“People are not born equal!” That was the grandiloquent statement with which the director began his speech. Sitting in his wheelchair. If he was at least able to stand, though not walk, he didn’t feel like it.

Desmond grimaced.

He had a powerful voice, no doubt about it. But not too pleasant to listen to. Precisely because of how powerful it was. He supposed lack of sleep played a part, and not a small one. He massaged his temples as if that might put an end to his budding headache.

Not only did he have to wait even longer to test himself, but he had to endure the speech of an old man with volume control problems.

Even though his blood was burning.

Even though his body was restless, begging him to take action.

“That is true here and on the other side of the world, in the wilds of the Azure Empire and beyond. Because of the monstrosities our enemy has created and hurled against us. Because of the raw connection to nature that we have at our disposal. But also for simpler things. More fundamental.

Our social status. Our wealth. Our parents, our environment. We are born different and every year, every month, every day we become more different. Some, like me… we carry what makes us different on the outside. Others carry it on the inside.”

Jacob struggled to his feet, leaning on a wooden cane.

“I don’t know you, but I know why you are here. For personal revenge or one inherited from your parents, as they inherited it from your grandfathers. Because it’s your duty, you think. For patriotism. For whatever. It doesn’t matter. You are the same. You’re like newborn children.”

Desmond clenched his fists.

Part of him wanted to be angry at being compared to a baby, but the rest of him knew he wasn’t far from the truth. It was a comparison he had used many times. This very day. And with the same tone of contempt, worse even.

It would be hypocritical to be angry with him, to take a dislike to him, for speaking to him in the same way he spoke to himself.

Jacob wasn’t referring to him specifically, of course. He had no idea who he was, and even if he did, there would be no reason for him to give him special treatment.

He was just another applicant among hundreds of applicants, and one of the least talented.

Some would say that his real magic was the miracle involved in him getting this far.

That was the rational answer.

But he had the feeling that he was referring to him, anyway. That he knew who he was. What he was like. And that he had contempt for him because of his weakness.

The speech had become interesting, but for reasons he would rather he had stayed away from.

“And today is the day you will begin to make yourselves distinct. And to do that, it is important that you ask yourselves why you came here. Because on this path, the path of the soldier, you will have to make countless sacrifices. Again and again. Sometimes it will be your body. More often than not, your mind. And those are the easiest, as terrible as it may seem to you now to think about it, believe me they are. Sacrificing others is much more terrible. And it changes everything.”

I know, he thought.

I was born in a pit of corpses. Metaphorically speaking, of course. The Empire’s soldiers had collected the corpses and the survivors (that is, those barely clinging to life), throwing them into a very literal corpse pit, then burning them. The living and the dead together.

But he hadn’t been. That woman to whom he owed everything had pulled him out of that hell before they could have done the same to him.

Which didn’t mean he had survived.

Yes, the boy named Desmond Orosco had died, to be replaced by a thing that bore the same name for lack of a better one. Because it took one to live in society. But soon, very soon, and yet long enough to hurt, his name would be soldier. Merely soldier.

Things would be simpler from then on. Simpler than his life had been these past few years, even.

“That sort of thing can’t be endured for reasons inherited from others, or for vain ideals. Oh, they may carry you far, yes, many of you will die without even beginning to question them. Does it sound like the ravings of a crazy old man? I am old, yes, and no doubt I’m crazy. But when push comes to shove…, if you haven’t found a reason by then, you’ll be lost. And you will remember me.”

He had nothing to sacrifice, because he had nothing. He had lost everything that day. Even if there was still enough humanity inside him to replace the things he had lost, the human warmth, the bonds, the dreams and hopes, he had not done so.

The hole in his heart was a black void that consumed everything that came near it before it could become something else.

And that was precisely what made him stronger than Jacob. Stronger than all of them. He couldn’t sacrifice anything. But, as far as a reason was concerned…

“I ask you one more time, and make sure you have an answer before the initiation test begins, or you’d better leave while you still can. Why did you come here?”

He had an answer.

Desmond leaned forward, bowing, one hand on his heart and one on his lower back. He smiled. He could not see his own face, but he could feel the movement of his lips. It was certainly a smile like that of a wild animal.

The comparison didn’t displease him. After all, Albion prided itself on its connection to nature.

Of magic, which was what made them different from the enemy. Better.

He replied.

“I have come to change everything.”

