Page 31

A throbbing pain pulses behind my eyes. With a groan, I attempt to sit up, but a sharp stabbing sensation in my head and a dizzying thrum send me crashing back down.

Squinting, I strain to make sense of the surrounding shadows. Massive, curved shapes loom overhead, but they aren’t the familiar contours of my room’s ceiling where I last closed my eyes. Jagged silhouettes flicker at the edge of my vision.

This isn’t any place I recognize within the castle walls.

My senses feel sluggish, as though I have been drugged, and the air is thick with a musty, metallic scent that churns my stomach, but I manage to turn onto my side toward the only source of light. High above, a crack in the darkness offers a sliver of moonlight.

Memories of the previous night surface in fragments—laughter, Shemiran’s market, the bite of ale, a disturbing conversation among the Martysh folks, a ride back up the mountains with eerily silent Izadeonians, going to bed, and then… a frustrating void.

Where am I? I slowly sit up, wincing at the protest in my head, and focus on the sliver of moonlight. It isn’t just a crack; it outlines the edge of a massive, rounded structure.

Suddenly… I recognize it. This is one of the colossal arches that form the outer wall of the arena! At the back of Jahanwatch …

Panic clenches in my gut. I’m not just lost; I am trapped beneath the arena itself, in some hidden chamber carved into the depths of the structure. My hands instinctively search for the familiar weight of my daggers at my back, only to find nothing.

Looking around, I notice a sheet of parchment on the ground and reach for it with a groan. My hand shakes as I pick it up and unfold it. For a moment, the words swim before my eyes, and then their meaning slowly takes shape.

“The advantage you gained in the second trial remains in your possession. You must return to the inner ward with your golden coin and at least one more, taken by force or stealth, before the sun rises. The more coins you bring back, the greater your advantage in the trials ahead. The sooner you return, the higher your rank.”

My heart pounds and my confusion turns into a surge of hot blood. The third trial has begun!

Ignoring my throbbing head and aching body, I stand and cautiously survey my surroundings, my eyes struggling to penetrate the darkness. I put my hand in my pocket and touch the cold metal of the coin from the second trial.

The parchment’s message echoes in my mind. To return to the upper ward, I need at least one more . And unless golden coins blossom from dirt in here, there is only one way to do that.

By force or stealth…

Suddenly, the world feels like a battlefield, with potential foes lurking in every corner.

A chilling thought strikes me: others are surely stalking the shadows by now, and I am an easy target—unarmed, unarmored, and unable to use my sorcery.

I need to find either a weapon or a hiding place! And quickly.

I survey the room for a place to hide myself. It’s bare, with no windows. A heavy wooden door at the far end likely leads to a hallway. However, I can’t recklessly open it; if another contender is on the other side, I am done for.

Then, I spot a series of small alcoves carved into the base of the arched walls. They’re barely big enough to crouch in, but they are darker than the rest of the chamber.

Desperate, I ignore the throbbing in my head and shuffle toward the farthest one, deep in the shadows. Crouching down into it, I pull my knees to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.

I close my eyes and listen for any sounds coming through the heavy door. I hear the scrape of metal and a muffled shout from somewhere far away. The sound of metal indicates that there are weapons out there, and my adversaries have discovered them.

For survival, I have only one path: to find my allies.

With my poor swordsmanship, I know I can’t do this on my own, even if I find a weapon out there. I need the Izadeonians’s help if I’m to seize more coins and make my escape. I know that leaving this alcove is risky, but staying here will almost certainly lead to my defeat.

Taking a deep breath, I try to anticipate my allies’s movements. They wouldn’t be waiting for rescue; they’d be actively seeking an advantage. Remembering Faelas’s advice to focus on winning, not rank, makes me think they’ll try to collect as many coins as they can and eliminate their competitors.

And where is a more ideal hunting ground than the arena above?

My allies will surely meet there and create an unbeatable force with their combined strength. I can’t rely on them to find me; I must find them . They have their own survival to worry about, not some girl stuck in a dusty alcove.

I frantically search the floor around me for any kind of weapon, my hands scrabbling through the dirt and grime. A thin, brittle sliver of wood offers me a glimmer of hope. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

I find another piece of wood, thicker this time, with a splintered end. In the darkness, I trace its shape, imagining it as part of a forgotten axe handle or spear. Continuing my search, my fingers brush against a fist-sized stone on the floor. It’s weight offers a different kind of weapon.

