They’re judging who will survive.

All of them only see us as the naive new initiates. They stand around the cavern with the pagan alter in the centre. Each hood up, stating we’re too insignificant to learn their faces nor names. Too short lived.

There are four others around me. A white, chalk pentagon on the floor connecting us. It soon licks of flames when the first drops of blood hit it.

Only one of us can join. Slightly arrogant the way they expect us to cower as the flames rise taller and swirl. Although the others do give in to the expectation.

Two horns rise from the inferno and I bring my dagger to my side.

They want to see who will survive?

I want to see them bow to me.