■

Towards the end of the speech, he had felt full of euphoria, almost as if this had really begun. He had felt connected with each and every one of the candidates, as if their hearts were beating as one.

With that old man with the empty eyes and body marked by death. At the same time, he reaffirmed his individuality by saying that there was no one like him.

No matter how much they had lost and no matter how they had lived their lives since then, there was no one like him.

He would shed a sea of blood.

He would be the one to change everything.

Yes, it had been a moment of connection with the world around him sweeter and deeper than the conversation with Amy on the train. Reminding him that he was not alone, though he walked alone and would die alone.

It had been wonderful. But, like all things, good and bad, it came to an end.

The speech ended. The curtains came down, covering the stage, and there was only the silence in which the audience was engulfed, all without exception, punctuated by the sound of the wheels of Jacob’s chair scraping the floor as he passed.

And it wasn’t replaced by anything worthwhile. Just more waiting.

“You have an hour to find that answer and to prepare as much as you can. You may go.”

That was what he had said to end his well-rehearsed speech, breaking the magic of the moment and bringing him back to reality as if he had crashed to the ground. Painfully and abruptly, in other words.

Desmond didn’t need time to prepare. He had already prepared enough before he got this far.

Whatever he could practice or prepare in an hour would do him no good anyway.

If he was destined to fail today, he would fail with or without that extra hour of preparation. So, he found himself lost in a place he had never been before. He supposed it was an opportunity to familiarize himself with the place that was to be his home for four years.

He had to learn to handle this sort of thing differently.

A soldier, among many other things, sometimes had to be patient. Patience was a tool like any other. As important, in its own way, as the sword he carried on his back or the pistol at his waist.

He wasn’t built that way. But he could learn. He could change.

It would be several years before he saw his first real battle. So, he would have to wait, and not for a little while, whether he wanted to or not. Compared to four years, an hour, even if it had been four hours, was nothing to worry about.

He saw Amy sitting on a bench, sword resting in her lap, eyes closed.

She looked as if she were meditating.

But just to pass the time. I mean, he didn’t know her well, fuck, he didn’t know her well or badly, but she didn’t strike him as the kind of person who needed to meditate or anything else to bolster her mental strength.

She was more than prepared and she was convinced she would pass the test. Whatever it was.

That they would both pass the test. For some reason.

Desmond wouldn’t complain if that prediction of hers came true. He stood there like an idiot, contemplating approaching her to talk. But in the end, he turned away, pursing his lips, annoyed with himself.

Was he seeking her attention or something, like a dog lacking affection?

Wagging his tail, barking pitifully.

He wasn’t like that. He didn’t need her. He didn’t need anything; he had gotten by with “nothing” for all these years gone by. So why did he feel the urge to go bother her for no reason? It didn’t make sense. Such a thing would benefit neither him nor her.

Today, of all days… No, precisely because it was today, maybe…

Today. The true beginning of his new life.

The life of the remnants of the soul that had been left inside his body, whose holes he had patched as best as it could.

Her savior. That woman to whom he owed everything, whose name he didn’t even know, nor if she was alive or dead. He remembered her face with a clarity with which he didn’t even remember his mother’s face, though.

And Desmond knew that Amy and her savior were not even remotely alike. For one thing, “she” was an out-of-this-world beauty, so much so that just looking at her had made him forget to breathe.

Though maybe he didn’t remember her exactly as she was, what he had could be a middle-ground between reality and the enhancements made by his own imagination, because he adored her. Well, in any case, that wasn’t the important part.

They couldn’t be confused. Among other things, because of the age difference.

But they were both women.

And for him, who was so needy, maybe that was enough. Was he really so weak that he wanted someone to come along and solve his problems for him, without him having to lift a finger, even now?

No. That woman could be dead. And Amy… Amy he didn’t need.

Even if it were otherwise, he couldn’t depend on her, for she would betray him at the drop of a hat. She was just a human being, after all, not a mystical savior who had appeared out of nowhere and disappeared as she had come: without a trace.

Except for the corpses, of course.

The corpses of the monsters she had killed to protect him, for a reason he would never know. Whether she was still alive or not.

So he left without looking back.

“Desmond?” She had noticed him. Of course, he’d stood there too long. Like a fucking idiot.

He was seriously tempted to turn around, not to do that to her. But he proved strong enough to simply keep walking, pretending he hadn’t heard anything. Amy didn’t insist, didn’t say anything else.

He hoped she wasn’t aware of the truth. That, with the people, the noise…

Why?

