Jade
“Fourth circle,” Kieran announces, already turning toward the carved steps. “The Void Pit.”
“Now?” Sam stares at the rain-slick stairs like they personally offended him. “In this?”
Kieran doesn’t even glance back. “Would you prefer to wait for perfect conditions when someone’s trying to kill you?”
He starts climbing, and we scramble after him like ducklings following a particularly murderous mother duck. The stairs are worse than they looked from below, worn smooth by centuries of feet, now slick with rain.
By the time we reach the Void Pit, I’m ready to sell my soul for an elevator. And if that’s not bad enough, we then have to take curved steps that line the wall at least a hundred feet down, because the Void Pit is a literal hole in the ground, about twice as deep as it is wide.
As we descend, the stone becomes darker, older looking. Stains that might be rust or blood mark the ground. And the moment I reach the bottom, something shifts. The constant tingle of magic under my skin just... stops.
“The Void Pit suppresses all magic,” Kieran explains, not even winded from the journey. “No fire. No tricks. Just you and steel.”
“This is Applied Flamecraft,” Evie protests, wringing water from her hair. “Not Steel Before Spells. That’s second-year.”
Kieran turns to her with liquid smoothness. “Tell me, Evelyn Thorne.” His voice is soft and dangerous. “What happens when you face another witch?”
She presses her lips together, saying nothing.
He nods, as if he’s already won the conversation. “As you know, we can’t be burned. Fire won’t hurt us.” He’s circling her now, and Evie’s hand tightens on her new dagger. “So, what then? You’ll write them a strongly worded letter? Debate them to death?”
“There are other ways to use fire creatively—”
Kieran flows forward, his movement so fast it’s almost a blur.
Evie tries to lift her dagger, but his palm smacks her wrist, sending her weapon skittering across the stone. In the next breath, he’s spun her around, his blade pressed to her throat.
“You’re dead,” he says conversationally. “Your impressive heat shields didn’t save you. Because sometimes the enemy gets close. And when they do, magical theory won’t stop steel.”
He releases her just as suddenly, and she bolts to grab her weapon before retreating back to me.
“Anyone else want to question why we’re here?” Kieran asks.
Silence. Even the rain seems quieter.
“Good.” He drags a crate from beneath the stairs into the center of the circle. “Real blades away. Today, we’ll use these.”
He tosses wooden practice daggers to each of us. Mine hits my chest before I manage to catch it, because apparently the small amount of hand-eye coordination that I have died during the hike up the volcano.
“Three basic moves,” Kieran says. “Thrust, slash, parry. Master these before you even think about anything fancy.” He demonstrates each with effortless efficiency, making them look insultingly easy. “Practice solo for five minutes. Then we pair up.”
I fumble through the motions, hyperaware that I look like a toddler playing with a stick.
Around me, others are picking it up with varying degrees of success.
Nina’s movements are already clean and precise.
Garrett’s putting too much force behind everything.
Sam keeps dropping his practice dagger because his hands are shaking.
“Pairs,” Kieran says too soon, rattling off assignments.
I hold my breath when he gets to me.
“Jade, you’re with Vera.”
Vera’s smile is all teeth as she saunters over, twirling her practice blade like she was born with it, and my stomach drops.
“Try to last thirty seconds, Princess,” she says sweetly.
“Ready?” Kieran’s command slices across the circle. “Begin.”
Vera lunges fast, her blade whistling through the air. I barely get mine up in time—not a parry, just pure panic—and the impact jars my entire arm.
“That’s not how you hold it.” She circles me like a shark. “What, you never learned how to fight in your fancy private school?”
So, that’s it. Jealousy. She was cool yesterday, which means she must have learned something about my background between last night and now, and clearly, she hates it.
I try to remember the grip Kieran showed us, but Vera’s wooden blade cracks against my ribs, and I stumble sideways. Her next strike catches my shoulder. Pain flares, and suddenly I’m on my knees, my dagger skittering away.
“Get up,” she orders. “We’re not done.”
I dive for my weapon, forcing myself back to my feet. Everything hurts. My ribs, my shoulder, and my pride.
“Better,” she mocks. “Almost like a real witch.”
She comes again, relentless. This time I manage a parry—redirecting instead of absorbing the full hit. But it buys me nothing. Her practice blade finds every gap in my pathetic defense. Ribs again. Hip. Shoulder. The back of my knee, sending me sprawling to the ground.
“Pathetic.” Vera looms above me, barely winded. “No wonder the magic in your bloodline died out.”
The stone is cold against my cheek. Rain patters on my back. Around us, other pairs are sparring, the crack of wood on wood, and occasional grunts of pain. But no one is getting destroyed quite as thoroughly as I am.
“Time.” Kieran’s voice cuts through Vera’s continued gloating.
I stay down for a moment, cataloging my injuries. My ribs feel like someone stomped on them. My shoulder throbs. My ego may never recover.
“You okay?” Evie crouches, offering a hand.
I take it, letting her haul me up. My legs tremble, but hold. Barely.
Vera smirks from a few feet away.
“Listen up,” Kieran calls from the center of the pit. “Based on what I just saw, here’s where you stand.”
Oh, good. Public rankings to match my public humiliation.
“Top tier: Nina Aldridge, Vera Jackson, Lauren Mitchell,” he says, continuing with a few more names that I miss through the pain. “Competent footwork and decent instincts. You might actually survive a real fight.”
“Middle tier: Evelyn Thorne, Garrett Sinclair, Felix Velasco, Francis Willingham, Elizabeth Bradley.” He lists a few more names, and Evie’s jaw tightens, presumably at being ranked middle. “You have potential but need significant work.”
“Bottom tier: Samuel Reeves, Henry Baker, Perry Morrison, Jade Harrington.”
I stop listening after mine. Because of course I’m bottom tier. After the brutal beating courtesy of Vera, I’m surprised I’m ranked at all, instead of being expelled on the spot.
“You’re all dead in a real fight,” he adds cheerfully. “But that’s why we’re here. To make you slightly less dead.”
“Inspiring,” someone mutters.
“Tomorrow, we’ll meet in the Siphon Sphere. You’ll learn to combine your magic with combat. Applied Flamecraft, as Evelyn so helpfully pointed out earlier.”
Evie’s face flushes, but she says nothing.
“Dismissed,” Kieran says. “Try not to fall off the mountain on your way down.”
With every step out of the Void Pit, my magic returns, and I feel a little less like collapsing. Supernatural healing is officially my favorite thing about being a witch.
Felix falls into step beside me as we make our way down the volcano. “She really worked you over,” he says casually, as if we’re talking about the weather instead of Vera beating me to a pulp.
“Lucky me.” I roll my eyes.
Evie moves to walk beside Felix. “It’s because you threaten her,” she tells me. “The whole privileged thing. She had to claw her place here. You just appeared, like a gift from the gods.”
“Appeared and got my ass handed to me.” I scoff. “Super threatening.”
We finally reach the base of the mountain, and I’ve never been so grateful to see flat ground in my life. From there, we trudge toward the dining hall for breakfast, a bedraggled group of would-be warriors. My plain dagger bumps against my hip with each step.
Sometimes the simplest tools reveal the most, Kieran said.
Although after that training exercise, I have a sinking feeling I’m going to be spectacularly bad at using it.