As Kora was counting down, Ember was readying herself to fight. She rid her mind of thoughts of Naz and Marcus, who were watching her intently from the corner, and poured every ounce of focus onto the harpy eagle. She had never taken pleasure in causing injury to others, but she suspended her conscience, knowing that even a nanosecond of hesitation would lose her the match.

At the moment before Kora’s final signal, Ember’s leg muscles contracted. Then, at the word “Begin!” she sprang forward with explosive force.

It was the fastest speed that she had ever achieved. The breath was ripped from her lips and the training mat split beneath the ball of her foot. She was on Freya in a millisecond. Force is weakest when it’s dispersed, she repeated, remembering Jisu’s words. Concentrate all of your speed and strength into a single point.

She drew back her arm, directing her strike toward the left side of Freya’s body. At the moment before impact, the ranker reacted instinctively. Her wings snapped open, lifting her a foot from the ground, and her left fist thrust out in a hook at Ember’s head.

Ember watched the punch as though in slow motion. Around her, the world was eerily silent. The hook, though quick, was made sloppy by the inflammation in the ranker’s shoulder, allowing Ember to maneuver around it easily.

She sprang upward, and with all of her momentum, she struck the base of Freya’s left wing. The thin bones gave way beneath her fist with a crack.

“Ugh!” Freya cried out, shattering the illusion of silence. Her talons slashed wildly as she attempted to defend herself. Knowing that she could do no more without risking severe injury, Ember retreated, escaping with only a shallow slash on her cheekbone.

The harpy eagle stared at Ember as if seeing her for the first time. She panted as she clutched her wing, which hung unnaturally by her side like the limb of a broken doll.

“Freya!” Kora shouted, descending a few rungs of scaffolding to reach her sister. “Are you okay?”

Ember felt a pang of guilt, tasting sourness on her tongue. The strike had landed only because Freya had underestimated her, making herself vulnerable to attack. The thought that she had inflicted serious pain onto someone who had not wronged her was sickening, and she thought for a moment that she might vomit.

“I will continue,” Freya said, her brow furrowing with determination. Hurriedly, she undid her hand wraps, using the material to bind the broken wing to her body. The unnatural position must have been terribly painful, but immobilizing the wing was the only way for her to maintain balance during the fight.

The ranker looked up, fixing Ember in her dark gaze, and a sudden chill rose up through her chest. As the two circled each other, it was evident that Freya intended to take a more cautious approach.

Ember attempted to calm her mind and generate a plan of action. Maximizing her speed for a single strike was unlikely to be successful now that Freya was on her guard, and she had spent a great deal of energy in the first effort. Her eyes slid over to the corner, where Naz was clutching her hair in panic and Marcus was watching expectantly.

Abruptly, the ranker unfurled her right wing half-way, lowering her head and closing the distance between them. Even with her injury, she moved with all of the swiftness of a bird of prey.

They clashed violently. Being close to the ranker was like trying to stand in the wall of a cyclone. Her uninjured wing beat down upon Ember, obstructing her vision and confusing her sense of direction. When her talons thrust out from the darkness, they were too swift to follow with the naked eye but powerful enough to throw Ember off-balance.

Gradually, a heavy feeling began bearing down on Ember, as if an overwhelming pressure was crushing her from above. So this is what it feels like to face a ranker.

As their head-to-head battle continued, it became clear that the ranker could maintain a higher level of speed, technique, and strength. Her powerful punches formed hematomas beneath Ember’s skin, sapping her strength, and her talons left gouges that gushed blood.

The raptor’s hallmark was her agility. Her rapid footwork gave the impression that she was dancing above the floor, yet it laid the foundation for the devastating hits. When Ember attempted a counter-attack, aiming at the raptor’s body, she would find only air, tricked by a shadow or a feint.

My only chance is to take her to the ground, Ember realized. By nature, birds of prey had an erratic fighting style, preferring to strike once and retreat quickly. The ranker was strong, but her injured wing would prove a hindrance on the ground.

Ember stilled, bringing her hands to her cheekbones. She managed to hold her position as Freya struck her in the shoulder with a hard blow and focused on the ranker’s legs as she landed. Finally, for a split second, she could make out their outline clearly. Now!

Ember dove downward, planting her knee and reaching for the ranker’s thighs. If she could make contact, she would use her momentum to lift the raptor while driving her head into her hip, sending them both crashing to the ground.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Except the bird’s keen eyes had predicted her motion. As Ember dove, the ranker’s knee plowed through her outstretched arms and struck her in the chest.

It was the hardest hit Ember had ever experienced, and she was thrown like a ragdoll onto her back. The wind was knocked from her lungs, her vision exploded with stars, and a high-pitched ringing invaded her eardrums. When she coughed, a sharp pain blossomed along her ribs. It was so powerful, so acute that it demanded to be felt, and she froze, clutching the spot.

No. She forced her eyes upward, looking at Freya, who was watching her from a couple of yards away. Not yet. She planted her hand, fighting to pull her legs beneath her. Shakily, she stood, streams of blood running from her wounds and splattering on the training mats.

