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“Isn’t it cliche to have the training rooms in the dungeons?” she asked him as they rounded the corner where fighting noises appeared. She glanced at him, taking in his tan skin and hazel hair which was closely cropped to his head. He was not originally from Oy Frossen that much she could tell.

“Isn’t it pretentious to state such a thing when not even having a training room?” The guard turned lightly and threw her a look.

This time her lips jerked slightly upward.

Blades clashing sounded as they finally stepped through the opened doors, where Noora remained, as she took in the logistics of the chamber.

It was shaped like a hexagon, divided into six training areas. It seemed like a training circle with different stations.

The light was much dimmer in this chamber as no speck of natural light found its way inside, though every triangle-sized part of the room had multiple candle holders attached to the wall.

A grunt echoed and she looked to her right, where a guard was currently fighting against Pika, both men circling each other on an elevated platform. Pika’s gaze flickered towards her and he hesitated before throwing her a cautious wave.

She ignored him.

The next triangle of the room was empty, filled with wooden dummies, that had a marked x on their chest. They were put up in a circle, imitating an advancing troupe, a situation no one should be willing to find themselves in.

The next part was filled with a wall one was supposed to climb, small wooden rocks encased into it. Noora had to hold in her laugh at the next two triangle portions of the room, which were filled with some kind of constructed obstacle parkour.

One had to crawl under wooden sticks, jump over a few littered flat stones, and balance over a rod, to climb a steep ramp that led up to a podium, where a wooden crown was encased by glass, like a prize.

Sören was currently balancing on the rod, tipping sideways every few seconds, his eyes looking sleepy, his twin front teeth slightly protruding from his lips.

“He looks deliciously concentrated,” Noora remarked, making the guard glance at her again. Did the corners of his lips twitch or was that a delusion of the flickering candlelight?

Though his gaze did not remain long on her, as they flickered to the last contestant in the chamber.

Kekoa was shirtless, his broad chest glistening with sweat of labor as he punched a bag, which seemed to be filled with sand,over and over. It was attached to a metal chain that bore into the ceiling of the room making it swing with every hit. His skin was littered with small white scars, protruding and pebbling his chest like a painting. While Noora always regarded her scars with contempt it made him look fierce.

The guard was watching him so obviously that Noora had to roll her eyes.

“What is that?” she asked him, to distract him from his obvious ogling of the witch hunter. The latter ignored Noora as if she was solely air as she walked past him. The guard followed Noora to the last portion of the training room.

“A way to get familiar with the different herbology and potions used in the kingdom,” he explained as they reached the wooden table, provided with a black cauldron. Beside it lay a few strewn herbs and bottles filled with various coloured liquid. A few empty vials lay strewn around as if someone gave up on them mere minutes ago.

Noora pulled the book out under the desk, bound by leather, so old it felt like it would turn into dust at the touch of her fingertips.

“Are you familiar with herbology?” the guard asked her.

“No, apart from the few plants that grow in the forest of our village. I am not talented in nature despite the clichés.”

He nodded. Witches were known for their connection to nature, they bred potions out of forbidden liquids and herbs. That was why most of them were drawn to being healers, or so Noora heard. She had never met another witch, she was the only one in the village.

“Of course, the half-breed goes immediately to her magic tricks,” a voice sneered.

Noora looked up to see Kekoa advancing, a towel thrown over his shoulders.

She decided to ignore him and opened the book but it seemed like he was not interested in leaving her alone.

“It should be forbidden for you to use your powers in the tournament; it would not make a fair match.”

“Because you will not be using your primal instincts and your ability to hunt something to death, if it will come in handy for you, Sosye,” she countered now.

Kekoa blanched, angry lines forming on his sweaty face.

It seemed like they had gathered Pika’s attention as he stopped his fight and drew closer.

“Come on Kekoa, let her be. She deserves to be here as much as we do.”