"Militova."

Cresana stepped forward from the ranks of her classmates. She clasped her hands behind her back, awaiting further instruction.

"Choose your steel."

All her life, Cresana had known what weaponry she would select for the trial and for her life as a Blade. It was the same weaponry her ancestors had chosen – all sixteen generations – and there was no doubt in her mind.

"Scythe Swords."

Cresana watched as the new equerry – Jenivan, she thought his name was – scrambled to find the two long, curved blades she requested. As he handed them to her, she felt the familiar weight of the blades and the hand-worn grooves of the leather bound hilt settle into her hands.

Many of her classmates, Evrity included, had opted for two different weapons to gain maximum benefit from different forms of combat. In Blade wisdom, two different weapons were better than two of the same, but Cresana felt an instinctual connection to the Scythe Swords. They were versatile: light enough to travel and ride with, sturdy enough to stand up to Great Swords and Maces (chosen weapons of the Fjerdans) in hand to hand combat, slender enough to be easily disguised beneath robes, and short enough to be thrown like a knife in a real pinch. She had no use for tricksy weaponry, like whips or throwing stars, nor did she have great love for cumbersome swords or heavy maces. No, the Scythe Swords suited her just fine.

Cresana let the swords rest easily in her palms, mentally reminding herself to relax her shoulders and her grip so as not to belie the alarmingly fast racing of her heart. The Evaluators stood before her, all of them in ceremonial robes, which were almost indistinguishable from their usual garments save for the intricate filigreed stitching up their sleeves depicting their weapons of choice. Cresana found herself surprised to see Scythe Swords stitched on Termedy's sleeves. Aside from the Militova bloodline, Cresana wasn't aware of many other Blades who opted for the two curved swords in battle.

"Cresana Militova has selected Scythe Swords," read out Dreigo's voice. "She will now be given the opportunity for Trial. Militova, what is your choice?"

'Here goes nothing,' she thought to herself. She wondered how many of her classmates had opted out of the Trial. Although it was a deep disgrace within The Blade community to refuse the final Trial, there were many criminal groups, noblemen, and pirating crews who would pay handsomely for the talents of a Blade, even if they hadn't officially passed the Trial. Cresana couldn't afford to let these thoughts distract her, so she shook the small temptation of gold aside.

"Trial," she replied. She thought she detected a slight smile play across The Evaluators' faces when they heard this. 'Why wouldn't they be proud?' she thought to herself. 'I'm generation seventeen of one of the oldest Blade bloodlines.'

"Trial," Driego confirmed. "Step forward."

Cresana approached the dark double doors in front of her. The Evaluators stood on either side of the door, flanking it, and despite their usually imposing presence they were completely dwarfed by it. Cresana had never been to the Little Palace before, but that was the site of her Trial. She had never seen a door so large before. It stretched all the way to the top of the ceremonial chamber they had convened in for her weapon selection. The Evaluators had, of course, instructed the pupils on what to expect at their Trials.

"When you are commanded to, you will step through the doors and begin your Trial. The Trial is complete when you are either dead or victorious over all foes." Evaluator Termedy's words rang in Cresana's ears like a gong. "Dead or victorious".

Cresana regarded the doors warily. She had no idea what awaited her on the other side, although she suspected the door led outside based on the faintest breeze she felt against her shins which, she assumed, snuck under the doors. Blades were strictly verboten from discussing the Trial so as to ensure all pupils were unable to prepare beyond their training at The Institute. And although it seemed incredible to think, for over 400 years absolutely no information about the Trial had ever been disclosed. Cresana knew that, especially early in The Blades' existence, some Blades had been tortured for information on the Trial in an attempt to undermine the process. Even they had held fast. The Trial's secrecy was among the most serious of The Blades' traditions.

For the first time in her 15 years at The Institute, The Evaluators waited for her. Those undertaking the Trial were granted as long as needed to collect themselves in front of the doors.

