Chapter 9.
The sky above was blindingly blue, too bright for how much her body hurt.
Aeliana blinked up at it, barely aware of the crunch of boots approaching—fast, deliberate. Then a shadow cut across her vision, and Liam leaned over her, one hand braced on his knee, the other reaching down.
"That was either the dumbest thing I've seen today," he said, panting slightly, "or the gutsiest."
Aeliana let out a dry, pained breath. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should take it as a reason to never fake that knee being fine again."
She didn't answer, just pushed herself up on her elbows with a wince.
Liam knelt beside her. "You slipped. I saw it happen. Don't try to say you didn't."
"I didn't fall all the way."
"You would've if that rope was half a second farther." His tone was low now—serious, but not scolding. "Come on. Let's get you looked at."
"I'm fine."
"You're not." He cocked his head. "You're also limping."
"I am not."
"You are absolutely limping."
When she tried to stand, her leg disagreed violently, and she hissed in pain.
Liam caught her before she could stumble, slinging her arm over his shoulder like it was nothing. "Healing quadrant, now. No arguing."
"I can make it on my own."
He gave her a look. "Sure. But then I'd have to follow behind you and listen to you pretend you're not in pain, and frankly I have better things to do with my afternoon."
She sighed, not quite suppressing the sting in her pride — or the grudging gratitude twisting behind it.
They left the Gauntlet field together, slow but steady, boots thudding across the gravel and then the stone path that led through the courtyard. Cadets passed them, some glancing their way, others nodding in acknowledgment, but no one said a word.
"You know," Liam said eventually, keeping his stride even with hers, "you could've told me it still hurt."
"I didn't think it would give out."
"Next time, maybe don't bet your life on a maybe."
"Thanks for the advice, Professor."
He snorted. "I'm serious. You've got too much fight in you to be stupid about it."
Aeliana glanced sideways at him. "You get this protective over all your squadmates?"
He shrugged, his arm firm around her waist. "Only the ones I plan on surviving Threshing with."
They didn't speak again until the archway of the healing quadrant came into view. The scent of antiseptic and dried herbs hung in the air like a memory.
As soon as they stepped inside, a second-year healer looked up from behind the counter.
"She took a hit during Gauntlet training," Liam said, gently guiding Aeliana forward. "Knee gave out. Might've twisted something."
The healer waved them over, already reaching for a salve and a diagnostic strip. "Sit. Let me take a look."
Aeliana lowered herself onto the cot, exhaling slowly as the pressure left her leg. Her jaw stayed tight, but her eyes flicked toward Liam — still standing, arms crossed, watching like he'd make sure they did their job right.
"You're not going to hover the whole time, are you?" she asked, arching a brow.
His grin was easy, but his eyes stayed sharp. "I'll hover until I'm sure you're not about to collapse again."
The healer knelt, examining the swelling behind her knee. "No structural damage. Tendon strain, likely. You're lucky."
"Don't I know it," she muttered.
As the salve cooled her skin and the wrap was wound snug around her leg, she let her head tip back against the wall for a second.
Just long enough to admit — not out loud — that she was grateful Liam had been there to catch her.
Even if she never said it.
~
The dining hall buzzed with the usual chaotic energy of cadets decompressing from the day — voices raised, silverware clinking, the occasional shout from a table where someone had probably lost a bet.
Aeliana limped through the wide doorway, favoring her right leg less than she had an hour ago. The wrap helped. So did the salve. The pain was no longer sharp, just a dull ache — a memory of the Gauntlet.
She spotted her squad already at their usual spot. Liam waved her over before she could pretend she didn't see him.
"Surprised you're still standing," he said as she slid onto the bench beside him.
"Disappointed?" she asked dryly.
He shrugged. "I was hoping to steal your bread."
"You could just ask for it like a normal person."
"But where's the fun in that?"
She rolled her eyes but didn't protest when he did, in fact, reach over and swap her untouched bread roll with his own half-eaten one. She made a show of being disgusted, but her lips tugged upward despite herself.
