The horn's echo was still hanging in the air when I pushed forward, letting instinct take over. The mud swallowed my boots with a thick tug, cold and heavy around my ankles, but my body moved before hesitation could creep in. Years of training my aunt drilled into me whispered through my muscles, guiding my steps into a steady rhythm.
The mud splashed against my legs as I sprinted across it, not fighting the sinking weight but using it to propel myself. Each stride sent droplets flying, catching the light like scattered sparks.
Some recruits beside me stumbled almost immediately, their steps uneven as the ground tried to claim them. I leaned forward, lowering my center of gravity. The mud resisted, but I knew better than to panic. When the earth tries to pull you down, you pull back with twice the will.
I reached the end of the pit faster than I expected, breath warm against the cool air. My hands hit the ground as I dropped to a crawl under the spike wires.
The metallic scent of rust hung low, the spikes dangling only inches above my back. My palms pressed into the damp sand, fingers sliding over grit and tiny stones. I kept my elbows tucked in, body flat. Every scrape of fabric against the ground echoed loudly in my ears.
Ahead, a recruit panicked halfway through, lifting his head too high. The spike caught his hair and yanked him down. He froze, trembled, then continued with shaking arms. Fear makes people clumsy. Aunt Jeya was right.
My breath stayed steady as I glided beneath the wires, dirt smearing across my forearms and cheek. When I emerged from the other side, sunlight greeted me again.
The real challenge rose before me.
The oil-soaked wall towered high, its surface gleaming like black glass. I could already see the frustration etched into the faces of recruits who attempted before me, their fingers sliding off the slick surface, their bodies hitting the ground again and again.
I exhaled slowly, centering myself.
Speed first. Grip second. Momentum last.
I sprinted toward the wall, pushing all hesitation aside. My foot hit the base and I launched upward, palms slapping against the cold, slippery wood. Immediately it tried to throw me off. My fingers curled tighter, searching for friction.
For a moment it felt like gravity was smirking at me.
Then I kicked off the wall again, using the leverage gained from the first impact. My left hand found a faint groove, barely more than a scratch. It was enough. I pulled, swung upward, and threw my arm over the top.
My muscles burned as I hoisted myself over and finally slid down the other side with a controlled drop. Recruits below looked up with surprise. A few whispered. I pretended not to hear.
Next came the boulders.
My shoulders rolled as I approached them, preparing for the strain. Each stone was carved unevenly, rough to the touch, with cracks that ran like old scars across their surfaces. I chose one medium in size, saving my strength for the swim ahead.
Its weight pressed against my arms as I lifted it, settling into my chest with a density that almost knocked the air out of me. My stance widened, knees bending to counterbalance the heaviness. Steps steady and controlled, I carried it across the line, then back again, the stone biting into my skin through my clothes.
By the time I set it down, my breath was deep but controlled. My heart thumped a fast yet disciplined rhythm.
The final obstacle waited, its waters dark and churning with floating debris.
Cold mist rose from the pool as I approached. It smelled of iron and damp wood. One of the recruits slipped entering the water and disappeared beneath the surface for a tense second before emerging, choking.
I inhaled once and dove in.
The cold swallowed me whole, but it woke every nerve in my body. My arms cut through the water with practiced form, my legs kicking in a steady rhythm. Planks brushed against my side. Something soft, maybe fabric, tangled near my ankle before drifting away.
The surface rippled above me. My lungs tightened as I moved faster, refusing the water's pull. When I finally broke through the other end and pulled myself out, the world snapped back into clarity.
Water dripped down my face and neck, hitting the dirt below. My hair clung to my cheeks. My breath fogged the air.
I looked up at the instructor.
He was expressionless, but his eyes lingered on me for a moment longer than on the others.
I straightened my back, breathing hard but steady.
This was only the beginning. And I could already feel it.
I manage well thanks to the training I've had since entering the academy, and Aunt Jeya's periodic sessions certainly didn't let me slack either. I prepared for this. My body has already grown used to this type of grind; the academic side was just me studying on my own, late nights and stubborn determination.
I took a deep breath, letting the air settle in my lungs as I slowly recovered my rhythm. The instructor's voice cut through the room just as another gate clanked open.
A new obstacle slid into view.
Those who passed the first gate were now tasked with dragging body decoys, some weighted to match a human frame, others heavier than any average adult I've ever seen. We were given a quota: drag at least one hundred bodies in sixty minutes.
That was quite the challenge.
My jaw tightened, but I stepped forward without hesitation. Complaining wouldn't make the decoys any lighter.
I grabbed the first one by its harness. The synthetic skin was cold against my fingers.
