The pit stank of sweat and old fear.
The sun had barely risen when Kael's voice rang through the training yard.
"Today, the Pitborn earn their keep. You fight. You bleed. You prove you're worth feeding."
Asha stood in line with the others, jaw clenched. Her chest was tight, but her eyes were calm, too calm for a boy her size.
Across from them stood the older trainees, the Grinders, veterans of a dozen bloody sparring matches. Some had scars across their lips. One had only three fingers on his left hand. Another had bite marks on his neck that hadn't fully healed.
And at the center of them, towering like a storm cloud, stood Brannor.
Seventeen. Built like a mountain goat that had learned to hate. Crooked teeth, muscles like rope, and eyes that glinted with cruelty. He had once cracked a boy's ribs for not bowing fast enough.
"Runt's mine," he growled when his gaze locked on Asha.
Kael smirked. "Then don't hold back."
The rules were simple.
No killing.
No mercy.
They circled each other in the pit. Sand clung to Asha's bare feet. Her practice blade felt like dead weight in her hand.
Brannor rolled his neck, chuckled.
"What are you, six? You'll piss yourself before I touch you."
Asha didn't answer. Her face was still. Her eyes weren't.
Brannor lunged.
The first blow took her clean across the ribs. She folded, gasping. He didn't stop, he slammed a knee into her gut, knocking her into the sand.
The boys above cheered and jeered. Dagon watched silently from the edge of the pit, arms crossed.
Asha spat blood.
Her ears rang.
The heat of shame burned worse than the bruises.
And then… she heard her mother's scream.
She saw Halric's torn back.
Lina's pleading eyes.
Tovin dragged into darkness.
She stood.
Brannor laughed. "Stupid little corpse doesn't know when to die."
He came again but this time, she moved.
Not fast. But low. Fluid.
She ducked under his strike and jabbed her wooden blade into the soft of his side. Not deep enough to hurt but enough to surprise.
He roared and grabbed her by the hair.
But she didn't scream.
Instead, she twisted with her whole weight and bit his wrist, hard, until she tasted blood.
Brannor howled, stumbled back, and she drove her elbow into his groin.
He fell to his knees, gasping.
Asha raised her blade and slammed it into his face. Once. Twice. A third time.
Until Kael barked, "Enough!"
Silence fell.
Brannor spat a tooth into the sand. His nose was broken, bleeding. His eyes stared at her with something he'd never given anyone before.
Fear.
Kael stepped into the pit, staring down at Asha.
"What's your name, boy?"
Asha wiped blood from her lip.
"Ash."
"You fight like a starved dog. I like that."
Then he turned to the others.
"If any of you want to humiliate him again, you'd better kill him. Because next time, he'll remember."
That night, Asha sat alone outside the barracks, legs bruised, ribs aching.
Dagon joined her without a word.
After a long pause, he said:
"You didn't hesitate."
Asha didn't look at him.
"He deserved worse."
Dagon lit a pipe, blew smoke into the night.
"You're still just a child."
"No, I'm not."
He nodded slowly.
"Not anymore."
Back in her bunk, beneath the thin blanket, Asha unwrapped the real dagger Dagon had given her.
She turned it in her hand.
She would grow stronger.
She would learn to kill better.
One day, she would return to Virehold, not as a little girl in a daisy crown…
…but as vengeance in flesh.
The next morning, Asha was still aching from her fight with Brannor when the barracks door slammed open.
"New meat," Kael barked from the entrance. "Get your eyes off your wounds. You might be fighting this one tomorrow."
A boy stepped inside. Not younger than twelve, not older than fifteen. Wiry. Sharp-featured. His skin was pale from travel, but his clothes, even if ragged, bore the faded embroidery of Serathane silk.
Noble blood, Asha thought.
But it wasn't the clothes that caught her attention.
It was his eyes.
Cold, silver-gray. Clever. Dangerous.
He moved like a cat in a room full of dogs, wary, but unafraid.
The boy dropped a small satchel on the floor and looked over the others without a word. He didn't flinch when one of the larger trainees shoved past him. He didn't even blink.
"What's your name?" Kael asked.
The boy answered without hesitation. "Corin."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "You from Serathane?"
Corin's lips curled slightly. "Not anymore."
"You know how to fight?"
Corin reached into his satchel and tossed a knife into the air. It spun once, perfectly balanced, before landing blade-first in the floor between them.
Kael chuckled.
"Take a bed. Try not to bleed on it."
That night, as the others sharpened their weapons and picked their scabs, Asha sat on her bunk, watching Corin from across the room.
He sat cross-legged, carving patterns into the wooden floor with a thin shard of metal. Spirals and symbols. Old ones.
Dagon noticed, too. "That boy," he said quietly, coming up beside Asha, "has been trained. Not by soldiers. By spymasters."
"Should I be worried?" Asha asked.
"You should always be worried," Dagon said. Then, after a pause: "But he might be useful."
Later that week, Kael matched Asha and Corin together for sparring.
"Let's see what the Pitborn runt can do against a dancing peacock."
They faced off in the center ring. Asha held her blade low, waiting.
Corin didn't rush.
He circled her.
They exchanged no insults. Just silence, breath, movement.
Then Corin struck, fast, almost too fast. His wooden blade jabbed like a serpent's fang, aimed at her ribs.
Asha barely parried.
The second strike came for her neck.
She ducked.
Corin smiled, just slightly. "You're better than you look."
"You talk too much," Asha muttered.
They traded blows. He was faster. She was meaner. He fought like a dancer. She fought like a trap sprung in darkness.
In the end, they both stood, bruised, panting, blades locked.
Kael barked, "Draw."
Neither moved.
Finally, Corin stepped back and said quietly, "You're not like the others."
Asha didn't answer.
"I don't care what you used to be," he added, eyes narrowing. "But if you get in my way... I'll kill you."
"You can try," she said.
He grinned.
"Fair."
That night, while the other boys slept, Asha sat beneath the moonlight with the dagger Dagon gave her.
Corin passed her by on his way to the latrine.
He paused.
"You hide your rage better than most."
Asha looked up. "I don't hide it. I train it."
Corin nodded once, as if that answer meant something.
"Then maybe you'll live longer than the rest of them."