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“You don’t look like the others.” she said. Her tone was flat, apathetic, calm.
“The others? You mean the soldiers?” Was it a mistake to talk to her?
She didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze shifted, almost disinterested.
“Sis, she’s so interesting. I’m going to play with her a bit more, okay?” A second voice. Childlike. Mischievous. Echoing from somewhere else. You spun toward the sound, scanning the wreckage. Broken terminals, shattered screens, torn cables hanging like vines. It was hard to know where it came from.
The girl above didn’t react. She just watched you.
Then the swarm of flies descended from her perch, spilling over the scientists like a living shroud. The sound of buzzing filled the room.
The bodies turned. Their mouths hung open in silent screams. Not alive. Not dead. Something in between. They faced you. Not attacking. Just watching. Waiting. Of course.
Fighting them felt… wrong. They still looked human. Still wore faces that once belonged to people. Would it be okay to fight them?
The light changed again all of a sudden, too clean, too bright.
You were back in the arena. Haven’s arena.
It was exactly how you remembered it: long, rectangular marble floor glistening beneath rows of wooden seats, lanterns hovering in lazy arcs above, and the dome, amber wood and glass, filtering sunlight in golden cascades of light. Djinn statues ringed the walls, their blank eyes fixed on the stage.
And across from you stood a girl. Shorter. Red hair tied in a ponytail, armor trimmed in bronze, green eyes gleaming with confidence, holding a musket-spear and a shield.
Pyrrha Nikos.
The prodigy of Mistral. The “Gem of the East Winds.” The face on the cereal boxes.
“Remember, Shelly! Take it easy on her. She’s still learning the ropes!” Professor Shane’s voice echoed from the stands behind you. Lionheart sat beside him, smiling and cheering you both. Around them, half a hundred students murmured in anticipation. This was an important event for the school.
Pyrrha smiled, stepping forward. “No! Don’t take it easy on me. I want to learn from my peers as much as possible.” Her voice was bright, disarming. This kind of sincerity was rare.
She stopped just a few feet away and extended her hand. The gesture was polite. “It’s a pleasure to spar with an almost graduate, miss. I’ll try my best, so please don’t hold back.” You studied her, the posture, the control, the warmth. She had all the things people claimed you had in the past.
Now she was the new favorite. The academy’s darling.
And this fight? It would cement who was going to become Mistral’s new favorite, and you knew everyone was hoping for her to be the victorious one. This fight was just a formality.
You wanted not to feel envy. Not to feel regret. Not to feel used. Not to feel that everything you've fought for and bled out for was fading because someone allegedly prettier, kinder and stronger arrived.
