Page 23 of The Sol Crown (Fractured Lights #1)

I t’s the morning before the teamwork challenge, and the Great Hall hums with a strange mix of excitement and tension.

There’s no self-serve today. Instead, long tables are neatly laid out with platters of hot food: cured meats, warm pastries, fresh cheeses, and steaming mugs of dark, rich coffee. We’re told to eat well, to store up energy for tomorrow’s assessment.

Everyone digs in with gusto, chattering between bites, praising the rare indulgence. I’m halfway through a plate of fluffy scrambled eggs, savouring the buttery texture, when I notice Junie’s voice starting to slur.

She tries to clear her throat and speak again, but this time she can’t even get the words out.

Then, two tables away, a cadet flops forward, face-first into their plate.

My stomach tightens.

Brynn’s next, his massive frame slumping and then pitching sideways, crashing to the ground in a heap.

Panic rises. Chairs scrape, and voices shout in confusion, but more cadets begin to drop. One after another, bodies going limp around me.

I try to place my fork back on the plate, but my hand doesn’t obey. The limb hangs uselessly at my side, and the fork clatters to the stone floor. My tongue feels too big for my mouth, my heart beats too quickly, and blood roars in my ears.

Across the table, I see Sam straining, every muscle in his neck tight as he leans over, fighting to reach for me. His eyes—wide, desperate—lock with mine.

And then his body collapses too, and he falls on top of the platters in the middle of the table, arm outstretched towards me.

The last thing I see is that flash of fear in his gaze just before I feel my body tilt to the side and the darkness swallows me whole.

Sound returns slowly, soft at first, like the rustle of a distant stream, until the forest roars to life around me. Birdsong, the hum of insects, the creak of swaying branches. It’s deafening. My head pulses with every noise, a sharp, rhythmic throb just behind my eyes.

I try to raise a hand to my forehead, but my limbs won’t cooperate yet. They feel distant, like they belong to someone else.

Panic grips me first. Sharp and immediate.

The inability to move is suffocating, a weight pressing down on my chest, stealing breath with every shallow inhale I manage to drag between my lips. Claustrophobia claws at the edges of my mind, threatening to take hold.

My eyes are already closed, but I scrunch them tighter, forcing myself to focus. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

Slow. Steady.

I can’t lose it now. I’m no good to anyone if I spiral.

Slowly, movement returns—first in my fingers. Tiny twitches. Barely there, but enough.

Enough to assure me that this paralysis, this creeping dread, is temporary. That whatever drug they dosed us with is fading, leaking from my system bit by bit.

I hold onto that thought like a lifeline. Each flicker of movement is proof I’m coming back .

I blink once. Then again.

The canopy above comes into focus, tangled vines and thick, overlapping leaves.

The sun strains to break through, streaking shafts of light in golden spears across the undergrowth, but the forest swallows most of it.

A small cluster of sol flowers growing nearby confirms we haven’t left Aladria’s borders.

The air is thick, damp, and humid, telling me we’re deep within the castle’s forest.

A twitch runs through my legs. Feeling returns in tingling sensations, like tiny pinpricks waking up dead limbs. With it comes the freedom of small movements. The damp undergrowth seeps through the cotton of my trousers.

Shit.

I didn’t dress in uniform for breakfast. Half my weapons are back at the barracks.

I do a mental check. Two daggers in my boots, one tucked at each shoulder blade. Four weapons total. Not ideal, but I’ve worked with less.

There’s a shift beneath my thigh and another weight spasms over my right arm.

I’m not alone.

I manage to turn my head, muscles stiff and sluggish. Limbs are tangled all around me. My team dumped in a heap like rag dolls. Twisted together in an unconscious sprawl.

The leg beneath mine is Trent’s, the arm over me, Junie’s. Deacon is lying sprawled at my feet, his limbs in a tangle with Colton and Sam. Stone is close to my head, his fingers twisted in my hair like he’s reaching for me.

Brynn is the first to regain control of his body. With a deep groan, he manages to dislodge himself from a jumble with Elijah and drags his body towards a post with a letter tied to it .

His shaking fingers struggle to open the envelope, but when he manages it, his face morphs into anger and frustration.

He tries to talk, but it takes a few attempts to clear his throat, and when he does, he says two words. “Teamwork assessment.”

Sam’s grunt of anger is heard, but I can also sense his body near mine relax slightly when he realises there isn’t really a threat.

