I look up as we pass through an archway, ivy leaves hanging down above our heads as we climb down a set of stairs that lead to a small, pebbled trail. Pine trees surround us, the smell invigorating and peaceful. We don’t have pine trees in Brylan, as they don’t particularly thrive in ports. I could get used to being surrounded by their aroma, though. It’s freedom without inhibitions and solidarity all rolled into one. A person could become addicted to that smell.
The trees open to the usual gloomy skies as we break through the end of the trail and come to an enormous field of sorts. In the dead center is the next test of how deep our will to survive goes. Three separate steel doors stand resolute like sentinels, weathered and scarred. On each side are thick rock walls stretching upward, thirty—no, thirty-six feet high. Walls that appear very thick and high enough not to be able to climb over. These walls were meant to keep things out.
Or keep something in.
The training field, vast and open, seems to shrink around it. I can feel the stillness pressing into my lungs. The kind that makesitself known right before a trial takes place. The kind that’s designed to push the candidates to their breaking point.
We’re one of the last to arrive, but we can still easily see the front.
Professor Lyric and the young professor I saw earlier are standing in front of the middle door, with Noctryns and Veils on either side.
The breath catches in my throat. Ambrose is among those Veils.
He stands tall with both hands behind his back, his athletic build at attention and ready for orders. His shoulder-length hair is pulled back from his face, allowing his arctic eyes to really stand out in contrast to his tan skin.
I stare unabashedly at him since he doesn’t know where I am in the crowd. The man has always been beautiful, but his physique has changed so much over the past year that he no longer even looks like the boy I grew up with. He’s harder and more sculpted in places where he was lean, and his entire demeanor is more polished and refined. He’s becoming the epitome of a Salaryan soldier.
I lick my lips.
It looks fucking good on him.
His sharp gaze swings across the field, landing right on me. As if he could feel my stare.
I give him a meek little wave.
Ever so slightly, he lowers his chin, acknowledging me.
Ah, quite the little soldier aren’t we, Ambrose?Not even breaking form to smile or wave.
Such a good boy.
I can’t help the little smirk that plays across my face. This rigid version of him is so different from the reckless hellion I knew him to be. It’s doing things to me.
Finnley bristles next to me as he takes in the sight before us. I know he’s running a million different scenarios through his head, trying to figure out the best means of survival. I’ve learned that’s how his mind works. Assess, dissect, and solve.
Like it or not, this is happening.
Our final trial in the Death Bringer.
I, for one, am just happy it’s almost over.
The sound of a raven cawing overhead and the sun being completely obscured by dark clouds set a foreboding backdrop to the difficult task ahead. It’s so unlike anything at home, where you’re more likely to hear waves crashing upon the shore while searching for the perfect seashell or bawdy laughter from one of the many taverns in the busy port town.
Everything about Kintoira is ominous. It’s like a constant warning to count your days. It’s exhausting in a way. I haven’t let my guard down since the night I arrived. To do so would be a colossal mistake and one I’m not willing to make.
I crack my neck and focus on the task at hand.
Professor Lyric claps his hands, and any chatter among us dies out quickly. The professor who’s been following him around steps forward, his tall, slender frame the exact opposite of Professor Lyric’s. A timid expression seems to be permanently painted on his face with sunken eyes that are always darting around like he’s in constant fight-or-flight mode. “Good day, ladies and gentlemen. I trust we are all here and no one tried to sneak off?” he jokes in a nasally nervous tone. He’s met with an awkward silence, much like the professor’s introduction before him.
Tough crowd.
He breaks eye contact with us and looks down at the back of his hands, examining his fingernails in great detail. Without bringing his gaze back up, he continues talking but inspects the back of his hands while doing so. He’s a bit odd, honestly.His twitchy movements give me anxiety, and I don’t even have anxiety.
“As you can see, your next task awaits you behind these walls. These very walls were set up specifically for your last trial, and tomorrow, everything you see before you will be gone.” He jerks his head to the side in a quick motion. “Back to our training field once again. However, don’t let that fool you into thinking this was constructed quickly and without great thought to make this as difficult and trying as possible.”
I laugh under my breath.
Of course, we wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking that. The main objective here is to weed out anyone who doesn’t want it enough or is too weak to survive the academy.
