My blades sang in my hands, ready to tear through the skies with a melody of destruction.

  Day four had begun, and the stakes were higher than ever. The headmasters had announced that prizes would be awarded to the highest-ranked competitors, with the final day reserved only for those who had gone undefeated.

  If I could make it through today unbroken, I would stand among them. That thought set a fire in my chest. I wanted to prove that every scar, every long night of training, every moment of discipline at the orphanage had been worth something.

  There was also a deeper spark, buried in me like hot iron. One day, Sirius and I would cross blades, and when we did, I wanted victory to be within reach.

  The arenas themselves had changed. The circles were larger now, stretched wide enough to test our endurance as much as skill. And each one had been transformed into its own unique environment.

  Some were deserts, hot sand whipping across the ground in waves. Others were swamps, thick mud dragging at the feet of anyone foolish enough to stand still. A few had jagged rocks jutting up like the ribs of ancient beasts, creating labyrinths of stone.

  Mine was a forest. Trees rose tall, branches thick overhead, shadows layering the ground in tangled webs. Birds sang faintly. Leaves rustled as though stirred by natural wind. It felt alive, so much so that if not for my tremor sense, I might have been lost in the illusion.

  Across the field, my opponents stepped forward. Two green-skinned goblinoid creatures, wiry and sharp-eyed. Confusion struck me — this was supposed to be one-on-one combat? Why were they allowed to fight as a pair?

  The referee gave no explanation. His hand lifted, and before I could even ask, he dropped it. The match had begun.

  I darted behind the nearest tree, the bark roughly scraping against my armor. Knives balanced in my hands, bracers warm against my arms. My tremor sense painted the picture in my mind. Both goblins split apart immediately, slipping into the underbrush with silent grace. They moved like shadows poured into flesh, weaving through the foliage until even the faintest sound of their steps was gone.

  Anyone relying on sight alone would have been lost. Even my eyes struggled. But to my senses, their paths were clear. I felt the vibrations of their steps, the faint disturbances of weight on the earth, the tension of their aether flowing between them.

  There was a bond, something unseen but tangible. A current of energy that passed back and forth between them, doubling their awareness, sharpening their movements.

  They had some kind of synchronizing ability, which may be why they were a pair.

  My heart quickened as I tracked their approach.

  Did I wait and let them set the pace, or strike first and try to break their connection before it closed around me?

  I spotted the small vials and pouches at their hips. Knives, but also thin blowdarts, each with a narrow tube clipped in place. Poison, most likely. Asher had made me read about weapon types and their favored uses until I could name them in my sleep. I was suddenly grateful for the hours of study between bouts of martial practice.

  I made the first move. If I let them establish the tempo, two opponents could outmaneuver me. I spun from my concealment and flicked both wrists. Two blades shrieked out, slicing the air toward the nearest goblin.

  He blinked out of sight. My knives sliced nothing but wet leaves. For a heartbeat, I froze. Then I sensed him at the side of his partner, as if distance were an illusion. They moved like a single shadow folding into two.

  They had a method of repositioning near each other. I did not know the range, the cooldown, or the cost. I only knew I had to act now. If I could make it a true one-on-one, my edge in close quarters would win it.

  I lunged toward the goblin I had first targeted, closing hard and fast. He slid left, blades flashing. My tremor sense kept him mapped even when his shape blurred. I thrust a blade low, aiming where leather met flesh. My knife bit between his waist and his hide armor. He twisted, stumbling, but he did not fall. The second goblin was already sweeping in, blowdart poised. The tube whispered through the air, a tiny missile aimed for my throat.

  I reacted on instinct. The blade in my left hand flicked out, catching the dart at the shaft. It snapped. Tiny, poisoned lacquer splattered across the damp ground. My fingers tingled for a moment where some had splashed. Poison, I could already feel it trying to get a hold on me.

  I trusted my regeneration, but I needed to end this before the judge called it, assuming the poison would affect me.

  They tried to regroup, moving as one again. That was when I noticed the thread. It was barely a thing, a thin line of faint aether between their belts, pulsing in time with their steps.

  It ran like a spider web of light, binding them. The vials and pouches were part of it, but the thread itself was the key. Sever that, and it may disrupt the power of their link.

  I changed my plan. I faked a retreat. The nearer goblin charged, thinking to push me into the open for his partner. He drove forward with a low, snaky lunge. I let him come, timed my step, and slipped to the side. My knife flashed at the belt where the aether-thread anchored. Leather split. The thread frayed like a cut nerve.