One way or another, that one word, her name, had become the entire content of their last conversation. He couldn’t afford to get too close to her. To anyone.

He walked past the Winter Tower. The change in temperature was extremely drastic, making his teeth grind for a moment. It wasn’t like the inside of a refrigerator. But it was just that the day had been good, quite warm, and the contrast had made the cold hit him with more strength than it actually had.

As with the Spring Tower, the Winter Tower was surrounded by a steady rain of something that fit the design theme: in this case, snowflakes.

Not very imaginative, that.

The way the tower was covered in ice, not just that it was, the stalactites that had formed, the gaps between the ice, the falling drops of water, however, were better details. Better achieved, better thought out.

It was like a beautiful ice sculpture. Framed by the sunlight falling behind it, it seemed semi-transparent.

The elongated shadow on the ground looked like an extension of the tower.

The deepest shadow and the brightest light existed at the same time here, in harmony.

This vision allowed him to relax. A sliver, not entirely. But when was the last time he had fully relaxed? He couldn’t remember.

Some would call him paranoid. But that was only natural, wasn’t it? The world was full of dangers and dangerous people.

“Please.” He heard an empty plea. There was no desperation there, because there was no hope of them stopping.

It was the voice of a girl… or else of a very young and very frightened boy. It was indistinguishable with the lump in his throat that they must have, with the tears that were evident in their voice that didn’t rise. Out of fear, not lack of desire to cry.

“We’re still having fun. Don’t be a spoilsport.”

Desmond frowned.

Dangers like desire, and dangerous people like that.

He couldn’t ignore this. He was a soldier, even if it wasn’t his name yet, even if he hadn’t yet proven himself capable, he had earned it, he was a soldier in spirit.

There were, of course, soldiers to spare who would ignore things like that because it wasn’t their problem.

Or soldiers who would look the other way for the right amount of money.

But those didn’t represent the kind of soldier he wanted to be. The ideal.

He turned, looking around, and switched to combat mode. His mind, as easy as flipping a switch, went blank. His heart began pumping at ten times its normal speed, preparing for the exertion of the battle to come.

He heard several voices.

The girl was crying. Several male voices taunted her.

If this was what Desmond was thinking, if they had dared. Precisely here, of all places. Precisely today, of all days…..

Desmond couldn’t be able to control himself. He would miss his chance, justified or not, but he couldn’t control himself.

They weren’t in sight, not yet, but it wouldn’t be hard to follow the voices. Those pigs weren’t exactly being subtle. So it probably wasn’t what he feared, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be bad anyway.

In any case, things were going to get ugly before they got better. It was going to get violent.

He knew himself well enough to know that even something lesser could cause him to lose control. Not to the point of killing, but there would be screaming and broken bones.

Especially if they refused to listen to the voice of reason, that is, to run with their tails between their legs.

He found them.

It was what he had expected, but only in part. A group of boys who had cornered a girl who was crying, trembling, unable to defend herself. But, luckily, what they were doing to her was not as terrible as the first thing that had come to his mind. The girl’s clothes were wrinkled and dirty, but she had them on.

The clothes had been left in that state because of her running in circles, chasing after a book that they were keeping out of her reach.

Lifting it over her head or throwing it to one of her companions, who caught it in mid-air. Taunting and laughing at her all the while. They hadn’t laid a hand on her.

Not in the way he meant.

Not yet, at least. That could be the plan for her. That book wasn’t just any book, one for which she could easily find a replacement in the library, but a catalyst for her magic. No wonder she was so scared. If the book was damaged or she lost it, it could take her months at the very least to get it back, maybe years.

And it would only be in part, because large amounts of her knowledge would be irrevocably lost forever.

It was a thick book. Too much to remember.

Too much distance between the first entry and the last entry to date. Too many marginal notations, changes, revisions. If she couldn’t get the book back under her own power, she would do anything to do so. In the same situation everyone would. It was that important.

Something that could be put on the same side of the scale as her life. It wouldn’t be hard for them to blackmail her.

He took a deep breath.

Those boys words were passing over him, barely registering, but he told himself he had to calm down. That he had no reason to jump to that explanation. After all, people were fundamentally terrible, they didn’t care about the pain of others.

Children were especially bad, because innocent didn’t mean kind.

One could be innocently good… and also cruel.

And innocence tended toward cruelty. That was what he believed. To be innocent meant not knowing how the world works. Not knowing right from wrong. It meant that the only thing you know is yourself, that you only care about the rest of the world in relation to you.