Alright, Seyfe… one hundred bodies. One hour. You've done worse. You've trained for worse.
I braced my stance and pulled.
The weight hit me instantly, a dense, unyielding mass that wanted to stay exactly where it was. My muscles strained, my boots dug into the ground.
Good. Let it fight back.
A small grunt escaped my throat as I leaned my entire frame into the drag. The body decoy skidded forward, inch by inch, then finally began to slide with steady resistance.
One down… or almost down. Only ninety-nine more to go.
Despite the exertion, a faint smirk tugged at my lips.
Jeya would tell me to stop thinking and keep dragging. So that's what I'll do.
I pulled harder. The training hall echoed with the scraping of bodies and the labored breaths of cadets, but in my mind, everything narrowed to the simple rhythm: step, pull, breathe, repeat.
As the clock passed, I frowned a little.
I had only managed about thirty decoys. When I glanced at the timer again, it showed twenty minutes left.
I completely underestimated the weight of these things. The longer I dragged them, the heavier each one felt. Fatigue was expected, but what I didn't account for was the unpredictability, same frame, same size, yet some weighed drastically more than others. It was like dragging stubborn boulders disguised as people.
I stood still for a moment, catching my breath, letting my mind work faster than my body.
Alright. Think, Seyfe.
After a little pondering, I grabbed the hem of my sweater and tore it open. The fabric ripped with a sharp snap. Then my shirt another quick tear. I tied the pieces together into makeshift cords. It left me in my sando, but modesty was the last thing on my mind right now.
I needed something functional, something that could let me drag more than one body at a time.
I didn't have the body frame to carry two decoys on my shoulders, but I did have leverage. Technique over brute strength, always.
With quick, practiced movements, I looped the improvised harness around three decoys at once, tightening the knots until the fabric bit into itself. Then I wrapped the harness's end securely around my torso.
Three at once.
I planted my feet firmly in the dirt, feeling it shift beneath my soles. I lowered my center of gravity, angled my torso forward, and locked my arms to my sides.
Use your body. Use your legs. Let the ground help you.
I exhaled sharply and pulled.
The strain hit me like a fist to the gut, three massive weights resisting me all at once, but I grit my teeth and kept going. My muscles burned, my back trembled, but the decoys budged.
Then they slid.
Not smoothly. Not easily. But they moved.
Good.
I dragged them into the lane, every step a battle of will versus gravity. My breath came out in harsh bursts, sweat rolling down my temples, but momentum slowly kicked in.
One long pull at a time.
If I could keep this pace… I could still make the quota. Or at the very least, get a lot closer than thirty.
"Come on," I muttered under my breath, planting my heel and dragging again. "Move."
And the decoys did.
Time lapsed in a blur as I kept dragging body decoys after body decoys, my muscles screaming but my focus razor sharp.
At some point, the world narrowed to the feel of rough ground beneath my feet, the burn in my arms, and the sound of my own breathing. I barely registered the others around me anymore.
When I finally glanced up, I froze.
Three inches.
Three inches from the finish line.
And the timer, one minute left.
Conveniently, or cruelly, the last three of the thirty bodies I needed to hit the quota lay right in front of me.
No time to think. No time to waste.
I tore the harness off my torso and wrapped the makeshift straps tightly around my forearms instead. Facing the decoys head on, I planted my feet, lowered my stance, and gripped the cords.
"Last stretch," I whispered to myself.
I pulled, hard.
My knees bent, my weight dropped, and I let my body fall into a rhythm of short, forceful jumps backward. Each hop dragged the decoys a few inches. Each pull shook my arms to their limit.
Thirty seconds.
My heart hammered. My breath hitched.
Twenty seconds.
The line was right there, close enough to taunt me, far enough to make me fight for it.
Ten seconds.
I gave one final, desperate heave.
The decoys slid over the line. All three. All of them.
I collapsed onto my knees for a moment, chest heaving as the last seconds on the clock ticked away.
I did it. I did it.
I forced myself upright, correcting my posture despite the tremble in my limbs. I stretched my shoulders and arms, giving myself a moment to breathe.
A shadow moved in front of me.
"Wear this," Garrenya said as she casually tossed a suit my way.
I blinked, catching it against my chest. "Ah, thank you."
Only then did it hit me.
She had been there the whole time.
Watching from the sidelines.
I wore the suit. It clung tightly to my skin, outlining every line of my body, but at least it granted full flexibility. Still… I really needed to clean myself after all this.
The third gate opened.
This time, the challenge was far worse.
It was a field filled with giant arrows fired from the front side, each one big enough to impale a person whole. Debris was scattered everywhere, some pieces large enough to serve as cover, others small enough to trip on.
