The fog cleared, and the arena was much changed. Small hills and gullies broke the line of sight. But their opponents were out there. Ren swung his sword. It looked real enough. Felt real. Cold and heavy like any other steel. Same with the shield. It was just like the ones they marched around with every day during training.

“Form up!” called their squad leader. Ren and his teammates tightened up, raising their shields.

Marching feet thudded somewhere up ahead. One of the other teams.

“You ready for this kid?” Ramul’s voice lacked its usual condescension.

Ren looked up at the ex-mercenary by his side. He was staring ahead toward the sound. Utterly focused. Not a bad man to have at your side at a time like this, Ren supposed.

“I’m ready,” he lied.

Ramul chuckled darkly. “If you’ve still got wits to lie, you’ll be okay.”

A head crested the hill. Then more. Fifty men with swords and shields. They didn’t look like recruits right now.

He gulped. His sweat had already soaked through his shirt. The last clean one.

The enemy company neared, and it took all of Ren’s will not to put down his sword and itch the left side of his nose.

Focus.

The enemy leader yelled, and they all broke out into a sprint, right at Ren and his allies.

“Hold!” shouted their leader, voice squeaking.

The enemy was on top of them.

“Brace!”

Ren dropped into his stance and braced his shoulder against the shield, felt the pressure of the line behind them bracing their backs, readied his sword to slip through the gap.

A moment passed, so slow it was hard to believe it was less than a blink, then—

CRASH

Ren grunted and staggered as his shield was knocked back into his lip. The shield behind him pushed him forward again.

Oh, right. Sword. Ren stabbed forward. Felt his blow knocked aside. The next moment a scream. He dropped his shield a hair and saw Ramul’s sword pulling out from a guy’s abdomen, spraying blood.

Another opponent sliced at Ramul while his guard was down. Ren swung out with his shield, clipping the attacker’s wrist. The next moment Ramul split his skull.

Then there was screaming from behind.

“We’re flanked!”

And all was chaos.

Ren stuck to Ramul even after the formation shattered. The big man plowed through enemies with terrifying speed and power. Ren just tried to keep his head and make openings for his ally when he could. He couldn’t even tell who was on his side anymore.

His foot caught on something big—a body—and he tumbled. Where was Ramul?

As he looked about and stood, the only thing he saw was a man with a blood-spattered face and lame arm limping at him with a sword ready.

The sword swung and Ren’s own moved to intercept it. Again. Again. Ren backpedaled under the onslaught. At some point he’d lost his shield.

He was going to die. Fuck fuck fuck. What was the point of any of it?

Something stirred in him and he screamed. All fear and rage. A beast’s roar.

He knocked the next blow aside and reversed his parry, stepping forward and thrusting.

It went in, scraping along the bottom ribs, into the gut. He released his weapon and stumbled back just as the enemy swung wildly, desperate, a dying animal. The air screamed in front of his face, and he couldn’t take his eyes off the blood soaking his opponent’s tunic. His bloodshot eyes, fading, angry, tired, fearful, cold, then empty.

Ren retched.

As he came back up an ice cold flame bit into his lower back, pushed through him. He looked down. Steel, stained red with blood. His blood.

Blackness.

***

They wouldn’t stop shaking. Hadn’t stopped since he’d come to. Since the image of that face twisted in pain, the blood spurting out. That horrible burning.

Light and dreams. It was all an illusion. Old empyrean technology carved into the bones of the arena. But it still felt real.

He was too weak. Even though he knew it was all fake, he couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t beat the nausea that gripped his throat and twisted his guts.

That was just a small taste of what awaited him if he failed to distinguish himself. If they put him in the infantry. Only, the blood wouldn’t disappear after the battle. And if he got a sword through the gut he wouldn’t be getting up again.

His lip trembled. He had to run away. Nothing was worth this. If there had ever been any lingering doubt, he was now sure he wasn’t meant to be a hero.

“Recruit Ren, you’re up next. Ring eight,” said one of the overseeing officers.

No. He just needed to make it through this. He could do this. He had to.

He got up on shaky legs and made his way down from the viewing platform. He hadn’t even bothered to watch the other duels.

As he crossed the threshold from the hallway to the fighting grounds, a prick tingled at the base of his skull. Was that the arena formation at work?

This time the arena was covered in sand. There were ten large circles spread about, each a dueling ring. He picked up a short sword from the rack. It was so heavy and cold in his hand. How could it feel so real?

