Chapter 3
Supposedly, the announcement of our impending doom didn’t excuse us from our regular schedules.
Because of course it didn’t.
I sat in the middle of a makeshift classroom beside Brynn, slouched just enough to keep myself comfortable without drawing attention. Rows of old wooden desks, each one attached to a stiff, unforgiving chair, filled the space in uneven lines, their surfaces worn smooth from years of use. The air smelled damp, thick with the aftermath of recent rain that had seeped into the walls and never quite left.
Everything about the room felt… used. Tired.
Fitting.
Our squad clustered loosely around us, while the other nine squads in our platoon did the same, each group forming its own quiet island of tension. We were lucky number Squad Seven. It was completely randomized, but I liked that it happened to be my favorite number.
Battle strategy has always been my favorite class.
Not because I excelled, far from it, but because it gave my body a break. No bruises forming. No muscles tearing. Just thinking. Planning. Existing without pain for an hour or two.
Today, even that felt ruined.
Instructor Phaden paced slowly at the front of the room, chalk scraping against the board as he outlined different survival scenarios. Normally, I’d at least pretend to follow along.
Now?
The entire room felt like it was holding its breath, like we were all waiting for something worse to happen.
To our right, Squad Five huddled together, their voices low and urgent. Four men, one woman, every one of them built like they belonged here. Hard edges. Sharp expressions. The kind of trainees who didn’t question things like tournaments to the death.
We were the only two fifth-year squads in the platoon, which meant they were probably talking about us.
Or what was about to happen to us.
“What do you think this is all about?” I murmured, leaning slightly toward Brynn without taking my eyes off the front.
“The strategy?” she asked, squinting at the board like she could force clarity out of it. “Looks like he’s going over how to escape imprisonment in a foreign land. See, he’s writing ‘do’s and don’ts.’”
I followed her gaze.
1. Never reveal secrets.
2. Lie if you must.
3. Assume help is not coming.
4. Plan an escape.
5. Torture is temporary. Endure.
6. Do not antagonize the enemy.
7. Die for your kingdom.
I stared at the last line a second longer than the others.
I’m not about to lay down my life for some stupid war.
Unsettled, I turned back to Brynn, lowering my voice further.
“Not that. The tournament.” My fingers tapped lightly against the desk, restless. “That announcement was… off. Why would they push trainees into something elite facilities usually handle?”
“War.”
The voice cut in low and certain.
James leaned forward into our space, his broad frame practically swallowing the desk as he crowded closer. It would’ve been comical if I weren’t already irritated.
“Why else would they push us this hard before manifestation?” he continued, like he was explaining something obvious. “It has to be something big. If even we’re being treated as valuable assets, then something’s coming. I’d bet every war camp is doing the same thing right now.”
My irritation sharpened instantly.
I leaned forward too, closing the distance until we were nearly nose to nose.
His emerald eyes met mine without hesitation, calm and steady, a quiet challenge.
Too bad for him. I was feeling antsy.
“As I was saying, Brynn,” I said sweetly, deliberately ignoring his unwanted contribution, “if trainees start dying in this tournament, wouldn’t that mean fewer soldiers available for James’s hypothetical war?”
Brynn glanced between us, tension flickering across her face.
“Well… he does have a po—”
“If they’re weak, the war will kill them anyway, Lyra.”
James didn’t even raise his voice.
“The crown is just speeding up the process.”
He said it pleasantly. Like it was meant to reassure me.
Like it made sense.
Brynn clicked her tongue softly, eyeing him.
“That’s a little harsh, James.”
Before anything else could be said, Instructor Phaden turned sharply, calling on someone across the room. Chalk dragged across the board again as he added a new heading.
“How to Withstand Waterboarding”
I blinked.
Then leaned back in my chair.
“Wonderful,” I muttered under my breath. “I was worried today might be too relaxing.”
Phaden launched into a detailed explanation about controlling your breathing, lowering your heart rate, surviving prolonged asphyxiation, and as soon as his attention shifted away again, James leaned forward like he hadn’t just casually justified our potential deaths.
“I’m stating the obvious,” he said. “This is basic war strategy. Eliminate weak links. Strengthen what’s left.”
He shrugged.
Like that was the end of it.
Like it didn’t bother him at all.
Something in my chest tightened, sharp and sudden.
“Speaking as one of the weak links,” I said, my tone sharp as I turned toward him fully, “I was never built for war; my bloodline has been mundane for decades. I’m not like you.”
The words came easier the longer I spoke.
Hotter.
“You, Brynn, probably Elijah, you’ll manifest something strong. Something useful. This tournament isn’t a real threat to you.” I gestured slightly, then let my hand fall. “But for people like me? Posey?”
I exhaled.
“It’s different.”
Posey perked up slightly at her name, leaning forward.
“Did you say my name?”
I dragged a hand down my face, already tired, as I hunch over my desk.
“I was just explaining to James how our squad will be rid of us soon when we inevitably die in the tournament,” I said dryly. “He holds no affection for our mundane ancestry.”
Posey stilled.
For a moment, she just looked between us, something uncertain flickering across her face before she lowered her gaze, biting her lip.
Then she straightened slightly.
“I’ll do my best,” she said quietly, but there was a steadiness there that hadn’t been there before. “I know I’m not the strongest, but I won’t drag the squad down. I can handle myself.”
She hesitated, then added, more matter-of-fact—
“Also, my mother’s side has strong magic. So… it could go either way.”
I stared at her.
Great.
So I really was alone in this.
Across the row, Elijah’s gaze locked onto Posey, sharp and intent, like he’d been tracking every word without ever joining the conversation. He didn’t speak, but the tension in his posture said enough. He was listening.
He always listened. I didn’t mind it, though.
I kind of liked him that way. He gave off very strong “seen, not heard” energy.
“We’ve got your back, Posey,” James said, cutting through the moment as he lifted a fist slightly. “No squadmate left behind.”
“You too, Lyra,” Brynn added quickly, her voice softer but just as certain. “We’ve got each other.”
I glanced at her, something in my chest easing just slightly.
Brynn had always been like that. Effortless. Steady. I’d never had to try to be her friend; we just were.
It was one of the only things here that didn’t feel forced.
“All I’m saying,” I muttered, leaning back and dragging my hands over my face, “is that I have plans that don’t involve dying in a training camp. And the crown seems very determined to ruin that for me.”
“Then don’t be weak,” James said simply. “Be strong.”
I paused, slowly lowered my hands, and stared at him.
He was smiling. Not mocking. Not sharp.
Just… genuine.
Like he’d just offered helpful advice.
I rolled my eyes so hard it almost hurt.
“I’ll get right on that,” I muttered. Then, after a beat, “Also, I almost beat you yesterday.”
He let out a quiet laugh.
“Keyword, almost.”
I turned back toward the board, deciding that asphyxiation techniques were somehow less tiresome than socializing with James.
The rest of the lesson dragged on, each minute stretching longer than the last as Phaden continued his deep dive into increasingly disturbing survival methods. By the time we were finally dismissed, the room felt heavier than when we’d entered.
James stood first.
“I want everyone at dinner,” he said, slipping easily into that steady, commanding tone again. “We have strategies to discuss for tomorrow. Let’s fuel up and make a plan.”
There was no argument this time.
No energy left for it.
We all nodded, gathering our things before drifting apart, each of us carrying the same unspoken weight as we stepped back out into the dim, cloud-covered day.