Chapter 8.
The cliffs were cruel in the morning light.
Their jagged face cut into the sky like a warning, casting long shadows across the Vale's edge where the obstacle course was carved into the mountain itself. Five distinct ascents zigzagged toward the summit, each crueler than the last, a staircase for the gods masquerading as a test for mortals.
Aeliana stared up at it, her throat dry.
The Gauntlet.
Two months in, and this was their next trial. One they couldn't afford to fail.
Professor Emetterio stood at the base with arms crossed, shaved head gleaming as he scanned the lineup of first-year cadets.
"You've had your challenges. Your assessments.
Your bruises and breaks. But today," he said, voice sharp enough to slice the air, "you start preparing for the only trial that truly matters: Presentation. "
Some of the cadets shuffled their feet. Others stared resolutely ahead.
"Most of you won't make it through Threshing if you can't complete this course," he added. "There are no second chances. No alternative routes. If you fall and don't catch a rope in time... you fall."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"To give you an idea of what's expected, Cadet Thorne—step forward."
The cadet to Aeliana's left moved to the front. Thorne was solidly built, his auburn hair tied back at the nape of his neck. He wore the weary confidence of someone who'd faced this nightmare before — and lost.
She knew he was repeating the year. Everyone did.
"Thorne's been through Presentation," Emetterio said. "Didn't bond last year, but survived the Gauntlet with one of the top times. Watch him. Learn."
Thorne didn't acknowledge the attention. He just stepped to the starting position, cracked his neck once, and took off like he'd been shot from a cannon.
Aeliana's breath hitched as he vaulted across the spinning log, barely touching the surface before launching to the granite columns that marked the first ascent. His momentum carried him like a storm up the cliff's face, timing each obstacle with mechanical precision.
He made the rotating wheel look like a playground toy, dodged the swinging buoy balls with terrifying grace, and scaled the climbing rods in a fluid, powerful rhythm.
The fourth ascent came next. The spinning posts. Aeliana's stomach twisted just watching them. One slip and—
Thorne didn't slip.
He didn't even slow.
By the time he reached the vertical ramp at the final stretch, half the squad was gaping.
He sprinted, flung himself up the incline—and caught the lip with both hands. He hosted his body over with one last surge of muscle and vanished over the edge.
A breathless silence followed.
Then the instructor turned. "That," he said, "is your benchmark."
Aeliana exhaled slowly.
Then the names were called.
Not hers. Not yet.
But close enough that her pulse began to climb.
She glanced sideways — Liam stood just two cadets down the line. His gaze met hers, and he gave her a quick nod.
"You want front or back?" he asked, low enough only she could hear.
"Back," she said. "You?"
He smirked. "I like watching your footwork."
She rolled her eyes, but the tension in her spine loosened just a bit.
They lined up. One cadet after another took off every sixty seconds, some falling early, some pushing hard. Aeliana's turn came quicker than she expected.
"Cadet Sorynne!" Emetterio barked. "Begin!"
Her feet left the ground.
~
The first log was already spinning as Aeliana hit the starting line. Her pulse thudded in her throat, but her focus narrowed, gaze locked on the obstacle in front of her.
Quick feet. Light steps.
She launched, landing on the log and sprinting across in a flash of momentum. The thing spun beneath her boots, trying to tilt her off, but she made it across with one solid leap to the next platform.
Granite columns. Each higher than the last. She breathed once, then vaulted.
One—land. Two—adjust. Three—knees soft, heart hard. Four—launch.
She cleared the last one, adrenaline coating her skin in sweat as she rolled into the gravel leading up to the first wheel.
It was already turning, its circular ribs groaning with motion.
She waited. Counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
She sprinted and dove, slipping through the open gap just in time, her shoulder scraping the interior wall as she tumbled and landed hard on the other side.
The second ascent loomed: the buoy balls.
