Chapter 5 #2
Her gaze softened. “Look after Ryn. I worry about her.” I gave a short nod before leaving the infirmary, the faint scent of antiseptic and chamomile clinging to my skin long after I stepped into the corridor. Look after Ryn. The words echoed in my head, hollow and useless.
What did that even mean? I wasn’t built for gentleness.
I’d never been raised for it. My thoughts dragged me backward to when Alaric and I were kids.
Our father had hauled us into the academy yard in the dead of winter, frost biting at our skin, the air sharp enough to burn our lungs.
I could still feel it: the sting in my knuckles as I struck the wooden post again and again.
Skin split. Blood ran. My hands became numb.
“Again,” Father had commanded. That was always his answer.
Suck in the pain. Do it again. So, I did.
I kept hitting until I couldn’t close my fist, until my breath came out ragged and shaking.
Alaric never could last. He’d quit. Drop to the ground with tears in his eyes, too proud to say he was unable to keep up.
Father never yelled at him. Never corrected him.
He just ignored him. Turned his attention back to me, as if I were the only son worth shaping.
The only one who could be forged into something useful.
So, I bore it. For both of us. If Alaric couldn’t survive this world, then I would have to be strong enough for both of us.
That was my childhood. No praise. No warmth.
Just bruises and blood and orders barked through clenched teeth.
So maybe Mira thought I could protect Rynlee.
Maybe she believed I’d soften things for her.
She was wrong.
Ruin had it easy growing up. She could stop when things hurt.
Walk away. Bury herself in healing and books and still earn praise from the same man who forced me to continue even when I was bleeding.
I had no plans to coddle her. I wasn’t going to make this easier just because people worried about her.
She chose to come here. She knew what Arcanna was.
If she wanted to survive, she’d learn to fight for herself.
To keep going when everything screamed to stop.
That was survival. That was what I was taught.
And Ruin would experience the full extent of it.
Because here, weakness didn’t just get you punished. It got your name carved into stone.
By the time morning classes ended, that thought still hadn’t left me. I made my way to the courtyard near the running trails, where my unit was already gathering for the real part of the day.
“Listen up,” I barked, my gaze sweeping over them.
Familiar faces stared back: Ryan, already smirking as if this were some kind of game; Luna, sharp-eyed and steady even with nerves written all over her; Gia, her braid swinging as she squared her shoulders.
And then there was Rynlee. She stood there as though she actually belonged.
Like she thought she could survive this place. The confidence was almost impressive.
Almost.
Mostly, it was na?ve. Cute, even. But it wouldn’t last. I’d make sure of that.
“We’re running laps until you can’t take another step.” Groans rippled through the group. I ignored them. Rynlee rolled her eyes, and that tiny, careless motion lit a fuse in my chest. Like she thought this was beneath her. I almost laughed. Gods, she was annoying. “Move!”
I broke into a sprint down the forest path, boots pounding dirt and stone as the unit scrambled after me.
Instead of taking the flat loop around the academy, I cut left, straight up the side of the mountain.
Loose gravel slid beneath our feet, roots clawed at ankles, the incline stealing breath with every stride. This was the terrain that broke cadets.
I glanced back. Ryan was still grinning through gritted teeth.
Luna had her jaw clenched, matching pace with stubborn precision.
Gia’s form was solid, her endurance strong.
And then there was Rynlee, cheeks flushed, breaths shallow, already struggling.
Still pushing, still trying… but falling behind.
Typical.
“Let’s go, Ruin!” I yelled
“I am going,” she snapped, face reddening, breaths coming in sharp bursts. Gods, she sucked at cardio. Hell, she was terrible at everything here, except for burying her nose in a book.
“If you don’t catch up to your unit, they’ll all be doing a hundred push-ups,” I said, keeping stride with her shorter steps.
“I am catching up,” she bit out between pants.
“Oh really? Because from where I’m standing, you’re dead last.” I jerked my chin toward the group that was a good thirty feet ahead now.
Her frustrated sigh told me she knew I was right.
“You want to survive here, Ruin?” I pushed my voice low enough so only she could hear.
