I woke to the sound of running water.
Sat up, listening.
Clyde was already awake.
I waited until I heard the door click, then got up and went in. After yesterday, I wasn't exactly eager to run into him—but avoiding him wasn't an option.
"Breakfast's here," Clyde said as I headed to my room to change.
"I'm not hungry."
"No," he said flatly. "You're going to eat everything I ordered. Then we leave."
I rolled my eyes—but sat down anyway.
Omelet. Toast with butter. Black coffee. Apple pie.
My favorites.
Of course.
"The thing yesterday…" Clyde said, quieter than usual. "Sorry."
I choked.
"You're apologizing?"
"You heard me," he snapped, irritation snapping back into place. "I don't handle it well when it comes to you. I lost my temper."
A pause.
"I was pissed at myself. Didn't think everything through."
"What does that even mean?"
"Doesn't matter. Finish eating. We're late."
I kept looking at him for a second longer than I should have.
Then dropped it.
There were more important things today.
We could deal with Clyde later.
This arena was different.
Open-air.
Smaller—but the stands rose higher. Ten tiers instead of five.
And at the top—
glass booths.
I found mine immediately.
My mother.
Watching me like something was about to go wrong.
My father—
tense. Rigid.
We were lined up at the center again.
Same uniforms. Same masks.
But everything else—
different.
Grass underfoot.
Metal-plated walls.
Like the training fields back at the academy.
The ones used for second-level entities.
So that's it.
This wasn't a show.
This was real.
Above us, a massive scoreboard curved around the arena like a lowered ceiling, angled so everyone could see.
"Welcome to the second trial!" the announcer's voice boomed. "Today—you'll see what these candidates were trained for. Combat against the unclean!"
"We've chosen to preserve anonymity," Marta added. "So you can focus on skill alone."
"The rules are simple. Two participants will be selected at random. They remain. The rest wait in isolation—no observation, no advantage."
"Additionally, all candidates will be placed under Silence. Communication is impossible."
A ripple moved through the stands.
No talking.
No planning.
No warning.
"Pure instinct."
"And since the number of candidates is uneven, the final round will involve three participants—and two release chambers."
"Are you ready?"
The crowd roared.
Of course they were.
An old man stepped forward.
He spread his arms.
Threads of energy sparked between his hands—thin at first, flickering like static.
Then thicker.
Brighter.
Until it became a solid column of crackling force.
He drove it toward us.
Pain came first.
Sharp.
Burning.
Across my lips.
I opened my mouth—
Nothing.
No sound.
Around me, the others reacted the same way—hands rising, confusion in every movement.
The pain faded.
The silence stayed.
"The Silence effect is active!" the old man called out.
"And our first candidates are—"
A sharp, rapid sound followed—
like cards being shuffled.
The scoreboard lit up:
7 : 23
"Numbers seven and twenty-three remain. The rest—leave."
We waited in a long corridor.
No sound from the arena.
Nothing got through.
We couldn't speak.
Couldn't take off the masks.
Could barely even signal.
Just—
sit.
Wait.
Every time someone stepped in and called two numbers, something inside me tightened.
Not me.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Time dragged.
An hour.
Two.
Maybe more.
Five of us left.
Then the next pair was called.
Not me.
Which meant—
last.
Three of us.
Final round.
Worse.
I'd fought first-level.
Second.
Third.
Never fourth.
Didn't even know what that looked like.
"Numbers five, twelve, and forty-one. Out."
I stood.
Walked.
Didn't know who was beside me.
Didn't know what we were walking into.
Back in the arena.
That same sound again—
like cards snapping against each other.
"And now—the final round!" Marta's voice rang out. "Still with us?"
The crowd roared back.
They wanted blood.
I looked up.
Even the ones in the glass booths were standing now—pressed up against the glass.
Watching.
Waiting.
That confirmed it.
Whatever this was—
it wouldn't be simple.
"Final round begins!"
A sharp click.
Then another.
Two panels slid open.
Far apart.
The arena held its breath.
From one—
something drifted out.
Four shapes.
Dense.
Milky white.
Like fog—
but heavier.
Thicker.
One of them—
almost human.
I exhaled slowly.
Ghosts.
Manageable.
I dropped into stance, ready to release my energy strand.
A quick glance—
the others were thinking the same.
One of the shapes split off.
I stepped toward it, making it clear—
mine.
The others moved for the rest, leaving the strongest for last.
I raised my hand.
Focused.
Ready to bind—
And then—
something hit.
Not sound.
Not sight.
Something else.
My body reacted before I understood—
I jumped back—
Just as a massive fireball slammed into the ground where I'd been standing.
Heat burst outward.
I turned—
And froze.