Dawn of Ash
The morning came gray and heavy, as if the sky itself had woken reluctant. A pale mist clung to the training grounds, draping the barracks, the trees, and the open courtyard in a veil that muted everything into silence. Not even the sparrows dared sing.
The air smelled faintly of iron, of sweat carried over from yesterday's drills, and of smoke from the night's dying campfires. The ground was damp, boots sinking slightly into soft dirt as the trainees gathered.
Nobody spoke loudly. The usual chatter that followed morning rations was gone. Instead, whispers bled into the fog, choked with nervousness.
Today was the day of the Pairings.
The day they would be matched, chosen, and pitted against each other in the arena where failure meant more than shame. It meant death—or something worse.
Kaen stood with his arms folded, eyes fixed ahead, trying not to show the heat pulsing restlessly in his veins. Riku leaned against the side post of the barrack, arms crossed, scanning every face with sharp, calculating eyes. Lyra fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her lips pressed into a thin line. Fin sat hunched over, hands locked together as if in prayer. And Daren, the broad-shouldered boy who carried strength like a burden, stood silent, jaw tight.
None of them spoke. None of them needed to. The atmosphere was already speaking for them.
And then, the bell rang.
A single toll, deep and final.
The call to assemble.
One by one, the trainees formed into rows, the fog curling around them like ghosts. Their breaths puffed in the chill air. No laughter. No bravado. Just silence.
And then Verya emerged.
Her presence cut the mist like a blade. Tall, stern, every movement controlled and deliberate. Her eyes were pale silver, unreadable, like frost given human shape. She carried no weapon, yet the weight she brought with her was sharper than steel.
Behind her trailed two assistants, faceless in demeanor, carrying the ledger of names.
"Step forward," Verya's voice cut through the quiet, calm and merciless. "Those who will not stand. Those who withdraw."
No one moved at first. Feet shuffled, eyes darted, but silence stretched.
Until a boy broke it.
---
Miren's Story
Miren. Seventeen. Dark hair that often fell over his eyes, a boy who had once laughed too loudly during sparring, who dreamed out loud about returning home one day a hero.
Now, his shoulders hunched. His breath shook.
He stepped forward, trembling.
"I—I can't." His voice cracked, thin and fragile. "I thought… I thought I could, but… I can't."
Gasps rustled through the rows.
Verya's eyes slid toward him, flat and cold. "Name."
"Miren Tallow," he whispered.
Kaen's chest tightened. He remembered Miren telling stories by the fire, of his little brother back home who wanted a wooden sword carved for him. He remembered the way Miren smiled when he trained, even when knocked down. That smile was gone now.
Miren's eyes glazed as he spoke again, more to himself than anyone.
"I saw Jorek fall last week," he muttered, hands clenching. "His head hit the ground wrong and he never got back up. He was stronger than me. Faster. And he still—he still—"
His voice broke, collapsing under the weight of the memory.
The image of Jorek's lifeless body, dragged away like garbage, lingered behind his eyes.
"I can't end like that," Miren whispered. "I can't let my mother hear I died in dirt for nothing. I—"
He swallowed hard, choking on tears. "Forgive me."
No one spoke.
Verya's voice was frost. "Weakness acknowledged. Step aside."
Miren lowered his head, shoulders shaking, and moved to the edge, where shadows swallowed him.
---
Eira's Story
The silence dragged again. Some thought no one else would step forward.
But then a girl did.
Eira.
A pale-haired trainee, eyes soft and tired, hands trembling though she tried to hide it. She had always been kind—the one who shared water when rations ran thin, who whispered encouragement in the darkest drills.
Now, her lips trembled as she stepped into the open.
"My name is Eira Lenne," she said quietly, but her voice held a strange steadiness—like a candle refusing to flicker, even as wind pressed hard.
"I cannot fight tomorrow."
A stir ran through the line.
Eira lowered her head. "My sister waits for me. She's younger—twelve—and alone since our father fell in the mines. She thinks I'll come back. She believes I'll return with coin, with honor. If I fall here… she'll have nothing."