In that state, one made cruel decisions quite naturally. But that was okay.

The real evil lay in people who grew up and learned, but then found ways to convince themselves to do what was right for them without thinking of others. Without thinking about the consequences. Saying things like I was just following orders.

“Why are you doing this?” the girl asked.

She had made a mistake. Even if it didn’t sound like it from her voice, there was hope that they would stop inside her. Even though she was in pain. Even though she was exhausted, scared. She had tried to break free by force.

Now she was trying to reason with people who could not be reasoned with.

Because they can, he replied.

Because it makes them feel powerful, in control. From their point of view, it’s a harmless way to have a little fun.

Yes. There was nothing that could make you feel better than knowing you had the power to shatter another person’s life simply on a momentary whim, for a horrendous, fleeting sense of satisfaction.

The soldiers of the Azure Empire, the enemy who they were here to learn how to kill, shared that way of thinking.

He had jumped to rape as an explanation because going through a war zone what you saw most were two things. Dead and those who wished they were.

For various reasons, but one of the most common, if not the most common, was women subjected to the whims of a soldier who only thought of them as a toy to use for a bit of fun. To be used and thrown away.

You all are no better than those soldiers. And I… I’m… I’m… What am I doing here watching?

He clenched his fists even tighter. Digging his nails in, in no time he felt the blood slipping through his fingers. Not much, of course, but enough.

It’s because I want blood. And I don’t trust I can back out before it’s too late.

“Then beg. Get on your knees and beg,” one of them said. Tall, blond hair, the one who was currently holding the book. Was he the leader of this shitty posse?

The girl gasped.

If she hadn’t thought they’d go “this far”, then she hadn’t feared the same thing he had. Very optimistic for a woman. If Desmond was one, at least, he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it. It was a normal fear.

A horribly common tragedy. Like the sense of distance that came over him when his eyes met hers.

What was that poem like?

No man is an island. ha!

The girl looked away, didn’t call him, didn’t say anything. Perhaps she had noticed him long before he realized she had. She had expected him to help her, only to face the disappointment of seeing him standing there. Or maybe this was the first and only time their eyes had met, but she had given up on him before trying.

In any case, the time had come.

Desmond unsheathed the sword and buried it in the ground between the legs of the one holding the book. He froze. Holding his breath.

“Drop the book and leave. Go away, all of you.”

“Or else?” That boastful retort came from one of the others. Not the one he had trapped, of course not.

“You have no balls,” Desmond said, raising his sword, pressing it against the “balls” of the one he had caught to make an example of him, drawing a groan of pain from the fucker. “Don’t pretend now that you’re real men. What will happen if you don’t listen to me? The book will go back to its owner, anyway. Only you won’t be in any condition to even try to pass the initiation test.”

He said it quietly, but they heard each and every one of his words clearly. Of that there was no doubt in his mind.

“There are five of us and only one of you,” another one replied, smiling, crossing his arms. Oh, how would he love to teach them a good lesson. And he would have to. They were hearing his words, but listening to them? That was another story. “It’s quite clear who has the upper hand.”

From the way he spoke, either he was trying to deceive them or they didn’t know each other. Well, they might be a group of strangers, but at least the one he had got was surely an outsider.

“What’s your problem, anyway? We were just trying to have a little fun.”

“Fun, huh? Let’s see if you think it’s so much fun now.”

He put his free hand on the blond’s shoulder and pushed him down. To be more precise, he pushed his balls against the pommel of the sword.

The blond screamed like a girl and fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

Dropping the book as well.

One, Desmond didn’t see who, he didn’t give him time, threw an ice blast at him extending both hands towards him.

He dodged it by turning sideways. Before finishing the movement, Desmnd already had the gun in his hand. And the gun spoke the only word it knew.

Which remained floating in the air, just like the smell of gunpowder. Mixed with the thick, metallic smell of blood.

That was because Desmond had hit one of them in the shoulder, dangerously close to the neck.

That’s what he wanted them to think. And, judging by the paleness of their faces, by the whimpering of the guy he had hit, staring at the blood that wouldn’t stop flowing, he had succeeded. But Desmond hadn’t lost his mind. He wasn’t crazy enough to kill him, here and now.

He had fired because he was confident in his abilities. Confident that, even in the worst case scenario, this would be resolved as an unfortunate accident and not a tragedy that would cause him to end up behind bars, thanks to the power of magic, and he could continue with his mission.

