Athena stood unarmed.

  No blade.

  No sigils.

  No glimpse three seconds into the future.

  Just her body.

  Just her will.

  The man before her rolled his shoulders once, calm and practiced, wings folded neatly behind his back. He did not rush her. He did not sneer.

  That alone unsettled her.

  “Come on,” Athena said, spitting blood onto the pale stone. She raised her fists anyway. “Let’s see if you’re worth the wait.”

  He came at her like a falling star.

  The first blow caught her ribs and sent her skidding across the ground, breath tearing from her lungs. She rolled, coughed, and forced herself upright before the pain could settle.

  Again.

  This time she met his charge head-on—ducking beneath his strike and slamming her shoulder into his chest.

  Bone cracked.

  She bent one wing instinctively, redirecting the force, twisting with the momentum—

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  —and flung him backward.

  Athena laughed, blood running down her chin.

  When he lunged again, she caught his leg midair, spun with a roar, and hurled him into the wall hard enough to crater the stone.

  She lifted her arms to the empty stands, chest heaving.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” she shouted.

  From the shadows above, Astrid watched.

  Unmoved.

  The man rose from the rubble.

  Unbroken.

  He spread his wings.

  Athena braced.

  The impact never came.

  He vanished.

  Her eyes widened just in time to feel a hand seize the back of her neck.

  She hit the ground face-first.

  Stone tore skin. Dirt filled her mouth as he dragged her across the floor like something already dead. A knee slammed into her spine, pinning her down with inhuman strength.

  Athena screamed—not in pain, but in fury.

  She looked up.

  Astrid met her gaze.

  Slowly, deliberately, Astrid raised her hand.

  Then slid a finger across her throat.

  The man nodded.

  Athena’s breath hitched.

  “No—” she tried.

  Hands seized her wings.

  Pulled.

  The sound was not a scream at first.

  It was tearing.

  Then Athena screamed.

  White-hot agony ripped through her as her wings were wrenched the wrong way, nerves flaring, vision shattering. The world went red, then white, then nothing at all.

  She collapsed.

  Silence fell.

  A mark ignited across her body, glowing bright and merciless.

  Failure.

  The door opened.

  The man was gone.

  Athena lay still—her wings restored, her body whole, but something irreparably broken inside her.

  High above, Astrid faded away.

  And the trial moved on.