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The notion seemed absurd, a fantasy I refused to entertain. But every confusing moment replayed in my mind: the heightened awareness, the uncontrollable anger, the incident that left Levon's face a brutal mess, and the Miehja attacking only those who posed athreat.

Swallowing hard, I forced myself to stay grounded. I needed to focus on finding a way out of here, not on wild imaginations.

Pushing myself up from the ground, I sat feeling a strange energy pulsating between my fingers as I wiped my bloody knuckles on my leg and brushed the hair out of my eyes, trying to steady my breathing and regain control.

The sky dawned into a somber grey, broken clouds pressing low overhead. I slowed my breathing and gingerly picked myself up, every movement sending waves of pain through my aching body. My jaw throbbed, a painful bruise forming, which I hoped would be hideous enough for Lord Winslow to call off the arrangement if I made it out of here alive.

Shifting my gaze to Osric, lying motionless on the ground with his chest still rising and falling, disgust churned within me. For a moment, I entertained the idea of tossing him off the ledge but ultimately decided to leave him for whatever animal might find him instead.

I scooped up my makeshift dagger before trudging down the steep hill, stumbling several times but using the momentum to keep myself upright. Thirst, hunger, and sleeplessness gnawed at me, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The gravel crunching underfoot for the mountain slope was my only companion, the silence punctuated by my labored breaths.

I kept walking and walking, driven by sheer willpower, even as exhaustion and pain weighed me down.

After what felt like hours of trudging, fatigue settled over me. My steps grew sluggish as I veered off the path, descending into a valley of dead trees and frozen greenery. There had to be a stream nearby and perhaps nuts, berries, or even squirrels.

I pushed deeper into the twisted embrace of the dead branches, the ground beneath me becoming soft and springy, giving me hope that water was close. The clouds above were now a dark, oppressive grey, hanging low and shrouding the landscape in fog. The cold, moist air chilled me to the bone, and I shivered as I moved forward, hearing the weight of my breath in each step.

Unexpectedly, a rustling noise sounded up ahead, causing me to freeze in place and hold my breath. I listened intentlyas the noise grew louder, something approaching through the underbrush. Clutching my makeshift dagger tightly, I slid up against a tree for cover, listening to my heart pound as I waited.

Heavy footsteps broke through the dead branches, sending rocks scattering. Peeking around the tree, I saw the younger boy from Kleads emerge into view. His face was covered in scratches, his suit was torn, his head hanging down, looking as desperate and worn as I felt.

I watched him for a moment, assessing his condition. His movements were slow and cautious, his eyes darting around as if expecting danger at any moment. Without thinking, I stepped into view.

Fear flashed across his face as he jumped back, holding out a large rock and a sharpened branch. His expression softened with relief when he recognized me, but he kept his weapons up.

"Astor, is it?" I rasped, my voice rough and crackling. I coughed, feeling the cold air slice deeper into my throat. He nodded, his dark almond eyes curious, examining every detail of my blackened, splattered face, down to my tattered suit and bloodied hands. "I'm not going to hurt you," I said, raising my hands in a gesture of peace.

"What happened to you?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind picking up around us.

"The King's Match did," I replied, licking my chapped lips, my throat aching for liquid.

He lowered his makeshift weapons slightly. "I didn't think this was what it would be like."

I shrugged in agreement.

"Food?" His eyes conveyed his hunger, his pale skin mirroring my own desperation. I shook my head. "I-I found water. Maybe another mile back. I can take you there?" His voice sounded light and airy, causing me to wonder how young he was.

"Please," I nodded, grateful for his offer.

He quickly pivoted back to where he came from, and I followed, our bodies shivering against the wind, which now howled past our ears like a mournful lament.

Due to the thick fog, I was unsure how long we had been walking or what time of day it was when we finally reached the river, but I immediately kneeled, gulping the icy water, and let its coolness clear my mind. I splashed some onto my face, hoping to wash away the blood, but the biting cold stiffened my fingers, making it impossible to scrub.

"I heard you didn't volunteer for this. Is that true?" Astor asked, finishing his gulps of water.

I looked up at him, breathing warmth into my palms. "Yes," I whispered. "Though I'm guessing you didn't know what you were getting into either."

He shook his head sadly. "No. I don't think any of us did."

We sat silently for a few minutes, the only sound was the gentle bubbling of the stream over the wet rocks.

"Thank you," I said finally, breaking the silence. "For the water." He gave me a small, appreciative smile, one that gave me a flicker of hope in this wicked world. "Were you with others?" I inquired.

He nodded. "Beth from Aravel. We got separated, though. Something was chasing us. Something...dark." His youthful face mirrored a yearning to flee this icy, desolate tournament. "I don't know what happened. We were both asleep when we felt it, the fear, and bolted. I tripped over something and tumbled down a hill when I heard her scream—" He shut his eyes, shaking his head. "I shouldn't have agreed to this."

I placed my hand on his shoulder. "We'll find a way out," I promised, hoping my assurance could offer some solace amidst the overwhelming despair in his eyes. "You should get some rest. I'll search around for some food."