“Are you nervous?” Vaenia asked.

  “No,” Hyura lied.

  Vaenia smiled softly.

  “I wish I could give you my wings.”

  Hyura let out a brief exhale, almost a laugh.

  “I thought you were trying to help me… What would I even do with wings that small?” he added, a crooked smile full of mischief tugging at his lips.

  Vaenia raised an eyebrow and lightly struck his shoulder.

  “Come on, I’m serious. It’s not fair that you have to face the same trials as someone who can fly.”

  “It never has been,” he replied with a shrug. “But I manage.”

  “I hope so…”

  Trumpets roared through the Coliseum, shattering the moment.

  “The trials,” they said at the same time.

  They ran through the cobbled streets.

  Hyura gestured for her to take flight, but Vaenia immediately shook her head. She wasn’t going to leave him behind.

  He didn’t argue. He simply ran faster.

  At first, Vaenia smiled, confident she could keep up. Then the smile faded. Hyura weaved through pedestrians, leapt over steps, slipped between marble columns as if he knew every hidden angle of the city. Before she realized it, she couldn’t catch him without spreading her wings.

  “Last one there makes breakfast for a week!” he shouted over his shoulder, laughing.

  Vaenia scoffed and finally beat her wings, rising into the air. The wind struck her face as she maneuvered between balconies and white towers. From above, Lybendol unfolded beneath her—bright, orderly, serene, as if nothing in the world could ever disturb it.

  The Coliseum of Aetherios rose before her eyes.

  Below, Hyura kept running.

  He didn’t see the foot that slid into his path until it was too late.

  The impact was brutal. Stone ripped the air from his lungs, and the metallic taste of blood flooded his mouth as his face smashed against the cobblestones. For a moment, all he heard was the murmur of the crowd and the frantic pounding of his own heart.

  He counted.

  One.

  Two.

  Up to ten.

  He wouldn’t give them a spectacle.

  When he tried to push himself up, a shadow fell over him.

  “Well, well… What do we have here?”

  Laughter.

  “If it isn’t the tunnel rat…” the young Lynhe continued, tilting his head with a twisted smile. “No, wait… the king of rats.”

  The white feathers of his wings gleamed immaculate beneath the sun. Behind him, two companions watched with open amusement.

  “You should stay home,” he added. “Without wings, you’re just in the way. Or you’ll end up hurting yourself.”

  Hyura wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

  He looked at him.

  Said nothing.

  He stood slowly, ready to walk away.

  Something soft struck his back.

  A ripe fruit burst against his tunic.

  “Hey, I’m not done with you,” the other insisted, stepping closer. “Didn’t your filthy family teach you manners? Oh… right. How could people like them have manners?”

  Blood on the ground.

  Him kneeling. Hands slipping.

  Thoiran’s arms shielding him.

  Hyura didn’t remember moving.

  One second he was still.

  The next, he was standing in front of him.

  The first punch wasn’t elegant. It was instinct. His fist drove into the Lynhe’s abdomen with a dull, wet thud. The shock of the impact traveled through his knuckles into his forearm. Air fled the other boy’s lungs in a broken gasp.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Hyura didn’t stop.

  He grabbed the front of his tunic before he could spread his wings. Fabric tore beneath his grip. He yanked him downward and slammed him against the cobblestones. Stone answered with a sharp crack that vibrated beneath his feet.

  Someone screamed.

  One of the companions lunged at him with a clumsy punch, driven more by fury than skill. Hyura twisted on instinct; the fist grazed his temple, leaving an immediate sting. He answered without thinking. A short hook, straight to the jaw.

  He felt bone give.

  Not a clean break—something shifting where it shouldn’t. The blow split the skin across his knuckles. Heat. Pain. Blood.

  The second boy stumbled backward, dazed.

  The third took a step forward… and stopped.

  Something in Hyura’s face made him hesitate.

  He retreated with his hands raised, as if this had ceased to be a simple scuffle.

  Around them, the murmur faded.

  A circle of silence formed.

  Hyura turned back to the first, who was trying to crawl away. He seized him by the hair and forced his face toward the ground. Pressed his head against the stone. Felt the resistance in his neck beneath his forearm. Felt the trembling.

  He leaned closer.

  His breathing was heavy. Uneven. His lungs burned.

  “Let this be the first and last time you speak my family’s name.”

  His voice came out low. Steady.

  The boy opened his eyes.

  And then Hyura saw it.

  Fear.

  Real. Primal.

  Not of pain.

  Of him.

  For one second too long, the world seemed muffled. The roar of the Coliseum grew distant, as if underwater. A buzzing filled his ears. Heat flared across his face. In his eyes. As if something were stirring behind them.

  The Lynhe swallowed.

  “Y-your eyes…”

  Hyura didn’t ask.

  He didn’t want to know.