His opponent was already waiting for him in the ring. Fine features, glowing milky brown skin, green eyes, that smug quirk at the corner of his lip. Kareem Gutari. Parna had come through.

Fire rose in his chest, his pulse quickened even more. But it wasn’t the weak fluttering of fear, it was the pounding of war drums. Time to get even.

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Ren stepped into the ring opposite Kareem. Tightened his grip on his sword.

“Begin!”

Ren edged forward. If it had been anyone else, he wasn’t sure he’d have had the stomach for this. But after weeks of abuse, after what they did to him, to his uncle’s ney—bloodlust rose, foreign, but welcome. Too bad the injuries were just illusions. At least the pain would be real.

Kareem just waited for him. Smug little rat fucker.

Ren burst forward. Feinted high, then pulled back, dropped his stance, and thrust. A move Parna had taught him.

But Kareem didn’t over-commit to high guard and stepped offline instead, batting the blade way. Smiling.

Ren backed off, bringing up his guard. This wouldn’t be that easy then. Made sense. Rich kids didn’t get trained in swordplay for nothing.

This time it was the other boy who advanced. Slashing and thrusting, but it was sloppy. Ren saw an opening and stepped in under a wide high cut, he slid his blade forward against Kareem’s with a screech. Drove a pommel strike toward his face, but Kareem’s leg flashed out, buckling Ren’s knee and he collapsed. Before he knew what was happening, pain flashed along the front of his thigh.

Kareem backed off, not ending the fight. His smile even bigger now. Fresh blood dripping from the tip of his blade. Why hadn’t he finished it?

“I bet you’re wondering what is going on, empyrean trash,” said Kareem. “How did he counter my special move?” he mocked in a high voice.

Ren staggered up onto his injured leg.

“You should really be more careful who you choose for friends. At the end of the day, gutter trash will never be more than that. And even a rat knows that it’s better to side with a fellow Ardinian than some foreign piece of shit like you.”

“What are you talking about?” Was he really claiming that one of his friends had betrayed him? It couldn’t have been Parna. Parna hated this asshole.

“I think I’ll let you figure it out for yourself.” Kareem advanced again. This time his blows were faster, more precise. Ren barely blocked most of them, a few slipping past his guard as he stumbled back, new lines of pain drawn against his arms and legs, his side. Nothing he did worked. It was like Kareem could predict his every move.

The overseeing officer called out, “This isn’t play-time, Recruit. End it.”

No.

Ren lowered his stance despite the protestations of his wounded leg, and pushed intent-filled Qi into his sword arm, catching a high blow. Kareem jerked back, his arm jolting like he’d just struck a wall. Ren’s leg screamed as he burst forward to take advantage of the opening, his focus narrowing to a razor’s edge and he pushed as much Qi as he could into the next strike.

It cut the air with a hiss and Kareem twisted and spun out his own blade to block, only for his guard to cave in, at thin red line slicing into his abdomen. If he hadn’t moved out of the way in addition to blocking Ren would have ended the fight there.

But Ren wasn’t done. While his opponent was busy wincing, he swung his sword around in a reverse strike, once again empowered by whatever Qi he could manage. This time Kareem flicked his weapon under Ren’s, tossing the slash wide of its mark. And advanced.

This time there was no sloppiness to his motions. Each strike flowed into the next, each movement and step calculated and efficient. Ren fended off the onslaught as best he could with his depleted spirit and body, but he couldn’t block it all. Couldn’t get his footing. He was losing.

He panted and sweat and bled. Every cut seemed to go past his flesh and straight to his spirit. Slicing apart each and every hope, each and every dream. His chest was tight. His sword wavered.

Kareem kicked his wrist, sending the blade flying, then buried his own sword in Ren’s gut.

His ears rang. He fell to the sand.

Kareem spat and turned away.

Blackness.

*****

Captain Lurron realized he was kneading the back of his neck and stopped. This wasn’t a time to show weakness. Bleeding politicians. Shadows take them all.

Councilman Gutari sidled up to him, brushing the front of his many layered silk robe. His pointy beard had some grey in it now. How many servants did it take to wax that fucking mustache.

“What do you think of my son, Captain?”

