CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The morning sun filtered through my balcony doors in cold, jagged streaks, offering no warmth.
Asher stood behind me, his reflection a dark, lethal counterpart to my own.
He was dressed in the same black, fitted Trials leathers, the thick material hugging his corded muscles.
Unlike our daily gear, these weren't woven with protection spells or defensive runes; they were built only to endure the friction of a fall.
In the Arena, we were on our own.
Natural healing would take care of the nicks and scrapes, and while we carried a few basic healing runes, they were a taxing last resort.
For anything deeper, you simply had to survive until the round ended and a healer could reach you.
People died in these Trials every year. There were no safety nets behind the Ring, and the Academy only sent the strongest to the Guard to protect the Wall.
Asher’s eyes met mine in the glass, his hands coming up to rest on my shoulders. The weight of his touch was the only thing keeping me grounded.
"You look like a queen," he murmured, his voice a low, lethal rasp. "And today, you start taking what’s yours."
I adjusted the strap of my leather harness, feeling the familiar, fragile hum of my magic beneath my skin. I wasn't just fighting for a spot on the Wall anymore.
"Ready?" I asked, my voice steady despite the roar in my blood.
"Always," he replied, his jaw tightening.
We turned together toward the balcony, where Aether and Zya were already waiting. Aether stood tall, his sleek onyx coat catching the early light, every strand glinting like liquid shadow. His golden eyes were fixed on the horizon with a regal, quiet intensity.
Beside him, Zya was a contrast of restless energy, her tail twitching as she let out a low, vibrating chuff of anticipation.
The panthers knew.
They could feel the shift in the air; the bond between us hummed with the coming violence.
Asher stepped toward them, his presence commanding even their attention.
I took a final breath, the scent of rain and smoke from his skin filling my lungs, and looked out at the Academy grounds.
The Trials were waiting, and for the first time, I wasn't afraid of the fire.
I was the fire.
···
When we reached the grand staircase, I saw Ezra and Ember waiting at the bottom.
Ember’s eyes were red-rimmed, but she was standing so close to Ezra that their shoulders were touching—a silent, stubborn declaration that they were facing this together.
Ezra looked up, his usual easy grin replaced by something harder, something battle-ready.
"Took you long enough," Ezra called out, though there was no bite in it. “The Arena is already screaming. I think the instructors added a few extra monsters to the pit just for the opening ceremony.”
"Let them," I said, my voice ringing out through the hall and drawing the eyes of every student present. "I’m tired of simulations."
Asher’s grip on my hand tightened, his thumb grazing my knuckles in a silent show of support.
"The Princess is right," he added, his voice low and lethal.
“Our Trials don't start until we step onto that floor.”
We marched toward the designated quarantine zone where the first-years were gathered, the sound of our boots hitting the stone like a rhythmic war drum.
Beyond the massive iron doors, the crowd was already roaring—a sea of voices demanding blood and brilliance.
The Aegos Crucible was first: a nightmare of shifting plates, acid serpents, and a thousand ways to fail.
Nearby, Zaria and Maddy were stretching, their voices low murmurs against the rising noise.
Across the way, Darcy, Sera, Mavrik, and Rhea lounged on a stone bench, chatting with a casualness that felt insane given that this was about to be the most dangerous day of our lives.
The sound of the crowd was a living thing now, a surge of energy so loud it rattled the ground beneath our boots.
The arena was full to its brim, spectators flooding in from across the continent to witness the first Aegos Trials in centuries where every year group was eligible to compete.
This was my father’s spectacle—his way of showing every kingdom that Zymarra still fought dirty.
Asher’s hand found mine again, his grip grounding me against the overwhelming roar of the spectators.
I squeezed back, my eyes hardening as the mechanical hiss of the Arena began to echo through the chamber.
The "Princess of Zymarra" was a title for the people in the stands; in here. I was just a wielder with a flickering flame and the deadliest shadow wielder in the Academy at my side.
"Let's give them their show," I whispered.
The heavy iron grates groaned, beginning their slow ascent, and the blinding light of the Arena floor started to spill into the dark of the tunnel. It was time.
The barrier hummed, a low-frequency vibration that set my teeth on edge and made the dying embers of my magic flicker in warning.
As we stepped out from the tunnel's shadow, the sheer scale of the spectacle hit me. It wasn't just a stadium; it was a cathedral of violence, built to honor the elements and the blood we were about to spill.