“A… gun? A gun?”

He noticed that even the girl whom he had come to save was frightened now.

Looking at him as if he were going to put the barrel to her forehead, then pull the trigger. It shouldn’t bother him, but it did. She had no reason to be afraid of him. Quite the contrary. This is what you wanted, right? So smile.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” It wasn’t the girl, but another one of those people he wouldn’t mind shooting in the shoulder, the arms, any part that didn’t lead to lethal wounds, really.

The neck or face, if they pushed him, even. Humans weren’t as easy to kill as they might seem.

Mages even less so.

“You’re what’s wrong with me,” he replied tersely. “Get out of here, you scum. Get out!”

And so they did. They ran away quickly, their tails between their legs.

The one who had fired the shot had to help himself. No one offered him a hand, they didn’t even look back once, to make sure he was all right, because they were hesitating about leaving him there, alone, at the mercy of the ‘madman’. They didn’t care.

As he passed by Desmond, staggering forward rather than running, he noticed that the fucker had tears in his eyes.

I told you. It’s not so much fun when you’re the victim. Fucking bastards.

At least he wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore. They were weak in mind and spirit. No test that people like that could pass was a test worth taking. And they weren’t about to take the test of just any academy, but The Four Seasons.

They had no hope.

They were left alone. She looked at him hesitantly, he looked back.

He went to the book, picked it up and then handed it to her.

Only when she took it from his hands, pressing it to her chest with the first smile he had seen on her face, did he realize that she had been this close to running for the book.

Thinking that she hadn’t gotten rid of the ones that tormented her, but had merely exchanged them for a worse one.

In spite of that, she hadn’t gone for the book, just as she hadn’t defended herself against her attackers. The loss of the book had stopped the girl from using magic, yes, but there were many other ways to defend oneself.

To defend oneself, one had to be willing to do anything.

He wouldn’t say she didn’t have what it took.

It was too early to judge her. However, early or not, he hadn’t gotten a good impression of her. He had to admit that. It would have complicated things, it would have been irritating, but he would have preferred that she had gotten to the book before him, that she had even used a spell against him before they could clear things up like civilized people.

It was what he would have done, in her place. Well, in her place, Desmond would never have allowed himself to be put in that situation.

And he definitely wouldn’t have cried, wouldn’t have begged.

He wouldn’t have been spinning and jumping around for anyone’s amusement. He would have defied them to the end. The girl read the contempt in his face (he didn’t like the word, but it was what it was), for she grimaced, clenching the book tighter.

He examined her.

She was shorter than he was, but that didn’t mean she was short. The difference wasn’t much, and he was nearly six feet tall. Brown hair that reached down to her neck and eyes…. For a moment his breath caught.

But no. It was a color you didn’t see every day, but not red, like those of his savior. He didn’t think he was misremembering. As he had said, he remembered her face better than he remembered his own mother’s.

This girl’s eyes were a light violet.

She’s nice to look at, yes. But say something, you idiot.

The girl beat him to it.

“Thank you,” she said in a quiet voice, looking at the floor. Or at the book on her chest. In any case, she wasn’t looking at him, so she didn’t sound very sincere.

She hadn’t had the strength to defend herself against the others, to go for her weapon when she had thought him a threat.

And now she couldn’t even look at him.

He shouldn’t feel that way. It was unfair and mean, especially since the girl wasn’t to blame. The reasons why someone would act that way, avoiding conflict to that extent, were more sad than anything else.

Not something to be angry about. He should do something for her, if not because he was nothing more than a stranger she didn’t want in her life, he would.

Relax. Relax.

He took a deep breath.

“Why didn’t you do anything?”

“What?” she asked, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. That lack of confidence…

How could she have gotten here with that attitude? How had she gotten on the train to the academy, believing she would make it, or at least that she could, if even she didn’t trust herself?

“Struggle. Even without that book, you could have done a lot of things. Why did you give up?”

She held her tongue.

Of course. Why would she open up to him?

And even if she did, what would it matter? What did he intend to get out of all this? He was acting erratically, illogically. Unbecoming of him. If he were normal, he would have left before she’d had a chance to open her mouth. He should have.

Desmond turned his back on her. He walked away without a word of farewell.

“What could I have done?”

He spun on his heel, locked his gaze on hers.

For she was looking at him. Maybe not fearlessly, but enduring it, at least for now. Only then did he realize that he was still holding the gun, that he should holster it to appear less threatening, to calm her, and improve the flow of the conversation.