  The change was immediate. Their synchronization stuttered. For the first time, their movements were not mirror-sharp. One of them blinked at his partner as if seeing him anew. I used the moment without mercy.

  I closed the gap and struck for the lead goblin’s throat. My blade found purchase on the protective shield, and he crumpled from the backlash of its activation.

  The second goblin, freed from the web, lashed out with furious speed. He rushed in, knives spinning. I met him closely. My bracers pulsed, launching a blade that dug into his forearm. He howled, but his other hand thrust a dagger toward my ribs.

  I twisted, the knife skittering off my light uniform, and drove my elbow into his solar plexus. Air whooshed from him. My next strike shattered his knee.

  He fell and tried to scramble away, but my foot caught his shoulder and sent him sprawling. I did not go for a killing blow. I kept him from rising with my knives ready until the referee called the match, and the healers swept in.

  They bound the downed goblin’s wounds, chanting soft words that smelled faintly of antiseptic and strange herbs. A scent that had been constant the last week in the arena.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  I felt my pulse pump high in my throat as adrenaline hummed through my arms. The minor prick from the shattered blowdart had burned on my hand, but my regeneration smoothed the sting into a pale scar before the battle had even finished.

  Victory tasted sweet.

  —

  Across from me was that strange human boy who had accompanied the Razorwing to Father’s Academy.

  His strikingly pale arm was unmistakable, as were the countless scars traced across every inch of exposed skin. They caught the light like faded runes, each line a story I could not read.

  He looked much the same as the day I glimpsed him before. That same curiosity was in his eyes, but now it was paired with a gaze that seemed sharp enough to cut.

  As the referee called for us to begin, I drew the sand beneath my feet into a shield, a curtain swirling up to veil me from his sight. With a breath, I bent the air, listening through the currents for the faintest disturbance.

  It came quickly. Two knives sliced through the wind, their edges cutting through the air.

  I slowed them with a pulse of pressure, but even then, they bit deep into my sand-shield. One nearly punched through, the tip flashing just before my eyes.

  He was moving, sprinting toward a nearby dune, another volley leaving his hands.

  I braced to deflect as before, yet the previous blades vanished against my barrier. For a heartbeat, I thought I had stopped them—until two more appeared, striking the exact spot the first had landed.

  One dug deeper, widening the wound in my defenses, and the other slipped clean through and kissed my leg. The sting was sharp, hot blood welling where it carved my thigh.

  I stumbled a step, breath catching. I had not expected that. His skill was… impressive. These were no ordinary blades either. I could feel the hum of aether along their edges, unnatural and aetherically cold.

  He pressed forward, climbing the slope toward me. I shifted my stance to gain the higher ground, only to realize his movements mirrored mine, as though he could sense me no matter how I veiled myself. That was supposed to be my advantage. Few could hide from the eyes of the wind, yet he seemed to have his own method of seeing.

  I clenched my jaw and answered with force. Drawing deeply on the air, I whipped the sand into a shrieking torrent, a storm that rolled down the dune toward him. Grains stung the air, slicing sharp as glass.

  He didn’t flinch. He slid low, bracers gleaming, and the sandstorm broke against a shimmer of his own. His hands blurred, pairs of knives came flashing out toward me at a consistent rhythm. I deflected some, redirected others with gusts, but one clipped my shoulder and another grazed across my ribs, drawing blood.

  I hissed and pushed harder. The gale wrapped around me, carrying me forward. My feet barely touched the ground as I surged across the distance. My short swords gleamed as I drew them, sleek and curved for speed.

  He was there to meet me, daggers in hand. His movements were quick, efficient, honed like a soldier’s. We collided in a flurry of steel and sand.

  Wind twisted around my strikes, forcing his knives wide. He countered with a brutal rhythm, blades snapping in close arcs meant to kill if not for the wards between us.

  Sparks flew where steel rang against steel. He ducked low, and I drove a heel of air against his chest, forcing him back. He twisted the motion into a roll, springing up with a dagger flicked from his bracer. I barely parried in time, the blade skimming past my cheek close enough to slice a loose strand of hair.

  We circled. He struck high, low, alternating speed with sudden bursts of force. I answered with slashes of air, each one threatening to unbalance him. Neither of us yielded. The sand shifted beneath us, dunes collapsing where our power tore through them.

  He surprised me next. One of my swords vanished from my hand. No—he had touched it in the last clash. Some dimensional trick had pulled it away and dropped it beside him. He caught it mid-fall and hurled it back at me.

  The blade sliced past my arm, scoring another line of blood before I wrenched it back with a gust of wind.

