Ember stomped the ice from her boots, looking up at the ranked complex. The sun had only just peeked over the horizon, bringing little warmth, and the massive buildings were buried like sleeping giants under blankets of snow. The complex, which was usually bursting with life, was in a state of near-abandon with the Linnaeans’ flight to the city proper.

Far in the distance, a trio of rankers emerged from behind a structure, jogging with weighted packs. Ember watched their progress across the landscape as if through someone else’s eyes, her mind muddled by anxiety over the upcoming match.

With a shake of her head, Ember forced herself to move. She pulled her timepiece from her belt, confirming that she was over thirty minutes early. A familiar wave of adrenaline caused the hair on her arms to stand on end, and queasiness bloomed within her stomach. Hoping to calm her nerves, she took a sip from her canteen and used her teeth to tear off a chunk of beef jerky.

She stagnated, chewing absentmindedly until she was reminded of the mind-numbing cold. She had opted to wear her training uniform and cloak, which were unmatched for comfort and range of motion but insufficient protection for the depths of winter. Knowing that lingering too long would stiffen her muscles and increase her risk of injury, she started down the path again.

With a gloved hand, Ember unfolded a scrap of paper from her pocket. The harpy eagle’s letter of acceptance had been blunt: Meet me at Building 3 of the Ranked Complex on December 25, 9:00 AM. Ember had worn the paper almost to shreds, over-analyzing the choppy, uneven handwriting until her eyes grew sore.

Though she had spotted the building from the hill, with all of the landmarks buried beneath the snow, Ember was soon swallowed by the complex. The scene was surreal in the winter stillness, an untouched pocket of time that threatened to lull her into complacency. It wasn’t until she caught a glimpse of the familiar domed building (the training grounds of the intermediate class) that she was able to re-orientate herself and locate Building 3.

The structure was a high-ceilinged concrete rectangle, industrial in appearance except for the frost-resistant vines that crawled their way up its sides. Ember took a steadying breath before pulling open the door, letting herself inside with ten minutes to spare.

Luckily, the interior was noticeably warmer. Like in the domed building, scaffolding climbed the walls and ceiling, allowing trainers to look down upon the fighters. Other than a first-aid station, the floor was completely devoid of equipment, leaving an area 60 yards long and 20 yards wide in which to spar. The majority of the floor was covered by a thin layer of spongy mats, many of which had been stained by droplets of blood.

“Over here,” a voice echoed, and Ember turned around to see two avians resting against the opposite wall. A lump formed in her throat, but she drew closer, raising her hand in greeting. “Good morning. Thank you for accepting my challenge.”

The two sisters looked back at her, tilting their heads in unison. Although both avians, they differed largely in appearance, almost to the point of representing dual caricatures. Freya, the older sister and ranker, stood with her feet hip-width apart. She was broad-shouldered and muscular, with heavy, dark wings and a serious countenance. On the lowest level of scaffolding, the younger sister sat with her feet dangling over the edge. From a distance, she could have been mistaken for a child: short and slight, with beautiful white wings that rested softly behind her. On her lap perched a white dove, who she petted gently upon the head.

“I’m Kora, and this is my sister, Freya,” the younger sister said. “What is-”

“Wait a minute,” the older sister said, raising an eyebrow. She pointed at Ember’s arm, noticing that her uniform lacked any bands or badges. “You’re in the intermediate class, and you haven’t even passed the first level?”

Ember felt a bolt of dread. “That’s true,” she admitted.

“What a waste of time,” Freya scoffed incredulously. “I assumed that Orthus would not refer anyone below the advanced class to me, but it seems I was wrong. How disrespectful.” When she picked up her bag, Ember willed herself to say something, but she was rooted to the spot, fearing that it had all been for nothing.

“Sister, wait,” the dove said, resting her head on the palm of her hand as if observing something amusing. “We’ve come here already, why not hear her out.”

The harpy eagle crossed her arms over her chest. “You want me to kill her?”

“No, I recognize her name… she’s the one who fought the margay, and she’s first in my class. I’m curious, so let’s listen to whatever she has to say.”

The two looked at each other for a moment. Kora stuck out her bottom lip, and her eyes widened pitifully. “Fine,” Freya conceded, rolling her eyes.

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Ember stood up straighter, knowing that she had only one chance to convince them. “Nearly five months ago,” she began, “I was taken from Ciradyl against my will. Though my father wanted to join me, the officers lied to us, saying that he would not be allowed in Mendel. Despite my best efforts, I have not spoken with him since.”