He was a sniveling shithead. A liability. Lurron had no doubts about who had attacked Recruit Ren in the middle of the night. Anyone else, and they would have been branded and discharged. He’d really hoped to watch Recruit Ren defeat Recruit Kareem. But alas, a man had to live in the world that was. Better to accept it and move on. Do good where you could. Let the priests and scholars do the pondering. “Was that Jing sword style he was using?” It was always good to give politicians the chance to show off.

“Indeed!” The councilman smiled. “I’ve had him training the past five years.” His smile dropped a moment along with his voice. “I’m relieved to see he learned something. Kids these days just don’t appreciate their opportunities. There was a time when the younger brothers would be disposed of much less kindly than a cushy military posting. Can’t have my sons squabbling over inheritance. But do I ever hear ‘thank you father’? No, it is only ever whining about that girl and wanting control over his own fate. The nonsense of youth.”

Captain Lurron held his tongue. No good would come from mentioning the rumors surrounding Gutari and his own brother.

“Some day he’ll thank me,” mused the Counciman. He turned to Lurron, his green eyes bright and sharp as a blade. “I’m sure he’ll have no trouble moving up, and he’ll find his way into safe leadership positions that grant him an opportunity to distinguish himself away from the front lines.”

“I’m sure you’re right sir.” The captain clenched his fist behind his back.

“Very good.” Gutari patted his shoulder and turned back to watch the trials.

Politicians.

*****

Everything was ruined. His best hope was to be a cook rather than a fighter with the regulars. All the administrative positions were filled by graduates from the royal colleges. He’d failed. Utterly. With that kind of showing, his high mental test scores counted for nothing.

Sick filled him as he thought about Kareem’s words. He’d obviously been lying about Parna. There was no way.

Ren looked for his friend at dinner again, but once again he ate alone. Traitorous hands wouldn’t stop shaking even as he tried to navigate stew into his mouth.

He kept his gaze low as he returned to the bunk. Kareem and his friends were laughing and talking about the duels on the other side of the room. Ren had only fought the one duel. He hadn’t been able to hold his sword or catch his breath or calm his heart when it was time for his second, so he didn’t make it to the next round. Didn’t get to prove himself. But what was there to prove? He was weak? A coward?

“I would have made it to round four,” boasted Kareem. Loud enough that Ren could hear even though he didn’t want to. “But that damn mercenary cheated.”

Apparently Ramul had made it to the fourth round. He’d qualify for a cavalry unit now.

But Ren didn’t care. He just wanted it to end. Placing the pillow over his head and curling up on his side, Ren squeezed his eyes shut, and begged his body not to weep.

Tomorrow was the survival trial. A time for men like Gunney to distinguish themselves. Ren only hoped he didn’t humiliate himself again.

***

“Recruits,” Captain Lurron’s magically projected voice boomed through the woods, “It is time for your final trial. At the center of these woods is a cabin. Your mission is to arrive at the cabin without any of the sentries stopping you. You are allowed to try to fight your way through with your practice swords, but I don’t advise it.” He chuckled. “The goal is to get there as fast and quiet as you can, the first ten will get five merits each. Your guide should have pointed the way. We are watching. Begin!”

Ren’s guide had walked him into the middle of the woods, pointed east, and departed. Nothing to it but to go. He wasn’t remotely worried about the merits. At this point he’d just be glad to make it at all.

The ground was thick with crunchy snow. Even on a sunny day like today not much melted under the canopy. He played with his steps, trying to figure out if there was any way to avoid the crackling that each step made. No luck.

Ren picked two fixed points for reference. A tree with a knot that looked like a face behind him and a rock speckled with red lichen up ahead.

He made it to the rock, lined himself up with the tree behind him and set a new waypoint in the same direction away from the tree. At least all those books he’d read had taught him something.

He kept going like this for an hour, weaving through gullies and swimming through bare branched foliage. His mind started to wander to thoughts he’d rather avoid. Sitara. Father. What was he going to tell the twins? Could he ever face them again.

CRUNCH

Ren dipped behind a tree. Nothing moved.

He waited, holding his breath. Brandishing his wooden sword. Not that it would do him much good with the way his hands shook. He couldn’t even blame the venom this time.

Still nothing.

Azeroth’s flaming horse cock.

Ren looked around. The sound seemed like it had come from up ahead and to the right. Behind a wall of shrubs.

He circled around to flank the location. His feet mostly sticking to ice crusted roots and rocks that had melted free of the snow.

Was that a clearing?

He took a deep breath and charged in, stumbling almost immediately to a halt. Parna.