4. Mina
Mina
I jolt awake at the sudden banging and yelling, instinct kicking in before my mind fully catches up. Rolling off the bed, I land in a crouch, dagger already in hand, eyes fixed on the door. My pulse quickens as a ripple of scales moves over my chest, abdomen, and up my throat. Bahamut’s blessing, I remind myself, thankful for the armored scales of my mother’s species. Not the soft, delicate ones my father has. With a steadying breath, I reach under the bed, fingers curling around another blade. Cora is already poised to strike, eyes sharp, muscles tense. Addy, however, has slid under her bed, her slight frame hidden from view.
The loud click of the lock disengaging snaps me back to the present. I slip further into the shadows, blending seamlessly as I wait. The door creaks open, revealing a tall figure framed in the harsh light from the hallway. My breath holds, muscles coiled, ready.
“Get dressed. Assessment day starts now. You have fifteen minutes to be in the arena with whatever you can carry.” His voice is cold, impersonal, before the door slams shut, and the pounding begins again down the hall.
For a moment, Cora and I lock eyes—there’s no need for words. In one smooth motion, we launch into action. I dive back under the bed, my hands finding the one case I’ve been hoping I wouldn’t need to open anytime soon. My fingers hesitate briefly over the latch before I flip it open, revealing the dark green, nearly black leathers of the Shadowblades.
Slipping into the leathers feels like slipping into a second skin—familiar, cold, and comforting in its own way. I strap on the armored bodice beneath it; the basilisk shed tough enough to protect my chest and throat. Its weight is a reminder of the dangers ahead, but also of my readiness. My heart races as I work quickly, braiding my hair tightly, wrapping blackout tape around my silver horns. They’d give away my position far too easily otherwise.
In the case, more blades glint in the dim light. Daggers and throwing knives, each one hand-forged by my father, perfectly balanced, perfectly deadly. Each blade slides into its rightful place within my leathers. I’ve done this countless times, but today, every movement feels sharper, every second more precious.
That’s when I notice it—another bandolier, filled with knives I don’t recognize. My pulse stutters as I pick it up, running my fingers over the unfamiliar hilts. Like the blanket before, it was left for me. The implication hits hard, sinking into my chest. Drakes leave presents for their betrothed—or their mates.
My breath catches. There’s only one who could’ve left these. My betrothed.
I shove the thought down, focusing on the task ahead. Whoever left the knives, whatever their intentions, I can’t afford distractions right now. Not with assessment day starting. But as I secure the bandolier across my chest, a part of me can’t help but wonder what the next few hours will bring.
We’re herded like cattle through the cold stone hallways, the chill of the morning air nipping at my skin as the sun begins its slow climb over the horizon. My hood, meant to hide my face, now sits back on my head, my horns protruding through the small slits at the top. The arena looms ahead, dark and imposing, a blackened shadow in the heart of the Malivore Conservatory. My pulse quickens at the sight of it—home to the cursed eggs. The place reeks of old magic, the kind that worms its way under your skin.
“This place gives me the creeps,” Cora whispers beside me, her voice barely audible as we pass through the black archway into the arena. I don’t respond, but the hairs on the back of my neck rise. It’s as if the air itself is watching us, thick and oppressive.
A man, dressed in dark green leathers that blend almost seamlessly with the shadows, falls into step beside us. His head tilts, eyes narrowing as they scan us like prey. Basilisk . I tense, instinctively adjusting my grip on the bandolier slung across my chest. His presence is a coiled threat, even though he walks with an eerie calm.
“Cora, your brother wants to see you before your number is called.” His voice is a low hiss, more serpent than man. His gaze flickers to mine, lingering for a moment longer than I like before dropping to the bandolier across my chest. “Bow?” he asks, his tone unreadable.
I smirk, fingers brushing the pouch at my side. “Drow hand crossbow,” I say, pulling it free to show him. “A regular bow wouldn’t last five minutes in there.” I nod toward the gauntlet that lies ahead, an almost perfect replica of the one my father built for our training sessions. Memories of the blood and sweat that went into my training flash in my mind. This place will demand even more.
The male nods, a brief look of approval crossing his face. “I’m Balor. We’ll be seeing each other again.” He tugs at the edges of his leather armor before disappearing into the crowd as suddenly as he appeared. The air shifts in his absence, but his words linger, a quiet promise of something to come.
“I can’t believe he spoke to you.” Cora’s shock pulls me back, and I glance at her, arching a brow. Another man hands us tickets, small slips of paper with numbers scrawled on them. I take mine, tucking it away.
“Balor doesn’t like or talk to anyone,” Cora continues, her voice hushed, as if afraid the arena walls might overhear. “He barely tolerates my brother and Callan.”
“Good to know,” I say, watching as she fidgets. “I’ll wait here. Go see your brother.” My talons curl into the rough stone wall, and with practiced ease, I begin to climb. The cold stone beneath my fingers ground me, sharpening my focus. Once at the top, I settle in, eyes narrowing as I watch the gauntlet stretch out before me. I don’t need to look back to know Cora’s nervous. But me? I thrive in places like this.
The runs begin, and I watch intently. The arena is alive with danger, each movement below reminding me just how much is at stake. Suspense coils in my gut, the anticipation of my turn gnawing at me. I lean forward, muscles taut, ready. This is what I’ve trained for.
