The courtyard buzzed like a hive shaken by a sudden blow.
Ashren's words still hung in the air, a fight. Not another theory session.
A real fight.
Tarin was practically vibrating where he stood, his grin wide and ugly, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Kisaya's eyes burned with a quiet, sharpened focus, her stance already balanced and ready. Even the quiet ones—Neval and Ilkar—straightened their backs. Darek, who usually laughed at everything, had gone silent.
He wasn't smiling now.
The air around us tightened. The courtyard wasn't a place of learning anymore.
It was a battleground waiting to be claimed.
This was what they'd been waiting for.
Ashren pulled six clay tablets from a worn satchel.
"You'll come forward one by one and draw a tablet" he said, voice calm but carrying across the courtyard.
"Each tablet bears a symbol: moon, spear, or serpent. Those who draw the same symbol will face each other in combat."
He held the tablets up for us to see: rough, worn, marked by nothing more than simple etchings.
"Moon will fight first. Then spear. Then serpent."
He raised a hand, signaling for the group to focus.
"Kisaya will not draw" he said. "She has already trained against guards hardened by real battle. I know her abilities firsthand. I trust everyone understands."
No one objected. There was no reason to. But for a brief moment, I caught Kisaya lowering her gaze, disappointed.
She wanted to fight, like some of us.
Tarin moved first, walking with a swagger he didn't bother hiding. He plunged his hand into the pile, drew out a tablet, turned it over, and smirked at the symbol carved into it. He showed it to Ashren, who gave a small nod. Tarin returned to his place, clutching it like a trophy.
But something felt off, he was gripping the tablet just a bit too tightly.
One by one, the others followed.
I waited.
When my turn came, there was no choice left. Only a single token remained in the instructor's hand.
I stepped forward, took it, and turned it over in my palm.
The symbol stared back at me, carved deep into the clay.
The moon.
I turned it slowly in my hand, the rough edges scraping against my skin, leaving faint lines that burned sharper than they should have.
Ashren called the names, his voice steady with every word:
"Moon: Ereshgal vs. Ilkar."
A pause hung in the air, charged with expectation.
"Spear: Tarin vs. Neval."
"Serpent: Darek vs. Erenai."
Each pairing was announced sharply, Ashren clapped once, snapping every gaze back to him.
"The rules are simple" he said. "Yield, fall unconscious, or be unable to continue. No surrender without resistance. You are here to fight, not to bow."
He let the weight of his words settle over us, a reminder that mercy would not be given freely. Only earned.
Around us, the courtyard seemed to hold its breath.
I looked across the clearing.
Ilkar met my gaze, a silent, steady stare. Calm, without fear or defiance.
Just something buried deep, locked behind a wall I couldn't read.
Good.
It would make proving myself easier. Showing them—the chosen ones—that I wasn't beneath them. That I never had been.
The instructor handed each of us a wooden training sword.
We stood three, maybe four meters apart, weapons in hand, the space between us humming with the silence before impact.
I rolled my wrist once. The weapon was lighter than I liked.
But it would serve.
Ashren's voice sliced through the morning:
"Begin."
Ilkar lifted his hand immediately and began tracing a rune in the air. His fingers moved fast, sharp, rushed strokes. He was trying to finish the symbol before I could close the distance.
I moved.
My feet slammed against the ground, one after the other, driving me forward with everything I had.
I was fast, faster than Ilkar could react.
My body moved before my mind could catch up. The sword struck his hand—hard, precise—knocking it off course and halting his tracing.
His breath caught, his body recoiled, and the focus in his eyes vanished all at once.
It was a clean, sudden strike that stopped him before he could do anything else.
Ilkar gasped, the breath knocked from his lungs.
His tracing hand jerked back as if burned, and he doubled over, one knee collapsing beneath him.
Pain etched across his face, not just from the blow, but from the backlash of the unfinished rune.
I stepped back, lowering my sword slightly.
"Can you continue?" I asked, calm.
He blinked up at me, surprised.
Then he nodded once, steadying his breath.
"Yes."
Tarin spoke from the sidelines, his tone hard and filled with venom.
"Ilkar, really? Slapped down by the king's leftover? That must be your proudest moment."
Darek snickered.
I didn't look at him, didn't need to.
My knuckles tightened around the hilt of my sword, a silent pressure building under my grip.
Ilkar rose again, slower this time, his breath ragged. He looked dazed, unsteady, like his limbs hadn't fully decided to obey him. His stance was open, shaky. Vulnerable in every way a fighter shouldn't be.
But he stood.
And that, at least, meant something.
We moved.
From the first clash, it was obvious.
Ilkar was trying, but he couldn't keep up. His swings were slower, his reactions duller. He was off balance, open, exposed.
Each strike forced him back, step by step.
Each feint opened another gap in his guard.
I didn't have to think, my body moved on its own, every motion exactly where it needed to be.
It was instinct.
Built from constant training, and recently, pushed to the edge by brutal practice.
Each day heavier.
Each hour more demanding.
The need to rise above the chosen burned in every swing.
And now, it was all finally showing.
Ilkar faltered, defending more than striking. I pushed forward, step by step.
Then…
Something cracked…
Not in him… but deep inside me.
A surge of heat shot through my chest, as if my ribs had split open to let fire through. My pulse kicked. My throat dried. My fingers tightened around the hilt until I felt the wood grind against my skin.
I lunged.
My kick slammed into Ilkar's thigh, sending him stumbling. My elbow crashed into his shoulder hard enough to jolt pain up my arm, but it didn't slow me. My training sword struck his ribs with a crack that felt disturbingly satisfying. My breath turned shallow, almost ragged, and each exhale carried something close to a growl.
My body had taken control.
My fists struck. My knees drove forward. My shoulder rammed into him with full force. Anything I could use became a weapon.
Why wasn't I chosen?
I felt the impact of each blow in my bones, a dull throb that fed the heat spreading through me. The burn crawled up my neck, down my spine, through my arms. It demanded more.
Ilkar's blood smeared across my blade and my knuckles; a few drops even reached my face, but I barely noticed. It only pushed me further.
Why did the gods pretend not to see me?
He tried to block, but every attempt collapsed under the force behind my strikes. He was losing ground with every heartbeat.
"WHY?!"
The word tore out of me before I could stop it.
Why did I have to prove myself again and again just to stand where others were placed by divine whim?
I wanted him down. I wanted everyone to see. I wanted the gods, silent and distant, to feel something from me if they wouldn't give anything in return.
The blows kept coming, harder than necessary, heavier than training allowed. I could feel the weight of every strike echoing through my arms, as if something else pushed with me.
And somewhere beneath all that fury, a small part of me realized this wasn't normal.
But I didn't stop.
Not until Ilkar finally crumpled under the barrage and dropped to the ground.
Unconscious.
He didn't even have time to fall properly.
Only then did my body slow.
I stood over him, my chest rising and falling in rough, uneven breaths, the wooden sword trembling in my grip.
And for a moment, the world went quiet.
Kisaya's voice broke the silence first, rushing toward me:
"Eresh, are you alright?"
I couldn't speak. I didn't even know what to say.
My gaze dropped to my hands, trembling.
What was that?
Before the question could sink its teeth in, Ashren spoke, calm and clear:
"Ilkar traced and activated his rune right before you lost control. We all saw it. It's likely your anger grew because of his ability."
I looked around. They were all watching me, some with concern, others with something colder
When I returned to my place, a few stepped back.
Like they didn't want to be too close.
In case I snapped again.
I said nothing.
My hands kept trembling long after everyone looked away.