  Because in that reflection he saw something he didn’t recognize.

  Something that wasn’t just anger.

  It was… something else.

  “Guards!” someone shouted in the distance.

  The spell broke.

  Hyura released him abruptly, as if burned. He stepped back. Then another. Blood ran from his lip to his chin. His hands trembled.

  The looks around him were no longer mocking.

  They were wary.

  Measuring.

  Afraid.

  Hyura took one deep breath.

  And ran.

  Vaenia spotted the Coliseum of Aetherios and descended sharply, spreading her wings at the last second to halt between the growing crowd. Her eyes searched for Hyura with an urgency she didn’t want to acknowledge.

  Fear tightened in her chest.

  “I think someone owes me breakfast.”

  She turned at the sound of his voice.

  Hyura was there.

  Barely winded. Smiling.

  As if the run had been nothing more than a game.

  But there was blood.

  A thin line ran from his lip to the corner of his jaw. A dark stain marked his shoulder.

  Vaenia crossed the distance in two quick steps.

  “And that blood?”

  She didn’t sound angry.

  She sounded alert.

  She gripped his arm, turning his face slightly toward the light. Her fingers pressed harder than necessary. It wasn’t an embrace. It was an inspection.

  Hyura held her gaze a second too long.

  “Relax,” he said, wiping his lip with the back of his hand. “I tripped on the way.”

  The answer came too fast.

  Vaenia watched him.

  She didn’t ask how.

  She didn’t ask where.

  Her eyes dropped to his knuckles.

  Red.

  Skin split in two places.

  She looked back up at him.

  Hyura kept smiling. That light smile he used when he didn’t want to talk about something.

  The murmur of the Coliseum swelled around them.

  Vaenia slowly released his arm.

  “Of course,” she murmured, unconvinced.

  She moved to stand beside him, as if accepting the explanation.

  “How did you get here before me?” she asked after a moment.

  Hyura shrugged.

  “I know a few shortcuts.”

  Vaenia shook her head slowly. This time she did smile—just barely.

  The commotion around the Coliseum grew. Groups of young Lynhes gathered in clusters; some laughed nervously, others stood in tense silence. The space surrounding the arena was strangely clear, too wide, as if the city itself had decided to hold its breath.

  From there rose the Palio of Nox, white and distant. The dome of the High Lynhes dominated the view, impassive. Hyura couldn’t help looking at it. He had never set foot there, and yet he knew—if he ever did—he would not belong.

  He soon noticed the stares.

  Some candidates watched him openly. Others whispered.

  Hyura lowered his head and shifted half a step, standing slightly behind Vaenia, as if her presence alone could soften the weight of that scrutiny.

  She noticed immediately. She took his hand firmly.

  Said nothing.

  Kept her eyes fixed on the Coliseum, as if nothing else existed.

  Hyura squeezed her fingers.

  He didn’t know if he was ready for everyone to look at him.

  The candidates were organized quickly. The initial chaos settled into a tight, tense murmur. In the center of the Coliseum, the sand stretched beneath three large temporary structures casting irregular shadows across the ground.

  Vaenia didn’t let go of his hand.

  In front of them, a Lynhe soldier stepped forward. He was young, low-ranking. His white armor with silver details was light—made for flight—yet it radiated authority. A short sword rested at his belt, and a scroll lay in his hands.

  “Attention, candidates!”

  The call echoed from different points. The Coliseum fell silent.

  “The trials will now be explained,” he continued, “and the order in which you will face them.”

  Vaenia swallowed.

  “The first trial is Skill.”

  He pointed to the left.

  An open tower rose before them, supported by pale wooden pillars and diagonal reinforcements, as if designed not to resist the sky—but to coexist with it.

  “You must cross it while flying. Your agility, speed, and control will be evaluated.”

  Hyura felt several gazes turn toward him.

  “You will compete in groups of four. The lowest results will receive zero points.”

  Vaenia tightened her grip.

  “The second trial will test your Strategy.”

  In the center of the arena, stone blocks held scrolls.

  “Each group must secure two: one white and one gold. To obtain them, you must take them from other teams.”

  A restless murmur ran through the candidates.

  “Without both scrolls, you will not advance.”

  The soldier paused.

  “The third and final trial will be Combat.”

  Several faces tensed.

  “You will be divided into groups according to your scores. Technique will be judged—not only victory.”

  The scroll lowered.

  “We begin with the order.”

  Names were called.

  Vaenia closed her eyes.

  They had been separated.

  She would begin with Strategy.

  Hyura—with Skill.

  “I trust you,” he said, forcing a smile.

  They embraced tightly before parting.

  The stands were beginning to fill. Among the crowd, Elara watched from the seats, her heart clenched.

  The trumpets sounded one final time.

  Hyura lifted his gaze toward the towering wooden structure.

  That trial was made for flight.

  And he had no wings.