Zusia, Desmond, 10416 P.C.

The room beneath Zusia Stadium was rectangular, lit with fluorescent lights and the length of the walls lined with hard, wooden benches. There were four rows of benches, room for nearly two hundred persons to fill them; today, only about a quarter of them were occupied with stiff-backed fifteen-year-old Trainees.

The fluorescent lights flickered, and Stephanie closed her eyes against them. They always gave her a headache. She took a deep breath as her stomach fluttered with nerves.

This was it. It had finally come. The day she had been working toward her whole life had finally arrived. The reality of it was like a weight in her chest making it hard to breathe properly. She clasped her cold, clammy hands together and glanced around the room at those with her. There weren't that many of them left, only forty-seven — already over half of their number had disappeared through the ominous door on the far side of the room. Stephanie herself was only one away from being called. Only Taise came between her and the Test.

The loud-speaker in the corner of the roof crackled. Stephanie felt Taise flinch as the voice coming through the speaker hissed, "Trainee Seven-Oh-Three-Four, enter for assessment."

"Good luck," Stephanie whispered as the girl rose stiffly to her feet with a face quite near as white as the walls that surrounded them. Taise barely gave Stephanie a glance as she walked to the door and pushed it open. The last thing Stephanie saw before the door shut were the bold numbers 'seven-zero-three-four' emblazoned in white on the back of the girl's red uniform.

Uneasy silence returned to the room, and Stephanie let out a trembling breath. She was next. She kept her hands together, tightening her grip until her knuckles turned white. The boy next to her, Kallum, was bouncing his leg, and the girl on his other side constantly shifted. She knew they were all just as nervous as she was. The Test was arguably the most important event in their lives, the event that determined where they would be in Society. Having been taken away from their parents at birth and trained in self-defence and martial arts since the age of five, they were all capable fighters — the Army, however, only recruited the very best. The rest of them would be scattered into the other classes of society. Stephanie, who hadn't really had an interest in the Army, didn't know why she was so nervous.

Maybe it was because kids had died in the Test before. Or maybe it was because one of them would be chosen to participate in the Arena Purge: a fight to the death with nine prisoners, rebels of the crown. It had become an annual event after the infamous Trainee Rebellion, which had taken place now seven years before. King Motch wanted a yearly reminder that he was in control and that no Trainee — rebellious or not — was exempt from his judgment. The winner was granted another chance at life. Some ended up back in the arena the next year, and no one had ever won twice.

It could be me, Stephanie thought with a knot in her chest. I could be chosen. The picking was totally random, they were told, and with the number of kids in her year — just over a hundred — things didn't look good. It could be any one of them. It could be her.

"Steph!" a little voice hissed from her right. She leaned forward, looking down the row of Trainees to meet the gaze of her best friend, Marcie. The two were like sisters. They had been best friends for as long as Stephanie could remember. Marcie, who was several months younger than Stephanie, had long black hair which she had pulled up into a topknot earlier that day in preparation. She had done Stephanie's hair too, braiding her long brown-black hair into one long braid woven back from her forehead. It reached the middle of her back even still, just like Marcie's — they had agreed several years ago to grow out their hair to see how long they could get it. A warm feeling filled Stephanie's chest when she thought of it, distracting her from her worries for but a moment.

Locking gazes with Marcie, the warm feeling only grew, especially when Marcie flashed her two thumbs up. "You can do it!" she whisper-yelled, her lips twitching into an expression that could have been a crime.

"Don't smile," Stephanie mouthed at her as the warm feeling trickled away to cold reality. How many times had she told Marcie not to smile? Over and over and over. It was forbidden, punishable by public flogging — or, depending on the situation, even death. It was a law written many years before, and those who broke it paid a price far more than it was worth. Stephanie, regardless of anything Marcie told her, had never smiled, nor did she ever want to. The cost was too great for something so useless and fleeting.

Marcie's face grew sombre, and she gave Stephanie a quick nod before sitting back, out of Stephanie's sight. Stephanie sighed, sitting back as well. Didn't Marcie realize she was just trying to protect her? She of all people should know the risks of breaking the rules. Marcie had been punished before, and it had terrified Stephanie to no end. The scars on Marcie's back reminded her time and time again why she remained obedient. They only seemed to make her friend more rebellious.

Which was a precarious position to place oneself in just before the Test. They could place Marcie in the Dregs. That was the last place Stephanie wanted Marcie to end up in.

Other than in the Purge.

There was so much to worry about.

The loud-speaker hissing nearly made her jump. "Trainee Seven-Oh-Three-Five, enter for assessment."

Everything suddenly felt very cold, as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped all over Stephanie. She shivered as she rose to her feet, turning to the door — that ominous door. The Trainees entered but never returned. Her sensible side told her that it was because after the Test, they were free to return to their rooms. Her irrational side decided that this was the end of the line, that her demise lay beyond that door.