"You will be granted time to prepare yourself – physically, mentally, and otherwise. We will await your signal before opening the doors," Evaluator Termedy had notified the anxious pupils at their assembly before embarking on the journey to the Little Palace.

Cresana was silently thankful for this gesture now. Although she did not intend to linger like some, she found a few moments to let her eyelids flutter shut as she focused on regulating her breath. She allowed her mind to wander through a mental montage of beautiful sights she had accumulated in her lifetime. A field of wildflowers near her home. Daybreak from the roof of the Institute. Sunday morning markets at Arkesk. As these images flickered by, Cresana felt a sense of calm wash over her. She realized that this represented the end of her lifelong preparation. From the time she was 8 years old and was transferred from her father's care to her life at the Institute, she had thought of little else but the Trial. Even before coming to the Institute, Cresana had known that her future would converge on this single point in time. With a newfound sense of surety, she opened her eyes and inclined her chin, signaling to the Evaluators her readiness.

The heavy wooden doors swung open as if by magic, although Cresana knew that this was the work of Grisha Squallers lining the walls of the chamber. Cresana felt the soft fabric of her robe flutter in the wind they generated.

With purpose and determination, Cresana stepped forward into the darkness and into her destiny.

* * * *

Cresana crouched down, allowing her fingertips to dig into the soil slightly without letting go of her Scythe Swords. It was cool and moist to the touch. 'Must be morning dew,' she thought to herself. She had been in her Trial for almost five days now, and sunrise would mark a sixth. Her head cocked slightly as she registered the sound of rushing water over her left shoulder. A breeze grazed her cheek. She breathed it in deeply, trying to discern any scents that may clue her in to where she was. She smelled only the dankness of soil.

She had long lost track of whether her eyes were open or closed. The darkness that she'd seen on the threshold of the Trial had swallowed her sight completely. She had never known darkness like this. There was no hint of light whatsoever. Even when under Termedy's sight deprivation hood she had relished even the faintest glimmer of light that would make its way through the enchanted fabric to her eyes. Cresana hadn't thought it possible for darkness to be so absolute that she would lose all sense of her eyes.

At first when the darkness had descended, Cresana had frozen and panicked. She'd heard the doors swing close behind her, but she had stayed stationary for what must have been at least six hours. She had been certain that once she entered the Trial, she'd be faced with some sort of combat scenario and have to fight her way out of it. To lose her sight but without seemingly any other contest had completely unnerved her.

As hours had turned into days, Cresana slowly began to realize that the Trial – much like her time at the Institute – was more than it appeared. She knew that each Trial was designed by the Evaluators to challenge each pupil in a personal way. She realized that she must have proved her fighting skill enough to avoid a test of combat; although this gave her a surge of pride, she was frightened to realize that she had obviously failed to convince the Evaluators of her ability to operate sightless. She tensed with anger each time she thought of Termedy. She knew beyond doubt that it was Termedy who had orchestrated her Trial to revolve around total darkness. He knew how much she loathed to lose her sight, and he had also perceptively understood that she had not devoted herself to mastering her other sense as she should have. Perhaps he recognized this as her last remaining opposition to a life of total sacrifice.

Cresana sighed, trying to push the anger away. Anger would not serve her here. She was unsure of how to pass the Trial, although with each passing hour it was becoming more acutely clear that she wouldn't survive long enough to pass the Trial until she ate. At first she had groped helplessly at plants, trying to identify them by texture or scent. She was loathe to eat one unless completely certain it would not poison her, and she knew that the countryside surrounding the Little Palace had a treacherous amount of poisonous flora.

Much to her frustration, Cresana realized just how little she had paid attention in Evaluator Merkani's botany instructions. While most of her classmates had enjoyed the relative calm of instructional lessons on botany, zoology, and geology, Cresana detested them. She realized now that her own pridefulness had allowed her to think she did not need those skills, so long as she could kill enemies quickly, efficiently, and without threat to her Directive. Her Trial clarified that she very much did need those skills, and she cursed herself for disregarding the instructions.

