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One.

He was first.

Lael descended into the pit, each step echoing against the stone. The Sentinel circled slowly as if she was testing him—watching how he handled the pressure of her approach.

For a moment, neither moved. The silence stretched, brokenonly by the soft scrape of boots on stone. Then the Sentinel struck—so fast I almost missed it. Her fist shot toward Lael's face, but he was already moving, ducking under the blow. He spun away, maintaining his distance, his feet never crossing as he moved.

The Sentinel's lips curved slightly.

She pressed forward, forcing Lael a few steps back with a series of quick jabs. He blocked each one, his movements precise but defensive. I could almost hear Vexa's voice:Let them tire themselves out. Wait for the opening.

A kick swept toward his legs. Lael jumped, using the momentum to create space between them. Smart. But the Sentinel had anticipated this. Her next strike caught him in the shoulder, sending him stumbling back. The crowd above murmured.

Lael recovered quickly, rolling with the impact. When he came up, his eyes were sharp with focus. The nervous boy from moments ago had vanished, replaced by something harder.

The Sentinel's next attack was a feint—a punch that transformed mid-motion into an elbow strike. But Lael saw it coming. He stepped inside her guard, a move that reminded me of Aether, and used her own momentum against her. The Sentinel hit the ground hard.

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

The Sentinel straightened slowly. For a moment, she simply studied him. Then she nodded—a sharp, respectful gesture—and stepped back.

"Enough," Urkin's voice rang out. "Well fought, both of you."

Lael's shoulders sagged with relief. As he climbed out of the pit, I could see his hands trembling. But he'd done it. He'd won.

"Candidate Theron," Urkin called. "You're next."

Theron fought with odd precision, like someone who had studied combat rather than lived it—like it was an academic pursuit. When he eventually won, there wasn't even a flicker ofemotion on his face—just a slight nod, as if confirming something he already knew.

"Foreign-born," Urkin's voice echoed through the chamber. "Step forward."

With my heart hammering in my chest, I descended into the pit. The wall’s domed ceiling seemed higher from down here, the nobles' faces blurring into shadow above. The Sentinel who stepped forward was different from the others—taller, broader, with scars that riddled his frame.

"Commander Darius leads our combat training," Urkin announced, a hint of something sharp in his tone. "He has graciously offered to test our... foreign candidate."

The silence that followed felt heavier than before. I caught Lael's worried glance from above, saw Kenna's lips press into a hard line. Even Valkan's milky eyes had settled on the pit with renewed interest.

Movement in the shadows of the upper level caught my eye. Vexa gripped Aether's arm, her face tight with concern as she whispered something urgent. Even from this distance, I could see the tension in his jaw, the way his golden eyes had turned sharp and dangerous. Effie's lips moved quickly, but whatever she was saying only made Aether's expression darken further.

I forced my breathing to stay even, remembering all of my training. But as Darius began to circle, silent and lethal, I realized no amount of training could have ever prepared me for this.

"Begin."

Darius struck like a viper, giving me no time to think. I barely managed to block his first blow, the impact sending shockwaves up my arm. He was testing me, but not like the other Sentinels had tested their opponents. This was different.

I spun away from his next strike, trying to create distance, but he followed ruthlessly. Each movement flowed into the next,leaving no room for error, no space to breathe. My arms burned from blocking hits that felt like they could shatter stone.

Darius's next combination drove me backward. I ducked under a strike that would have knocked me unconscious, the force of it whistling past my ear. His fist connected with the empty air where my head had been, and the sound of his knuckles cracking echoed through the chamber like breaking bones.

He was going to kill me, I realized. Or come as close as he could without actually crossing that line. This wasn't a test—this was a message.

I couldn't catch my breath. Every time I tried to create distance, he was there, his strikes coming faster, harder. My arms felt like lead, muscles screaming from the pain of deflecting his blows.

His next combination came too fast to track. A feint turned into an elbow strike that caught my temple. The world tilted sideways. I stumbled, trying to regain my footing, but he was already there. His knee drove into my ribs with crushing force. The impact knocked what little air remained from my lungs.

I felt my web curl around my spine, acting out of its own volition—braiding and twisting, desperate to protect me. But I couldn't let it loose. One slip, one moment of losing control, and I'd be disqualified. I used every last ounce of strength to force it down, to keep it contained. But that moment of distraction was all Darius needed.

I saw the final strike coming but couldn't move fast enough to avoid it. His fist connected with my jaw, and darkness exploded behind my eyes. The last thing I registered was the cold stone rushing up to meet me, and then nothing at all.