“Oh, your eyes… they’re remarkable,” said the guy greeting us (his name was Karim), looking me over. There was something sticky and unpleasant in his voice.

  I ignored the compliment. I cared about something else.

  “Sand,” I whined, brushing off my pants. “It’s everywhere. In my boots, in my hood, in my ears… Why is there so little water here? Why is it so hot? Horrible country. Who the hell decided living in an oven was a good idea?”

  Karim’s eye twitched. His patience snapped.

  Shhhing—he drew his saber halfway from the scabbard. The blade flashed in the sun.

  “Stop insulting my country, foreigner,” he growled. “Our sand is gold. Our sun is life. One more word and I—”

  “Whoa, whoa.” I raised my hands. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it. My bad.”

  It came out as fake and unnatural as possible.

  I yawned, putting on my best “I’m terrified” face (I wasn’t).

  Karim snorted, sheathed the blade, and switched to the princesses.

  “Oh, flowers of the North! Your beauty outshines the desert stars…”

  He poured compliments like a waterfall. I walked behind them, mentally taking notes: Okay. Level 80 flattery. Might be useful someday.

  They led us into the guest quarter.

  “These are your chambers,” Karim pointed at a luxurious mini-palace with its own garden.

  He stepped right up to the girls and whispered something into their ears. Lianelle’s eyes widened. Alexia frowned. But they nodded.

  “We understand.”

  We went inside. Cool air. Fountains. Fruit. Heaven.

  I immediately collapsed into the pillows.

  “Greg,” Alexia said, getting ready to leave. “Stay inside. Don’t go out. Different laws here—you’ll get yourself in trouble.”

  She walked up and, out of habit, scratched through my hair.

  “Got it?”

  I got hit with that wave of pleasure again. Brain off.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah…” I purred. “I’m staying. Waiting.”

  They went out (apparently with Karim), and I stayed.

  Three hours passed. The boredom was lethal.

  I counted the carpet patterns (4,028), ate all the grapes, and tried to teach the local parrot to swear (failed).

  “I can’t do this anymore.” I stood up. “I’m going to get some air.”

  I checked the mirror.

  “Alright. Status update. Right eye—black. Left eye—bright purple.”

  “Yeah. Fine. Purple’s the color of kings, so whatever.”

  I pulled my hood lower and went out.

  The market roared. It was chaos—colors, spice, loud shouting.

  People stared. Weirdly.

  Everyone here was dark-skinned, dark-eyed. And me—pale Northerner in a hood—looked like a ghost.

  But the ones staring the most were girls. Whispering, giggling, pointing.

  I felt like an exhibit in a zoo.

  “What do they want?” I muttered, hiding my eyes.

  I stopped by a weapons stall. On the counter lay an old rusty dagger. The blade had an engraving—curves and symbols no one should be able to read.

  But for me they snapped into words as easily as the cafeteria menu.

  “‘Death to demons,’” I read out loud. “Basic.”

  The merchant, a fat old man, dropped the melon he’d been cutting.

  “O… boy!” he gasped. “How do you know our Old Tongue? Even the elders barely make sense of those signs! That’s the language of the Sandstorm Age!”

  “Dunno,” I shrugged. “Must’ve learned it in school or something.”

  I hurried off before he started asking questions.

  Except leaving wasn’t so easy.

  A ring started closing around me.

  Girls. Lots of girls. Veils, no veils, ankle bracelets.

  They surrounded me.

  “Look at his eyes…” one whispered.

  “One is like night, the other like amethyst…”

  “Is he a sorcerer? Or a djinn?”

  “So handsome… so mysterious…”

  They pressed closer. Someone tugged my sleeve. Someone tried peeking under my hood.

  It was weird.

  Usually I got called a freak or a savage.

  Here… I was a star.

  And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it somewhere deep inside the soul I kept hidden.

  But when there were like thirty of them and they cut off every way out, I realized:

  “Yeah… I’m in trouble.”

  Alexia is going to kill me.

  “Oh god…” I breathed out, trapped in the tight ring of fangirls. “Too much attention.”

  Pop.

  I teleported away from the crowd.

  I landed in a quiet alley that smelled like grilled meat. My stomach betrayed me immediately.

  Right in front of me was a decent-looking restaurant.

  I patted my pockets. “One gold. Hm. Should be enough if I don’t go fancy.”

  I went in and sat at a back table.

  A waiter walked up—stern man with mustaches curled upward.

  “Menu,” he grunted, tossing a wooden board onto the table.

  I skimmed it.

  “‘Droduk Meat’… ‘Cactus Soup’… Oh. ‘Sand Serpent Venom.’ Interesting.”

  “I’ll take that.”

  The waiter looked at me like I was insane.