Hours pass like a slow crawl, each second stretching longer than the last. When my number is finally called, the tension coils tighter in my chest. Cora had gone in almost thirty minutes ago, but she only made it halfway before something took her down. Addy wasn’t so lucky; disqualified in the first fifteen feet, leaving nothing but a crumpled body behind. A quick knockout, maybe, but no less a reminder of what’s at stake.
I step forward, ascending the stairs, feeling the weight of every eye in the room. Balor is there, watching. Of course he is—he knew he’d be running this gauntlet the moment the trials were announced. He gives me that grin, the one that says he already knows how I’ll fare.
“Ready, Shadow?” His voice is low, barely audible over the hum of anticipation. I give him a curt nod. “Seek and Destroy,” he says, a phrase etched into every Shadowblade’s bones.
My head snaps toward him, his expression sharp but knowing. A warning. My stomach tightens. Poisons and live threats await inside. A thousand students have entered the gauntlet; fewer than seven hundred walked out. I nod again, more to myself than to him, and pull my hood down, sinking into the predator’s mindset.
This is my world. The gauntlet might be a nightmare to some, but to me, it’s home. For twenty years, I’ve hunted in places like this. I intend to survive—and more than that; I intend to dominate.
The bell rings, sharp and shrill, cutting through the tense air. The door creaks open, and I slip inside, my movements calculated, measured, like a shadow in the dark. Silent as death itself. The moment I enter, the stench of blood, sweat, and decay fills my nostrils. I pause, listening. There are movements, soft shuffles, the kind only a trained ear could catch.
I’m not alone.
My eyes narrow on the Tallia—the one-eyed assassins used to hunt down the most elusive prey. I know them well. Their bite is lethal, paralyzing or killing within minutes. This one barely has time to react before my blade slashes through its throat. One down. But Tallia never hunt alone. They move in packs. I already know the others are nearby, waiting to strike.
I track them next, feeling the familiar hum of adrenaline, the icy edge of focus sharpening my senses. Three more fall silently to the poisoned bolts from my crossbow, each death swift, efficient.
The gauntlet shifts around me, traps springing to life as I move. Breakaway walkways drop beneath my feet, poisoned spikes sail through the air, and I catch sight of another student ahead. They aren’t so lucky—the spikes pierce them before they even realize what’s happening, dropping them like a stone. I take a breath, steadying myself. I’d seen what triggered the trap. I won’t make the same mistake.
Each step forward is cautious, calculated. My head is on a constant swivel, scanning for threats, anticipating the next attack. The room shifts unnaturally, parts of it moving as if enchanted. My brow furrows. This isn’t normal.
From outside the gauntlet, I hear the voices of the overseers. “Magic isn’t allowed!” someone shouts.
“Triggered by how far she’s gotten,” another voice responds.
My breath catches. Me. I triggered it .
There’s something more at play here. A faint pull, a strange tugging deep within me, coming from the northeast side of the gauntlet. It feels … familiar. Almost like a whisper calling me home. My dragon? No. If it is her, she’s guiding me.
I follow the pull, my steps quickening until I spot it—a breach in the planks ahead, where light filters through the cracks. The opening isn’t large enough to get through, but I’m not about to let that stop me. My talons extend, sharp and relentless, as I tear at the boards ripping them apart until the space is just wide enough for me to squeeze through.
The minute I slip through, the tugging stops. I still myself, heart pounding in my chest. Whatever waits ahead, I’m ready.
The roar of the crowd hits me like a wave, shaking the platform beneath my feet as I step up, pulling my hood lower to shield my eyes from the glaring lights. The noise rolls over me, a mixture of pride and unease settling in my chest. My gaze sweeps the faces, all alight with excitement, before locking on Balor. He stands tall, his smile wide, but there’s something in his eyes—a flicker of respect, but also caution.
He dips his head in acknowledgment, and I lower mine, mirroring the gesture before pressing my fist over my heart. A silent vow of thanks to him, and to everyone who has stood before me. My pulse thrums in my ears, but I keep my face neutral. There’s no room for anything less.
“For the first time in over a hundred years, a female has conquered the gauntlet. Flawless victory.” Balor’s voice booms over the crowd, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. A wave of pride sweeps through the gathering, but beneath it, I can feel the tension—a lingering uncertainty that hasn’t quite been shaken. I’m not done yet. None of us are .
Balor steps closer, his hand brushing my elbow. I tense instinctively but allow the touch, following him as he steers me toward the edge of the platform. His voice drops low, for my ears only. “There will be a dinner in your honor later. Use your training to determine what is or isn’t safe. The assessment isn’t over until tomorrow morning.”
He presses something cold and smooth into my palm—a vial of milky fluid. I glance down, knowing exactly what it is. Psychic attacks. It’s not paranoia when you’ve been trained to expect the worst. My fingers curl around it, and I slip the vial into the hidden pocket in my leathers, nodding silently in understanding.
Balor gestures toward the stairs at the far right, the shadows swallowing the path ahead. My pulse quickens. The cheers still echo behind me, but they’ve grown distant, muted. The actual test begins now. I descend the steps, each one feeling heavier than the last, my senses sharp as I scan the edges of the room.
Cora will be waiting, and Addy … I hope she’s awake. But as I slip into the shadows, I know better than to let my guard down.