Breathless under their Rule

CHAPTER 1: THE RING DOES NOT CARE POV: Mira Vale Before I finish saying my name, the first blow hits. I taste blood before I know what pain is. The ring feels like cold stone under my hands as I fall, and the noise that comes from the stands isn't shock. It's interest. Like people getting closer to a fire. Someone says, "Up." It could be a guard. Maybe it's the crowd. I still force myself to my knees because staying down is worse. The bell hasn't gone off yet. This isn't a game. It's a lesson. I look up and see him. My opponent is standing across the ring, relaxed, and rolling his shoulders like this is a warm-up. He is taller than I am. Wider. Everyone can see the silver thread sewn into his uniform sleeve that shows his rank. Third place. If the council thinks it's necessary, they can break bones. I don't have a rank. I don't even have a place. The crowd surrounds the ring in rising rows of stone, with students standing shoulder to shoulder. Some people lean forward. Some people talk in whispers. Some people already look bored. On the high balcony above them, the council sits behind black railings with their hands folded and calm faces. And above them— There, I don't look. I don't have to. I know who is looking. The announcer calls out, "Combat trial," in a clear and sharp voice. "Unranked" and "Third Rank." No giving in. "No interference." No giving in. That means I can't give up. It means that this will end when they say it does. My rival smiles at me. Not mean. Not nice. Just kind. He says softly, so only I can hear, "Don't die." The bell rings. He moves quickly. I don't have much time to raise my arms before his shoulder hits my chest. The air leaves me quickly. I trip back, my boots scraping against the stone, and he's already there again, fist to my ribs and elbow to my jaw. The world leans. I instinctively block the next hit, and pain shoots up my arm. My fingers lose feeling. I spin away before he can grab me, my heart racing and my breath sharp. From below, the ring looked bigger than it is. The edge feels closer with each step I take. I hear people laughing. Not very loud. Not mean. Just... not paying attention. I move. I dodge. I stay light on my feet, just like I learned in the lower yards when survival drills meant something. I wait for an opening that never comes. He plays with me. He lets me hit him once, with a sharp kick to the thigh, just so I think I can fight back. Then he sweeps my legs. I hit the ground hard, and the impact makes my teeth rattle. His boot pushes into my back, holding me down before I can roll. "Get up," he says again, this time in a louder voice. People watch. No one says anything. I push. My arms are shaking. My face is hot with anger, shame, and heat. I get up on my knees and then my feet, but my breath comes in short bursts. Blood drips from my lip onto the stone. I use the back of my hand to wipe it off. "Still standing," someone says, shocked. That makes him scowl. He doesn't like that. He doesn't hold back this time. The next blow hits my cheekbone. There are flashes of light behind my eyes. I stumble and almost lose my balance. Another hit comes, then another, pushing me back step by step. I hear someone say my name. Someone says it like a joke. Someone else says it like a warning. I don't look at the balcony, but I can feel it. The weight of eyes. The weight of being quiet. I think about the rules they taught me when I got to Crescent Academy. Stay strong. Don't ask for things. Don't ever show fear. When his fist hits my stomach and folds me in half, I don't scream. I don't cry when he pulls my hair and yanks my head back so everyone can see my face. He tells them, "Look. She's still trying." My sight is getting blurry. I can taste iron. The guard at the edge of the ring moves, and his hand twitches near his weapon. He doesn't move forward. The council doesn't move. I can see the balcony out of the corner of my eye now. There are four people there. Dark clothes. Marks in silver. The brothers from Duskwood. In the middle is Kael. Still. Watching. His face doesn't give anything away. The realization hurts more than any blow. They're not going to stop this. The grip on my hair gets tighter. "Yield," my opponent says, not in a mean way. "Save yourself." I laugh. It comes out wrong and broken, but it's real. "I can't," I say. He sighs, as if he regrets it. Then he throws me. I hit the edge of the ring and slid, tearing my skin and knocking the wind out of me again. When my shoulder hits stone, it hurts like hell. I curl up without thinking, with my arms over my head. The ring doesn't care. Another kick hits me in the side. Then another one. Each one was measured. Under control. Made to hurt but not end things too quickly. The crowd whispers. This is what they wanted. I make myself uncurl. I get up on my own. My legs are shaking so badly that I think they might give out, but they don't. I stand there, swaying, with blood on my face and my chest heaving. The announcer says nothing. The bell doesn't ring. My opponent looks at me and sees something new in my eyes. Anger. Maybe respect. Could be both. "Why?" he asks in a low voice. I don't say anything. If I talk, I might beg. And I would rather break. He pushes me again. This time, I go first. I duck under his arm and hit him in the ribs with my elbow as hard as I can. He grunts, which surprises him. I spin and hit him again, this time with a wild blow that hits his jaw. The crowd gasps. It makes him mad. His answer is harsh. He grabs my wrist, twists it, and hits me in the stomach with his knee. Before I can stop myself, I yell. He makes a noise to get me closer and then hits me with his head. I see stars. This time when I fall, I don't get up right away. My body says no. The stone feels cold against my cheek. My ear is ringing. The world narrows to breath and pain and the smell of dust and blood. "Get up," someone yells. A voice from a guard. I try. My arms give out. A pause settles over the ring. Not a worry. Choice. I hear footsteps. My opponent crouches next to me and speaks softly. "I told you." His hand wraps around my collar. He lifts me up and throws me back down on my back. The noise that comes out of my mouth is not human. Something inside me breaks. Not bones. Something worse. A chair scrapes on the balcony. My heart skips a beat. I look up. Kael Duskwood steps forward. Hope burns brightly, but it's dumb. He looks me in the eye. For one breath, just one breath, I think he might be able to stop it. After that, he turns away. The hope dies so quickly that it hurts more than the fall. It feels colder in the room. My opponent follows Kael’s gaze, sees the silence for what it is, and straightens. "Endurance noted," he tells the council. "But there is still weakness." The words are clear and final. The announcer raises his hand. "Trial—" "Wait," Kael says. His voice cuts through the air. Everyone turns their head. My heart is racing. He finally looks down at the ring, his face set in stone. "continue," he says. My opponent smiles and walks toward me, saying, "Did you hear that, Mira?" Nobody is coming.