But the moment I saw one recruit hide behind a chunk of stone, only for the arrow to smash it apart and send him ragdolling into the ceiling, I froze.
Oh gosh…
Medics rushed in to retrieve him, and the remaining recruits stiffened in fear.
I swallowed hard, steadying my breath as I stepped forward.
Run. That was the only option left. Hide, and I'd be skewered like the other guy.
I darted into the field, my heartbeat loud in my ears as arrows whistled and slammed into the ground around me.
As I dodged the first few shots, I focused on the pattern. I tried to calculate the height between the arrow's path and the ground, watching the angle, watching how low they dipped.
Maybe crouching below them could work… if the pattern stayed consistent.
Plan A. Simple. Possibly stupid. But simple.
I just needed to observe. To measure. To find that rhythm before the next arrow found me.
And then move.
One… two… three…
I ducked.
The gap was wide enough for me to slide and crawl across the dirt, the arrows screaming overhead as they tore into the ground behind me. For a moment, it worked my body low, my breath steady, my instincts sharp.
But when I reached the fifteen meter mark, everything changed.
The arrows suddenly dipped lower.
So low that one of them grazed a strand of my hair.
Nope. Not happening.
I immediately pushed myself up and sprinted upright, trusting my legs more than the crawl. I needed to rethink, use something, use anything. Observing wasn't enough anymore.
Then I saw it.
A new gap.
But not below this time, it was between two massive arrows shooting side by side, leaving a narrow sliver of space between their paths. Tight, but just enough for me to squeeze through if I angled my body right.
I counted again, feeling the rhythm.
One… two… now.
I twisted my body sideways and dashed through the gap just as the pair of arrows blasted past me, their gust nearly spinning me off balance.
I made it.
At the thirty meter mark, the arrows changed again.
They sped up, violently.
One of them ripped past my left arm, grazing me just enough to tear skin. A burning sting shot through me and I grunted, clutching the spot for half a heartbeat before forcing myself forward.
No stopping. Not now.
I picked up my pace. One step, then another, fast, faster.
Then I froze.
Five.
Five giant arrows, all barreling toward me at once in a tight spread, leaving almost no room to escape. Not above, not below, not sideways.
Think, Seyfe. Think.
But my mind was blank.
No plan. No strategy. Just instinct.
And my instinct chose the stupid option.
I sprinted straight at them.
As the first arrow lunged toward me, I jumped, not high, but timed, my body twisting sideways in the air. The arrow passed just beneath my legs while I tucked in, rolling mid air and landing behind the barrage, dust kicking up around me.
I was alive.
Shaken, but alive.
And now I understood the pattern. I didn't need to dodge every arrow perfectly, I just needed to twist my body through the tiny gaps between their strikes.
So that's what I did.
Arrow after arrow, I shifted, ducked, turned, squeezed, rolling past the screaming projectiles as they thudded behind me one after another.
And finally.
The end of the field was right there in front of me.
A few more steps, just a few.I could almost taste the victory.
I took a sharp breath and screamed as I hurled myself over another barrel, the metal edge skimming close enough to my leg that I felt the wind of it brush against my skin.
I didn't land gracefully.
I hit the ground hard, so hard the concrete beneath me cracked in a sharp, splintering sound that echoed across the field.
Pain shot up my spine.
Ugh… my back…
I lay there for a heartbeat, face pressed against the cold, dusty floor, trying to breathe through the ache pulsing across my ribs and waist. The impact rattled something deep in me, but somehow, I pushed myself onto my elbows.
The world felt like it was tilting, my heartbeat pounding against my ears.
But the finish line was still ahead.So painfully close.
And I wasn't about to quit now.
I grit my teeth and forced my palms flat against the fractured concrete. Every muscle screamed, but the finish line was only a few breaths away.
I staggered up to my feet, my legs trembling beneath me, dust clinging to my suit and sweat dripping down my neck. The pain in my back burned, but the adrenaline drowned it just enough for me to move.
One step. Another.
And then I pushed myself forward in a half‑run, half‑stumble. The world blurred for a moment, the sounds of arrows slamming into the ground behind me fading into a distant thrum.
My foot crossed the painted line.
A sudden wave of relief washed over me.
I made it. I actually made it.
My knees nearly buckled, my breath sharp and uneven as I leaned forward, hands on my thighs, sweat dripping onto the dirt.
The whistle blew, signaling my completion.
Somewhere behind the haze of exhaustion, I heard a few scattered cheers. Someone even muttered, "Damn… she cleared that?"
But all I could think was—
I passed. That final jump… it actually sent me across.
My lungs burned, my back throbbed, but despite all that, a quiet pride settled into my chest.
I survived the third gate.