After realizing that her knowledge of botany would not serve her, Cresana had switched to hunting. In similar fashion, she realized that her hearing, while sharp enough to identify the sounds of a deer gnawing on milkwood blooms or a hare scampering through the brush, was not keen enough to guide her Scythe Swords to their targets once thrown. She had wasted almost three hours trying to locate her left Sword after launching it after what she thought was a grouse and missing.

She had then switched to fishing, which had required significantly less skill but significantly more preparation. After much difficulty, she had managed to rip off a slender stretch of her robe to serve as a makeshift fishing line and attached it securely to a branch. Then she had dug for grub, which (Saints be praised) was much easier than killing a grouse without sight. For a fleeting moment, Cresana had considered eating the grubs herself. She realized with a turn of her stomach that this would likely be a viable option if she continued to fail to produce real game. However, she decided it was worth the effort of fishing to be able to sink her teeth into something actually satisfying.

She had been lucky enough to catch three large trouts, although starting a fire to cook them had been quite impossible during a rain storm. So she sat under a hollyhock shrub, crouched with her knees pulled up to her chest, perching above the soil so as to avoid soaking her robe, and had forced herself to swallow the trout meat raw. After a few failed attempts wherein the meat promptly came back up, she had been able to eat at least one and a half of the raw fish.

That had been almost twenty-seven hours ago now, and her stomach was complaining again. She dreaded the thought of how she would feed herself for a second time without sight.

'If it's in the blood, it's as good as done,' she whispered to herself, trying to calm the panicky restlessness threatening to overtake her senses.

It was then that she heard it: the snap of a twig. Her head instinctively pivoted to face the sound, and as if possessed by another, she crouched down low, her Scythe Swords balanced deftly in her palms, bouncing on the balls of her feet in the classic Blade fight position. Cresana knew that the twig had snapped under someone's foot just as surely as she knew her own name.

'This is it,' she told herself. 'It's finally come.'

The combat Trial.

Sure enough, within one or two breaths, Cresana heard the unmistakable sound of an arrow slicing through the air. Without thinking, she rolled along the ground to her right, narrowly dodging the arrow, hearing it whistle dangerously close to her shoulder. After righting herself, she heard footsteps crashing through the underbrush towards her.

She allowed her instincts to take over. Remaining low to the ground, she threw her arms with the Scythe Swords into a defensive X position just in time for the blades to collide with what must have been a Great Sword. The force of the collision reverberated through her arms. Cresana knew from the force and angle of the impact that she was fighting an opponent at least twice her height, likely a man given the raw power with which the blow had been delivered. With just as much power, her foe pulled his Great Sword upwards and swung it down in a curved stroke, attempting to connect with her left shoulder. She countered, this time with a single Sword. With her right hand, she jutted her Scythe Sword towards her foe. She heard his feet jump backwards, no doubt twisting sideways in mid-jump so as to avoid the killing edge of her steel.

Cresana broke contact with her foe, allowing herself to return to a low crouch. She began stepping sideways in a semi-circle; he mirrored her movements. 'So you're a Ravkan,' Cresana thought to herself, recognizing the heavy footfalls of her opponent as belying his stance, with his Great Sword raised overhead and one foot in front of the other. Fjerdans' fighting style was significantly more chaotic and aggressive: highly effective against weaker or lesser skilled opponents, but easy to counter to a trained eye.

Shu Han warriors favored guerilla-style stealth attacks over hand-to-hand combat. Fighters from Kerch were almost laughingly elaborate in their footwork. Mesmerizing and intimidating when first encountered, but easily overpowered by attacks of brute strength. Ravkan fighters required a more refined touch. They were both fast, strong, and cunning, and they favored an offensive attack, using the downward momentum of their raised Swords to hack away at their opponents' arms and shoulders until fatally weakened. This would require skill and focus. Cresana let a calming breath slide through her teeth in a hiss.

