Remy didn’t wait long.
“You’re sparring with First Guild today,” he said, pacing slowly in front of us. “Hand-to-hand trials. No weapons. No magic.”
Groans broke out around me.
“They’re better on the ground than we are,” Remy added. “So unless you enjoy the taste of gravel, fight dirty.”
First Guild emerged from the east gate.
Their squad was leaner than ours, with fewer bruisers like Jax, more whip-fast fighters with tightly braided hair and sharp eyes.
Leading them was a tall woman with a long scar down her cheek and a predator’s grace in her stride. She wore her rank like a blade, and the way her squad moved behind her told me she didn’t need to shout to be obeyed.
They lined up opposite us, assessing, silent.
Jax muttered under his breath, “Great. They look like they eat people for breakfast.”
Naia grinned. “I like a challenge.”
Remy clapped his hands once. “Pair off. Let’s see who walks away standing.”
The first blows of the day hadn’t even landed yet.
But we were already burning to win.
As the squads paired off, the sound of shuffling boots and cracking joints filled the Ascension Grounds. Tension coiled through the air like a drawn bowstring.
Remy stepped up beside me. His stance relaxed, but his voice low and calm as it brushed against my ear.
“These combat trials shouldn’t have happened for another month or so,” he murmured. “The Crimson Sigil has loyalists in First Guild. Be wary.”
My blood chilled. I turned to look at him, but he was already moving away, calling out orders, his expression unreadable.
I gave a subtle nod and turned to face my opponent.
He was smaller than me, wiry but solid, with short dark hair and eyes that didn’t blink.
He didn’t posture or sneer. He just dropped into a stance like this was his breathing ground.
The match started fast.
He struck first, low and precise, aiming for my ribs. I twisted, deflecting with my forearm and drove my elbow toward his shoulder, but he dipped beneath and used my momentum to toss me.
I hit the ground hard, rolled, and came back to my feet.
He smirked. Not cocky, just calculated.
He came again, with quick jabs meant to probe for weakness. I blocked the first three, ducked the fourth, and caught him with a quick knee to the thigh.
But he adjusted, and swept my legs with a pivoting kick that sent me sprawling again.
He was smart. Fast. He’d studied my form before we even engaged. He wanted to win. Not just for pride, for purpose.
I came up again, feinted high, spun low, caught him with a foot sweep. He staggered, just enough. I pressed, driving forward.
A roar ripped through the skies above.
Every head turned instinctively to the Dragon Isle.