"Seriously," he said, dropping his voice a little, "you okay?"
She hesitated. Then nodded. "Yeah. The healer said I'll be fine."
"Next time, lead with that instead of, 'I'm fine.'"
"I did survive the fall."
"Barely."
She turned toward him, arching a brow. "Would you prefer I hadn't?"
His smirk vanished. "Not funny."
She blinked at the sudden seriousness in his tone.
"Liam—"
He shook his head. "Don't do that again. Not if you can help it."
Aeliana fell silent, the weight of his words anchoring something inside her. But before she could think of a response, someone at the other end of the table shouted about pudding, and the moment dissolved.
She returned to her food, the warmth of his concern lingering longer than the meal itself.
~
The air was colder than the morning before — crisper, clearer, with frost clinging to the edges of the grass along the outer path.
Aeliana's breath curled white in the dim light as she set into her run.
Her knee twinged on the first few steps, but it didn't buckle. The pain was more memory than reality, a reminder to stay focused rather than a limit.
She ran harder.
The path curved near the southern wall, and she picked up speed, letting her rhythm settle. One-two. One-two. Breath and muscle syncing again.
No limping.
No hesitation.
Only forward.
She reached the halfway mark before she heard another runner behind her — steps she recognized now, that familiar cadence.
Garrick.
She didn't slow. But she did smirk, just a little, when he fell into step beside her.
"You look less like someone who fought a mountain yesterday," he noted.
"Miracle salve," she replied.
"And stubbornness?"
"That too."
He grinned. "You ready for drills later?"
Aeliana cracked her knuckles as she ran. "Always."
~
She wasn't ready for drills that afternoon.
Aeliana stood near the heavy bag, one boot planted firm, the other pressing her weight forward as she adjusted the wrap around her knuckles.
Her fingers moved automatically, but her thoughts were somewhere else — stuck on the sound of a scream echoing off a cliff wall.
A body falling. A snap that silenced a name.
Two of them. Gone. Just like that.
They hadn't been close. She hadn't known Zach's favorite food or Rickey's middle name. But they were in her squad. They'd survived the Parapet together. Sweated through drills side by side. And now they were corpses being written into a ledger.
And she still had drills.
"You're early."
She didn't jump. She didn't have it in her to flinch.
Garrick stepped out from the shadows near the wall, a towel slung over his shoulder. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes flicked to her stance, her grip, the tension she thought she'd buried beneath the surface.
"Not in the mood for conversation," she said.
"Didn't come for one."
He approached the bag, placing a steady palm against its center. "You want to hit something?"
Aeliana didn't answer. She stepped forward, fell into stance.
"Southpaw," he noted. "Stick to it. Let your hips do the work. I'm not here to watch you flail."
"Noted," she said dryly.
"Three rounds. Thirty seconds. Don't blow it all in the first ten."
She moved.
The first punch cracked against the bag like a warning. The second followed with more force. Then came a flurry — short, sharp bursts that rattled the chains above.
Garrick didn't say a word. Just anchored the bag and let her burn through it.
By the end of the round, her breath was ragged, her throat dry. She stepped back a half pace.
"Again."
He didn't argue.
This time, she started slower. Cleaner. Her footwork sharpened, fists tighter. Each strike landed with purpose. Less fury, more focus.
Garrick gave a quiet grunt of approval. "That's better. Keep your guard up."
She gritted her teeth and moved faster.
Another thirty seconds passed, and he raised a hand. "Rest."
Aeliana stepped back, rolling out her left shoulder, sweat clinging to her spine like a second skin.
"You are quiet this afternoon," he said, tossing her a water bottle. "More than usual."
"Is it because of the ones that fell?"
She didn't answer.
Garrick nodded slightly. "They were in your squad?"
She unscrewed the cap and drank. "Yeah."
There was a pause. Then the sound of him walking closer, the soft thud of boots and the low squeak of chain as he adjusted the bag again.