  “You sure? After you drink it, it hurts like hell. Your insides burn.”

  “Then why do people drink it?” I blinked. “Masochists?”

  “Proof of courage,” he puffed his chest out. “If a man drinks it and doesn’t flinch—he’s a real warrior.”

  “Yeah…” I thought. “Your ideas of ‘cool’ are weird.”

  The waiter flashed a predatory smile.

  “If you drink it and don’t start begging, I’ll give you ten silver. On the house.”

  “Oh!” I perked up. “Free money. Bring it.”

  They brought me meat (dry, but spices help) and a tiny shot glass filled with green sludge.

  I shoved meat into my mouth, chewed, then tossed the “drink” back in one gulp.

  Everything inside me burned. The poison was strong, corrosive.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Snap. (in my head)

  My body neutralized it instantly—broke it down into water and sugar.

  I didn’t even twitch.

  “Mm. Kinda sour,” I judged. “Now give me my ten silver.”

  The waiter stood there with his mouth open, waiting for me to start rolling on the floor.

  “Well?” I held my hand out. “Money. Now.”

  He silently counted out the coins and shuffled away like a beaten dog.

  Then the owner came out of the back—huge bald brute.

  “Heard you drank it calmly,” he boomed. “Wanna bet who flinches first? Loser pays fifty silver.”

  I did the math. Fifty silver = a mountain of candy.

  “Alright. Pour it.”

  We drank.

  First shot. Second.

  By the third the owner turned red, his eyes bulged, and he started wheezing.

  I just sat there, bored, staring at the ceiling.

  “AAAAH!” he screamed, clutching his stomach. “I surrender! You’re a demon!”

  A crowd gathered.

  In the commotion someone knocked my hood.

  The cloth slipped.

  Silence.

  Everyone stared at my face.

  “Oh… his eyes…”

  “White skin, black hair… one eye black as an abyss, the other purple like the rarest ruby!”

  “It’s a sign!” a woman shouted.

  “Okay. Time to vanish.”

  Pop.

  I appeared on a wide street and almost got crushed.

  An elephant parade.

  Huge beasts decorated with gold danced, reared up on their hind legs. Fakirs swallowed swords nearby. Strongmen hit each other with hammers.

  “What a show,” I snorted, pulling my hood back up. “The circus left, but the elephants stayed.”

  I tried to just walk, but people started staring again.

  “Oh come on!” I snapped. “Do you all have X-ray vision or what?”

  Enough.

  Pop.

  I returned to our mini-palace and went into hiding.

  About an hour later, a rumble rose outside.

  I peeked through the window.

  A crowd gathered in front of the house. Dozens, then hundreds.

  “Maybe a festival?” I hoped.

  “HE’S HERE!” someone screamed. “THE PURPLE-EYED ONE! SHOW US A MIRACLE!”

  “What…?” I recoiled from the window.

  I hid my presence with invisibility and crouched in a corner.

  Soon I heard Karim and the princesses outside.

  “Back off!” Karim yelled. “There’s nobody here! This is the guest residence!”

  Guards started pushing the fans back.

  Alexia and Lianelle burst inside.

  “Greg?! Where are you?!”

  I stayed silent.

  Alexia sighed, walked straight to my corner (her instincts are terrifying), and placed her hand on my invisible head.

  “So who’s a bad boy?” she asked sweetly. “Told him not to go wandering.”

  I dropped the invisibility.

  “Seriously?” I grumbled.

  “You didn’t hide your presence,” she said. “You just turned transparent.”

  “Yup.”

  “We see you didn’t waste time,” Lianelle smirked. “The whole city is talking about you.”

  “What did I do?” I blinked. “The eye’s purple. Yesterday it was green.”

  “For these people, a purple eye is considered the mark of supreme magic,” Alexia explained. “A super-rare sign. The legend says someone like that will bring great change. Karim warned us, but we thought you were staying inside.”

  She kept scratching through my hair.

  “And you couldn’t tell me earlier?” I grumbled, feeling the anger drain out.

  “Well… you didn’t go and do something stupid, right?” she asked hopefully.

  “Not really. Ate, earned sixty silver, watched elephants.”

  “Then fine.”

  She scratched gentler.

  Ten minutes later, rocked by her hand and a belly full of poison-for-bravery, I fell asleep like a baby.

  Morning brought a pleasant surprise.

  I checked the mirror.

  Right eye—black abyss (stability is a sign of mastery).

  Left eye… brown. Normal, boring, muddy brown.

  “Oh yes!” I grinned. “Perfect. Today I’m a grey mouse. I won’t stand out.”

  No fangirls, no prophecies.

  Just Greg—some guy from the neighborhood.

  We were escorted to the main Arena Palace.