They dangled like pendulums, slick with morning dew. Nyra had gone before her—Aeliana had seen how she'd grabbed high and swung from the chain.
She did the same.
Grip high. Kick forward. Let the weight carry you.
The strain in her shoulders was sharp, burning with every swing. She grunted, hauling herself from one ball to the next.
One cadet screamed up ahead. A shriek that cut the air, high and raw.
Aeliana twisted mid-swing, heart punching against her ribs as she caught the flicker of movement—someone was falling.
Trina's scream was choked off as her foot caught the edge of a spinning post—she flailed for a rope, missed—and slammed into the rocky slope below.
Gasps echoed up the course. Aeliana's momentum nearly broke with the shock of it, her hands slickening as her grip faltered.
No.
She clenched her jaw, forced her eyes forward, and leapt to the next buoy, catching it just in time.
Trina wasn't moving.
Professor Emetterio bellowed something, calling for a flier from the med corps, but it was already too late. Even from this distance, the angle of Trina's limbs wasn't right.
She'd fallen fast. Hard.
"Eyes up, Sorynne!" a voice roared from somewhere below. "Finish the course!"
She snarled and moved.
The third ascent was a blur — climbing bars, shaking platforms, her muscles screaming for relief.
By the time she reached the spinning staircase posts, her arms were trembling. Her breath came in short bursts. Her lungs burned with every inhale.
But she jumped.
One post. Two. Three.
The last spun hard beneath her as she landed—her foot slipped. Her knee crashed against the wood, sending a flare of pain up her leg—but she didn't stop. She didn't fall.
She pushed off and flung herself to the gravel just short of the final ramp.
The vertical incline loomed like a wall, daring her to try.
Behind her, boots slammed the earth.
Liam.
He was right there—close enough to catch her if she fell. And that's exactly what gave her the extra burst of energy to sprint forward and take the incline head-on.
She didn't make it.
But her fingers caught the rope.
She climbed, legs shaking, teeth gritted, and hauled herself over the final ledge with a gasping breath.
Collapsed on her back.
Staring up at the sky.
Trina was gone.
Aeliana's chest rose and fell in rapid bursts, sweat trailing down her temples and stinging her eyes. The stone beneath her back was cool, but it couldn't touch the burn in her lungs or the fire in her arms. Not after that climb.
She tilted her head sideways just enough to see Liam dragging himself over the top. He flopped beside her, face red, curls plastered to his forehead.
"Still like watching my footwork?" she rasped.
He groaned. "Nope. Officially regret every life choice that led me here."
Despite everything, her mouth twitched at the corner.
Then she heard it. The murmur of the others. The way it died out instead of building. The absence of a eight.
No Trina.
The realization hit her again like a gut punch.
Aeliana sat up slowly, wrapping her arms around her knees as she looked down the cliffside. There were instructors and medics near the base now. But no movement. No miracle.
Just stillness.
One of the healers knelt. Covered Trina's face.
A breath caught in Aeliana's throat and didn't let go.
Someone sat down beside her. Nyra. Her usual brightness was dulled, expression hollow as she hugged her legs to her chest.
"She wasn't fast," Nyra whispered. "But she always made it. On the mats. The Parapet. Even the first assessments..."
"She didn't fall because she was weak," Aeliana murmured, her voice flat and hard. "She slipped. On a post designed to kill us."
No one argued.
Professor Emetterio stood at the summit, clipboard in hand, as if he hadn't just witnessed one of them die. "You'll have eight more practice runs," he called, voice detached. "Use this one to learn what you need."
That was it.
No speech. No moment of silence.
Just numbers and reminders.
Aeliana pushed to her feet, her knee throbbing from the earlier impact. She didn't care. Her hands shook faintly at her sides, but she locked her jaw, swallowing every emotion she didn't have room for.
Eight more runs. Eight chances to fail.
Or survive.
She turned to Liam, who was still sitting.
"You good?" she asked.
He looked up at her, face blank for a moment. Then: "No. But I will be."
