I linger at the edge, sitting on a slab of stone that’s in the convenient shape of a bench, watching.
When Selen finally dismisses Zeriel, he drops down beside me, breath still ragged. He flexes his hands, eyes fixed on them as though they might be traitors, no longer entirely his own. His shoulder brushes mine, and the contact jolts through me like recognition—the same hum that tore through us in the prismatic wyrm test, alive and volatile, impossible to deny.What did Selen do to us?
“Mind keeping to your own space?” I murmur.
He casts me a look. “I was.” The words are flat, but there’s something in the timbre of his voice, like he feels it too, whether he’ll admit it or not.
The sensation thrums under my skin, the echo of his intrusive power inside me, threading through my veins as if the boundary between us has been breached. I wonder if he feels something similar. Because it unsettles me more than I want to admit. Almost like I can’t tell where he ends and I begin. This... man, who is still essentially a stranger and thinks he owns me, somehow burning through my defenses without even trying.
I glance at the profile of his face. “Feels like you weren’t.”
“Maybe you’re just sensitive,” he mutters.
“Alright, get in line, people,” Selen calls, summoning everyone to her.
I exhale, and let Zeriel rise first, not eager to bump into him again. I follow only after he’s a few steps ahead.
Night has fallen as we finally begin our trek back to the Ironhold. My muscles ache with fatigue, my mind fuzzy around the edges from the constant strain of practice. The void-drake rope stretches before us, a ghostly pathway through the darkness. As we line up around it, I feel someone slide into place behind me: Lira, her face half-hidden by her hood.
“Steady footing,” she murmurs, so close I can feel her breath on my neck. “Don't want to plummet to our deaths after surviving those wyrms.”
I manage a tired smile. “That would be anticlimactic.”
We walk in silence for several steps, the void-drake rope taut in our hands. The others are spread out along its length, each maintaining careful distance to avoid collisions. Selen leads at the front of the line, while Zeriel walks in front of me.
“I've heard things,” Lira says finally, her voice pitched low enough that only I can hear. She quickens her pace until she walks beside me. “About the prelims. They're putting all of us women in. The lower-level recruits who’ve survived until now. We're part of the show.”
My breath catches. “All of you?”
She nods, a barely perceptible movement in the darkness. “Probably against each other. Cannon fodder before the main event. Marrek’s direction. Out of Selen’s control.”
I think of the women I've just spent the day with. Nyx with her metal manipulation, Vex with her heightened perception, all of them with their unique gifts, forced to eliminate each other for entertainment.
“Has Selen confirmed it?” I whisper, feeling guilty that Selen spent so much time on Zeriel and me. As if they’re somehow less important.
“Nobody seems to know anything for certain until we arrive,but she hasn’t denied it.” Lira's gray eyes flick ahead to where Selen walks, then back to me. Several heartbeats pass in silence, then: “Look, there's something else I wanted to say.” She hesitates, checking again that no one is listening. “I don't fully trust Selen.”
I swallow, my breath stilling for a moment. “What do you mean?”
Lira's voice drops even lower. “I guess I mean, I’m not sure I trust what she’s become. The way she acts, all the things she can do, the things she knows... I don’t know how to describe it, but it’s like… I wonder if she's pushed herself beyond what’s natural. I thought magic is supposed to be what’s already inside us, and I’m not sure it was ever meant to be honed the way she seems to.” Lira shrugs, sealing her lips. A quarry worker turned rebel, someone who would be sensitive to abuse by powers.
I think of Selen's strange teal eyes, how they sometimes seem to look through rather than at you. The casual way she deals in liquids and charm-work that would terrify others. The casual way she speaks of manipulation and disruption.
“So, what are you saying?”
“Just… that she's dabbled in things most wouldn't touch,” Lira murmurs. “And I’m not sure how she even got like this… who taughther…” She lets out a slow breath. “Call me mistrustful, paranoid. Don't misunderstand, I think she's our best shot in this mess. I'd definitely rather have her on our side than against us. But sometimes I wonder what price she might pay for her power. And what price we might if we follow her.”
The rope sways beneath us, and I steady myself against her shoulder. “Okay… Well, thanks… for sharing this with me.” I’m not sure what else to say. My nerves feel stretched tighter. The weight of her words settles like a shadow between us.
She nods once. “Just watch yourself. With Selen. With Zeriel. With all of it.” She glances ahead at the approaching wall of the Ironhold. Her expression turns grimmer. “And if I don’t make it past the prelims... it was nice meeting you.”
I cast her a glance, trying to contain the flare of pain in my chestat the thought of something happening to her. “Can… Can I at least call dibs on your boots?” I ask, trying in vain to lighten the mood.
That earns me the barest flicker of amusement. “Deal.”
The conversation ends as we reach the small gate set into the Ironhold’s outer wall. One by one, we file through, returning to the world of iron and rules. The weight of the fortress seems to settle on my shoulders as we make our way back to Selen's office, and I feel a more uncomfortable sensation of tingling on my skin. I rub at my arms, trying to quiet the phantom itch.
Inside the office, we shed the void-drake suits in silence, each in our own thoughts. Selen then dismisses us with a curt nod, promising more training tomorrow.
