides led him to a crystal coffin, which he stepped on first, then Gwyn, followed by Mr. Keeper.
White shimmering tendrils sprang from the plate and grabbed them, holding them still.
Soon, a magnificent building stood before them. Dozens of crystal coffins continued in a perfect circle around the building, with the occasional ruby coffin.
There are other places to teleport here than the Gilded Towers.
It was a bulb-like building of shining crystal and white marble. Pillars supported the bulb, leading to a covered walkway into the gigantic building. Banners representing the different houses in Keceo were on each pillar.
The banners were Sylvian's, DeMeteor's, and Kosmairian's.
The Sylvian banner is green and gold, with a Divine Tree as its symbol.
The DeMeteor's colors are purple and onyx, with an orange fireball as their symbol.
Finally, the Kosmairian's colors were white and red, with the symbol of water flowing in a triangle shape.
"Wow."
Gwyn was in absolute awe of the architecture.
"Beautiful, isn't it? It is known as the Crystal Summit."
"It's breathtaking."
Gwyn stopped to stare.
Mr. Keeper waddled up the next set of steps in front of him.
"Let's just git this over with."
"Hmmph. Bundle of joy that one is."
Archimedes snapped his fingers, and he was gone.
"Huh?"
Gwyn looked left and right.
Why does everyone mysteriously vanish all the time? A little rude, don't you think?
Elves were pouring into the building, and she quickly followed behind Mr. Keeper.
By this point, the Lotman was huffing and puffing. He had learned from previous meetings that bringing his cloak with him only caused everyone to step on it and trip him purposely.
"Where do we go?"
"Just in here, we stand 'fore the Great Eight."
They entered the Crystal Summit, and the foyer was bustling with hundreds of elves. It was hard to walk two inches without bumping into someone.
Gwyn looked up. Art painted the ceiling. It depicted a woman with fiery red hair, her hand extended. Tornadoes of red flame seemed to consume a many-headed creature fifty times her size.
A peculiar feeling was building in the pit of Gwyn's stomach. It was like someone was lying on top of her, but no one was there. It was a little hard to breathe. But she chalked it up to nervousness.
The lobby was overcrowded; over a thousand elves were just in the foyer.
Oggling at the art caused Gwyn to lose track of Mr. Keeper.
"Hot dogs! Get ya hot dogs here. Genuine hot dogs!"
A man shouted at a stand. Elves would hear him and turn to get some snacks.
Is this a sporting event? I mean, I was a little athletic when I was younger…
A woman with a thick accent shouted over the crowd.
"Sodie pops! Get ya sodies!"
What is this, a fucking Knicks game?
This Crystal Summit did not feel like anything out of a fantasy novel. It was chaotic and crowded, with people wearing merchandise of their favorite Chosen One or regalia of the house they represented. They furiously crammed past one another to get to the second floor.
In the frenzy, Gwyn caught a glimpse of Mr. Keeper trying to weave his way through people's legs and followed after him. Two guards in crystal armor stood in front of thick doors made of glowing gems and crystals.
"Halt."
Gwyn stopped as she stepped before them, but the guards weren't talking to her; they were talking to Mr. Keeper.
"Let me in ya bastards, ye know who I am."
Mr. Keeper's trademark scowl seemed to intimidate the guards. The doors then slowly swung open, and he waddled through. They then shut again.
"Halt."
They immediately said, looking Gwyn up and down.
The two guards' helmets had armor that seemed more for display than for actual combat. It looked designed to be worn for the purpose of pleasing the eye, rather than for comfort. They held swords of what appeared to be quartz. They looked jagged and rough, and a hit from them didn't look lethal, but it'd probably make you wish you were dead.
"Whoa," the slightly shorter guard raised his visor, revealing a face full of acne. "You're the new one... like... super cute."
The other guard swung his arm and hit the shorter one on the back of the head.
"Ow! I was just saying."
"Professionalism. Stand up straight and stop fawning over the Chosen One."
The other guard angrily muttered under their helmet.
"Greetings, new Chosen One." The more studious guard said. He slammed his fist into his chest in a salute. "Inside this Arena, you will be before the Great Eight. You cannot cast magic unless the Great Eight deem so."
How convenient, I can't use magic anyway.
"Great Eight?"
Gwyn thought she'd heard the name before.
"Yes. They used to be called the Sallacious Seven."
"But that sounded silly."
"Then the Scandolous Six."
"But they weren't really scandalous."
"Then the Furious Five."
"Which fit well, but didn't rhyme."
"But since there are eight members now, they are referred to as the 'Great Eight'."
Gwyn blinked.
"Right."
She said, not really caring about the seemingly irrelevant naming convention.
"I didn't come here for a history lesson."
The more studious guard straightened his posture.
"Well, things like that are important."
"Are they?"
The guards looked at one another, then back at Gwyn. The door opened behind them.