Her breath hitched, but she forced herself on.
"She's too young to be left. Too young to know what hunger does. And if I die…" Eira's eyes finally lifted, shimmering with tears. "…she dies too."
Kaen's throat tightened. Lyra turned her face away, hands curling into fists.
For a moment, silence held—thick, suffocating.
Then Eira laughed, bitter and hollow. "I thought I was strong enough to balance both. To train here, to fight, and still hold hope for her. But I was lying to myself."
Verya tilted her head slightly, gaze like ice on glass.
"Your bond is chains," she said flatly. "It makes you weak. Remember this: the world will never stop devouring simply because you care."
Eira's face crumpled, but she said nothing more. She stepped aside, to stand beside Miren.
Her tears fell silently into the dirt.
---
Joren's Story
A long silence followed.
The fog shifted. The air pressed heavier.
And then came Joren.
Tall, broad, his jaw shadowed by stubble despite his youth. His eyes—once sharp, mocking, always ready with a smirk—looked hollow.
He walked forward slowly, deliberately, like a man carrying his own chains.
"Joren Vale," he said. His voice carried no tremor. Only exhaustion.
"I withdraw."
Gasps spread again. Joren had been one of the top in sparring, a fighter others whispered might stand until the end. To hear him quit sent shockwaves through the ranks.
Riku's brows drew down, eyes narrowing sharply.
Kaen frowned. "Why…?"
Joren gave a bitter smile, though no humor touched it.
"You want reasons?" he asked, voice heavy. "Fine."
He lifted his gaze toward Verya. "Because this is a game. Rigged. Twisted."
His laugh came harsh. "We fight, we bleed, we break each other apart, and for what? For you to sit there, watch, and measure us like cattle?"
Verya's expression didn't change.
Joren's voice grew harder. "I thought strength mattered. That if I trained hard, if I pushed past pain, I could stand proud. But I see it now. It's not strength that decides. It's your whims. Your design. We're pawns."
His fists clenched. "And I won't be your pawn."
The silence that followed rang louder than any scream.
Verya's lips curved—not into a smile, but something colder.
"Cowardice dressed as defiance," she murmured. "You think your choice makes you free. It does not. You are simply irrelevant."
Her words cut sharper than steel.
Joren's jaw worked, but he said nothing more. He stepped back, joining Miren and Eira.
The three stood together, broken, discarded.
---
Verya's Verdict
Verya turned her gaze back to the remaining trainees.
Her voice, calm and merciless, carried across the courtyard.
"Remember what you have seen."
Her silver eyes scanned each face, one by one, piercing through trembling hearts.
"The weak cannot stand. Their reasons—fear, bonds, pride—mean nothing. All that matters is resolve. You either endure, or you are erased. That is the law of this world."
She paused, letting the words sink like poison.
"Do not forget. Tomorrow, mercy will not wait for you. Nor will I."
A chill swept through the rows.
No one dared speak.
The mist seemed thicker now, as though the world itself recoiled.
---
The Names Begin
Verya lifted her hand. The assistant unrolled the ledger, ink glistening black against parchment.
"Pairings begin."
The silence grew suffocating.
One by one, names were called, voices echoing in the still air. Each pairing landed like a hammer on hearts. Faces blanched. Hands tightened into fists.
Kaen felt his pulse hammering, each second stretching endlessly. He heard names—some he recognized, others blurred in his pounding head.
Beside him, Fin whispered prayers under his breath. Lyra clenched her jaw, refusing to tremble. Riku's eyes stayed sharp, calculating.
And then—
"Daren Vale."
The name cut the silence.
Daren's breath froze. His chest tightened. He stepped forward, heavy boots sinking into the dirt.
The world seemed to pause. All eyes turned to him.
The assistant's finger slid down the ledger, searching. Pausing.
Verya's voice rang cold.
"Your opponent will be…"
The word hung unfinished. The page turned.
And the world held its breath.