She offered him a hand.
He took it.
~
The gym smelled like sweat and chalk and metal under the flickering glow of evening lanterns. The last wave of cadets was trickling out, the clang of steel fading behind them as the main floor cleared.
Aeliana stepped through the archway and spotted Garrick almost immediately.
He was waiting near the mats, sleeves rolled to his elbows. A heavy leather striking bag hung from an iron bracket behind him, swaying faintly as though it had already been tested.
He glanced up the second her boots hit the mat. His gaze ran over her—assessing, but not in a way that made her skin itch. Just precise.
"Glad you came," he said simply. "Figured you might, even after the day you had."
She didn't reply, just shrugged off her outer jacket and set it aside.
"You look like hell," he added, tone dry.
Aeliana raised an eyebrow. "Feeling's mutual."
He cracked a faint smile. "Fair. But seriously—how'd the Gauntlet go?"
Aeliana busied herself with taping her knuckles. "I finished."
"I heard." He studied her for a beat. "But that's not what I asked."
She paused, the tension behind her movements betraying more than her words ever would. "Trina didn't."
His jaw tightened.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
Aeliana nodded once, not trusting herself to answer.
Garrick gave her space—just a few seconds—but then stepped forward, breaking the silence with purpose. "All right. Here's what I've noticed so far."
She blinked at the sudden shift. "You've been making an assessment?"
"Of course I have," he said. "You agreed to train with me. That means I do my job right."
Aeliana crossed her arms. "And what's your verdict, then?"
"You're fast," Garrick said. "Deceptively fast. You react well under pressure, and you hit harder than you look like you should. But..."
"Of course there's a but."
He smirked. "But your balance could use work when you're already fatigued. You overcommit on certain kicks, especially on your left side. And when it comes to defense, you hesitate when you're not leading."
Aeliana tilted her head. "That all?"
"For now," he said. "I figured we'd focus on lower-body tonight. Control, balance, recovery under stress."
He gestured toward the striking bag. "Start with ten kicks each leg. Hard. Controlled. Don't throw them like you're trying to break the thing in half. We're working form."
She walked toward the bag, rolled her shoulders out, and set into position.
The first few kicks were clean. Sharp. Echoing through the empty room with each strike.
Then she pivoted on her right leg and snapped her left knee up.
A sharp flinch. Barely visible—but Garrick saw it.
"Stop."
Aeliana ignored him and threw another kick. Then another.
"Stop, Sorynne."
She exhaled and dropped her stance, turning toward him, annoyed. "It's fine."
"Don't bullshit me," Garrick said evenly. "It's your knee. Which one?"
She hesitated. Then looked down, gesturing with her chin. "Left."
He approached, slower now, and crouched a little, his eyes scanning her leg. "Can I see?"
Aeliana was quiet for a breath. Then tugged her training pants up just enough to reveal the edge of bruising around her knee. The purples and deep reds were fresh, a swelling just beginning to form along the outer ridge.
He blew out a slow breath. "That's not fine."
"It's manageable."
"When did this happen?"
"Today."
He looked up. "Gauntlet?"
Aeliana didn't answer right away. But her silence spoke loud enough.
"You hit hard?"
"Slipped on one of the staircase posts. Didn't fall, but..." She gestured vaguely. "It's just bruised."
Garrick stood, but his expression had shifted—still focused, still professional, but the concern now was clearer.
"You should've said something. You're not helping yourself if you're pushing through injuries. Train smarter."
She didn't argue. Just pulled her pant leg back down and shifted her weight to her right.
"I'll take that as a promise you'll ice it after this."
"I'll think about it."
"Think faster," Garrick said, stepping back and gesturing toward the bag again. "Right side only for now. Let's build control where it's strongest."
Aeliana rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Her next kick landed with precision, and the next after that sharper still.
Garrick folded his arms and watched in silence for a moment, nodding once.
"Good. Again."