“You wish to continue?” Kora asked, and Ember nodded through the haze. For the second time, she found the thread of instinct within herself, fraying it and letting it dull her pain. Her infrared vision flared, and her half-grown fangs throbbed. When Ember looked at the ranker again, she appeared more raptor than human, a creature that would swoop in from above and blot out the sun. A primal fear, similar to when she faced Roland, clutched her heart in a vice.

Freya attacked. Ember evaded quickly, avoiding being trapped within the ranker’s zone of control. When she couldn’t dodge, she blocked, and the force of the blows crashing together sent tremors through the building.

The raptor attempted a roundhouse kick at Ember’s head, and, instinctively, Ember changed direction on the spot, slipping beneath it. Her vision zeroed in on a white patch of skin—the crux between the ranker’s neck and shoulder, glowing warm and red.

Tapping into her last energy reserves, she struck, twisting in the air in order to orientate herself. She collided with the ranker’s body, locating the glowing spot, and sank her teeth into the flesh. A muscle behind her eye—previously unused—pulsed, hard, and her fangs dug deeper.

Freya let out a shout of pain, contracting her body and spinning with enough force to dislodge Ember. She clamped a hand over the wound, which was leaking blood, and looked at her opponent with wide eyes.

Ember stumbled, hardly aware of her surroundings. I bit her, didn’t I? She shook her head, trying to find herself again. But my fangs… are capped.

Ahead, Freya steadied herself. Then, she charged forward.

It was a terrifying sight. The ranker sprang high into the air, opening her good wing to achieve greater height, her body tilted to compensate for the injury. She reached out, catching Ember in the chest with both back legs.

The hit threw Ember backward onto the training mats, and Freya was upon her just as a raptor tears into prey. The sight of the dark, predator’s eyes sent a bolt of cold fear into Ember’s heart. Blood filled her mouth, and she wondered for a moment if she would die. And then, a heavy hit clocked her on the side of her head, sending her into the depths of unconsciousness.

***

Ember awoke for the first time to the sound of voices. She blinked slowly, finding that one eye was swollen almost completely shut. The blurry faces of Freya, Marcus, and Naz were above her.

“...didn’t have to… so hard!” Naz shouted, most of her sentence lost to the fuzz in Ember’s brain. She was waving her arms wildly, her face bright red with anger, screaming like a little dog might bark at a wolf. Marcus stood stoically behind her, his arms still crossed over his chest. It was so ridiculous that Ember’s mouth formed the ghost of a sad smile before she faded into the darkness again.

***

She became aware of herself once more while she was being carried high above the ground. It was terribly cold, but she was paralyzed, unable to do anything about it. Her head lulled to the side, resting against a shoulder. Behind the shoulder, Naz’s tiny figure was struggling to walk through a deep snowdrift.

“Keep up,” a voice said—Marcus’s, coming like a low rumble from his chest, which was close to Ember’s ear. “Go back to sleep,” he ordered in a whisper, this time only for her to hear.

Marcus is carrying me? She thought as she closed her eyes. How mortifying.

***

The third time Ember awoke, she was lying in bed, and her thoughts were noticeably less scrambled. She opened her eyes, recognizing the dark, wooden boards of the infirmary’s ceiling. Slowly, she sat up, cringing as her ribs, her head, and a dozen other places screamed in protest. She pulled back the blanket, looking at her body, which was a patchwork of bruises and bright-white bandages.

In a nearby corner, Naz was curled up in an armchair, sleeping fitfully. Ember regarded her for a moment, remembering how the pisces had attempted to defend her. You’re a good friend. I’m sorry for worrying you.

Marcus stepped quietly through the door, holding a glass of water. “You’re awake,” he said, coming to stand next to the bed. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble.”

Ember was grateful that it was he, and not one of her closest friends, who had seen her first. She could feel the weight of her loss laying dormant beneath the calm, threatening to send her into hysterics. He, a fighter, would understand without pitying her.

She gripped the blanket. “I failed.”

The python shook his head. “No.”

Ember looked at him, questioning her ears. “What do you mean?”

“The dove agreed to help you. It says so in here.” He tossed a letter into her lap, and Ember tore it open with shaking hands. The handwriting on the page was flowy cursive, completely unlike Freya’s.

Ember, it read, Though you suffered a complete loss today, my sister and I were impressed by your fighting spirit. I also have interests in Ciradyl, and it would not be too much of an inconvenience for me to direct my birds to your father’s house. Send me your letter as soon as you are well enough to write it. It should not be lengthy, and ensure that it does not contain any mention of Mendel should it fall into the wrong hands. Good luck.

“She’s bullshitting you,” Marcus said. “Had your fangs been uncapped and your venom developed, you would have won, and Freya would be dead. If word gets out that an intermediate fighter nearly defeated a ranker, she’ll be considered an easy mark and inundated with new challengers. They want to ensure your silence to keep the peace and preserve her rank.”

Ember nodded, too stunned to care that he had read her mail again. She reread the letter twice, and then, when the words had truly sunk in, she clutched the paper to her chest and sobbed.