My energy died as I watched on matches. They looked so happy while fighting, riding on horses and screaming, boys knocking each other off the horse and then everyone cheers. There's not one duo no one cheers for.

Even loser get back to their seats, scuffed and dirty, and cheer for other. Some winners and losers shake hands or hug after a team falls. We will be ranked, but it didn't really matter how as long as we were all graduating.

I'm tense when my trio—now duo, step out on their horses and wooden swords. Will and Wyatt don't speak but they nod as though they have a plan.

Their opponents are called. Noah Orwell. Archibald Moorcroft. The two enter and Noah looks buff while Archie is a bit more slender. Like Vic.

I closed my eyes.

I'm scared and nervous like they are my team, although I'm not there. They raise their wooden swords, and soon they charge at each other. Will attacks Noah's stomach and he sways and knocks Archie, but they straighten up.

I'm watching as Noah retaliates and Will is sent left—but Wyatt pushes him up. He had looped around. He never did that.

The two round up again and are across Noah and Archie. They run over and over but they can't get them off. They seem to attack Noah constantly, trying to fire him out, but built like an adult, Noah doesn't topple at all. Their swords smacked his stomach but he just coughs a bit. With one angry swoop, he punched Wyatt in the face and he fell.

He's holding his should as Will jumped off and makes sure Wyatt is fine. Wyatt is waving him off and stands out, still looking angry as ever, but both teams bow to each other before retreating.

"I'm so furious!" Wyatt shouted when he sat down. "That damn brute! How did he not fall in the five minutes we were there?"

"It's more like two minutes," I joked.

"I hope at least Cory and Hale win," Will said off-handedly. "They're last, with Arthur and who is it?"

"Arthur and Kieran," I said.

The last two duos gather and standing there, it seemed like four brutes on horses. We are all done besides them so we hoot and holler for the last game. I watched at Cory and Hale improve, and attack Arthur and Kieran's sides. They seem uncomfortable and Arthur comes for the eyes—then change to the side of Cory's head. Cory doesn't blink, he rides comfortably with the horse.

The show took the longest, and it's like watching a whole year pass by you with each pair, and now they're the finale. Some cry a bit. We mainly smile, and root for both teams.

Ten minutes go by before Arthur's wrist takes damage and Kieran's feet fall off the holster and he tumbled, too.

We all jumped up and hugged each other.

"It's all over!"

"I hate I lost to that brute!"

"You two better become knights!"

"Thanks for everything!"

We were getting sentimental and I think of him just as I hear it.

"And welcome to our last graduates. Nathaniel Rottings and Clive Vagrant..."

I'm stunned and look up to the professor. He nodded at me as though retracting him former words. I jumped up and all the boys grabbed me.

"Hey, what does that mean?"

"Is this for real?"

"Why did you keep this a secret?"

Everyone cheers but I'm shaking. The Headmaster is there, mask still on, but his lips smile widely.

I quickly make my way down to him. "What does this mean?"

"You can see Clive—after you've beat him."

"Really?"

"But I don't mean a game. That's no fun, right? So beat him, as in render him devoid of movement, no horses, just this."

He slides me not the wooden swords other boys are offered, but a real sword. I remember it from the nights we killed.

"I won't kill him!"

The Headmaster laughed, as though I had said something funny. "Watch out for yourself, then."

I'm shaking hard as I stand there, feeling something is wrong with what is happening, and the gates opened. I coughed, dust and horse dung fumes in my face. I shakily take a step in.

A figure emerged.

Clive.

Clive?

His hair was long, uncut, and his lower body was wrapped in bandages, making it look unlike him. He turned, and I see his face. Unshaven stubble.

The students began shouting his name. It becomes a chant.

"Clive Vagrant! Clive Vagrant! Clive Vagrant!"

Of course I wouldn't kill him, the Headmaster only wanted to taunt me. I walk forward and smiled.

"Clive!" I shouted, dust still settling around us. "I missed you."

He wasn't replying.

"Clive?" I shouted. I coughed and walked forward, but Clive raises a sword to me.

Huh? What was this? Maybe he wanted me to play-fighting him like in the past, put on a show because neither of us fought.

I raised my sword too, uneasily, but nothing would happen. Not my Clive.

I aim for a small, expected step, but Clive roared. He jumped, and I jumped back, but the sword was swinging close to my neck. I am too scared to stay in one place so I screamed.

"Don't let him play us! Stop it, Clive!"

My words are not loud enough in the stadium with the cheers. I'm defending myself, my neck, my sides, and he gets to my calves. It's bleeding—it was bleeding and I could hardly make the next leap away and screeched out in pain.

"Dammit! Clive!" I screamed.

He kept his mouth closed. Eyes like a killers'.

His hair covered his ears and I feared he no longer wore my earrings for him. I jump closer, and yelled when my calves screamed out. He got some kind of vein, because it was still wet down to my feet. I lunged for his head but he moved quickly.

I used the blunt side to hit his side but he raised a knee up and smacked my sword away. I clung on and race closer, wordlessly.

It was like our old matches, where people gathered up to watch. The crowd is the same. The only thing different is he had no smile on his face, and was targeting my safety.

I grab hold of Clive's head—I'm surprised. He gurgles but I only grab his hair and cut it off crudely.

There's more heated support from the crowd and I howled in throes. I pushed myself up from my crouch and Clive stared past me in a strange way. Like he wasn't seeing me. Like he couldn't see me.

His earlobe, too, had no gem on it.

I was about to put down my sword to speak but he jumped to me, our swords clashing, his attack coming from my sides. He caught me as I'm defending, he kicks me and people are going crazy over it.

Slum fighting.

Clive bent down and takes the sandy dirt from the ground. I scoffed.

"Why? Slum fighting?"

Clive won't speak. He's quick, I close my eyes and down realize but I'm breathing it in. I cough and hold my sword out as Clive attacked from my side.

I fell to my side and felt immense pain in my ribs. I coughed and wanted to lie down but the Headmaster's words rang in my ears.

Gotta get up, I told myself.

I stood up and warily watch Clive. He moved forward and I block with an arm—but he sliced.

"Dammit! Dammit!"

I fell to my knees, my forearm sliced into. It's bleeding and dripping down my clothes and the audience has a murmur of worry.

"End this!" I looked at the professor, who averted his eye contact. I looked back at Clive, truly scared of him. I picked up my sword, but my left arm was wet.

I could see the pink of my flesh. No, don't look. Focus on Clive.

I raised my sword and ran towards him, knowing he'd fight back. He grabbed my wrist and I'm worried he'd wrestle my sword away but no, he twisted it.

He twisted my wrist until I was screaming, and finally, he stepped on it, grinding into my broken right wrist until I broke and cried.

"Stop—stop this—" I choked out.

The two professors in charge seemed guilty, but the Headmaster in the seats motion for them to step back. I even see the Headmaster wave at me.

"Why?" I cried. I looked up at Clive. "Why?"

Clive looked unlike the Clive I knew. He was expressionless so far but when I asked his eyes seemed to be guilty, then again, he bit his lips and lifted his feet.

He leaned down and grabbed my sword and raised it up, but there was no cheer.

I had no hope for holding a sword, for being a knight.

Worse than having no graduation was losing everything you'd ever believed in. I closed my eyes and as I stopped moving, although my arm cut stung my wrist was so painful I couldn't take it—and I finally felt the vibration of the gates opening again.