~
The lecture hall was warmer than usual, sun filtering through the high, slitted windows and casting long rectangles of light over the rows of benches.
Aeliana slid into her seat near the middle row, dropping her satchel with a soft thud.
She stretched out her sore leg beneath the table, careful not to wince.
Voices buzzed around her—cadets discussing Gauntlet times, guesses at the next Battle Brief scenario —but she tuned them out.
A scrape of wood made her glance up just in time to see Ridoc Gamlyn dropping into the empty seat beside her.
"Well, well. If it isn't the silent storm herself," he said, setting his notebook down with a theatrical flourish.
Aeliana gave him a look, unimpressed. "You're very loud for someone who's not supposed to be here."
He grinned. "This is still a shared lecture, you know. Mixed squadrons. I'm not breaking protocol by sitting near you—yet."
She shook her head, unable to stop the barest curve at her lips. "You have a talent for sounding smug and harmless at the same time."
"It's one of my many gifts," Ridoc said, resting his arms on the desk. "Others include falling asleep with my eyes open, memorizing useless historical trivia, and apparently losing gracefully in a spar."
She blinked, then tilted her head. "I didn't win that match."
"Still felt like I did more apologizing than you," he said dryly, then nudged her notebook with a knuckle. "You always take notes?"
"Only when I care about surviving."
"Harsh," he said. "But fair."
They settled as Professor Rahven entered, cloaked and carrying a stack of battered books under one arm. Aeliana uncapped her pen. Ridoc rolled his pencil between his fingers.
A few minutes into the lesson, Ridoc leaned just slightly closer and muttered under his breath:
"You always look like you're waiting for something to go wrong."
She didn't look away from the board. "That's because I am."
Ridoc didn't press, just nodded like he understood more than he let on.
After a long moment, he murmured, "Well, if it ever does, I vote we make someone else sit closest to the danger next time."
Aeliana's mouth twitched. "Like who?"
"Barlowe. Obviously."
A pause. She jotted a note in the corner of the page, then added softly, "He wouldn't even make it through the first explosion."
Ridoc chuckled under his breath, low and genuine. "Exactly."
For the first time in what felt like days, Aeliana didn't feel like she was bracing for impact.
Ridoc tapped the end of his pencil against the table once, twice, then said under his breath, "So. Gauntlet training."
Aeliana didn't look up. "What about it?"
"Only heard the screams echoing from the cliffside yesterday," he replied. "And a lot of limping cadets in the dining hall. You survive?"
"I'm here, aren't I?" she said coolly.
"Technically," Ridoc agreed, glancing sideways. "Did you actually make it to the top, or just get medically yeeted off the second ascent like half the others?"
Aeliana gave him a sidelong look, deadpan. "You have a truly spectacular way with words."
He grinned. "I know. My squad hates it."
"I made it," she said after a pause, voice quieter now. "Not clean. But I didn't fall."
Ridoc nodded once, a flicker of something more serious settling over his features. "Respect."
She raised a brow. "What, no snarky comeback?"
"I know how much of a bastard that course is," he said. "Sawyer said it broke half his class last year. You don't finish it without bleeding somewhere."
She looked back to the front of the room. "Then I guess I'm halfway to tradition."
"You all right?" he asked after a moment, keeping his tone casual enough not to scare her off. "You've been moving stiff today."
Her hand tightened slightly around her pen. "Knee's bruised. Not broken."
He tilted his head. "You get it checked?"
"Not yet."
Ridoc gave a thoughtful hum. "Stubborn. Bold strategy."
"I've had worse," she muttered.
"I'm sure." He leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. "But just so you know, if you go flying off that course next session because you didn't wrap your knee, I'm claiming I warned you."
Aeliana allowed herself a faint smile. "Noted."
"Good. Because then I won't feel bad laughing."
She rolled her eyes. "You're a menace."
"I prefer charming menace."
