Back in the grand selection arena, the surviving cadets were gathered within a vast ceremonial hall. High-arched ceilings soared above them, and bright crystalline lights lined the polished walls, illuminating the space with a dignified glow. At the front stood a large, raised stage, elegant but imposing, meant for moments of true significance. And today was one of those moments.
Despite the weight of the event, the atmosphere buzzed with a strange, quiet joy, the kind that only came from surviving something harrowing together. The cadets exchanged looks and hushed whispers, the ghost of relief still resting on their shoulders. Out of the 4,567 cadets who had entered the arena, only a few had perished, James and his group, to be exact but no one shed tears for them.
Their deaths, as brutal as they were, felt… justified.