  The scale was insane. A massive sandstone coliseum, stands packed with a riot of color, flags from different academies.

  Down on the sand, dozens of competitors had already gathered.

  We took our place.

  Alexia and Lianelle were visibly nervous—Lianelle kept checking her sword draw, Alexia tugged at her robe hem.

  Their stress crackled in the air like static.

  I, meanwhile, scanned the competition.

  They scanned us back.

  Heavy, evaluating stares.

  A northern team—fur-clad wardrobes with axes.

  Westerners in silk with thin jeweled wands.

  Locals with staffs whose tips glowed with mana batteries.

  “Yeah…” I thought. “Wands, staffs, charms… everyone’s hooked on tools. Take their sticks away and they’re helpless.”

  I yawned, stretched, and said loudly—so our group (and probably the one next to us) could hear:

  “Yeah. No opponents here.”

  Alexia choked on air. Lianelle froze and slowly turned her head with the expression Shut up, idiot.

  “Greg,” Alexia hissed. “Quiet! What are you saying?!”

  “What?” I shrugged. “Just stating facts. I see a bunch of people with magic crutches. I don’t see masters.”

  Unfortunately, my voice wasn’t just for us.

  To our left stood a team in dark blue robes—Iron Peak Academy.

  Their captain, a tall guy with a staff thicker than my leg, slowly turned toward me. He walked over and loomed like a cliff.

  “What did you just yip, runt?” he rumbled. “No opponents? You looked in a mirror? You look like a vagrant who stole his jacket off a scarecrow.”

  I lifted my gaze—brown and black, perfectly innocent.

  “Did,” I nodded. “Cute guy. You, though—why is your stick so big? Compensating for something?”

  A chuckle rippled through the ranks.

  The brute’s face flooded red.

  “You… I’ll smear you across the arena with my first strike!”

  “Get in line,” I yawned. “There’s a waiting list.”

  At that moment trumpets blared. The conflict had to pause.

  The Sultan stepped onto the balcony. Beside him stood the rectors of every academy (including our Elandr).

  “Welcome to the Great Game!” the Sultan’s voice, boosted by magic, rolled over the sands. “This year’s rules have changed!”

  The crowd fell silent.

  “No one-on-one duels in the first round!” he announced. “Too many of you.”

  “So we begin with a Royal Brawl!”

  The arena itself seemed to tremble.

  “All teams enter the sand at once!”

  “Only eight teams will remain!”

  “Your task is to survive and eliminate the rest. Any means are allowed!”

  “Begins in one minute!”

  Lianelle went pale. “What?! Everyone against everyone? That’s a meat grinder!”

  Alexia grabbed my sleeve. “Greg! We need a plan! We won’t survive thirty teams!”

  I looked at the panic around us.

  The Iron Peak brute was already staring, smiling like a predator and stroking his staff.

  I cracked my neck.

  “A plan?” I repeated. “Simple.”

  “Don’t get in my way.”

  “And… hold onto me.”

  “What?”

  “I said hold on!”

  “GONG!”

  The strike rang out and the slaughter began.

  A dozen spells flew at us immediately—fireballs, ice spears, lightning.

  Everyone decided to delete the “upstarts” first.

  I stood in the middle of the chaos thinking, “Yeah… weird competition you’ve got here.” Nobody warned me it would be this format. I thought it’d be alchemists vs alchemists, swordsmen vs swordsmen. Nice and proper. Instead it was wall-to-wall. Mages were hurling fireballs at swordsmen, swordsmen were chopping up alchemists. Total mess.

  Alexia and Liannel were shaking with fear.

  “Why are you freaking out?” I yelled over the roar of the fight. “You’re stronger than at least seventy percent of these people! You’re just getting stage fright. Go hit them!”

  “Greg, we’re gonna die!” Alexia shrieked.

  “You won’t. I think I pissed everyone off, so they’ll be trying to hit me. Go!”

  The stands were acting weird too. The crowd was roaring:

  “THE VIOLET-EYED ONE! WHERE IS HE?! SHOW US A MIRACLE!”

  They spotted my jacket and screamed:

  “THAT’S HIM!”

  I sighed and pulled my hood back. They got a look at my boring brown eye. And the black one. The stands deflated in disappointment.

  “Oh… not him. Let’s go.”

  People started losing interest.

  Good.

  FIGHT.

  They came at us immediately. Alexia and Liannel forced themselves through the fear and jumped in—and, miracle of miracles, they were tearing through opponents. Liannel moved like a whirlwind; Alexia covered her with magic clean and smart.

  “Well then,” I snorted, hands in my pockets. “They’re handling it. Why would I bother? I’ll just stand here and breathe dust.”

  That’s when I spotted the same brute from “Iron Peak.” He was behind Liannel, winding up that massive staff, muttering some heavy spell.