“Then push past the burning in your lungs, the screaming in your legs, and show me you actually belong here.” Then I left her behind and rejoined the others.
By the time the unit broke out of the trees and staggered into the academy yard, half of them were bent over their knees, gasping.
A few dropped straight into the dirt. My gaze swept over them, searching for a particular face.
There she was, stumbling out last. Sweat plastered Rynlee’s hair to her temples, leather armor clinging to her like a second skin.
She looked ready to collapse.
Good.
“Since cadet Yarrows didn’t catch up to the group,” I announced, projecting my voice so every last one of them heard it, “everyone owes me one hundred push-ups. Can’t finish?
Enjoy kitchen duty.” Groans and curses rippled through the yard.
Rynlee’s glare cut toward me like a blade.
I approached as she dropped to the ground, palms pressing into the dirt. I crouched beside her.
“I told you what would happen if you didn’t catch up,” I said quietly.
“You pushed yourself, but not hard enough.” Then I stood and walked away.
Rynlee was going to learn the true meaning of survival.
Because if I’d learned anything growing up, it was that weakness got you nowhere.
My childhood had been nothing but brutal training, late nights, split knuckles, bruises that covered every part of my body.
When I was thirteen, my father fought me.
Not sparred. Fought. He beat me within an inch of my life.
Rynlee had no idea what fucking survival really meant.
What it felt like to have death clawing at your lungs, to wonder if the next breath would be your last. That lesson had forged me.
It had prepared me for Arcanna long before I ever set foot inside its walls.
I’d already faced death once. Nothing scared me now.
From the edge of the yard, half-hidden in the shade cast by the library wall, I watched.
Most of the unit was on their knees, groaning through push-ups, elbows shaking like twigs in a storm.
A few had collapsed entirely, staring blankly at the ground, probably already picturing the mountain of filthy plates waiting for them in the kitchen tonight.
But Rynlee… she kept going. Her form was sloppy, hips dipping, shoulders trembling, but she didn’t stop.
Sweat rolled down her temple and splattered into the dirt beneath her palms. Her jaw was clenched tight, like she was holding the whole godsdamn academy together by sheer stubbornness alone.
She had the perfect excuse to quit. I handed it to her on a silver platter.
But she wouldn’t take it.
Damn her.
I turned away before she caught me watching, forcing the faint pull at the corner of my mouth into something flat.
I needed to push her harder, make her understand she didn’t belong here.
She’d always been like this. Even when we were kids, she would keep going.
Keep getting back up. And that was what earned her praise from my father.
That was why I hated her. The thought barely settled before the whispers stirred.
Faint. Hungry. She burns. She burns. I stiffened, jaw locking.
What the fuck did that mean? The voices clawed at the edges of my mind, insistent, curling like smoke, repeating the same words over and over like a mantra.
I dragged a hand down my face and forced them back, grinding my teeth until the ache dulled them to a murmur.
The shadows were always there, an endless background noise, usually spouting nonsense.
When I’d first been bestowed the Moon God’s power, I had tried listening to them.
Letting them pull me deeper into the darkness.
That had nearly driven me mad. So now I ignored them.
Buried their words where they belonged. Whatever they were whispering about her didn’t matter.
I didn’t care. And I didn’t have the luxury of wondering why.
I had a job to do. The commander would want his update.
And my father didn’t wait for anyone. He never had.
Being late meant punishment; I knew that better than most. With a final glance at the field, I turned and crossed the courtyard, boots striking stone as I headed inside. Down the long hall. Toward the commander’s office. By the time I reached the heavy oak door, I’d forced them quiet. One knock.
“Come in.” The familiar scent hit me first: tobacco smoke and ink, sharp and grounding.
The study was just as I remembered: wide, immaculate, every corner screaming discipline.
The crimson rug stretched across the center like a wound that refused to close.
Behind the desk sat my father. Commander Dagon.
His head was bent over parchment, the lamplight cutting his face into planes of shadow and steel.
“Unit Leader Dagon,” he said, voice clipped, eyes still on his work.
Business first. Always business. Family came somewhere after duty; lately it didn’t come at all.
I clasped my hands behind my back, stance wide.