Rob caught my eye from where he stood in Group Seven.

  He mouthed, “She’s got this.” His worried expression did not match the words.

  This was not a sparring match. Not a lesson under Brent’s watch.

  I kept my eyes on Amelia.

  She stood composed, rune armour layered beneath her outer plates, subtle lines worked into the metal and gambeson. Anyone who knew what to look for could see it. Anyone greedy enough would want it.

  A few in her group had already noticed. Their eyes lingered too long on her bracers. On the reinforced seams. On the pouch at her hip.

  The brothers did not lower their voices.

  “Fairchild,” Alex said with a crooked grin. “Heard she’s fallen a long way.”

  Nathaneil laughed. “Is that the one the nobles pass around?”

  “That’s what I heard,” Alex replied. “Maybe when she loses and is throw back on the streets we’ll see what the fuss is about.”

  A few nearby aspirants smirked. One nudged another and leaned in closer.

  My jaw tightened.

  I drew in a slow breath through my teeth and held it.

  Losing control now would solve nothing. Knocking sense into them might feel good for a moment, but it would cost more than it gained.

  “She’s layered in runes,” Nathaneil added, eyeing her armour. “Wouldn’t mind stripping that off her either.”

  Their tone was casual. Testing. Cruel.

  They did not see a competitor.

  They saw rumours. And something they thought they could take.

  Aleria snapped a command across the field. Conversations died mid word.

  She stepped forward with a velvet pouch and opened it. One by one, five golden ribbons were drawn and handed out long before it was Amelia’s turn.

  Good, I thought.

  She would not be the first one hunted.

  It did not stop the others from measuring what she carried.

  Her amulets and bracelets stayed hidden beneath her armour. If they had been visible, the attention would have sharpened. The rune pouch at her hip drew several looks. A waterskin hung opposite it. A few eyes paused on the rod strapped along her leg, then dismissed it when they failed to see its value.

  “All right. Take your positions,” Aleria said.

  Assistants moved Group Two toward the edge of the course while others reset the structure, clearing debris and washing blood from the ramps.

  Amelia didn’t look back.

  Her eyes tracked the layout, weighing distances and angles.

  As the aspirants fanned out around the course, she picked her targets. A ribbon holder stood a few bodies to her right. The next was much farther left, exposed but distant, too far without cutting across open ground.

  I felt my pulse hammer in my ears as I watched her.

  “Come on, AM,” I muttered under my breath. “Rob’s right. You’ve got this.”

  The last of the group took their positions and a few final instructions were given.

  Then the space fell silent.

  The horn sounded.

  Bodies crashed together around the ribbon holder to her right. On her left, an aspirant lunged straight at her, hand reaching for her rune pouch.

  She moved before he could close the distance.

  Her hand dipped into the pouch and came out gripping a stone carved into a precise cube. One of Roy’s ancient runes had been etched into its centre, and it flashed as it caught the light.

  The cube rose from her palm for a split second.

  She snapped her wrist.

  The stone shot forward and cracked against his forehead with a sharp, brutal thud.

  He dropped instantly, knees buckling as if the ground had been pulled from under him.

  Rob let out a sharp laugh and shouted, “That’s it, AM! Show ’em how it’s done!”

  Amelia broke into a sprint.

  She did not chase the nearest ribbon.

  She cut left, targeting the ribbon farther out.

  The larger boy holding it ploughed ahead, wrapped in thick layers of gambeson. He drove through anyone in his path, shoving one aspirant off the bridge with his shoulder and sweeping another aside with the rim of his shield. Boots scraped and bodies tumbled behind him as he forced space around himself.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  He slammed straight into a swinging timber beam. It caught him hard, but he absorbed it and kept moving. His round shield flared as a heavy hammer crashed into it from the side, the impact shuddering through his stance and knocking him a half step off balance.

  Wind tore across the structure, snapping at cloaks and blasting grit into the air.

  Of the three of us from Trond Cottage, Amelia had always been the least built for brute force. The slowest on paper. The one people underestimated first.

  At that moment she made the others look slow.

  She moved with the wind like it was taking orders from her. Clean footwork. Sharp pivots. No wasted motion.

  Two tried to close her in.

  She slipped between them.

  One lunged from behind.

  She shifted half a step, and he grabbed nothing but air.

  I couldn’t stop the grin that spread across my face.

  Oh, this was good.

  She had not just fixed her blind side.

  She had weaponised it.

  Two more lunged for her. She turned one aside with a sharp step and drove the stone cube into the other’s wrist before he could grab her.

  I tore my gaze to the right.

  The ribbon holder who had started closer to Amelia broke free of the chaos.

  He moved fast and clean, wasting no motion as he closed on the centre.

  Near the top tier, he was forced to slow. A wooden golem stood between him and the final rise, guarding the level just below the chalice.

  When I found Amelia again, the field around her had closed in. A few were chasing her, but most had turned on the larger boy with the ribbon.

  For a moment I lost all of them in the crush.

  Then a violent gust tore across the course. Sand and splinters lifted in a sudden wall of air, swallowing the cluster whole.

  When the wind dropped, the larger boy lay flat on his back. His gambeson dragged heavy against the stone, water pouring from within it. His face was soaked, breath coming in short bursts.

  “Thata girl!” I shouted as Amelia broke free up the ramp, ribbon clutched tight in her hand.

  Two boys cut in from her left. Her stone cube was gone. They swung without hesitation.

