Page 23 of Interion

“Something wrong?” he asked with a hint of amusement. I heard some of the girls stifling laughter, and I realized I should have been introducing myself, not gawking at him like an idiot.

I blinked, fumbling for words:

“Kyller, twenty-one, level 550 elemental. I'm a healer and my last name is Kyller Voluz… I mean Voluz, just Voluz. From Interian.” I spoke way too fast, jumbling everything up. My face burned with each new stupid thing that came out of my mouth.

The laughter, previously contained, turned into real guffaws. I held my breath and tried not to do anything stupid. Right then, I wanted to dig a hole in the ground and bury my head in it. Zion turned and stared at the students, silencing the commotion. Then he returned to the center of the room as if nothing had happened, and for a moment, I felt a little less pathetic.

By the gods, I couldn't even organize my thoughts, but at least the lie had rolled off my tongue easily. From Interian, my ass—I was a Drutes descendant, and my features screamed it. Yet no one questioned my last name. After the Great War, there were a few redheaded half-breeds left from unions between Interians and Drutes, but they were rare and lived on the margins of society, branded with the genetics of traitors. The only one I'd ever met was in this room. His name was Hiro, but he didn't have many Drutes features, and out of fear of being shunned, I'd never spoken to him.

“You have one hour to warm up, and then I want you to form two lines in front of the ring,” Zion told the class.

If he was disappointed to learn about my performance at the academy, I didn't even want to know what he'd say when he saw me in action.

“I want you running laps around the gymnasium—don't stop until you hear the whistle!” he exclaimed, gesturing for us to get ready.

A chorus of “Yes, General” rang out.

“One more thing: here I'm not a general, I'm just a trainer. So address me as such.”

“Yes, Trainer!” we responded.

I grabbed Breno's hand and dragged him off to warm up, which earned me a sideways look from Zion. Each lap around the academy took about ten minutes to complete, and as I ran, I shot my friend a desperate look. He returned it with pure panic. We really were a perfect pair.

“We're fucked,” I mouthed silently, making sure no one could hear.

“I know,” he mouthed back, panting.

I didn't want to have to fight. I hated the wrestling classes because I'd always been terrible, and the other students used it as an excuse to hurt me—something they couldn't get away with outside. Fights outside the ring meant trouble with the university, plus a hefty fine. Breno always offered to be my partner. But even with him being the one to take me down, it was humiliating to be watched by eighteen students who didn't even like me. I always felt like a circus attraction whenever I was thrown into the ring.

Still, better Breno, who only pushed me to my limit, than some other recruit who saw me as a punching bag. They believed the lie about my birth, but hatred for the Drutes was so deeply ingrained that even the Voluz surname couldn't shield me from their fury. That's how I became the class punching bag.

“I know we're about to get massacred by some masochistic training session, but I wanted to ask you something first,” my friend said.

“Go ahead!” We were panting, and it wasn't even the third lap. Gods have mercy—let that whistle blow soon!

“The third War on the Frontiers movie came out.” He took a deep breath. “And I'm taking Dominic to see it.” He stopped, making me stop too. I could tell Breno was hesitant about how to continue. But before he could even finish, my lips twisted with an aversion I couldn't control. “Oh, I can't believe it. I haven't even finished inviting you to see a movie and you're already saying no.”

“That's not it, Breno. The invitation isn't the problem. You know the movie theater is in the faeric district, and I can't risk going there. A descendant boy was killed this week—it would be stupid to let my guard down outside the walls.”

He looked annoyed but pressed his lips into a thin line and held back whatever he was thinking.

“Okay,” he replied, sullen.

“Seriously? You're going to be mad at me?”

Breno seemed to consider it, and a few seconds later, his face softened, amusement returning.

“I'm not upset, but I wish you'd say yes at least once. We could have fun, Kay. Besides, my brother's always asking when we're all going out together.”

“Dominic is the most amazing kid in the world, but I can't risk it in the faeric district.”

“All right, I understand,” he said, gazing at the path ahead.

We kept running in silence. For some reason, though, Breno's silence felt louder than mine, and he seemed to be avoiding my eyes. When we heard the whistle, we headed to the front of the ring, panting, and formed two lines. Zion gave us time to get water, watching us curiously the whole time.

“I heard the rules for hand-to-hand combat have changed since I graduated,” he said, his expression unreadable. “So I'm curious what they are now. Lorena, can you tell me the rules?”

“Yes, trainer!” The blonde stepped forward. “Fights last a maximum of five minutes. Whoever gets pinned by their opponent for ten uninterrupted seconds loses. Targeting eyes, hair, or groin is forbidden.”