"Losing squadmates..." he said carefully, "never gets easier. And it shouldn't. But you've still got people counting on you to keep going."
She finally looked at him.
His gaze was steady, calm in a way that almost irritated her.
"I don't need a pep talk," she said.
"Good," Garrick replied, stepping back. "I'm not great at those. But I do know how to train through it."
She nodded once. "Then let's get on with it."
He motioned to the bag. "Third round. Same combo. Let your shoulder rotate all the way through your cross."
She stepped in and started again.
Jab. Cross. Hook. Reset.
Repeat.
The motion became a rhythm. Not a distraction — a foundation. She wasn't punching to forget. She was punching because the world had narrowed to impact and movement and survival. Like it always did.
Thirty seconds passed.
"Time."
She stopped.
For a moment, the only sound was her own breathing.
Then she looked up. "We're five now."
"I know."
"That's not enough."
"It's what you've got," Garrick said. "So you make it count."
Aeliana turned away from the bag.
"I wasn't ready for this."
"No one ever is," he said. "But you're still here."
She didn't thank him. Didn't nod. She just picked up her towel, slung it around her neck, and walked off the mat.
She didn't feel better.
But she wasn't breaking either.
And for now, that had to be enough.
~
The sky was mercifully overcast.
Clouds blotted out the worst of the sun, casting a cold light over the assembled formation. Dozens of first-years stood shoulder-to-shoulder, packed tighter now than they had been weeks ago. Thinner ranks. Fewer voices. The price of surviving Basgiath.
Aeliana stood among them, jaw clenched, eyes forward. Her wraps were snug beneath her sleeves. Her squad — what remained of it — flanked her in silence.
Five.
There had been eight.
Now there were five.
Captain Fitzgibbons stepped up to the stone dais near the edge of the Gauntlet field, his voice like thunder in the morning hush.
"Doria Merrill."
A breath held. Released.
"Zach Dyre."
Aeliana didn't flinch, though her stomach twisted.
"Rickey Pelipa."
A whisper of grief passed through the Tail section, like the wind across dry leaves. Not everyone being named had fallen from the Gauntlet — some had died in training, others during challenges. But all of them were gone.
She heard Nyra swallow hard beside her.
"Michel Iverem."
Captain Fitzgibbons closed the roll. "We commend their souls to Malek."
Aeliana lowered her gaze just a fraction.
No fanfare. No flowers. Just a name and the acknowledgement that they hadn't made it.
"Second- and third-years, unless you're on Gauntlet duty, head to class," Fitzgibbons announced. "First-years—prepare for Presentation."
Movement stirred across the line.
"Fourth Wing!" came a voice from beyond the Gauntlet gate. Xaden Riorson. Aeliana didn't need to see him to recognize the authority in that tone. "Move out!"
Flame Section peeled away first, then Claw, then finally—
"Tail section, you're up," their executive officer said briskly.
They moved in tight ranks, boots scraping across stone as they filed through the wide, mage-lit tunnel that cut beneath the ridge. It was always cold here — darker than the open air, laced with the faint glow of enchanted stones lining the walls.
Liam stepped into pace beside her, his arm brushing hers.
"You okay?" he murmured.
She nodded once, not trusting her voice yet.
"You've got this."
She managed a smirk. "Just make sure you don't fall. I'm not dragging your body back up."
His grin was quick, sharp-edged. "Fair enough."
They emerged from the tunnel and the cliffs opened before them — raw, jagged beauty stretching into the Vale. The Gauntlet carved its way up the mountainside like a scar, winding switchbacks framed by spinning posts, swinging chains, stone pillars, and death.
So much death.
Aeliana inhaled deeply, ignoring the way her chest squeezed. They'd trained for this. She'd trained for this.
Her name wasn't called yet — they were still rotating squads through — but she could feel the rhythm of it coming, like the slow beat of war drums.
Up ahead, cadets launched one by one onto the course, some with confident strides, others with hesitation that cost them time — and footing.