He decided against it, though. Not to punish her for her effort rather than reward her.

This wasn’t a reward exactly, but….

It was to not give her special treatment. Not treat her like she was made of glass, just because he had seen her in a moment of weakness. He had been uncharitable. He still was about her, deep down. But he wanted to rectify it.

“Bite them. Kick them. Anything. Or bolted as soon as you’d seen a gap between them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, some battles aren’t won by punching. Running away, if that’s all you can do, or if it’s the most pragmatic thing to do, is also fighting.”

“There were five of them and… and I… No. You’re right. I should have done more. Tried, at least. But, when they were all over me, surrounding me, my heart, I thought my heart had stopped and I stopped thinking clearly. I felt like a child again.”

Again.

That might be nothing, but the way she phrased the sentence made him think. It was none of his business.

“You’re a soldier.”

“No. Not yet.”

“Then become one, starting from here. We can go after them here and now. I can watch your back while you teach them a personal lesson.”

“While I get vengeance?”

Desmond shrugged.

“Call it what you want.”

“I don’t want to get in trouble with the faculty,” the girl answered slowly and after a while. What she hadn’t said was more significant than what she had. That is, she hadn’t said that she didn’t want to get even, that she was above that shit, or similar nonsense. “In more.”

“The blame for what I’ve done won’t fall on you. If it falls at all. As you can see, not a soul in sight. No commotion. They’ve kept their mouths shut. Because it suits them.”

“That’s only answering half my question. And… that’s worse, not better. If they’re not going to look into this, I don’t want to give them a reason to. But I appreciate the sentiment. You’re a better person than I thought you were. You’re angry not at me, but for me.”

“Both, actually,” he admitted, somewhat embarrassed.

“But more of one than the other. So thanks for that. But I won’t do such a thing. If I have to take revenge… let it be in the test, in a fair fight, but not before.

“As fair as a five-on-one fight can be.”

“Depending on the rules and the objectives of the test… Maybe, maybe not. Your name?”

“Desmond.”

She nodded.

“Christina. Thank you.”

■

They gathered them all together near the academy forest, when the hour was over. All together in one place, it looked like there were more applicants than there actually were. Well, even the exact number would be a lot. Too many people.

He felt uneasy in the middle of a crowd. As if at any moment someone might stick a knife in his back.

From his position, he couldn’t see Amy or Christina.

They were lost in the crowd, as he was to them.

The director hadn’t shown himself this time. In his place, to explain the rules, how the future of everyone here would be decided, was the persona he had taken as a simple guide at the beginning. But no. She was one of the academy’s teachers, taking care of that role personally. Both roles, actually.

The rules were not very complex. In fact, they were simple and straightforward, just the way he liked it.

“This forest is full of traps. Some magical. Some physical. You have to go through it and get to the other side, if you can. Three strikes and you’re out. This limit will be represented by a spell that will be applied to you right now. There are other details…, but, one way or another, you’ll discover them in the forest as you go along. I would wish you luck. But, if you need it, you have already lost. Come, one by one, according to your assigned number.”

Shit. This would again take a long time. And all for something that could have been done to them in that hour of preparation, spent on nothing of value. Well. Nothing that could help him in this. He didn’t regret helping Christina, of course not, but it wasn’t something useful, despite his promise.

When push came to shove, she would seek only to help herself, not to settle a debt.

Desmond saw what it was all about before her turn came.

Everyone saw them, it was impossible not to. Three green discs, intangible, floating above every one of them, following them as if dragged by invisible chains.

After each hit, one disc would turn red. Or disappear, he supposed.

How did it distinguish between hits from one of the traps and impacts against the ground, or against a tree, a rock, some other harmless element of the environment? Did the spell do that in the first place? He had a feeling he should know the answer. And it bothered him.

He would have to try to evade any kind of hit, just in case.

Maybe he should be more concerned about those other details the teacher had talked about.

“You’re all ready,” Isabella said.

It was convenient to remember her name, since she would be one of the people who would be teaching him throughout these four years. Failure is not an option, he reminded himself.

I will trample whoever it takes for that purpose.

Finding Amy in the crowd, he looked at her with determination in his eyes.

Even you.

The teacher stepped out of the way, leaving the way free.

“It’s time!” she announced.

The race had begun.

■

He soon stopped worrying about what counted as a serious enough hit to lose one of his chances.

