Page 3 of The Blood Rites

That wasn’t—

It couldn’t—

Fuck. The edges of the crack glowed faintly, the metal forced open from the inside.

It shouldn’t break. It isn’t supposed to break. If anyone sees—

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

The thought cut through the panic. The Blessed. They won’t ask questions; they’ll see this and decide. The Choosing is just around the corner, and I won’t be able to hide.

My breath came too fast, too shallow, as the river roared beneath the bridge, swallowing what was left of him while the rain washed the blood away, as if it had never been there at all.

No one saw. No one heard. I yanked my sleeve down over the crack with shaking fingers.

Hide it.

Hide it.

Don’t think.

Just move.

If I didn’t look back, if I could keep this buried—

I turned and ran.

The mist in the barracks yard swims back into focus. My hands are clenched so tightly my nails have bitten half-moons into my palms. I force my fingers to loosen, slow and careful, making sure the movement doesn’t draw attention.

My sleeves are still pulled low. Good. Keep them there.

Voices drift through the yard—too loud, too careless. Recruits move in and out of the barracks doors, shoving each other, laughing like nothing has changed. Like no one is missing. But whispers still crawl through the barracks, slipping between conversations, turning quiet when anyone important passes. A Guardian doesn’t just disappear.

I keep moving when I need to, hands busy, head down. A Senior Warden glances in my direction, and my pulse stutters. When he looks away, I can breathe again.

Soon enough, the Blessed will start calling us in, one by one, looking for witnesses. For now, their attention lies elsewhere because the Choosing bell has begun to toll.

Low and heavy, it rolls across the city, through stone and skin alike, settling deep within my chest. The yard shifts. Not silent—but almost. No one wants to react first. People continue to drift in and out of the barracks, laughing too loudly, pretending they don’t hear it.

I’ve heard that bell my whole life. It still makes my skin crawl, even when it isn’t for me.

Although this time—

It is.

I swallow hard, but my mouth is dry. I’m eighteen on the records—barely turned eighteen—but it doesn’t matter. I’m old enough for the Blood Rites, old enough to be chosen. I will be called for testing, and I have no way to hide.

The bell tolls again, and I force my hands to steady. On paper, I’m nothing; hence, my fear—I’m the perfect candidate. An orphan with no power, no worth—and no one who would argue otherwise. Ideal cannon fodder for the Blood Rites. Except—

My fingers curl slightly against my palms. They don’t know about the crack. They don’t know what lives underneath.

A group of recruits passes too close, and when one of them laughs, sharp and sudden, I flinch.

Keep it together. Act normal. Like always—stay quiet, stay small. Don’t give them anything to look at.

The bell tolls again, and people start to move. Slow at first, then with purpose, drawn towards the sound whether they want to be or not. My heart is beating too fast. Being chosen... at least there’s a chance. Being discovered—

My stomach clenches. No. That won’t end the same way. A Blessed running their hands along my wrist, pausing, feeling it. The thought is enough to make my breath catch, so I don’t let it finish.