  “Nah,” I muttered. “That’s not fair.”

  I lazily snapped my fingers.

  CRACK.

  His thick, mana-reinforced staff just… exploded into splinters in his hands. The brute froze, staring at the wreckage. His face said, “Did I overtrain? Or termites?!”

  “Oops,” I grinned. “Manufacturing defect.”

  Then, through the battle chaos, a figure started walking straight toward me.

  An elf girl.

  Young (by their standards), long ears, sad eyes. She wasn’t attacking. Arrows whistled around her, but she walked calmly, looking only at me.

  She came right up close.

  “…Paltus?” she asked quietly.

  I blinked.

  “Uh… Paltus? Like… a fish?” I said. “I don’t know any Paltus. You’ve got the wrong guy, pointy.”

  But she didn’t listen.

  She smiled—warm, adoring. Stepped even closer, reached out and… started scratching my head.

  “Oh…” my legs went soft.

  That was an S-rank attack. It ignored defenses.

  I immediately collapsed onto the arena sand, flat on my back, arms spread.

  “Mmm…” slipped out of me. “Yeah… there… behind the ear…”

  “Paltus,” she whispered, running her fingers through my hair. “Thank you. You saved my family back then… I remember.”

  “Don’t know that…” I mumbled, eyes closed from pure bliss. “I’m Greg… But keep going…”

  “What do you know about me?” I asked through the haze.

  “Strange elf girl… very little…” she answered sadly. “You disappeared so fast…”

  “Shame…” I sighed. “So you can’t tell me anything… Then at least scratch…”

  Explosions thundered around us. People were flying. People were burning.

  And me and the elf girl were sitting in the middle of that hell while she gave me a head massage.

  Pure idyll.

  Then two shadows loomed over me. Heavy breathing. Dust and soot all over them, hair a mess.

  Alexia and Liannel.

  They’d just bulldozed through a crowd of enemies, came back for me—and saw the picture: me sprawled out while some random elf girl was petting me.

  “GREG!!!” Alexia screamed, and there was more rage in her voice than in the entire enemy squad. “ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?! WE’RE DYING OUT THERE AND YOU’RE JUST VIBING HERE?!”

  Liannel pointed her sword at the elf girl.

  “Step away from him. Now. That’s our useless relative!”

  I was lying there enjoying the moment when I felt a chill.

  Someone was sneaking up on me. Some swordsman from a surviving team decided a guy on the ground was easy prey. He was already raising his blade for a dirty stab to the back.

  I couldn’t even be bothered to turn around.

  “You feel him?” I asked the elf girl softly.

  “Yes,” she answered calmly, still scratching my head with one hand. “Some idiot. Don’t worry, Paltus. I’ll handle it.”

  When the swordsman got within a meter, she lazily flicked her free hand.

  BAM.

  An invisible wave blew him away. He flew ten meters, slammed into the arena wall, and slid down unconscious.

  GONG.

  “STOP!” the Sultan’s voice boomed. “Eight teams remain! The first stage is over!”

  Dust began to settle. The elf girl smiled and… buried both hands in my hair again.

  “You did well,” she whispered. “So calm.”

  “Mmm…” It was unreal. I felt like jelly.

  Then two shadows loomed over me again.

  Alexia and Liannel—dirty, sweaty, hair wrecked, but victorious. And their eyes were… not kind.

  “YOU!” Liannel barked, stabbing her sword toward the elf girl. “Who are you?! And why are you touching our useless relative?!”

  “Hands off!” Alexia added, fists clenched.

  I cracked one eye open (the black one) and winked at them. Like: “Relax, girls. It’s under control.”

  Reluctantly the elf girl pulled her hands away, stood up, and bowed with a grace any princess would envy.

  “My apologies,” her voice chimed like a bell. “He just seemed cute. So helpless, lying here all alone… I decided to fix his hair.”

  “Helpless?” Liannel snorted. “Him? Sure.”

  Alexia narrowed her eyes, looking from her to me.

  “Greg. Do you know her?”

  “No,” I said honestly, sitting up and shaking sand out of my hair. “First time seeing her. But her hands are magic. Highly recommend.”

  The elf girl gave me a mysterious smile—clearly saying our little “Paltus” secret stayed between us—and disappeared into the crowd of departing teams.

  Alexia grabbed me by the collar and hauled me up.

  “Greg! Stop lying around! We made it through, but it was insanely hard! Tomorrow, in round two, you’re going to help us, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I yawned, stretching. “You did great without me. Why ruin perfect teamwork with my interference?”

  “GREG!!!”

  We trudged toward the exit. I felt a stare on my back.

  The elf girl was watching.

  And I knew tomorrow would be even more fun.