For they had been told that the forest would be full of traps, but it wasn’t until he entered it that he understood the true weight of those words. The entire forest was a death trap. That was no exaggeration.

In the span of two minutes, five of the challengers lost. They served as a sacrifice and example to all the others.

Running through the forest, through the trees, was not safe. But flying wasn’t a good option either.

One of the five sacrifices had tried, desperate for being on his last chance, and had failed miserably. Within two minutes, more than twice as many had fallen. What a massacre.

He reminded himself that this wasn’t really a race. The point was not to come in first or among the first. Although he had no doubt that how things would be decided if too many made it to the other side of the forest, by who had been faster and which had been slower.

But, from the look of things, he didn’t think it would be necessary.

Those who made it to the end would win.

So he didn’t have to be faster than anyone else, just smarter. No matter what it took.

He could only afford two mistakes. Or perhaps better said, he could still afford two mistakes. They hadn’t touched him. He had been lucky.

The physical traps were well hidden, but they could be seen.

The magical traps were another story. They left signs, albeit more subtle ones. He thought he had safely identified one such trap, but he had seen many more in action. And who knew how many more were waiting for them, deep in the forest.

This was the easy part, he supposed. It would only get harder the further they went.

Weights dropping from the highest branches to crush them, knives with ropes appearing out of nowhere, blindingly fast, coming out of holes in the ground and trees. Cords placed at neck height, if they were flying, even.

For someone flying too fast, one of those wires could leave them dangerously close to losing their neck.

Or they could lose it altogether.

It was rarer than one might think, considering this forest was full of lethal traps, but there were deaths every year. The power of magic allowed them to risk more, it was the only reason a test like this was practical, but only up to a point. Everything in this world had a limit, even what something that didn’t seem to belong in this world was capable of.

Everyone who had come here was aware of the risk, of course.

Aware that they could be next. Just another number in a series of statistics.

That added to the pressure that their future would change on this day. Irrevocably.

That they could lose everything they had worked for over the years. That many had to lose every year, because they couldn’t take everyone.

All things considered, frankly, he was surprised no one had backed down before it was too late.

How was he surviving in this hellhole that didn’t allow humans in?

His specialty, so to speak, was physical reinforcement magic. As he had told Amy, he had no talent, so it wasn’t a perfect job, though it was the only thing he could consider his specialty.

Too many times he had broken bones, bent muscles, taking himself close to the breaking point of his body.

By pure accident.

It was playing with fire, he knew. Better mages than him considered physical reinforcement as he used it too risky, and for very good reasons. But it was his only tool, his only weapon against the world.

Even if he died a few seconds later, he couldn’t let go of the only thing he had found.

To feel weak again, helpless.

Like a child.

He wasn’t going as fast as he was able, but paying careful attention to his surroundings as he moved forward. Still, he was running into traps he hadn’t seen coming. It was practically unavoidable. Despite his lack of talent, he had an advantage over everyone else.

He could see perfectly well even in the dark of a moonless night, with some preparation time, which he had had more than enough of, so it applied here.

He could react and move faster than anyone else here. He trusted that.

So it was easier for him to correct his mistakes than it was for everyone else. The test was different every year, so that no one knew the details in advance, and this year of all years was a suitable test for him. As if it was fate, or something.

Desmond smiled, swallowing the urge to burst out laughing.

He couldn’t assume he had this in the bag, but he was enjoying the reacquaintance with his confidence. Why had he been so hesitant? He had literally lived for this. So… No, but nothing.

If he couldn’t pass the test, there was no one in the forest who deserved to pass it.

He had worked harder than anyone else, and it was time to prove it!

A metal block full of spikes was spinning, now coming for him.

The situation, from one moment to the next, had changed completely.

He couldn’t turn away in time. He knew this with the same certainty he had had a moment ago about his victory. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t escape. Even if the method was despicable….

All was fair in love and war.

He grabbed the challenger closest to him by the ankle, a girl who controlled fire, and threw her against the metal block. Against the spikes.

She curled into a ball, turning herself, in mid-air, into a fireball.

With which she almost completely melted the metal, passing through it, through the widening hole, and was lucky enough to make it to the other side safely, not going too fast or too slow, ending up injured as a result.

Crushed, punctured. Chopped up.

He had put her at risk unnecessarily, from a certain point of view, because he would have only lost one of the green circles.

He consoled himself by telling himself that the girl had made it through without a scratch, after all.