The professor called for attention then, silencing the hum of side conversations. Ridoc sat forward again, but before the lecture took over completely, he nudged her notebook lightly with his finger.
~
The wind bit harder this morning.
Not cold enough to sting, but enough to sharpen every exposed inch of skin and chase away the warmth before it could settle. Aeliana stood at the base of the Gauntlet with her squad, eyes fixed on the cliff like it had personally insulted her.
It might as well have.
Professor Emetterio flipped through his notes as he strode across the gravel. "You've had your first go. Today, we focus on time. You don't just have to survive this course — you have to do it fast. Efficient. Controlled. The better your time, the stronger your squad's standing before Threshing."
He stopped in front of the group, gaze sweeping over them.
"Cadet Miari," he called.
Liam stepped forward.
Aeliana felt a flicker of relief. If anyone could raise the bar without falling off it, it was Liam.
"You're leading us off," Emetterio said. "We'll time your run. Consider this a benchmark for the rest of your squad."
"Yes, sir."
Liam stretched once, rolled his shoulders, then jogged to the starting line. His eyes flicked to Aeliana for half a heartbeat, giving her a cocky little smirk — she rolled her eyes at him.
"Ready," the professor called. "Go."
Liam exploded forward.
The spinning log didn't stand a chance. He hit it at a sprint, gliding across and launching off the end with precision.
The granite columns were a blur beneath his boots.
When he reached the wheel, he dove like he'd timed it a hundred times before, tucking and rolling through the open space with barely a scrape.
Someone let out a low whistle.
By the time he reached the swinging buoy balls, even the professor had stopped scribbling.
Aeliana watched closely — it wasn't just raw strength. Liam moved like he understood the course on a fundamental level. Like he wasn't reacting — he was anticipating.
The final climb up the ramp was brutal, but Liam didn't falter. He hit it with enough momentum to carry him three-quarters of the way up before catching the lip and vaulting over.
Emetterio clicked his stopwatch.
"Three minutes and eleven seconds," he said. "That's what you're chasing."
Liam's cheer echoed from the top of the cliff, and the squad couldn't help but respond — not with jeers or groans, but a ripple of awe.
He made it look possible.
"Next cadet," Emetterio called, and the cycle began again.
They ran one at a time, spaced by the minute. The air filled with the sounds of panting, boots scraping stone, and the occasional curse or scream.
Then it was Aeliana's turn.
She stepped forward, knee still aching from the last run — stiff, a little swollen, but wrapped tight beneath her pants and reinforced with silent defiance.
"Cadet Sorynne," Emetterio barked. "Go!"
She surged forward.
The first few obstacles went smooth. She was careful, but not slow — sharp-footed across the spinning log, solid on the columns. Her timing on the wheel was a little off, but she ducked through just in time.
The buoy balls were rough — her arms were still recovering — but she pushed through, gritting her teeth.
Then the rods.
She swung one after another, knees tight, breath controlled.
When she landed on the shaking pillar before the ramp, her knee screamed. The jolt rattled through her body and nearly buckled her right leg.
Not now. Not now. Just the ramp left.
She ran.
Halfway up the incline, the pain roared. Her knee gave — just a slip, a crack in the momentum — and her boot skidded out from under her.
She fell.
The cliff tilted sideways. Air rushed past her ears — but her fingers caught the rope.
Aeliana slammed into the side of the cliff, her ribs taking the impact, but she held on.
Rope burned through her palm. Her shoulder ached from the jolt. But she didn't fall all the way.
Above her, Professor Emetterio shouted. "Climb or descend, Cadet! Don't dangle!"
Teeth gritted, she climbed. Every motion lit her nerves on fire, but she clawed her way up the last few feet and rolled onto the ledge with a ragged gasp.
She didn't look at the timer. Didn't want to know.
Instead, she lay on her back, chest heaving, arm shaking, eyes locked on the blue of the morning sky above.
Another day survived.
Just barely.