The name still hung in the air.
Daren.
It wasn't just a word—it was a weight that crushed the clearing, a blade that drew a thin red line through the survivors' hearts.
The fog clung to the training yard like wet wool, thick and suffocating. The earth was damp underfoot, soft from the morning dew, yet every step, every shuffle, sounded too loud, like the crack of branches in a silent forest.
No one moved.
Daren stood in the line of survivors, his broad frame tense, shoulders squared as if bracing for a blow. His fists clenched until the veins bulged in his arms. He did not lift his head, but his shadow stretched long and dark against the mist, swallowing the ground beneath him.
The assistant's finger slid down the parchment, slow and deliberate, like a knife dragged across skin. Every rustle of paper echoed like thunder in the stillness.
Kaen swallowed hard. His chest felt tight, as though an invisible rope had been drawn around him and twisted.
Why him?
The thought beat against his skull, heavy and relentless.
Around him, the survivors shifted nervously. A few exchanged panicked glances, others pressed trembling hands together as if in silent prayer. But most stared straight ahead, afraid that even a flicker of reaction might draw fate's cruel attention.
The silence stretched, unbearable.
Kaen's heartbeat roared in his ears. Each thud matched the rise and fall of the assistant's hand. Slowly. Slowly. Sliding down the page. Searching. Choosing.
Beside him, Fin's breathing quickened. He didn't even notice at first—the soft, ragged sound. But when Kaen turned his head, he saw it: Fin's hands trembling at his sides, his lips pressed together, his wide eyes glued to the parchment.
He knows.
Kaen's stomach twisted. He wanted to reach out, to whisper something, anything, but his voice felt buried under stone.
The assistant paused.
The finger stilled.
The clearing seemed to shrink, the mist pressing tighter, heavier, as though the world itself held its breath.
Verya stood tall at the front, her cloak draped like the wings of a raven, her sharp gaze sweeping across the trainees. The light of dawn caught her eyes, making them flash like steel in fire.
There was no mercy there. No warmth.
When she finally spoke, her voice cut through the silence like a blade drawn from its sheath.
"Your opponent will be—"
The words hung, unfinished, stretched deliberately.
Every throat tightened. Every breath caught.
Kaen's nails dug into his palms. His body leaned forward slightly, tense, waiting for the axe to fall.
Beside him, Fin's lips parted, just barely, a soundless whisper escaping—though Kaen could read it clearly.
Please… not me.
The assistant's voice broke the silence at last.
"Fin."
The clearing erupted.
Gasps tore through the survivors like arrows. Whispers burst out, raw and frantic, flooding the heavy air.
"Fin?! Did he say Fin?"
"No… no, that can't—"
"They're paired? Against each other?"
Kaen's heart dropped, the sound of his pulse drowning out the voices.
He turned sharply, his eyes locking on Fin.
The boy stood frozen, eyes wide, chest heaving as though he had been stabbed.
And for the first time since the trials began, Fin looked like a child again.
The name struck harder than any blade.
Fin.
Fin's mouth opened, but no sound came. His hands trembled, fingers twitching as though the name itself had poisoned his body. His knees wavered, and for a moment Kaen thought he might collapse.
"M–me?" The word slipped out broken, fragile. His voice carried no strength, no certainty—only disbelief. "Against… Daren?"
The survivors erupted.
"They can't be serious!"
"Fin doesn't stand a chance!"
"This is cruel—more cruel than the monsters!"
Some voices trembled with sympathy, others with pity, and a few, darker ones, with cold satisfaction.
Daren hadn't moved. His head tilted slightly down, shadows obscuring his face. His fists remained clenched, arms trembling faintly—not with fear, but with something hotter, sharper.
Fin turned to him, desperate, searching for comfort, for denial. "Daren, say something. Tell them this is a mistake. Tell them—"
"Stop."
The single word cut through the whispers.
Daren's voice was low, heavy, threaded with steel. He finally raised his head, eyes locking on Fin. For a heartbeat, Kaen thought the air itself recoiled.
"Don't say it," Daren muttered. His jaw tightened. "Don't say what we are."
Fin froze. His lips trembled, the tears already welling. "But… you're my—"
"I said stop!"
The shout was like a strike. It silenced the clearing. Even the mist seemed to still, as if afraid to move.
Daren's chest heaved, the veins on his neck standing out. He looked away, staring hard at the dirt beneath his boots. His voice came rough, raw.
"If you say it… I'll break."
The words weren't meant for the others. They weren't meant for Verya. They were meant for Fin—and only him.
Fin's breath caught in his throat. His hands gripped his tunic tightly, knuckles pale. The tears threatened to spill, but he bit them back with everything he had.
Kaen's heart twisted. He wanted to shout at them both, to rip apart the cruel decree that had forced this moment. But his voice wouldn't come. He could only watch.
Around them, the survivors whispered again, softer now, as though speaking at a funeral.
"They were always together…"
"Fin… he'll be crushed."
"Daren won't hold back."
Verya's voice rang out, cold and final.
"Daren and Fin are paired."
No hesitation. No sympathy. Just the pronouncement of law.
The ledger turned to the next names, but Kaen barely heard it. His eyes lingered on Fin, whose legs finally gave way.
---
Flashback – Days Before
The memory rose unbidden, sharp and cruel.
Kaen saw them again—Daren and Fin, days earlier, in the wilderness trial. The night had been long and merciless, the air filled with howls of beasts.
Fin had been the first to hear it—a low growl from the treeline. His hands had shaken then too, but his voice had been steady. "Something's coming."
Daren hadn't hesitated. He had stepped forward, broad frame like a shield in front of Fin, his chipped sword gripped tight.
"Stay behind me," he'd said. Not as a command. As a promise.
The beast—a wolf with matted fur and burning eyes—lunged from the shadows.
Fin had frozen, terror locking his limbs. But Daren had met it head on, blade raised, taking the full brunt of its weight. The impact had driven him to one knee, blood spilling from his arm, but he had held.
"Fin!" Daren had roared. "Move! Now!"
And Fin had moved. Somehow, with trembling hands, he had driven his spear into the beast's side. It had thrashed, snapping its jaws at his throat, but Daren's blade had finished it.
Afterward, Fin had fallen beside him, panting, drenched in sweat.
"You… idiot," Daren had muttered, blood running down his arm. "Don't freeze like that again."
Fin had laughed weakly, the sound half a sob. "And don't throw yourself in front of monsters for me again."
They had leaned against each other, both half-broken, but alive. Together.
---
Return to Present
And now—those same two stood on opposite ends of fate's blade.
Kaen clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms until blood beaded. His breath burned in his lungs.
They survived together. And now they're ordered to kill each other.
Fin finally found his voice again. Weak, trembling, but loud enough to cut through the murmurs.
"Daren… I can't. I can't fight you."
Daren's eyes narrowed, his expression dark, almost monstrous.
"Then you'll die."
The words weren't cruel. They weren't angry. They were heavy. Final.
Fin's breath caught, his entire body shaking. But somewhere behind the fear, Kaen saw it—just a spark of defiance, a tiny ember of fire.
Verya's eyes glimmered, sharp as razors.
"Good," she said quietly, almost to herself. "This is how soldiers are made."