Both women remained silent, waiting for her to continue. “In light of recent events, I fear that his life is in great jeopardy. I know the Holy Order well—they view us as monsters, and they won’t hesitate to imprison him or threaten him to control me. In fact, that’s the only reason I can fathom that they wouldn’t let him come to Mendel.” Ember’s voice cracked slightly, but she pushed forward. “He is my only family and my last chance of finding out the truth about my mother’s disappearance. At the very least, I want to know if he is still living at our old house and if he is in good health.”

The two sisters glanced at each other, and something passed between them. “Each one of us has a traumatic story,” Freya said. “Regardless of how sympathetic we might be, it doesn’t change the fact that you cannot best me in a fight. No win, no letter. That’s how I protect my family.”

“Let me try,” Ember insisted. “This is my only option, and I intend to see it through.”

The harpy eagle sighed. “Fine, but only to keep my word. It’s your funeral.”

“Thank you,” Ember said, bowing her head from the sheer weight of her relief.

“Go warm up,” Freya ordered, waving her away.

Ember obliged, taking a lap around the building’s interior. Though she was constantly aware of the avians’ presence, she willed herself to focus on each step: on the steady intake of breath and the flexing of the muscles just a moment before impact.

With a faster heartbeat and a clearer mind, Ember stopped about ten yards away from the sisters. She stretched out her muscles one by one, testing them to make sure that they were warm. It was a vital process—since her mutations made it difficult to regulate her body temperature, it would be easy to tear a muscle and bring a fast end to the fight.

As she stretched, Ember kept a close eye on Freya. She had picked the spot with the intention of gathering as much data as possible before the fight began, and she knew that the raptor would be similarly analyzing her.

The ranker was sitting down, touching her toes while her sister stretched out her wings. Though her mutations were similar to Roland’s, they were less polished, including malformations in her wings. The rest of her skin, which was covered with grey feathers, had been struck through by unsightly pink scars.

Ember’s research on raptors had pointed out several weak points in their structure: the bones in their legs and wings, the eyes, as well as any skin unprotected by feathers. However, it was never a given that a Linnaean on the treatment would suffer the same weaknesses as their source animal.

As she lay on her back, holding her knee toward her chest, Ember tilted her head toward Freya. With a feeling of trepidation, she activated her infrared vision, praying that she would find a useable weakness.

The ranker’s body came to life with swathes of color. As expected, her extremities—wings, hands, feet, ears, and nose—were colder, while her chest and torso were warmer. Ember dug deeper, expanding and sharpening the image. Dozens of patterns appeared across the rippling figure, and she dissected each one, fighting to remain calm when some proved a fleeting trick of the light. She would lose her place if she wasn’t methodical, and all of her time and effort would be wasted.

When Freya stood, Ember had marked three areas for closer investigation: inflammation in the left shoulder, weakness where the wings connected to the body, and tissue damage along the right shin.

“Ready?” the ranker asked.

Ember nodded, fighting to maintain a calm demeanor. She followed Freya to the middle of the floor, nervousness laying dormant in her chest like a slumbering beast. The two stopped about three yards apart, and Kora climbed onto the scaffolding directly above them.

“I won’t patronize you by taking it easy, and I expect you to do the same,” the ranker directed. “We’ll follow the same rules as the tournaments: don’t puncture the heart or throat, gouge the eyes, tear the limbs off, inject with a fatal dose of poison… et cetera. Not that I think you’ll be able to.”

Ember agreed, still mostly focused on reading Freya’s thermal footprint. Could that be a pulled muscle in the shoulder? Will it weaken her punch?

“Okay,” Kora said, crouching with her dove sitting on her shoulder. “Good luck to you both. You may begin in three…”

The door swung open, banging against the wall, and all three Linnaeans whipped toward the entrance. There, standing in a pile of snow with her arm outstretched, was Naz. By her side was not Carn—as Ember may have expected—but Marcus, who had bundled himself in at least three layers of fur.

“Who are you?” Freya asked, exasperated.

“Ember’s friends,” Naz said, striding across the training floor. She shoved Ember on the shoulder, her teeth gritted. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?’

Ember’s face flushed, embarrassed. “Both of you need to leave,” she hissed, “this is a private-”

“Relax, we’re not going to interfere,” Marcus said, pulling Naz back by her hood. “I’m the reptile dorm’s acting prefect, and I’m here to watch Ember, who is under my jurisdiction. No offense, but I could care less about either of you.”

Freya looked uneasily at her sister, who shrugged, appearing somewhat entertained. “Fine,” she sighed, jamming her thumb toward a corner of the building. “Go sit over there. If you move during the fight, it will count as Ember’s forfeit.”

Marcus made a gesture of surrender, pulling Naz behind him as he crossed the training floor.

“Okay!” Kora said, clapping her hands together and startling the bird on her shoulder. “Now, let’s start in earnest. Three… two… one… BEGIN!”