A scream cut through the air.
Someone fell.
Her gut clenched.
Then Liam was moving.
"Miari, go!" came the shout from the instructor.
Liam gave her one last look, a crooked half-grin that almost masked the nerves in his eyes. "See you at the top."
He took off.
Aeliana watched him leap over the first log with grace that didn't match his usual chaos. He hit the second ascent without slowing, arms pumping hard, legs driving upward with practiced power.
He didn't grab a rope.
Not once.
The cadets watching near the base started murmuring. A few even whistled as he scaled the chimney section with raw momentum, then ran at the ramp—
And jumped.
He made it.
Not even a second's pause. He slammed both hands on the top ledge and hauled himself up like it was nothing.
Someone yelled "Record time!" from the line.
Aeliana let out the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
Then her name echoed across the field.
"Sorynne!"
She moved.
Boots struck stone. Her body remembered every foothold, every swing, every godsforsaken angle.
The spinning log met her like an old enemy — she danced across it without hesitation. Granite pillars, spaced to trip her up, did nothing more than test her timing. Her breath evened out by the first wheel, and she caught the rhythm with ease.
One. Two. Three. Jump.
The second ascent — the buoy balls — made her arms ache, but she gritted her teeth and powered through.
Don't look down.
She didn't.
By the time she reached the third switchback, her muscles were screaming, but the cliff behind her was a blur, the cadets below forgotten.
Liam's voice carried from the summit.
"Go, Aeliana!"
She didn't answer. Just ran.
The wind cut across her face as she darted forward, feet slamming against the gravel.
Every step was precision now — not instinct, not guesswork, but grit sharpened by weeks of drills and bruises and drills again.
She didn't think about the death toll. She didn't think about the ache in her legs or the tightness in her knee.
She thought about the top.
The chimney ascent ripped at her sleeves as she braced and climbed, pressing herself between the narrow incline, scraping her shoulders raw in her hurry to reach the final stretch.
And then—
The ramp.
It loomed like a wall before her, rising near-vertical from the mountain's edge, daring her to try.
Aeliana didn't pause.
She backed up three steps, exhaled once—
And sprinted.
Boots pounding, fists clenched, she hit the incline with every ounce of speed she had left. The stone was slick underfoot. Her knees protested. Her chest heaved.
But she didn't stop.
She pushed harder.
Halfway up.
Two-thirds.
Her fingers stretched.
And then—
Her hand caught the lip of the ramp.
Not a rope. Not a crutch.
The godsdamned edge.
She growled, shoved off with her last footfall, and hauled herself over, scraping her thigh but not slowing, not faltering — landing fully upright on the gravel at the summit.
Aeliana's boots slammed down on the gravel path at the summit, her breath a hard rasp in her chest, knees trembling from exertion.
The ridge leveled out beneath her, sunlight breaking through the clouds as if in recognition of her final leap.
She didn't stop moving until she was well clear of the drop, collapsing to her knees for just a second before dragging herself to her feet again, refusing to let the pain slow her now.
Liam was already there — waiting just beyond the final markers.
"You didn't even slip," he said, his voice winded but warm. "Fast as hell, too."
Aeliana glanced at him, sweat dampening the collar of her shirt, the wrap under her knee pulsing in quiet protest. "I wasn't planning on falling again."
Liam laughed. "Well, if you wanted to make a statement — you just did."
She let out a breathless huff that almost became a laugh.
As the other cadets ahead of them moved toward the staging area for the bonding field, she scanned the ridge... and saw him.
Garrick.
He wasn't watching from the overlook or the edge like the others. Just off to the side, arms crossed, expression unreadable — until their eyes met.
He didn't speak.
He didn't gesture.
Just a single, solid nod.
Acknowledgment.
Approval.
Respect.
Aeliana's spine straightened slightly, shoulders pulling back despite the ache threatening to drag her down.
She nodded once in return.
And turned to join the others.
Because she'd made it.
Because she wasn't done yet.