Desperation fuels my determination as I sharpen the edge of the wood against the stone. Grabbing a few more stones of different sizes from the ground, I put them in my pockets and hope they’re all enough .

The arena above beckons to me. Finding my way there is a gamble, but remaining trapped in this suffocating tomb is a death sentence. Just as my resolve strengthens, a rhythmic thud of footsteps shatters the silence.

Someone is coming.

My heart pounds in my chest. Is it a friend or a foe? It doesn’t matter—all I know is that my time hiding in the shadows is over! Anyone with a shred of sense would search these alcoves.

The footsteps grow louder, each heavy tread reverberating through the cold, hard floor and into my bones. Panic rises in my throat, and I fight the urge to gasp. Pressing deeper into the alcove, I feel the damp stone chilling my skin.

Suddenly, the heavy wooden door creaks open, casting a harsh sliver of torchlight into the room. I hold my breath as a tall, muscular figure clad in the familiar gray of contenders fills the doorway.

It’s one of the Southern Myrans—Rygnar.

His gaze sweeps the chamber, slow, methodical, predatory.

His hand, I notice with a sickening lurch of my stomach, rests casually on the hilt of a sword that he must have retrieved from the arena.

His eyes scan the open space, lingering on every corner, and then, with a deliberate, chilling slowness, they move toward the shadowed alcoves. My hiding place.

I’ll be exposed if he takes a few steps towards me. I need to act. But how? Attacking him head-on, unarmed, disoriented, in this cramped space, it’s suicide. He’s a mountain of a man, a trained warrior, armed and dangerous.

The Myran’s silhouette remains frozen at the door as the silence stretches, taut and agonizing. He shifts his weight. A cautious hand reaches for the hilt of his scimitar, and then… he’s inching toward the alcove, toward me .

Every one of my muscles is coiled, every nerve screaming as I wait. Even my breathing seems like a betrayal in the suffocating quiet.

He’s close now—so close that soon he’ll see me. I need to do something. With his next step, I know there’s no more time for thought or fear. My world shrinks to this single, terrifying moment.

With a courage I didn’t know I possessed, I hurl the stone in my hand—one of the pieces I’d picked up earlier—against the wall to my right. The crack of stone on stone shatters the silence, and the Myran reacts instantly with a trained reflex. His body whips toward the sound, away from me.

NOW!

Launching myself forward, I slam my foot into his ankle, just as Bahador had shown me to do. “ Use their weight, their momentum, against them. Find the weak point.”

The Myran crashes to the ground with a grunt of pain and surprise. He’s down, disoriented, scrambling to make sense of the sudden attack, but I don’t give him a chance. My hand closes around another stone from my pocket, and I bring it down with a brutal, arcing blow onto his head.

He collapses onto the floor, limp and motionless.

My heart thunders wildly, and my entire body trembles with the shock of what I’ve just done. But I can’t stop yet. He could wake up at any moment. My fingers are clumsy with urgency as I frantically search his pockets.

There . My hand closes around a smooth, cool coin. It’s golden, more valuable than any jewel or any crown. I shove it into my own pocket alongside my own.

“Well, well, well. Look who finally decides to show herself. The rogue Ahira.”

My heart seizes in my chest as I look up.

Kortyz is standing at the entrance, blocking the only escape, and a cruel, predatory smirk twists his lips.

Rising to my feet, I slowly and deliberately raise my hands in a gesture of surrender, trying to project an air of calm. All the while, my mind is spinning, searching for a plan.

“I’m no threat to you,” I say, my voice shaking slightly despite my efforts to control it.

Kortyz stares at me, his eyes narrowed, assessing, and then… he laughs. A loud, booming, mocking laugh, as if I’ve just told him the most hilarious joke in the world.

“Threat?” he says as if it is the most outlandish thing he’s heard. “You? Even with your sorcery, you’re nothing to fear.”

I clench my teeth to suppress my anger. If I had my magic, I’d incinerate him, turn him to ash without a second thought. But I don’t. I’m powerless. And he knows it. I force myself to remain calm, to appear submissive.

“I may seem weak without my sorcery. But I’m a strong competitor. I’m agile. Fast. We’re both trapped here. Wouldn’t an alliance be mutually beneficial?”