Page 16 of Unbound

"So other students can just... kill us?"

"They really don't care?"

"They just want the strongest to survive."

"Then don't get killed, idiot."

I keep my expression carefully neutral, even as my stomach flips and clenches in on itself.

Cull the weak. Strengthen the herd.

As part of the herd, I can’t say I agree with the strategy at the moment.

Beside me, Mireen looks like she's balancing on the knife-edge of panic, her face drained of color as her hands fall limply to her sides.

"Hey," I say quietly, angling my body to shield her from the instructor's view. "We got this. I think most people are too worried about surviving to start trying to kill each other yet. I'm sure we'll be fine."

Yet.

Even my flimsy attempt at reassurance falls flat. We both hear the unspoken truth hanging in the air between us.

She gives a shaky nod, tongue darting out to wet her chapped lips. "Thanks," she whispers, not looking convinced but offering a smile all the same.

The massive doors at the far end of the arena swing open with a groan that reverberates through the stone floor. Several figures in silver and gold enter—legacies, their presence commanding immediate attention despite their casual strides. Bastian is among them, his golden hair catching the light from the high windows. He scans the sea of offerings until his eyes find me. The subtle nod he gives is so quick I might be imagining it.

"Legacies," our instructor says. "Here to observe. Ignore them."

Easier said than done when I can feel Bastian's gaze following my every move like a physical touch. What does he want from me? What does he see when he looks at me—a curiosity? A responsibility? Something else entirely?

The other legacies stroll about the room, hands clasped behind their backs with military efficiency. They observe us with clear disinterest and disdain. For that much, I can’t say I blame them.

Other than Raith and a handful of standouts, we make a pretty pathetic picture as we resume stumbling through combat stances and practice drills.

The instructor of the fires approaches our group, expression grim. She's a severe looking woman with black hair in a braid so tight it looks like it must hurt. She has lean muscles that speak of combat prowess.

She murmurs something to our instructor, who nods and then cuts his eyes directly to me. My heart skips.

"Waters. You'll each complete one sparring match," he announces, voice carrying across our group. "The match ends when your opponent yields or can no longer get up. You," he says, beckoning me forward with one crooked finger. "You've been challenged by one of the fires. Go with Instructor Kyreen. She'll show you to your opponent."

"What?" Mireen gasps, her fingers briefly catching my sleeve.

"It's okay," I lie, forcing a smile even as panic screams through every nerve ending.

My stomach is in my throat as I follow the fire instructor toward the smaller group of fires. Raith towers over them, walking at the front with his terrifying gaze fixed on me as he stalks forward. I feel like a mouse being watched by a hawk—each step bringing me closer to inevitable claws.

"Am I allowed to refuse the challenge?" I ask, voice smaller than I intend as we cross the vast space between groups. I can sense eyes from all corners of the room tracking my movement, wondering what I could have possibly done to attract this kind of attention so quickly.

She looks down at me, her eyes a deep, simmering orange that reveals no sympathy. "No. Do you think you'll be able to politely decline when the Red Kingdom attacks an outpost you're defending? When they ambush your camp in the night?"

I swallow a sigh, steeling myself for what's coming. No escape, then. No mercy.

"Who challenged me? Her?" I ask, pointing at the beautiful fire girl with black hair who watches me with venomous contempt, her fists clenched at her sides so tightly I can see white knuckles even from this distance.

"Serena?" Kyreen asks, something like amusement flickering across her face. "No. Though she wanted to. Raith Hollow seems to have beat her to it."

Fuck me.

Against Serena, I might have had a slim chance of surviving with only moderate injuries. Against Raith, though? There's no chance in any hell. No gods powerful enough to save me from this. I might as well have been asked to fight a dragon barehanded.

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