Chapter Six #3
Clean movements, quick feet. I watch them for a second longer than I mean to. They’re good. Better than I would’ve guessed. Polished. Fast. And although they are not as good as me, they still could be worth something. Maybe even worth keeping around...
Ezzy turns, gesturing toward the stone tiers with a brighter smile. “Oh, and this is where Call Week happens too.”
“Call Week?” I question.
“It’s… intense,” she says. “It’s like, a sanctioned challenge period at the end of spring before the ball.
Grudges, scores, power plays. They all get aired out that week, here, in front of everyone.
” She gestures toward the mat like it’s sacred ground.
“Each morning, for one week, they post a list, where you get to nominate others. If you get Called, if your name’s on it, you fight.
No choice, no backing out. Anything goes.
You don’t even get told why someone called you.
” She tries to smile, but it wavers. “Some people use it to prove something. Others just want to hurt someone. And a few… a few do it just because they can. And yeah, people die.”
I stare at her. “That sounds… fucked up. Like a purge. A culling.” I make a quick mental note to make sure I'm out of here before that.
Ezzy blinks, caught off guard. “No, it’s not like that. It’s just… structure.” She gestures around the Rec Hall again. “It prevents people from going after each other outside sanctioned times. Keeps things controlled. Focused. Safe.”
Safe. This time, a small huff actually slips out, but luckily, she doesn’t notice and just keeps talking.
“And it kind of…sorts the strong from the weak... So no one graduates who can’t handle it. Besides, it’s not like someone like me is ever going to get nominated.”
It comes out so light and careless. Like that possibility’s so far outside her orbit, it’s not even worth her worrying about. She nods toward the boys, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
“Do you wanna come join us? Finn’s gonna show us some upper arm work today. Don’t tell him I told you but he’s actually really good.”
I glance at the floor where Finn and Rowan are moving and bite back another laugh.
Because good is relative. And when you’ve spent your life scraping by in the Outerlands—where magic’s outlawed and survival means knowing how to use your hands to put someone down before they can draw a blade—well, you learn a different kind of combat.
So yeah, they’re good.
But I’m better.
“Thanks,” I say instead, voice easy. “But it’s been a long day. You guys knock yourselves out, I’m just going to head back to the dorm, get settled.”
“You sure?”
For a second I hesitate, I mean, I could join, let them see what I’m capable of. Start planting seeds, fear, respect... But showing my hand now? That’s not survival. That’s spectacle. And I’ve already got a Veirmont breathing down my neck.
“Yes. I’m sure,” I reply.
Ezzy tilts her head. “Do you know the way? I can come with you if—”
“No,” I cut in, firm, but not unkind. “I’ve got it. Courtyard, main stairwell, fourth floor. Air Realm dorms. Right?”
She nods. “Right. Well, If you change your mind… We’ll be here.”
“Sure thing.”
I turn before she can say any more.
Let them train. Let them joke and swing and show off. I don’t need friends, I need allies. People who can help me survive this place. And that means not wasting time messing around in the Rec Hall.
Because right now, I have one priority. Talen—the fucking Nightrose. Figuring out what he’s planning and hopefully where he’s weak.
The dorm room door closes behind me with a dull thud.
For a moment, I just stand there, staring at the space that’s supposed to be home—for now.
Then I cross to the untouched bed, drop my pack on to the mattress, and follow it down.
Falling back, arms spread, legs heavy. It’s harder than I remember, stiff, the impact sends a jolt straight up my spine.
Shit, Lyra. What have you gotten yourself into?
I move to let down my red curls, but pause when my hand brushes the outside of the pack and catches on something rigid beneath the fabric.
Mum’s journal.
The leather is cool and worn against my skin as I pull it free. For a breath, I just sit there, holding it, waiting for my hands to stop shaking. Then, when they finally settle, I take a deep breath and unwind the string, flipping it open.
I start to read, but I only manage one page before I have to stop. Not because of what it says, but because it’s her.
Her handwriting, her voice.
After all this time, after everything. Right there on the page, this page.
I try to keep going, I really do, but my eyes blur, sting. My chest tightens. And suddenly the words aren’t words anymore, they’re just ink smears in a storm of everything I’ve shoved down since I got here.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to outrun it. The weight of it, all these feelings and aches I don’t want to name. But the darkness presses in, heavy but somehow welcoming.
And god, I’m so tired, sleep pulls me under before I can fight it.
Alinor Bloom, Second Year Cadet, Entry #1
Okay. First page. First diary. I’m not really the “dear diary” type, but Professor Holloway always says writing things down helps you sort them. And honestly? I don’t know who I can talk to right now... So this is just for me. No one else....
Anyway, I didn’t think I’d feel it again. Not after last year. But the moment I stepped back through the Citadel gates, it was there—that pressure. That weight. Like I need to fold smaller, quieter, tighter just to survive.
If I move wrong, speak wrong, something might unravel. Maybe me.
Everyone says second year is when you find your footing. Maybe they’re right. I’ve learned how to pass. How to blend. My Threads don’t slip mid-calling anymore.
But there’s something else.
Something I haven’t said out loud.
Sometimes, only sometimes, I feel it. Not two Threads.
But three.
Not for long. Not always. But when it happens... it’s like the world opens. Like the pattern makes sense for a breath, and I can see it. Feel it. Stars, even writing that feels dangerous. Like I’ve put it out there and now it’s real.
I haven’t told anyone yet.
I thought about telling Professor Merrin once or twice, he notices things the others don’t. But I can’t tell if that makes him safer... or more dangerous. Sometimes I think he already suspects.
What would he do, if he knew? What would any of them do? They say power is potential. But here, it feels more like a test. One you’re not supposed to pass.
I used to think I’d leave here knowing who I was. Now? I’m starting to wonder if I’ll be able to leave at all....