Chapter 8
The dormitory is quiet, except for the faint hum of the air vents and the occasional rustle of someone shifting in their bunk. Everyone is asleep. Everyone but me.
I slip out of bed, moving carefully, my socked feet silent against the cold floor. Earlier, when we returned to our rooms after dinner, each bed had a neatly folded set of white sleepwear and a toothbrush placed on top. One of the Veilborne girls had even discovered the showers had hot water—a simple luxury for them, but a rarity for the Ironclad.
For once, it felt like we were no longer divided by the colors of our factions. For a brief moment, the neatly folded clothes and shared dormitory made it seem as though we were just people—equal, united in something simple. But that was a lie. Beneath the surface, the lines between Veilborne and Ironclad were as sharp as ever, impossible to ignore.
The darkness around me feels like a familiar cloak, soothing and protective. My heart pounds steadily, but I push the nervous energy aside. This isn’t the first time I’ve slipped away in the dead of night. Back home in the forest, I often snuck out of our cabin under the cover of darkness to train with my sword.
I make my way to the training room, my pulse quickening with each step. When I push the door open, the faint metallic scent of steel hits me, mingled with the faint, lingering tang of sweat. The room is dimly lit, the low glow from the lights overhead casting long shadows.
My eyes land on the weapon stands lined up against the far wall, their gleaming contents making my breath hitch. One stand is filled with guns-sleek pistols, heavy rifles, even a few crossbows. Another stand is devoted to blades of every kind: long, gleaming swords, vicious-looking daggers, and even a few throwing knives.
My fingers itch to pick one up, and before I realize it, I'm moving toward the stand of swords.
The polished steel catches the dim light as I select a blade-a longsword with an intricately designed hilt, the kind my uncle taught me to wield. As my hand closes around it, a memory surfaces.
---
"Again, Aria." My uncle's voice was sharp, commanding. The forest around us was alive with the sounds of chirping crickets and rustling leaves. The moonlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled patterns on the ground.
I gripped the wooden training sword tightly, sweat dripping down my brow as I squared off against him.
"Step forward, pivot, then strike," he barked.
I nodded, my muscles burning as I repeated the sequence. He'd always said that knowing how to wield a sword wasn't just about strength-it was about precision, strategy, and the will to win.
---
I shake off the memory, adjusting my grip on the hilt. The weight of the sword feels familiar, almost comforting.
Taking a deep breath, I position myself in the center of the room and begin to move. My feet slide smoothly across the floor as I execute the steps my uncle drilled into me. Step forward, pivot, strike. Step back, parry, slash.
The blade slices through the air, its whisper-like sound the only thing breaking the silence. My muscles remember each motion, each stance, as if they've been waiting for this moment.
I lose myself in the rhythm, the world around me fading away. It's just me and the blade.
---
A soft sound pulls me from my focus. My heart skips as I whirl around, sword raised instinctively.
Standing in the doorway is someone dressed in Veilborne attire.
His features are dark in the light, and his posture is relaxed. There's a sharpness to his gaze that puts me on edge.
It's Kael. The son of the high ranked Veilborne Protector.
He steps further into the room, his movements fluid, almost predatory.
I lower the sword slightly, my eyes on him. Maybe he knows who I am and he is here to finish what his people failed to do. The thought sends a sharp jolt through me, my pulse quickening. Without breaking eye contact, I tighten my grip on the hilt, the cool metal grounding me. Then, in one swift motion, I raise the sword, the blade slicing through the air with a hiss.
My stance shifts, firm and ready, as if the air itself tenses around us.
"Are you asking me for sword fight?" His voice is steady---his intentions are still not clear.
I return his stern gaze, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe."
He smirk, a soft laugh escaping him, as he moves closer. His eyes flicker to the swords, and he nods toward them. "I love swords." His tone casual yet deliberate. "I feel like they're more honest compared to guns. A sword demands skill, not just a trigger finger. No hiding behind distance or noise---it's just you and your opponent dancing to a magical rhythm."
I stay quiet, holding my stance and gaze. I don't tell him how I feel the same toward swords as well. I feel no interest in sharing anything in common with an enemy.
"Don't your agree?" he asks, while raising his sword.
"One hundred percent."
We move to the center of the room, and for a moment, neither of us speaks. The air is charged, heavy with anticipation.
"Are we really that different after all?"
"Yes we are," I spit charging forward with my blade without a warning.
Kael's grin sharpens, his eyes gleaming with challenge as he catches my strike with ease. He takes a step back, raising an eyebrow, his voice laced with playful yet dangerous intent.
"First one to drop their sword loses," he says, the words dripping with the weight of a dare.
This time our swords meet at the same time, the sound sharp and satisfying. Kael's movements are calculated, but there's a fluidity to them that speaks of experience.
We circle each other, our blades flashing in the dim light. Each swing, each block, feels like a dance-a test of skill and endurance.
"You're good," he says, his voice slightly breathless.
"I could say the same about you," I retort, grinning despite myself.
He laughs, but it's cut short as I feint to the left and swing low, forcing him to leap back. His eyes narrow, and his grip tightens on the hilt of his sword.