Shaking off the irrational fears, she started toward the door with a step more sure than she felt. She placed her hand on the doorknob, curling her fingers around it yet not moving to push it open. Heat crept up her face as torturous thoughts assailed her mind. What lay beyond? There were stories and theories and tall-tales, but every Test was different. She just wished she knew what to expect.

She looked over her shoulder. There Marcie was, leaning forward again, giving her those two thumbs up, nodding her head firmly. The smile was clear in her eyes. Stephanie returned the nod, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

She was met by an empty, dark hallway. Letting the door close behind her, she began the march toward the end of the hall, accompanied only by her echoing footsteps and beating heart. There was a doorway there, and she opened it to reveal a small white room with several uniformed people waiting for her. They were medical nurses — it was a physical examination. She hated such exams with every fibre of her being, hated stripping down and letting these people with their plastic gloves poke and prod at her naked body. It was, however, to be expected. Motch wanted to make sure every single one of his soldiers was physically meeting his requirements. It was terrifying, as a defect of any sort could mean being sorted into the Dregs.

The system was so unfair. One could become a Dreg just for looking or acting a certain way. The Army was full of the strict and deadly. The Nobility, well, they were always perfect — Motch's 'little lovelies'. The Commoners were just normal. But the Dregs? They were the dirt, the outcasts, the rebels. Stephanie secretly decided that the Test was rigged, that it was a way for the king to do away with troublesome Trainees and to indulge in those who revered him.

She was so worried for Marcie, she nearly forgot to worry about herself and where she'd be placed.

After the examination, Stephanie exited the room through another door, meeting another cold, dark hallway. She took several deep breaths to calm her nerves, knowing that she was just seconds away from witnessing the Test firsthand. It was what they had been working toward for the past decade. It was the core of all the stories, all the rumours, all the nightmares. It was chalked up to be this big deal, and yet as Stephanie walked down the hallway toward supposed doom, all she felt was numb. Everything seemed to be happening much too fast. Had it really been several hours since Marcie had braided her hair? It felt like minutes ago.

Stephanie opened the last door at the end of the hallway, and the dream-like sensation trickled away to reality as she surveyed the Great Hall harbouring the huge doors leading into the arena. It was large enough down here for even Motch to roam, and he was well over twenty-five feet tall. Stephanie felt puny; the stadium itself was the size of a small city, and the Great Hall beneath the stands was ginormous, farther across than the hallways she had just walked through. Every time Stephanie had been in the Great Hall, it had been bustling with activity. Today, it was eerily silent and utterly empty.

It was an unnerving sound, her footsteps on the stone floor as she crossed the hall. A figure stood near one of the giant doors leading into the arena. It was one of her trainers, she realized as she drew near. Yasmin Iliescu was a tall, muscular man with hair as dark as the night and a face like stone. His cold features did not fool Stephanie: Yasmin was the warmest trainer they had ever had. Having worked alongside her and her age group for the past three years, he knew every one of them by name — name, not number — and took the time to truly talk with them. Especially Stephanie, she had noted after a while. Unlike the other trainers, Yasmin treated them as humans, not like just another Trainee. She respected him more for it.

"Stephanie," he said warmly, his stony features contrasting with his voice as always. "It's you at last."

"At last," she echoed with much less enthusiasm as she stepped up to his side. She eyed the huge doors before them with wariness.

"Taise is nearly done, then it's your turn." He put a hand on her shoulder. "You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." She gnawed on her bottom lip, studying him out of the corner of her eye. He had always had a special place in her heart. The truth that, regardless of what happened in the arena tonight, he would no longer be her trainer was a hard pill for her to swallow. Would she ever see him again?

That depended, she supposed, on what place in society she was put into.

Yasmin took a deep breath, giving her a lingering look before turning to the door. "Remember, you're an archer, but don't ignore the other weapons. I don't know what you'll face in there, so be ready for anything."

Stephanie stared up at the door, wondering if he sensed her anxiety. "Yes, sir."

The doors creaked, a sure sign that they were about to open. Yasmin turned to her, falling into a militaristic stance and giving her a sharp salute. "It's been a pleasure to work with you, Stephanie."

She returned the salute. "I see why you're the send-off party. Gillick would have drop-kicked me through the crack in the door already."

Yasmin's lips gave a dangerous twitch. "You have five seconds."

"I'm going, I'm going." Her tone was lighthearted, but there was a weight in her chest as she turned away from him and walked toward the door, which had opened to welcome her like jaws into the throat of the arena.

"Stephanie."

She stopped, looking back at Yasmin over her shoulder. The lights from the arena shone through the open door, illuminating the lines of his hardened face, revealed the slightest flecks of grey in his close-shaven beard. In the light, his eyes were dramatic, a light blue-grey that stood out against his normally shadowed features. He stared at her and she felt wide open and exposed as if he could see directly into her soul.

"Aim true and always trust yourself," he told her.

Stephanie gave him a nod. Turning to the entrance, she stared out into the arena. It was empty. She was numb. Bracing herself, she started forward into uncertainty.