The red and gold of Zymarra was a physical heat against my skin, the crowd’s chants of “Pyreson! Pyreson!” or simply “Ignis!” drowning out the mechanical groans of the Arena floor.
I felt my father’s gaze somewhere in that sea of scarlet—cold, expectant, and utterly ruthless.
Beside me, Asher was a pillar of dark composure.
He didn't look toward the Umbra stands, though their heavy, violet-tinged silence seemed to reach for him specifically.
He kept his eyes fixed on the shifting plates ahead.
"Stay close to the panthers," he murmured, his voice cutting through the cacophony of the five kingdoms. "The crowd wants a show, but the Arena wants a sacrifice."
Aether and Zya paced at our heels, their hackles raised, golden and silver eyes scanning the perimeter.
They could sense the serpents before we could see them.
The horn gave one final, bone-shaking blast. A collective gasp tore from all of us—first, second, and third-years alike—as the reality of the carnage hit home.
The first row of metal plates in front of us hissed and began to rotate, revealing a drop into a glowing green abyss. The Gauntlet had officially woken up.
"Now," Asher commanded through the bond, the mental order striking me with the force of a physical push.
I didn't hesitate.
I let the heat of my kingdom’s roar fuel the spark in my palms. I wasn't just a princess anymore; I was a contender in a game designed to break me.
As one, the entire student body surged forward.
Hundreds of bodies in black leather launched into the air, a synchronized leap of faith into the shifting machinery.
The Crucible had begun, and we weren't just running. We were hunting.
···
The drones whirred above, their runic eyes recording every inch of our descent into the Pit.
The light from the ward screen above the dome reflected in the sweat on my brow, projecting our every move to the screaming masses.
“Gods, this is fucking eerie,” I muttered, my flame flaring brighter to chase the encroaching shadows back from the towering stone walls.
“Stay alert,” Asher drawled, his voice a blade’s edge.
Shadows seeped from his boots, licking over the stones, tasting for danger. He looked like pure death in motion, and gods, it was hot.
“Ava.” His voice sharpened—warning, not plea.
My teeth caught my lip. Wrong time. Wrong place.
I shook my head and forced my lungs to steady.
We were alone in this section of the Gauntlet, just us and the panthers.
Ezra and Ember were somewhere else in this shifting hell, fighting their own war.
In here, it was only the House of Ignis and the House of Umbra.
“We need to find a way out of this shithole,” he mused, his silver eyes scanning the high, dark walls.
“Get to the end,” Zya purred through the bond, her voice like velvet shadow.
Aether’s growl licked fire through my veins. “And burn anything in our way.”
The Pit groaned, stone grinding as it shifted again—passages sealing, new corridors yawning open, and the distant, wet snarl of beasts echoing in the dark.
“Thirty minutes,” Asher said grimly. “Kill what you can. Survive what you can’t. And whatever happens—” His hand brushed mine, shadows sparking with my flames. “We don’t stop.”
A screech split the air. Then a scream—high, desperate, and cut short. The sound ripped through The Pit, rattling straight down into my bones.
Above us, across the barrier dome, a team’s names flared bright in red before burning away in smoke.
Eliminated.
Dread pooled low and sharp in my stomach. Gods.
That could’ve been us. Would be us if we faltered.
Before I could suck in another breath, Asher’s hand caught my jaw, tugging me toward him with lethal certainty.
His mouth crashed against mine, raw hunger pouring through the bond like lightning.
My knees gave, my flames sputtered wild, and I swore the whole Arena shook.
The crowd went feral. I couldn’t see them, but I could hear the roar of tens of thousands crashing like thunder against the dome.
The drones dived lower, capturing the moment fire and shadow ignited together.
“Ignis!” one side of the stands thundered. “Umbra!” the other howled back. “Together! Together!”
When he pulled back, his breath was shredded against mine, his silver eyes molten with a predatory hunger.
“Gods,” I gasped, my chest heaving, the bond still sparking between us.
“Game time,” I breathed, the fire roaring to life in my palm, brighter and hotter than before.
His grin curved, dark and devastating, shadows licking his fists as Aether and Zya melted into the darkness ahead of us.
The crowd’s roar hit fever pitch, the whole arena stomping and screaming our names.
And gods—I fucking loved this male.
"Let's show them how a Queen and her King take a throne," I whispered, and we ran into the dark.
The first turn was a sharp, jagged deathtrap. As we rounded the corner, the floor didn't just shift—it vanished.
"Jump!" Asher roared.
I didn't even look down into the glowing green pit of acid.