"You have no respect for the history of the names of groups of great individuals, where there so happen to be eight of them."
"Uh huh."
Whatever.
Behind them, a nearly pitch-black tunnel revealed itself. The Chosen One walked past the guards.
"Chosen Ones these days."
They said as the doors closed behind them.
Green torches lit the dark corridor like the eyes of monsters stalking prey in the black of night. Once she reached the other end of the hallway, the doors automatically opened, and a bright light revealed an Arena fit for a battle event.
There were different sections where people in different garbs sat. One was designated for the white and red garb, one for purple and onyx, and one for green and gold—the other sections dedicated to those not part of the three major houses.
Gwyn scanned the crowds in their green and gold garb. At last, she saw Elise. Gwyn waved, but Elise just stared forward, not yet noticing Gwyn, or maybe she ignored her.
Did I do something wrong by showing her that locket?
As Gwyn approached the center of the arena, several other… things... were present. She approached them, and she first noticed a tall, red-looking monster with tentacles pouring from its mouth. Its head resembled an octopus. His robes were purple and black, and he held a tome by his side. The tome seemed to move and writhe in his hand as if it had a mind of its own.
The figure next to that creature had fur and a tiger's head, but they wore golden armor. Their stripes were white and black. He had a massive scar over his face in three lines, like another beast had wounded him. He stared forward, broadsword on their back with a ruby jeweled hilt.
"I take it the twenty-fourth won't be here this time," The tiger creature growled out.
The octopus's mouth, or tentacles, didn't move. Gwyn could still hear their voice.
"Come on, Di 'Vinci. The King of Terror can't even come within the city's walls."
"Like to see him try, though," the tiger growled.
Gwyn quietly stood behind them. Eight thrones sat empty before them on a raised platform.
"Pisstail," Di 'Vinci, the white and black striped tiger man, said.
"It's Rattail, you ingrate," Mr. Keeper spat towards the tiger standing beside him.
"What, did I hurt your little feelings?" Di 'Vinci sneered.
"Not going to be the only thing hurtin' if ye don't shut yer trap," Mr. Keeper said, standing beside Di 'Vinci.
"And who is this?" The tiger asked, bending over to touch Gwyn's hair. She backed away.
"Gwynevere Grim, it's a pleasure to meet you," Gwyn said politely.
The tiger smiled and said.
"See? This one has manners." He raised a paw for a handshake. She stretched her arm, but his paw gripped around her wrist and lifted her in the air. "Wow, you are lighter than I thought you'd be."
He swung Gwyn in the air before placing her down.
"Di 'Vinci…" The red octopus warned.
"What, Einstein? I ain't gonna hurt her," he said defensively. Turning back around. He no longer acknowledged Gwyn.
What is wrong with these people?
Gwyn now stood beside Mr. Keeper, as far away from Di 'Vinci as she could comfortably get.
"The party is here!"
A voice boomed from behind them. A blue-skinned alien came crashing through the main door.
Mr. Keeper placed a hand on his face, shaking his head.
"That one is a pain in the arse."
"How's it goin', people?" He said, shooting finger guns at all the different Chosen Ones. Everyone ignored him. "Come on, don't be jealous because my Queen is super-hot, and you guys are super not."
Gwyn stared at him, and they made eye contact. Gwyn immediately regretted that decision when a delighted surprise crossed his stony face.
"Although…" He approached Gwyn. "You're probably a fine fuck, aren't you?" He said to the young woman.
"Leave 'er alone, Jonesy." Mr. Keeper snapped. "She just got here."
"So what? Her legs work, right?"
He stepped closer, and Gwyn backed away. His face was blue and human-shaped, but his jawline was stony like a mountainside.
"Enough, Jonesy."
A woman's voice commanded. Her skin was as pale as the moon. She gingerly stepped beside him without anyone noticing. She had horns that tapered to a fine point. She wore black lipstick and eyeshadow. A tail swung curiously out of her long white dress. The front of her clothing curved into a deep V-shape, leaving little to the imagination.
Jonesy hesitated, going to one knee.
"My lady, I didn't know."
"Good boy," she gingerly twirled Jonesy's hair. "Now, stand up and leave that young girl alone."
When Gwyn looked to her right, a man about eight feet tall held a sword made entirely out of flame.
He stuck his sword into the ground, scorching the silvery sand beneath their feet. He had black wings, like those of an angel. He had a chiseled face and stood like a statue. He didn't utter a single word or acknowledge anyone around him; the figure stared stoically forward.
Gwyn stepped closer to Mr. Keeper when she saw him, feeling the heat from his sword.
The torches encompassing the arena suddenly glowed into crystal white. Seven of the eight thrones were instantly filled with imposing figures. Archimedes sat upon one of the thrones.
He was the first to speak.
"Welcome to the twenty-third meeting of the chosen! Now that everyone has arrived, we can begin."