Around me, winces and moans of pain start to ripple through the undergrowth like a slow tide. Junie’s head lolls back with a grunt, then she blinks hard, her expression flickering from confusion to annoyance as she realises where she is and, more importantly, what’s happened.

“Ugh,” she mutters. “If they wanted us in the forest, they could’ve just asked.”

Trent stirs beneath me. He glares up at the canopy above, gripping his head with a grimace. “Why do I feel like I was trampled by a fucking horse?”

“You and me both,” I mutter, sitting up slowly, my hair slips through Stone’s callused fingers with a quiet rasp.

Deacon coughs, a ragged, rough sound, then leans himself up on his elbows. His eyes scan the scene, still heavy with sleep. “Please tell me that wasn’t my last breakfast.”

Colton shoves at Deacon’s legs. “Get off me.”

“Oh great, you’re here,” Deacon replies, before mumbling. “Fun.”

Sam is already on his feet, moving through the brush with a focused purpose, albeit slower than normal.

“We need to do a weapons check,” he calls back quietly. “Everyone inventory what you’ve got.”

I hold up four fingers to indicate the number of daggers I’m carrying.

Stone, now kneeling beside me, raises three of his own whilst scanning the surroundings with unnerving calm.

His eyes sweep over the trees, the letter, and me—only the slight furrow between his brows betrays his relaxed composure.

Brynn still holds the envelope, staring at it with a scowl, like it’s personally offended him. He thrusts it toward Sam, who’s regained enough of his balance and authority to open it properly. The group shifts, sore and groggy, forming a rough half-circle around him.

Sam reads aloud, his voice low but steady.

“Welcome to the final assessment. Your objective is to reach the beacon at the Northern Ridge in three days. Some resources have been hidden, but the rest must be gathered or created. Threats in the forest are real. This is not a simulation. You are being observed.”

Silence falls, heavy and thick, over the clearing.

“No map?” Junie blinks from where she’s perched on a tree stump, unimpressed. “Seriously? Not even a compass?”

“They want to see how we handle being without equipment,” Sam says, voice flat. “How we adapt. Who we’re willing to leave behind.”

“I nominate Colton,” Deacon mutters, scowling at the man.

“Fuck you,” Colton fires back, his ruddy face flushed with anger and the heat of the humid air.

My stomach twists. We’ve worked together before, trained for this, but this… this is different. Out here, people will crack, and Colton’s quick temper isn’t going to do us any favours.

“We need to move,” Sam says, folding the paper and tucking it away. “We’ve already lost time.”

Stone nods left of the rising sun, the light filtering through the trees. “North is that way. We’ll keep it to our left until we find higher ground, but we need water first.”

He’s right. Without water, there’s no way we’ll survive this heat for the next twelve hours, let alone three days.

The sweat clings to my skin like a second layer, my head still spinning, my heart thudding like war drums. But fuck the disorientation.

I push myself upright, ignoring the way my muscles protest. My boots sink slightly into the soft earth as I rise.

“We need a chain,” I say, voice sharper than I intended, slicing through the lingering haze like a knife. “Buddy up. No one moves alone.” I shock myself with how much I sound like Carter, barking commands.

I don’t wait for their nods before I continue.

“Junie, Deacon—you’re our lead. You’re both the fastest and most agile.”

Junie nods, wiping a line of sweat from her brow, her black hair sticking to her forehead. Deacon’s already moving, back straight, senses firing up.

“Brynn, keep Elijah close,” I mention the ghost of a man, his absent eyes worry me. “Colton, Trent, take the rear with Sam. Watch our backs.”

Colton scoffs. “Who died and made you captain? I’m not taking orders from you.”

“Then you die,” I shrug with an air of nonchalance.

His mouth opens. Nothing comes out.

“I know more about this forest than anyone here. Like it or not, if you want to live, you need to follow my fucking orders.”

Stone lets out a low sound, almost a laugh, but there’s something darker in it. Pride, maybe. I point at him.

“You’re with me. Let’s move.” My voice cuts off any more objections. “We don’t stop until we’ve got water. Keep your eyes peeled for resources along the way.”

Branches whip past me as we start forward, sun cutting shafts of light through the trees like blades. It’s thick, humid, the forest breathing down our necks.

The first few hours of the trek are slow, all of our footsteps carefully placed, our voices not rising above whispers as we listen for dangers in the forest. I can feel eyes tracking us and don’t know yet if it’s members of the army assessing or a deadly threat.

I just hope we don’t find out anytime soon.