That she had adapted quickly enough, or that she had been expecting it, as they all should have, himself included. Using a partner as a human shield was the first dirty tactic anyone would have thought of.

It was to be expected. It was to be expected. That he had done it without a second thought was normal, too.

Or so he told himself.

But, to be honest, the real reason, or not the real reason, but the one that mattered most, was that he didn’t want to lose a single one of the circles if he could.

To impress the faculty.

To impress himself.

Desmond was confident in his victory, so winning wasn’t enough for him. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt as a backup, in case he needed to take a hit at a worse time, later on, though he didn’t think he would be put in such a situation.

Anyway, it didn’t hurt to be cautious.

He could worry about what kind of person that way of thinking made him when this was over. And apologize to the girl, if she made it. Otherwise, he’d better not, she’d take it the wrong way.

Or, one way or the other, would it be going too…?

A burst of pain cut clean through his thoughts, leaving him with his mind blank, reeling, trying to regain his balance.

In more ways than one. He had lost air control. He had been crossing over tree branches, jumping from one to another, occasionally using them as a foothold to turn and jump, not running along the ground, so his fall was long and hard, against the trunk of a tree.

Desmond found himself on the ground, straining for breath, before he realized he was.

His vision was flickering like a light bulb about to blow. Still, it didn’t escape his notice that one of the green circles representing his chances had turned red, then disappeared. Both things at once, not just one.

What had, what the hell had happened to him?

He groaned, instinctively bringing his hand to the source of the pain, covering it.

Immediately his hand was filled with blood, thick and red, running through his fingers. His nostrils filled with the smell, and he couldn’t tell which was worse.

He glanced around, checking what he already knew.

He had been shot in the arm.

He, the only one with a gun among all the candidates that he’d ever seen, had been shot. How ironic. Fighting through the pain, he crawled behind a tree. He didn’t know where the bullet had come from. The gunshot and its aftermath had left him too confused to discern it.

However, he couldn’t just sit idly by, waiting for ‘death’.

This was better than nothing.

He couldn’t see the person who had shot him. If it wasn’t another automatic trap, which he had inadvertently triggered, and not a person who he could stop. It would be convenient in a sense.

If it was a trap, it wouldn’t be as easy to stop as a person, but maybe he wouldn’t have to worry that it would go off again. Maybe he was already safe.

Maybe that he’d had time to crawl here, time to think, was proof enough that he was, for whatever reason. Desmond took a deep breath. His heart was pounding a mile a minute.He had built a shield of confidence, but it had shattered into a thousand pieces all too easily.

Leaving only fear in its place.

It had been so easy. Now, he was one step closer to failure. To his death.

How could he not be afraid?

He continued to see nothing.

Until he saw someone fall to the ground, as he had, and could see where the bullet had come from.

The flash of a sniper rifle, in the undergrowth.

Far away, but not too far not to catch him and end the threat he posed. Taking a single step further with a sniper out there was too risky.

Desmond struggled to his feet.

Physical reinforcement also applied to his sense of smell. That’s what allowed him to tell without a shadow of a doubt that the smell of blood wafting in the air wasn’t just coming from his own.

And then he saw it, really saw it.

Blood, lots of blood, a big puddle. Bits of bone… and gray matter scattered on the floor.

The bullet had gone through that poor bastard’s head, killing him instantly.

Desmond put a hand to his head, squeezing hard, as the candidates went past. Without looking back. Well, even if they had, Desmond wouldn’t have noticed. He only had eyes for the corpse laying in front of him.

He couldn’t believe what he was seeing, he realized.

Even though he knew this could happen. That it would happen, even if it was out of his sight.

But he didn’t believe it. He didn’t want to believe it.

This again. That’s why his head hurt as if it would suddenly split in two. Because once again he had had to watch someone die without being able to do anything. Because now, being more prepared than ever in his life, he had also turned out to be powerless.

Despite the fact that a moment ago he had thrown that girl into a trap that could have killed her, in the worst-case scenario, he now felt shattered.

Hypocritical as that made him, he could barely breathe, and that had nothing to do with the pain.

Nor with the bullet buried in him. That seemed to burn like the flames of the hell he had come out of ten years ago.

A bullet impacted close to him.

If it hadn’t been for him turning away at the last moment, dragged by his instinct, it would have gone right through him.

It had been no accident.

Neither this, nor the boy’s death.

Whoever was out there, firing from afar, was aiming to kill.