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Chapter

Twenty-Two

Bloom

First Blood

I t didn’t take me long to realize there was no actual curriculum, just a free-for-all where students carved out their own paths.

Magical gangs roamed the campus, each with their own rituals and turf, while most professors acted as little more than figureheads.

Ravencrux and Kingsley showed up so rarely, I questioned why they even bothered with titles.

Classes were a gamble. No one knew what to expect next.

But this morning, a slip of parchment arrived with breakfast, summoning all first-years to the Elysian Grounds for weapons training.

Typical Forsaken fashion: last-minute, as if someone had only just remembered we were supposed to learn something.

“Have you had weapons training before?” I asked Sindy as we crossed the quad between the looming towers.

She adjusted her auburn ponytail. “Six sessions. I’m mediocre, but Kingsley’s brood?” A rueful shrug. “They’re practically born with swords in hand.”

Descendants of gods . The elite.

“What…what kind of weapons?” I asked, my voice betraying my nerves.

“Swords, mostly.”

My stomach dropped. Homeschooling hadn’t included combat training. The closest I’d come to handling weapons involved kitchen knives while cooking for Mom and myself.

I stepped gingerly into the enormous gym with Sindy. Students clustered like rival packs, their energy sharp. My palms dampened with sweat before we’d taken three steps.

Mats formed a patchwork across the space. Against the far wall, blades of every size gleamed on a long table, edges winking under the harsh lights.

Dante, one of Ravencrux’s hulking enforcers—and one ofmy kidnappers—clapped his meaty hands. The sound cracked like a gunshot. His gaze found me instantly. I narrowed my eyes at him, and his lips curled into a smirk that said, I remember how you squirmed.

“Form up!” His voice boomed off the walls. “No hiding in corners today.” The jab landed squarely between my ribs—he knew about my asthma. Dread rolled over my stomach.

I clenched my fists, trying to steady my breathing as he continued: “Weapons choose their wielders. Line up. Then pair off, or I’ll assign you someone. No magic. This is about raw strength, skill, and how well you handle steel.” His eyes pinned me. “Challenges are acceptable.”

No point begging for an exemption. Not from the man who’d wrenched my arms behind my back, who’d pulled that suffocating hood over my head.

Orren had earned my forgiveness. Dante would get only my teeth.

“Chop-chop,” he ordered . “You know the drill.”

Sindy and I slipped to the back of the line, my shoulders tight with unease.

“He seems like a terrible instructor,” I muttered, lips pressed thin. “No structure, no real teaching. Just tossing us into the deep end.”

Sindy nudged me with her elbow. “Actually, he’s popular.”

I sneered before she finished, “One of the best weapon masters here.”

I shot her a skeptical look before catching her sleeve. “Partner with me?” My voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve never even held a weapon.”

“Of course,” she said, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll go slow.”

Warm relief washed through me. In this chaotic place, I’d somehow been given more than a roommate. I’d been given a friend.

“I owe you one,” I said.

She just smiled. “Don’t be silly. That’s what friends are for.”

The line moved quickly.

One by one, the students stepped forward, each chosen by a sword. The ritual seemed both ceremonial and efficient. Sindy was handed a longsword with a simple red hilt.

When my turn came, the black jeweled dagger, the one that had rejected everyone else, landed before me with a sharpding. Its edges gleamed, ebony sigils swirling along the blade.

It felt familiar in my grip, like reuniting with an old friend. The weight was perfect, the hilt molding to my palm as if made for me.

Soon, we all stood in rows before the mats. Sindy and I took our places in the left corner at the back. Three pairs of students stood ahead of us, already eyeing each other.

“The rule is simple,” Dante announced. “First blood drawn decides the winner.”

I raised my hand and spoke without waiting. “What if someone yields before first blood is drawn?”

“That’s a coward’s way out!” someone nearby hissed. “Forsaken Academy doesn’t take sniveling runts!”

“I just don’t want unnecessary bloodshed,” I shot back. “Not even a drop.”

“What, do you faint at the sight of blood?” a voice mocked from another line.

“No,” I said firmly. “But this is a dangerous sport. There should be safety measures.”

Someone had to say it, even if it was me.

Laughter and jeers rose from the crowd. My face burned with anger and humiliation.

“What if someone gets stabbed to death?” I demanded, my temper flaring.

“They don’t deserve to live if they let their opponent get that close,” a light-haired boy snickered. “This isn’t a place for weaklings!”

Arguing that I hadn’t enrolled willingly would’ve been pointless.

