"The First Blade was...?" Evaluator Driego regarded the class expectantly, awaiting the answer.

"Dmitri Otriad, Evaluator." The class answered in unison.

"And his Directive was...?"

"Heartrender Natalia Forikova, Evaluator."

Blade history was easily the most tedious part of The Institute's training program. Cresana never quite understood the purpose of memorizing inane facts about Blades long dead. Besides, she knew the history of The Blades better than The Evaluators, although she would never voice that sentiment aloud. Her father had made sure of that.

'Sixteen generations of Militovas come before you, Cresana, and sixteen more will follow. The Blades' history is our history. To ignore history is to condemn your future.' She could hear her father's rehearsed speech as if he were delivering it to her now. And she, ever the dutiful daughter and future Blade, had studied the history, despite finding it maddeningly boring.

"Weapon of choice?" Evaluator Dreigo droned on.

"Whip and Great Sword." Fewer voices this time. Dreigo sensed that he was beginning to unearth the class' shortcomings. Memorizing the weaponry of former Blades was an arduous and largely fruitless pursuit, but one that The Institute insisted on as a formality. The Institute demanded its pupils develop mastery over all weapons, but each Blade would ultimately choose their weapons upon receiving their Directive. Blades were often recognizable on the battlefield by their weapons, since they all wore the same uniform and had largely identical fighting styles. It was helpful to know the weapons of choice of those in your unit, but that was the difference between a dozen or so Blades you fought next to day in and day out versus hundreds of Blades long since dead.

"Name of his sword?"

"Rajbit." This time, it was only Cresana's voice. Her classmates stood silently around her, their arms clasped behind their backs, and though none moved or turned to acknowledge her, the tension in the class was palpable. By many estimations, Cresana's (correct) answer to the question would single her out as the sole pupil who had sufficient knowledge to satisfy The Evaluator. But in the world of The Blades, to be singled out was to be dead. Blades were taught to act as a unit. Your success as a Blade largely depended on your ability to fit seamlessly into the group style fighting that Blades were known for. Since Blades were always at the vanguard of the Second Army, it was imperative that you fought in tandem with those around you, otherwise you would be left exposed and weak. Fjerdans, Shu Han mercenaries, any opponent that the Second Army faced would be waiting to exploit a Blade who broke rank to penetrate the line.

Cresana gulped, lapsing into silence, maintaining her face in a mask of indifference.

"Militova." Driego motioned her to step forward. She obeyed, weaving through the columns of pupils around her until she stood alone in front of him.

"Evaluator."

"What is The Blades' Rule of One?" Driego's voice was its usual monotone, his expression unreadable, his posture relaxed and stationary, but somewhere Cresana detected a hint of sadistic pleasure in the punishment she knew he would exact upon her for this mishap.

"A Blade alone is a Blade condemned." Cresana recited the Rule of One, internally bracing for Dreigo's next move.

"Indeed." His impassive brown eyes bored into her, an odd mixture of dispassion and fervor. Dreigo, of all The Evaluators, was a zealot if ever Cresana had met one.

"Hold out your hands, Militova," he commanded. Cresana did as she was instructed, palms facing down and fists clenched in the traditional Blade salute.

"Choose a finger." His voice was cold, although Cresana knew that wasn't why she felt a shiver run up her spine. She stuck out the pinky finger of her left hand, chosen by a quick calculation of which fingers she needed most for combat drills and weaponry training. She felt a twinge of regret realizing that this was the same finger she had broken six years ago while hunting a wild boar in the hills outside her home and it had never fully healed, but the decision was made and there was no going back now.

"This finger is you, Militova." Dreigo withdrew a large truncheon from the pockets of his robe. Cresana's jaw clenched, and she began the mental preparations her father had drilled her on when pain is imminent.

"This fist is The Blades." Dreigo motioned to her clenched right hand. With unnerving speed, he brought the truncheon down hard on her fist. The only visible sign of the sharp pain she felt was a slight twinge in her jaw as Cresana bit back the urge to wince. Although the pain burned, she knew immediately that, aside from a cut on her second knuckle and what would no doubt prove to be a painful bruise, her hand was otherwise unhurt.

Dreigo moved the truncheon to hover over her extended pinky.

"This finger is you," he repeated, and with the same ferocity he brought the truncheon down on her finger. This time Cresana wasn't as successful holding back her pain. She clenched her eyes shut as a sickening crack and lightning bolt of pain told her that her finger was broken. Cresana struggled to control the urge to pass out. She called back to the memory of her father's training.

'Pain is your ally, Cresana. It reminds you that you are alive. It sharpens the senses. Use it. Do not allow it to lay claim to your mind.'

With great difficulty, Cresana held her hands in the same position. Blood was beginning to run down the back of her right hand, and her broken pinky lay flaccidly next to the fisted fingers of her left hand. She opened her eyes to return Dreigo's stare. He watched her carefully, waiting, hoping even, that she would succumb to the scream for relief inside her. Cresana wasn't sure exactly what she could do to alleviate the pain in her finger, but she had a strong desire to pull her hands back on herself and cradle the broken digit. 'Peasants respond to pain,' her father would say. 'Blades conquer it.'

