Nyx
"I believe in you," Mr. Asher said quietly, his voice low enough that only I could hear it. "You can win this."
I almost laughed.
Not because it was funny, because it was cruel in the gentlest way possible. The kind of lie people tell when they don't know what else to say. The kind meant to comfort, not to convince. A soft pillow placed under the head of someone already falling off a cliff.
I knew it was a lie.
I think he knew it too.
So I just stood there, twin blades heavy in my trembling hands, while strangers discussed my life like I wasn't standing right in front of them. Like I was a broken object they were deciding whether to discard now or later.
Does being different really make me less than them?
Not just different, undefined.
Even I don't know what I am.
Am I a werewolf? I have no wolf.
A vampire? I don't thirst.
A witch? I've never cast a single spell.
A human? I've never truly belonged among them either.
I exist somewhere in between, in a space without a name, and apparently, without mercy.
I couldn't forget the looks on the students' faces when they were told to vote. The hesitation. The quick, nervous glances around the field. The way most of them avoided my eyes, as though acknowledging my existence would somehow stain them.
Twenty-eight people thought it was unfair.
Seventy-six didn't.
Seventy-six people either didn't care if I died… or quietly believed the world would be better if I did.
And Ashriel?
He stood there like he was bored. Like someone wasn't being sentenced to death just ten steps away from him. He didn't raise his hand. Didn't react. Didn't even look at me.
I know he owes me nothing.
But he saved me once.
I thought... maybe foolishly... that meant something.
I guess saving someone once doesn't mean you're obligated to do it twice.
"Remember," Ysara said smoothly, her voice slicing through my spiraling thoughts like honey laced with poison, "if your opponent concedes, if they say they surrender.... you must let them leave immediately."
A murmur rippled through the field.
"What happens to those who surrender? Because I have a plan to... " a male voice asked jokingly, as if he didn't fully understand where he was. A place where life could be lost in the blink of an eye.
I turned slightly, and my gaze landed on him.
He didn't look like someone meant for a battlefield.
His blonde hair fell in relaxed, effortless disorder, like he never bothered fixing it because he didn't need to. There was something annoyingly charismatic about him, about the way he stood, loose and confident, as though this was all just another interesting moment instead of a massacre waiting to happen.
His eyes were warm, alert, glinting with curiosity rather than fear. When he smiled, and he did, faintly, it softened his entire face, like he was already halfway into a joke he hadn't told yet. The kind of smile that made you forget, for just a second, where you were.
His presence didn't intimidate.
It disarmed.
Which somehow made it more dangerous.
"Anyone who concedes," Professor Nightfen said evenly, "will be sent to Morvalis."
The murmurs turned darker, heavier.
"There's no difference," someone whispered loudly. "Dying here or dying in Morvalis... it's the same thing."
Another voice answered, colder. "Morvalis is worse. Better to die here."
I swallowed hard.
So surrender wasn't mercy.
It was exile.
It was a slower death dressed up as choice.
Why are these people so bent on killing us all? I wondered bitterly.
And then a worse question followed, sinking like a stone in my chest.
Why would our parents send us here in the first place?
Not for training.
Not for honor.
Not for protection.
But for this.
For blood.
For sacrifice.
For survival games dressed up as education.
I tightened my grip on the twin blades until my knuckles turned white. They felt heavier now. Not because of their physical weight, but because of everything they represented.
Four opponents.
No power.
No protection.
And an entire academy that had already decided I wasn't worth saving.
I lifted my head anyway.
If this was where I died, then fine.
But I wasn't going to lower my eyes while they watched.
Then I heard Ysara's voice again.
"Since we are trying to be fair," Ysara said smoothly, her voice carrying across the field like honey laced with poison, "Miss Vaeloria's first opponent will face her one on one."
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Fair.
The word tasted bitter in my mouth. They really know how to make themselves sound so righteous… but I am already tired of calling them out for it.
Then Ysara continued, "Also, Miss Vaeloria will be the first to fight since she has four opponents. We don't want everyone fighting together and making everything messy."
I scoffed under my breath.
Four on one is already so messy. What's not to be messy?
"Human opponent," Irene added, almost lazily, as though she were announcing the weather. "Step forward."
For a moment, no one moved.
Then a boy stepped out of the line.
Human...
I could tell immediately, not by scent or aura, but by the way he walked. Careful. Measured. Like someone who had learned early that his bones broke easier than everyone else's.
A special human, then.
He rolled his shoulders once, flexed his fingers, and drew a blade, not flashy, not enchanted. Just clean steel, worn from use.
The signal sounded.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
The human didn't rush me.
That alone told me everything.
He didn't underestimate me, not completely. He didn't charge in with bravado or hunger for blood. Instead, he circled slowly, boots crunching against the dirt, measured and calm, like someone who had done this before and intended to walk away afterward.
His eyes never once lifted to my face.
They stayed on my hands.
On the twin blades.
Like he understood exactly how dangerous they could be if I ever found the strength, or the timing... to use them properly.
I tightened my grip.
My fingers trembled, slick with sweat. The weight of the blades suddenly felt heavier than they ever had before. My shoulders burned. My legs already felt unsteady beneath me, like they were waiting for permission to give out.
He struck without warning.
Pain exploded across my forearm as steel bit shallow but sharp. The shock of it stole my breath entirely. I gasped, the sound tearing out of my chest as I stumbled back, nearly losing my footing.
The world tilted violently.
The crowd reacted instantly.
A ripple of approval.
A murmur of satisfaction.
That's it.
She's done.
This is how it ends.
He didn't let me recover.
A kick slammed into my ribs before I could even straighten, brutal and precise. Air burst from my lungs as I hit the ground hard, the impact rattling my teeth. Dust filled my mouth. The taste of iron followed.
I tried to rise.
My arms shook violently beneath me, refusing to cooperate.
Get up, I told myself desperately.
If I stay down, I die. That much I know.
Dying to the first opponent felt… humiliating. Almost laughable. If I was going to die, couldn't it at least be later? Second. Third. Somewhere respectable. I wasn't asking for much, just a little dignity.
He loomed over me, his shadow falling across my face, blade angled toward my throat.
"Yield," he said quietly.
Not cruel.
Not mocking.
With Certainty.
I laughed.
It came out broken and breathless, tearing painfully through my chest. It hurt to laugh. It hurt to breathe. But I laughed anyway.
"No," I croaked.
His brow furrowed.
That hesitation, just a fraction of a second, saved my life.
I rolled as his blade struck down, pain ripping through my shoulder as I forced myself upright. My body screamed in protest. My balance wavered violently. The blades felt wrong in my hands now, too heavy, too slow, like they belonged to someone else.
He hit me again.
And again.
I blocked one strike too late.
Steel rang against steel, the impact exploding sparks across my vision. My wrist went numb instantly, pain shooting up my arm like fire. My grip failed.
One blade slipped from my fingers.
It landed in the dirt with a dull, final sound.
Uselessly.
Just like its owner.
The crowd leaned forward as one.
Now.
Now it's over.
I saw it in his eyes.
Relief.
Not triumph... relief. Like he was glad he wouldn't have to work any harder than this. Like killing me would be simple now.
He moved in to finish it.
I let him come close.
I didn't retreat.
Didn't dodge.
I let him come… knowing this might be the end.
Or not....