Page 81 of The Bleak Beginning

He huffs. “Now they only last a week. You should consider yourself lucky,” Sylvester finishes, his tone dry.

I shake my head, still struggling to process the information. “But you didn’t answer my question. How did they cross?”

Sylvester’s gaze returns to the churning waters below. “They built a bridge.”

“A bridge?” I repeat, incredulous. “How?”

“A temporary bridge, constructed from materials they had to source themselves. It was the culmination of everything they’d learned, every skill they’d honed over the course of the games.”

I try to imagine it—four students, my ancestor among them, laboring day and night to span this impossible gap. “That’s…actually impressive.”

“It was meant to be,” Sylvester agrees. “But it came at a cost.”

There’s a weight to his words that makes me nervous. What was the cost?

“Their peers—the other students competing against them—had as much, if not more, to gain,” Sylvester continues, his tone stiff. “And they weren’t about to let the founding families’ children win so easily.”

A ripple of cold fear slides down my back. “What are you saying?”

Sylvester’s somber eyes meet mine. “I’m saying that not everyone who started the games finished them. The bridge wasn’t just a test of engineering and resourcefulness. It became a battleground.”

I swallow hard, imagining the scene. “They fought on the bridge?”

He nods grimly. “With whatever they could find or make. Sticks, stones, improvised weapons. It got brutal. The kind of desperation that turns people into savages.”

“But…why?” I ask. “Why would they do that?”

Sylvester lets out a long, weary sigh. “Power. The founding families offered the winners a place amongst them, a share in their wealth and influence. For some of those students, it was their only chance to escape poverty, to secure a future for themselves and their families.”

I feel a knot forming in my stomach. “So our ancestors fought their way across?”

He nods slowly. “They did what they had to do. They won.”

I turn away, my gaze drawn to the churning waters below. The moonlight catches the white-capped waves, making them glitterlike broken glass. It’s beautiful and terrifying all at once, much like the history I’d learned tonight.

“And what did they win, after everything they’d been through?”

Sylvesters lips thin, the blond strands of his hair blow in the breeze. “The students were declared the winners of the Altair Cup and given the chance to assist the staff in organizing the next year’s event. Since no one had won before, the teachers felt it was only just to allow them the opportunity to plan for upcoming games.”

“And what now?” I say, not bothering to conceal the irritation behind my words. “Why do we continue these pointless games? They proved their point, did they not?”

Sylvester’s face hardens, a shadow crossing his features as he considers my words. “It’s not that simple, Alex. The games…they’ve become more than just a test. They’re a tradition, a rite of passage.”

I click my tongue. Who cares about tradition? A stupid trophy?

His mood shifts, his voice taking on an urgent tone. “You’re right to question it. The games have evolved over the years, becoming more elaborate, but far less dangerous. Each generation pushes the boundaries a little further, trying to outdo their predecessors.”

“And the staff? The students’ families? They just let this happen?”

Sylvester’s laugh is bitter, devoid of humor. “Let it happen? They encourage it. The more spectacular the games, the more prestige for the school, the more donations from wealthy alumni. It’s a vicious cycle.”

A never-ending cycle, and yet the dormitory bearing my family name lies in ruins. Was my father's mistake truly so terrible that it tarnished our name in such an unforgivable way?

“I can’t believe this,” I mutter, shaking my head in disbelief. “All for money and prestige?”

Sylvester’s eyes meet mine, a flicker of something—regret, perhaps?—passing across his face. “It’s more than that. The games…they’re a way of maintaining the status quo. Of keeping the founding families in power.”

I feel my anger rising again, hot and sharp. “So it’s all just a show? A way to keep everyone in line?”

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