  The blades never reached her.

  A section of stone wall shifted beneath them and shot upward, sealing off their path. They scrambled to climb it, boots slipping, but the wall tilted back and forced them to jump off the platform.

  By the time they regained their footing, Amelia was already well ahead.

  More bodies crashed toward her as the first blast of gold tore into the sky.

  A dark-haired girl broke from the centre and slashed across Amelia’s path. She ripped a lantern from her belt. Light swelled in her palm, hot and unstable.

  She threw it.

  Fire ripped across the gap.

  Amelia didn’t slow.

  Her hand cut forward and the flame folded in on itself. It guttered, shattered, and burst into thick smoke inches from her face.

  Wind snapped around her. The smoke did not drift.

  It snapped tight and spun, dragged forward in a tight spiral. An instant later Amelia threw it back into the other girl’s face.

  She staggered, choking. Her hands clawed at the smoke wrapping her head as the wind pressed it tighter.

  Amelia squared her shoulders and punched through the mass of swirling smoke.

  The strike landed with a sharp crack.

  The dark-haired girl’s head snapped back, and she slipped off the bridge, then dropped out of sight.

  Amelia didn’t look back.

  Boots thudded behind her.

  She hit the final wooden rise and climbed hard, fingers digging into rough planks. The chalice loomed above her. She stretched upward, one hand reaching for the edge.

  Her boots left the lower beam.

  For a heartbeat she hung there, body suspended, arm straining toward the top.

  A hand shot up from below and clamped around her ankle.

  Her body snapped downward.

  She cried out as the grip tightened.

  The brothers beside me started to laugh.

  The sound faltered as the air above the course rippled.

  A heartbeat later, the impact came.

  A brutal boom split the arena, splintering part of the wooden rise beneath them.

  The boy gripping her ankle tore free as if something had struck him full force. Not shoved. Not flung.

  Launched.

  His body shot backward at a speed no one expected, clearing space in a blink. He spun once in the air, boots flashing above his head, and kept going.

  He was not falling.

  He was flying.

  Straight toward the ground.

  For a split second, even the crowd went quiet.

  An instructor moved.

  He stepped into the boy’s path and caught him mid-flight. The impact drove the instructor back several feet, boots carving lines into the stone before he dug in and steadied. He hauled the limp body aside as if this were expected.

  I snapped my gaze back to Amelia.

  The wooden rise she had climbed was splintered and hanging in broken pieces.

  She was not.

  She stood at the summit before the chalice, ribbon clenched tight.

  Gold light tore into the sky around her.

  The flare washed over the structure, catching her silhouette in its glow.

  I did not bother hiding my grin.

  “Fuck yeah!” The words left my mouth before I could stop them.

  A few in my group turned to stare.

  I did not bother with them.

  I turned instead to Rob.

  He was bouncing on his heels, shouting, and throwing a middle finger toward anyone who had thought they would take her down.

  An assistant stepped in and guided Amelia toward a concealed chute. She disappeared from sight as the fight behind her continued to rage.

  The rest unfolded much like the first run.

  Two quick victories came cleanly. Then the field collapsed into a desperate scramble for the final ribbon. Bodies slammed together. Voices rose above the roar. Someone crashed hard against the timber before the last burst of light tore skyward.

  When Amelia reappeared, she was smiling.

  A thin line of blood marked her forehead, but she stood balanced and steady, breathing even.

  When she found Rob in the crowd, she flashed him a bright grin as she passed.

  With one group still ahead of my group, the next match stretched longer than the first two. It dragged into a grinding contest. The golems claimed their share, cracking bones and sending more than one aspirant limping off the field. The crowd roared approval. A few adults in the stands did not join in.

  I watched, pulse steady but heavy in my chest, counting down the seconds until it would be my turn.

  Even before our turn, the shape of Group Four had shifted.

  Clusters formed without words. Glances locked. Chins dipped in silent agreement.

  They had already chosen their winners.

  No one looked my way.

  I stayed where I was and let the noise of the arena wash over me. My hand rested near the scabbard. The weight of the new runes hidden there felt different now. Heavier. Ready.

  Group Three finished to a flare of gold and scattered cheers.

  Then our names were called.

  One after another, they stepped forward. Boots scraped against stone. Leather shifted. No one paused.

  Mine came last.

  A low snicker slipped from Alex. “Dead last again,” he muttered.

  I did not respond.

  I took my place at the end of the line without protest. A couple of them shifted slightly as I fell in behind them, settling into the order they preferred.

  The velvet pouch began its slow journey down the row.

  A hand disappeared inside.

  Gold.

  A sharp intake of breath ran through us.

  The pouch moved.

  Another hand reached in.

  Black.

  The pouch came closer.

  I flexed my grip once and waited.

  Gold.

  A ripple moved through our group.

  Then black.

  Then another black.

  Shoulders tightened. No one spoke.

  The third gold appeared. Then the fourth.

  Ten hands remained before mine.

  One by one they reached into the pouch. One by one they pulled out black. Each ribbon dissolved as it was lifted.

  Breaths shortened.

  My pulse thudded in my ears with every draw.

  Another hand went in.

  Black.

  Then another.

  Black again.

  Until I stood alone at the end of the line.

  One ribbon left.

  I reached into the pouch and drew it out.

  Gold.

  When I looked up, a wall of eyes met mine.

  They were smiling.