The sound of the horn echoed throughout the entire Coliseum.

  The young Lynhes gathered in the center of the arena shifted uneasily. Some searched for the members of their assigned groups; others mentally rehearsed strategies for the trials ahead.

  Hyura, however, searched the crowd for Vaenia.

  She had been assigned to the Trial of Strategy.

  He had been sent to the Trial of Skill.

  The separation gnawed at him more than he cared to admit.

  “Who are you looking for?” a voice asked at his side.

  Hyura turned, startled. It was Aras, a friend from childhood.

  Aras had light brown hair and an easy smile. He never seemed able to stand still, rocking on the balls of his feet as though waiting was physically painful. There was something infectious about his energy.

  “Vaenia,” Hyura replied, exhaling slowly. “They sent her to another trial… I just wanted to see if she’s alright.”

  Aras followed his gaze and smiled knowingly.

  “She’s over there,” he said, pointing toward the Strategy section.

  Hyura found her in the crowd, standing beside a tall blond Lynhe in an immaculate white tunic trimmed in gold. He smiled with excessive confidence—the kind of smile worn by someone convinced the world had been built for him. He carried himself like a born leader… and radiated an arrogance that instantly set Hyura’s blood on edge.

  “That’s Vhas,” Aras explained quietly. “Son of a High Lynhe. Good fighter, sure… but a first-class bastard. He loves humiliating people.”

  Hyura’s fist clenched instinctively. For a second he wanted to cross the Coliseum and wipe that smile from his face. But he restrained himself.

  Vaenia could take care of herself.

  “She’ll be fine,” he said, more to convince himself than Aras.

  Aras shrugged and changed the subject with almost awkward casualness.

  “So… how are you going to do it?” he asked, leaning closer with genuine curiosity.

  Hyura blinked. Even though Aras was always blunt, the question caught him off guard.

  “Do what?”

  “Pass the Skill trial, obviously. I’ve seen the course… it looks designed for flying.”

  He gave a nervous laugh.

  “And… well,” he added, shrugging, “you don’t have wings. That makes things complicated.”

  Hyura raised an eyebrow, more surprised by the honesty than the remark.

  “Well?” Aras watched him expectantly.

  Hyura stayed silent for a few seconds, eyes fixed on the course waiting in the arena. He studied every stretch, every shadow, as if trying to carve it into memory before the horn sounded again.

  “I saw the guards inside,” he said at last, lowering his voice. “I don’t think it’s meant for us to fight them. That would waste time.”

  He ran a hand through his hair, tense but controlled.

  “They’ll measure how fast you are… and how you move. If I try to match those who can fly, I’ll lose.”

  He paused.

  “So I’ll have to be fast. And when I reach something I can’t overcome…” He left the sentence hanging. “…I’ll improvise.”

  Aras stared at him, clearly not expecting such a calculated answer. Then a bright grin spread across his face.

  “Wow… you never stop surprising me with that brain of yours.”

  Hyura allowed himself the faintest ironic smile. Aras was one of the few Lynhes who had always treated him well. It was strange—not only because Hyura had no wings, but because Aras came from the surface, and surface-born Lynhes were usually cold toward those from the tunnels.

  “With no wings,” Hyura said, “my head’s all I’ve got.”

  Aras burst out laughing and clapped him hard on the shoulder.

  In the other section, Vaenia tried to steady herself, though her hands trembled as she adjusted the edge of her tunic again and again.

  She watched as the other candidates quickly formed groups, choosing allies with the confidence of those who knew they had options.

  She, meanwhile, felt fleeting glances sweep over her—measuring, evaluating—before sliding away just as quickly.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Too small.

  Too fragile.

  Invisible.

  Anger burned in her chest.

  Then Buham appeared—her neighbor from the tunnels. Vaenia let out a resigned sigh.

  “Well… I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

  “It’s not that,” she replied quickly. “I just thought you might be in the trial with Hyura. You know, to cheer him on.”

  “Oh… don’t worry. Aras is with him. He got the Skill trial first too.”

  Buham was the opposite of Aras—quiet, dark-skinned, large-framed and gentle.

  No one approached them.

  One was too big to be considered agile.

  The other too small to be considered strong.

  Then they saw three Lynhes walking toward them.

  Vhas approached with that same arrogant smile and immaculate white tunic, as if the outcome had already been decided. Beside him walked identical twins—tall and cold as statues.

  “I see you’re alone,” Vhas said in a falsely polite tone dripping with mockery. “Don’t worry. We’ll take care of you.”

  The words cut like a blade.

  Vaenia shot him a glare, but he continued as if he hadn’t noticed.

  “I’m Vhas. These are Gal and Dot.”

  He gestured vaguely at Buham.

  “And you are?”

  “Buham… but everyone calls me Bu,” he replied awkwardly.

  Vhas snapped his fingers as though the name had already evaporated. “And you?”

  Vaenia met his gaze with open contempt.

  He stepped closer. “Fine… keep your name if you want.”

  “You’re coming with us. You won’t get in the way, and I’ll make sure you pass the trial. Easy.”

  Vaenia’s heart pounded in her chest. For a brief moment she wanted to shout that she would rather fall alone than owe him anything.

  She lifted her chin.

  “No.”

  One word. Clear.

  But before she could step away, a soldier stopped in front of them. His gaze settled first on Vhas.

  “Young Vhas,” he said respectfully. “Is this your team?”