Cresana and her Ravkan opponent parried like this for several moments. When one began circling in the opposite direction, the other mirrored. It was difficult for Cresana to maintain the fluid movement she preferred as each step landed on unknown footing. She cursed Termedy once more for robbing her of sight. If she'd been able to see her opponent, Cresana's Trial would have been over by now. She knew that. This Ravkan, whoever he was and however much combat training he had been given, was no match for a fully trained Blade.

Her opponent grew impatient, and soon Cresana found herself countering aggressive and alarmingly powerful downward hacks of his Great Sword. Although these blows never threatened to cut Cresana, she found her hunger and the inability to finish her opponent quickly were working against one another. She was losing strength in her arms with each passing blow he dealt her.

Her foe, despite lacking Blade training, obviously knew enough of fighting to recognize Cresana's waning strength. He settled in to an almost predictable pattern of testing her with five or six consecutive downward blows before attempting to catch her off guard with a sweep of his Sword by her shins or a direct stab to the center of her chest.

Cresana was able to counter these, although with each one she felt the space between his action and her reaction shortening. A soft sense of panic began to creep in at the edge of her thoughts. 'Finish him,' she told herself. If she continued to counter only, she would lose whatever physical strength she possessed and eventually he would overpower her. No doubt this Ravkan had eaten within the last day, likely three hearty meals in preparation for the Trial.

She knew that in order to overpower him, she would need cunning, quickness, and the unexpected on her side. Although his fighting was crude compared to her, she was outmatched by size and strength and at a distinct disadvantage, fighting in darkness and intense hunger. As her opponent came at her again, his heavy footfalls giving away his position, Cresana put down one her swords and with her free hand reached for the small, double-edged dagger she kept slipped into the calf of her left boot. With cat-like speed, she pulled the dagger out of its sheath and gripped it tightly, stabbing downward with as much force as she could muster. She felt the dagger connect with flesh and heard her opponent grunt in surprise as much as pain. She continued to press downward, needing not only to surprise her opponent but temporarily immobilize him. When she felt the dagger exit her opponent's foot and connect with the ground beneath him, she quickly released the dagger and groped for her Scythe Sword.

Quickly reconnecting with the handle, she grabbed her opponent's immobilized leg and cut into the back of her opponent's knee. She knew classic Ravkan armor was weakest at this point, and her instincts were correct. She felt the hot spray of blood on her hands as she cut the tendon behind his knee. He grunted, his leg giving out under him. To avoid the Great Sword that Cresana suspected was suspended somewhere just above her shoulder, she deftly rolled sideways and behind him, allowing herself to gain good distance from him before turning around. She heard his labored breathing and a muted groan of pain as he (likely) pulled the dagger from his foot.

Now she had two weapons to worry about, but it was inevitable. She had needed the advantage to cripple him. Now, with his back exposed to her, Cresana flew forward, her Scythe Swords raised in front of her, ready to his throat or at least connect with his back.

'Enough.'

The voice was quiet and calm, but commanding at the same time. Deep and liquid, it came from somewhere roughly thirty feet from where Cresana's opponent was. Simultaneously, Cresana felt an intense pain coarse through her body, emanating from her chest. She felt as if a fist had clenched around her beating heart. Dropping to her knees, Cresana gasped. She knew, instantly, this was a Heartrender's work. Cresana tried to make sense of the scenario; she'd never heard of a Trial involving combatting Grisha. Blades were sworn to protect Grisha, not fight them. But the extreme tightness of her chest, leaving her gasping futilely for breath, told her that her Heartrender opponent clearly had other plans.

'What are your orders, General?' a second male voice asked, this one less calm and obviously submissive to the first. She assumed the second voice belonged to the Heartrender who had her immobilized.

An agonizing moment of silence passed. Cresana thought of trying to throw her swords, praying that they hit their target, to release her from the Heartrender's grasp. But if the General was who she thought it was, that would mean instant death. She tried to speak, to breath, but she couldn't manage to take in any air. The only sound was her throaty gargling and she slowly suffocated.

Just before she felt herself slip from consciousness, she heard the General's voice again.

'Release her, Ivan.'