After a few moments, Dreigo nodded, allowing Cresana to return to her position amongst her classmates. None made eye contact with her, although Cresana noticed Evrity's eyes flick in her direction as Cresana walked by her. Cresana knew that that was as much as she could expect for in the way of comfort as long as Dreigo's class lasted. After his instruction was finished, she would be allowed to escort Evrity to the Healer's workshop and the pain would be addressed. Cresana spent the rest of Dreigo's history lesson chewing on the inside of her cheek, focusing on her inhalations and exhalations, and willing herself not to faint.

* * * *

"Cresana." Evrity's voice calling her name broke her out of her reverie. Cresana had been so deep in meditation that she had failed to notice Evaluator Dreigo dismissing her classmates. Hours must have passed, because the light outside the windows flanking Dreigo's desk was so faint it was almost not there. Sunset had been at least an hour ago, and The Institute's stone walls were chilled with the cold of a winter's night. Cresana felt as if she was surfacing from a deep sleep. She turned to Evrity, slightly disoriented.

"You missed dinner," Evrity said simply. She had known enough to allow Cresana to remain in her meditation long enough to quell the pain in her finger. At this point, it was a dull ache. Cresana knew it would anger as soon as she moved, but she gave herself a self-congratulatory smile. She had finally been able to use pain as her father would have wanted: as a tool to hone her mind. She felt the edges of her thoughts more keenly, as if the pain were a wet stone sharpening them.

Evrity took hold of Cresana's elbow and began steering her down the hallways of The Institute towards the Healer's quarters.

Few Grisha were allowed inside The Institute, although there was always need of a Healer or two given the propensity for pupils to get injured, maimed, or even killed during their training. The Institute's Healer was an old somber man who regarded Cresana's mangled finger with boredom.

"Dreigo?" he asked. Cresana knew better than to answer; the Healer was famous among pupils for reporting their transgressions of loyalty to The Evaluators. Cresana did not respond. The Healer turned her finger this way and that, angling it to get a better view of the break.

"It broke cleanly along the joint, although it is also dislocated at the knuckle," he announced.

Cresana nodded; she had expected as much.

The Healer withdrew his hands from Cresana's finger, and with a deep inhalation, he began the intriguing process of using Small Science to mend it. Although Blades were trained for the explicit purpose of protecting the Grisha while in battle, Cresana continued to regard them as novelties. She had not encountered many. The Healer was the only one whom had used his odd gift on her at any point in her life. She felt a strong burn in her finger and an overwhelming urge to itch her skin. Cresana kept her hand extended, the Healer's gaze intent on the finger. After a few moments, the burning subsided, along with the dull pain, and Cresana bent the finger tentatively. It did so without protest. The Healer, obviously satisfied, waved her and Evrity away, returning to a large leather bound tome he had been pouring over when they had entered his rooms.

As they wound their way back through The Institute's hallways towards their dormitories, Evrity withdrew a slide of bread from her robes and handed it to Cresana, who took it gratefully. She hadn't realized how hungry she'd been.

"You know better than that," Evrity scolded as Cresana bit into the bread gratefully. Cresana nodded in agreement. She did know better.

"Where were you?" Evrity asked, raising an eyebrow at Cresana. She shrugged, simply. She didn't rightfully know where she had been during Dreigo's instruction. If she had been fully present, she never would have made the careless mistake to speak up alone. But her mind had been wandering, and left unawares she had lost touch with the ranks of her classmates.

"If you do that in battle, you'll have a Fjerdan sword buried in your gut instead of a broken finger." Evrity's words were harsh, but Cresana knew her friend well enough to know that this was an expression of worry more than a chide.

"If I ever get to fight a Fjerdan in battle, they won't keep their arms long enough to gut me," Cresana retorted. Evrity chuckled darkly.

"How long?" Cresana asked.

"7 weeks," Evrity replied, knowing exactly what Cresana was referencing. Seven weeks was all that stood between them and their final trial. The final trial was veiled in secrecy at The Institute; all that was known about it was that it had the highest failure and fatality rate of any trial, and that those who passed it were given their Directives. A Directive was a Blades' assigned Grisha, their sworn ward. A Blade was expected to live and die alongside their Directive. Blades protected the Grisha in battle, so they could use the Small Science unencumbered by hand-to-hand weaponry. Blades were also frequently used as personal bodyguards to their Grisha, accompanying them everywhere, as well as assassins, able to execute a Grisha's will without involving the Small Science. To receive the Directive was every Blades' highest purpose.

"7 weeks," Cresana repeated, relishing the idea of just how short a time that was. After 15 years of training at The Institute, seven weeks was so negligible it was almost laughable. However, both Cresana and Evrity knew that the trial ahead of them – and undoubtedly the weeks leading up to it – represented the greatest challenge that they had yet faced. Their instruction hours had almost doubled in the last few months, The Evaluators were culling more and more of their classmates for shows of weakness or missteps in war games, and the weaponry drills were so complex that even Evrity, who was the keenest fighter at The Institute, was struggling to maintain composure.

As Cresana lay down in her bunk, looking up at the same dark paneled ceiling that she'd memorized for the past 15 years, she allowed herself to sink into a bit of the fear and anxiousness that she had felt throughout the recent trials, most pointedly while standing at the edge of the cliff above the turbid ocean waves.

'If it's in the blood, it's as good as done,' she reminded herself, calling on the strength of her ancestral bloodline within The Blades to guide her through the challenges ahead.