  Vhas stepped forward without hesitation.

  “It is. We’re complete.”

  The soldier nodded, asking no one else for confirmation.

  “Then you are assigned as Group Seven.”

  He handed the parchment to Vhas. Vhas accepted it smoothly, then turned toward Vaenia and winked triumphantly.

  “Welcome to the team, beautiful.”

  Vaenia stepped forward.

  “This isn’t right,” she said, holding back her fury. “I did not agree to join your group.”

  The soldier didn’t even look at her. He simply turned away and continued assigning others, as if she hadn’t spoken at all.

  Vaenia clenched her teeth until her jaw hurt. The humiliation burned—but it was the helplessness that weighed heavier. It hadn’t been a choice.

  There hadn’t even been a question.

  So she stayed.

  Standing tall.

  Silent.

  And she remembered the promise she had made to herself—and to Hyura. No matter how. They would move forward.

  Together.

  And Bu was there. She wasn’t completely alone.

  In the Skill arena, the horn sounded again.

  The crowd fell silent.

  Aras went first. He moved quickly and decisively, clearing the opening section with impressive efficiency. When he finished, scattered applause rippled through the stands.

  Then it was Hyura’s turn.

  The moment he stepped onto the structure, he felt the weight of every gaze on him. A murmur spread through the crowd—whispered but constant.

  The wingless boy.

  He closed his eyes for a heartbeat. Took a breath.

  Then he ran.

  The first section greeted him with a wall impossible to scale at a glance—and a guard waiting before it, gripping a wooden staff.

  Hyura feinted a frontal attack.

  The soldier reacted instantly. The staff whistled through the air and grazed Hyura’s shoulder, sending a lash of pain down his arm. He used that instant to launch himself forward, climbing up the guard’s massive frame.

  The man grunted, struggling to throw him off. An elbow slammed into Hyura’s ribs, stealing his breath. The world narrowed for a second.

  He gritted his teeth.

  Planting his feet on the guard’s shoulders, he pushed off with all his strength.

  The leap barely carried him high enough to grasp the top edge of the wall. There was no grace. His fingers scraped wood; his nails split as he clawed for purchase. A strangled groan escaped him as he dragged himself up, rolling clumsily over the top before crashing down on the other side.

  The crowd’s murmur grew.

  It wasn’t admiration.

  Not yet.

  It was surprise.

  And doubt.

  The wingless boy was already bleeding…

  and still moving.

  An ascending maze of uneven platforms rose before him, pierced by spears that shot from the walls like iron serpents.

  The first sliced his arm, opening a burning cut. Hyura didn’t fully dodge it. He grabbed the spear desperately, using it as leverage to propel himself upward. The metal vibrated beneath his weight, treacherous, threatening to slip—but he gained height.

  He repeated the maneuver.

  He climbed through wood and steel, each jump tearing at his hands, scraping skin raw. Guards tried to block him from the sides; one staff struck his thigh, sending a burst of pain that blurred his vision.

  He did not fall.

  Teeth clenched, he kept climbing like a cornered animal until he reached the top of the section—panting, bleeding, swaying.

  And then came the worst of it.

  A brutal void opened before him. A clean vertical drop—impossible to cross without wings.

  Hyura stopped at the edge. His heart hammered in his chest.

  He removed his sandals.

  Felt the rough wood beneath his bare, sweat-slick feet.

  I can’t stop now.

  And he jumped.

  Air lashed his face.

  He bounced off walls, each impact driving splinters into skin, opening fresh cuts across arms and legs. The world became a succession of blows and vertigo.

  A flying soldier tried to intercept him. The collision crushed into his shoulder and nearly sent him spiraling into open air. Hyura twisted mid-fall, out of control, slid along a slanted surface, and continued the descent in a violent tumble.

  He landed badly.

  He rolled across the ground like a broken puppet. His left side bruised instantly; hot blood streamed down his forehead, blinding one eye. The strangled cry that tore from his throat made even the soldiers flinch.

  For a few seconds, he blacked out.

  He came back to the sound of ringing in his ears and the taste of iron on his tongue.

  Then, barely, he pushed himself upright.

  The final tunnel waited.

  Narrow. Dark.

  A massive soldier blocked the path, immovable as a wall. It had been designed so no one could fly over him.

  Hyura remembered what he had told Aras: I won’t fight them directly.

  So he improvised.

  As he ran toward the giant, he ripped off his shirt and wrapped it around his fist. He feigned a direct punch to the guard’s face.

  The giant reacted instantly, raising his arm to shield himself.

  Hyura hurled the balled fabric into his face and, in the same motion, dropped low and threw himself forward, sliding through the small gap the soldier had created. He rolled across the floor, skin tearing at his elbows against the rough wood.

  The guard roared and spun to seize him.

  Too late.

  Hyura pushed forward with the last strength left in him. Limping. Gasping.

  He crossed the line a second before the giant’s massive hand snapped shut in empty air, inches from his back.

  The Coliseum erupted in cheers.

  Hyura fell to his knees, exhausted. His chest rose and fell violently; his body was covered in bruises, blood, and splinters. Breathing felt like swallowing knives.

  And yet…

  A faint smile touched his lips.

  Aras ran to embrace him.

  He had passed the first trial.

  Vaenia heard the roar of the Coliseum.

  She didn’t need to see the arena to know.

  She looked at Bu.

  And he smiled as if he had won too.