“Competitors get tickets for quests, complete the quest you get money. Money was how it all originally started. But… Then the bridge opened up. Apparently what sits at the end of it all is the Zodiac Palace. That’s how it was born…” Horst said.

  “What? Why?” Otie questioned.

  “Well, there are three kinds of people who go to Zodiac Palace.”

  “Well?”

  “Organizers, participants, and spectators. Only two requirements to participate: you must live in Ontiganel, and you must be a teenager, ten to nineteen.” Horst paused, he sensed a slight rustle not too far off, but he ignored it to continue. “Spectators can be from anywhere, the only requirement to watch is having an electronic mailing address. Ayihcah, you don’t own a computer, or a cellphone, do you?” Horst gave a sideways glance.

  “Nah.”

  Holding his knees close Horst kept going with the explanation. “There are many who come to watch. Just as many run websites with information about candidates, like me for instance. And ya know they show stuff, like what school they attend, who look strong, and all that. The organizers use that information to choose which candidates make the cut. The organizers control everything, anyone who doesn’t like that can fuck off.”

  “So who are the organizers?

  “No one knows. It could be one person, a group, something in between. Ayihcah, have you ever heard of the Council Thirteen? It’s something I recently came across, it's about fifteen years old when we hadn’t even been born yet. The Council Thirteen was the biggest gang back then, with about three hundred Black Hounds.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  “Thirteen… Zodiac, could they be connected somehow?” Otie mentioned with mild intrigue.

  “It’s more than obvious, no? And he’s closer than you’d think.”

  “Huh, who’s close?” Otie continued too much on his popsicle stick.

  “A former member, the most important one,” Horst said whilst he got up. Standing onto his feet, he patted his pants a couple times. With a swift spin and a glamorous point, a gust of wind followed his next words. “He’s right over there. Right behind the school, in Ontiganel city hall.”

  “Y-you mean he works in the city hall?”

  “No,” Horst said sternly. “Saint Akli Graham, the founder and head of the Council Thirteen is now Ontiganel’s mayor.”

  Sneezing on Horo was an uncalled for accident entirely on Akli’s part, but beyond that the meeting was seemingly well for all accounts. Horo, at thirty-five had to sit beside what he considered on some basis a man-child. However, he held firm that Saint Akli Graham was right for the job, that being the mayor of Ontiganel.

  “Ah, Mr. Mayor, have you perhaps caught a cold,” a plump man said who sat across from Akli and Horo.

  “Oh, nothing, merely a joking achoo,” Akli replied with grace. “Hahaha, anyway, what were we talking about again?”

  “The construction…”

  “Ah yes. Don’t worry about it. I’ll stop the construction at the underground porting entrance. I don’t care for the bureaucrats hounding me! I won’t go over budget again, promise. Our tax-payer money shouldn’t be wasted like that.” Akli said with conviction. Though Horo, Akli’s secretary, looked none the slightest bit pleased. “That’s why I was elected.” Akli continued. “But naturally, that’s not all I need to deal with.”

  Saint Akli Graham was a confusing man without much plight in his current sails. Women, alcohol, and the occasional cigar kept him the most company. A jovial man with slick back hair and a well defined frame that wouldn’t classify him as ugly. Dress to impress was one of many mottos he went by. Clasping his hands together whilst leaning back made him feel like a king, if that wasn’t already what he thought of himself.