  “Clever,” I muttered, though my pulse hammered faster.

  He gave no reply. His eyes were steady, his breathing calm, as if this were a stroll in the park. It made my curiosity about him only grow.

  The longer we fought, the narrower the world became. My winds struck; his knives answered. My blades carved; his daggers deflected. Sand hissed around us, dunes collapsing under the violence we poured into each strike.

  At last, the opening revealed itself. We saw it at the same instant. He lunged, his dagger angling for my throat. I drove my short sword toward his heart, wind guiding the edge. Both blows would have ended us.

  The wards flared at once.

  A flash of blinding light swallowed everything. The impact rattled me to the bone. When it cleared, I staggered back a single step, chest heaving, sweat and sand streaking my skin. He mirrored me, daggers lowered, breath sharp.

  The backlash left us both reeling, barely conscious, our bodies trembling as if the wards themselves had stripped our strength.

  A draw.

  For a long heartbeat, silence held the world still. Then the referee’s voice broke through: “Match over.”

  Our gazes locked and held, steady despite the exhaustion. Neither of us would collapse first. Neither of us would yield that small victory.

  And in that quiet, battered moment, I could not help but think we would cross blades again in the highest ranks of this academy. The thought filled me not with dread, but with something far more interesting.

  Anticipation.

  —

  She was as beautiful as she was deadly.

  That was the only thought left in my mind as the referee’s call echoed across the arena. A draw. I could hardly believe it.

  There had been no mention of what happened when neither fighter fell. No rule for what came next. All I knew was that the wards had flared for both of us.

  She was just as quick, just as relentless as I was.

  My senses lingered on her even after the clash. The elf stood across from me, chest rising with sharp breaths, yet still carrying herself with that impossible poise. Dust clung to her hair, blood traced her leg, ribs, and shoulder, but nothing could dim the aura of otherworldly majesty she seemed to carry naturally.

  I caught myself staring. Even the way her hair fell across her face looked like a sculpture carved by a master’s hand to capture a moment of unshakable grace.

  I shook my head, forcing the thought away. I was still learning how to be around so many races, but the elves unsettled me most of all. They were too different, too perfect, their presence rattling my senses in ways I was still trying to adjust to.

  And this had been more than a glimpse. This duel had been intimate, closer than I had ever stood to one of them. My tremor sense still hummed with the echo of her movements, as if her attacks were still written into the air around us.

  Her voice broke through my thoughts. “Zephyra. My name is Zephyra.”

  The sound was like music, smooth and light, carrying a melodic quality.

  “Bryn,” I answered, nodding once. I tried to keep my voice steady, to hide how much the moment had shaken me.

  “I have a feeling we will be seeing more of each other.”

  She turned then, moving toward the exit with the same effortless grace she had shown in battle.

  I rubbed the back of my neck, still catching my breath, my knives humming in my bracers. As I watched her walk away, I couldn’t disagree.

  Something told me she was right.

  —

  I had done it. Day four was finished. Four victories, and one draw with Zephyra.

  The judges declared it a win for both of us after watching the fight replay through aetheric mirrors and seeing the shield activate simultaneously. If neither of us lost another match, the tournament would set us up for a rematch.

  Afterward, I made my way to the cafeteria. When I entered, I found her already seated at my usual table. For a moment, I thought about leaving, about keeping the distance I had kept from everyone else. Instead, I slid into the chair across from her.

  She met my eyes just once, gave me a quiet nod, and then returned to her meal. We ate in silence. After two weeks of choosing solitude, of keeping myself apart so that the tournament’s results would not break bonds, that single shared table felt… strangely comforting.

  Dusk stirred on my shoulder, golden eyes narrowing as if to remind me she was still with me. Her feathers brushed my cheek, and I smiled faintly.

  We had grown closer over the last couple weeks. She seemed to understand me in ways I could not explain, as though our bond deepened with every hour spent side by side.

  I did not know how the bond between human and creature truly worked, but I could feel something forming, even if it was slowly.

  Later, in my dorm, I sat on the edge of the bed with my knives laid out before me. Tomorrow was the last day. One more day of combat. One more chance to prove my skill.

  I had already secured my place at the top of this year’s class. Not a single loss marked my record. Yet, the final day would reveal where I stood against those who had walked the same unbeaten path. Rivals. Peers. And hopefully future companions.

  I drew in a steady breath, feeling the weight of the bracers warm against my arms. My body thrummed with readiness, but my mind was restless.

  Tomorrow, I will see how sharp I really am when tested against the best.