The fight intensifies, neither of us willing to back down. Sweat drips down my temple, but I barely notice. This is what I live for-the thrill, the challenge, the pure focus of the moment.
Finally, with a swift pivot, I maneuver around him, my blade stopping just inches from his chest. His arms are spread wide, both hands still gripping the sword, but he no longer has the advantage. The tip of my sword hovers at the center of his chest, unwavering.
I hold my sword in the position, a triumphant smile spreading across my face. "Checkmate."
Kael raises hands in mock surrender, a grin tugging at his lips. "Alright, you win."
I'm about to disarm him but with a well-timed pivot, he disarms me first. My sword clatters to the floor and now it's him who is pressing the tip of the blade to my chest.
His about to kill me.
He knew who I was all this time.
After a while, he lowers the sword. "First one to drop their sword is the winner. Remember?"
He narrows his eyes before lowering his sword. "Fight with your head, not just your heart," she says, his tone softening just enough to let me know he's not mocking me. Then with a little seriousness---one that reminds me of uncle Sirius---he adds, "Remember that next time."
I stand there, swordless, my chest rising and falling with every breath, still processing what just happened. His words echo in my mind, and for a moment, it feels like he's just handed me a piece of advice I didn't ask for but desperately need.
Kael moves past me, his steps steady yet stealthy, his back to me now. The automatic door slides open as he reaches it, and then he disappears, leaving me in silence. My grip tightens around the hilt of my sword where it lies on the floor. His words linger in the air, and the weight of his challenge settles heavily in my chest.
I need to stay away from him.
***
The dormitory is quiet when I slip back in, the low murmur of the air vents the only sound breaking the stillness. I tiptoe through the room, careful not to wake anyone.
Sliding into my bunk, I let out a shaky breath and stare at the ceiling, the faint glow of the emergency lights casting soft shadows. I clutch the blanket to my chest, trying to calm the storm of thoughts in my head.
"Boo!"
I jolt, nearly yelping as Tonya's head pops down from the top bunk, her mischievous grin illuminated in the dim light.
"Tonya!" I whisper sharply, clutching my chest. "You scared the hell out of me."
She chuckles, her curly hair falling over her eyes as she dangles halfway off her bed. "Where've you been, Nightwalker?"
I mutter, "Training room." I can't tell her that Kael was there with me even though we had a harmless sword fight. It's like telling her I was dining with the enemy.
Her eyebrows shoot up. "Training room? At this hour?"
I shrug, unsure how to respond. "Just...needed to clear my head."
Tonya raises an eyebrow but doesn't press. Instead, she wriggles back into her bed, rummaging under her blanket before pulling out a crinkly package. She leans down again, grinning. "Well the next time you want to clear your mind, go to the cafeteria and get some free snacks from the vending machine."
I blink, confused for a until she shoves two boxes of chocolate beans, a pack of whine gums, and a slab of chocolate into my hands.
"Here," she whispers.
I smile. "Thanks, Tonya."
She winks. "Anytime."
I pop a few of the chocolate beans into my mouth, the sweet taste melting on my tongue and doing wonders to calm my nerves. I'm halfway through the box when a faint noise catches my attention.
A soft thud. Then another.
"Did you hear that?" Tonya whispers, her voice suddenly tense.
I nod, holding my breath. The sound comes again, louder this time. Footsteps.
"They're definitely footsteps," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "And they're coming this way."
The two of us exchange a look, and without another word, we both lie back, pulling the covers over ourselves and feigning sleep.
The footsteps grow closer, their rhythm steady and deliberate.
The dormitory door creaks open, and the sound of boots against the floor echoes in the stillness. Whoever it is, they're here now, moving between the row of bunks.
I squeeze my eyes shut, my body tense, every muscle ready to spring into action if needed. But the footsteps don't stop at my bed or Tonya's. Instead, they move further into the room, pausing occasionally, as if surveying the sleeping occupants.
The footsteps grow louder and closer, their steady rhythm echoing through the dormitory. My heart races as I keep my breathing slow and measured, every muscle in my body tense beneath the blanket.
Then they stop-right by my bunk.
I can feel their presence, a suffocating weight pressing down on me. My skin prickles, and for a moment, I think they might have noticed I'm awake. I fight the urge to peek, my fingers curling into the fabric of the blanket as though it can shield me.
A faint rustling sound follows, and then something heavy drops onto the side of my bed, brushing against my leg. I force myself to stay still, every nerve screaming at me to react.
The footsteps continue, stopping at each bunk as they move through the dormitory. Finally, the sound of the door sliding shut signals their departure.
I wait, counting in my head, forcing my breathing to remain steady. Beside me, Tonya whispers, "Are they gone?"
"I think so," I whisper back, my voice barely audible.
Carefully, I sit up, glancing around the dimly lit room. The dormitory seems untouched, but my gaze drops to the object lying on my leg side.
It's a bundle of clothes. Black.
Tonya leans over her bunk, her eyes wide. "What is it?"
I hold up the bundle---a black t-shirt and cargo pants, neatly folded. "Clothes," I say softly. "I'm guessing this is what we're wearing to the Chamber tomorrow."
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