“We’re the gods’ descendants, warriors destined to fight future wars!”

I’d heard this same grand nonsense in the dining hall.

“Take it easy, Bloom.” Dante winked at me. He had the fucking nerve to wink and tell me not to worry after handing out sharp blades and ordering us to draw blood!

“This isn’t right, Instructor Dante!” I insisted as Sindy tugged my sleeve in warning. “People could get seriously hurt or worse! Have you even considered that?”

At least we weren’t fighting in our usual high-necked Victorian dresses with their restrictive bodices and heavy skirts.

Instead, everyone wore tight-fitting gear that felt scandalous by comparison.

I kept my eyes carefully above waist level, though other girls showed no such restraint—Sindy included, who was openly looking her fill.

“We push you to your limits so you’ll all rise to the occasion,” Dante said, earning cheers from the crowd.

He grinned. “That’s the spirit.” Then his gaze locked onto me, his voice dripping with false sympathy.

“It’s perfectly safe, Carrot. Since it’s your first class, you don’t know that these blades are enchanted. They can’t kill.”

“But they can maim, yes?” I pressed, ignoring the nickname I despised.

Unprofessional bastard.

“Yes,” Dante confirmed, far too cheerfully. “But we have top-tier healers on standby. Just try not to get hit. You’ll still feel every cut.”

I didn’t fear pain, but I refused to accept pain without purpose. The idea of bleeding or being maimed for sport turned my stomach.

“I’d like to sit this one out, Instructor Dante,” I said, my voice quieter.

“Unfortunately, participation is mandatory,” Dante replied, his sympathy as thin as his patience.

Of course. The school didn’t even follow its own rules. Everything operated on the whims of those in power.

The other students shot me impatient glares as my questions ate into their time. With a careless wave from Dante, the first pairs lunged into action. Steel rang against steel, filling the hall with a chaotic chorus of clashing blades.

Sindy pulled me back, her whisper urgent. “Calm down, Bloom. You’re painting a target on your back.”

Pointing out the injustice—that I’d never had a proper lesson—would change nothing. Fairness had never been Forsaken Academy’s priority.

I gave Sindy a grateful nod. At least with her as my partner, I stood a chance. Guilt prickled at me. I was holding her back with my inexperience.

“Bloom! I challenge you!”

A shrill voice cut through the noise. One of Angelina’s lackeys sauntered toward me, her eyes gleaming with malice. She stood at least five inches taller than me, her frame thick with muscle, a black broadsword resting easily in her grip. My dagger suddenly felt absurdly small.

My stomach dropped. The fragile safety I’d felt with Sindy as my partner evaporated instantly.

“Name’s Toby,” she announced, preening for the crowd as heads turned our way. “Angelina sends her regards.”

“Save the theatrics,” I said, my voice hard, my fingers tightening around the jeweled dagger. “Her death wasn’t my doing.”

I had no choice but to step onto the mat. Sindy shot me a worried glance, mouthing be careful before retreating. The crowd swelled around us, drawn by the promise of an uneven match.

Toby fell into a flawless fighting stance, every movement polished through relentless training. I copied the half-remembered posture from some French action film, instantly aware of how ridiculous I looked. The difference between us couldn’t have been clearer.

And my opponent proved it immediately. She lunged forward keenly, her broadsword cutting through the space where my shoulder had been a split second before. I staggered back, barely keeping my feet. Snickers rippled through the onlookers.

“This’ll be over fast, snowflake,” she jeered, circling me like a hyena.

She struck again, a horizontal slash that would’ve opened my ribs. I dropped into a crouch, feeling the blade’s wind tear at my hair. Adrenaline surged through my veins, sharpening my senses. I was mostly dodging her onslaught, quite surprised that I was still standing.

“Quick running like a chicken and fight!” someone yelled. The taunt ignited others, their voices merging into a merciless chorus.

Toby pressed her advantage, driving me backward with a series of precise strikes. With each attack, I scrambled to stay out of reach, twisting away by instinct alone. Survival overrode thought.

“You got this, Bloom!” Sindy called out, the lone note of encouragement.

But I didn’t have this. I didn’t stand a chance.

“Five silver coins says she bleeds in thirty seconds,” a voice called.

“Ten coins,” another answered.

As Toby raised her blade for a crushing overhead strike, panic surged through me.

I broke from the mat, shoving through the ring of spectators. Mocking laughter followed. Dante’s voice boomed across the gym: “Running is a valid strategy.”