The cribbled omega warrior girl

Observe

*Isla*

I reach the edge of the branch. My hand, slick with sweat and blood, closes over the rough wood. I've made it. I'm not one of the first five. I won't get the double ration. But it doesn’t matter, I am here, I did it against all odds. I didn't fall.

I manage to pull myself onto the branch, all but collapsing over it, my body shaking with a violent combination of exhaustion and pain. I lie there, my cheek pressed against the bark, and just breathe. Telling myself that I did it. I survived.

A shadow falls over me. I don't have to look up to know it's Caelen. He moves with a silence that's unnerving. And I honestly half expect him to kick me off the branch.

"Cadet," he says, his voice as impassive as ever.

I push myself up, my shoulder screaming in protest, and force myself to a sitting position, my legs dangling precariously. I face him, meeting those unnervingly bright green eyes without flinching. I have nothing left to hide.

"Sir," I manage, my voice a hoarse whisper.

He studies me for a long moment, his gaze sweeping over my torn tunic, my bloody hands, the way I cradle my injured arm. There's no hint of the approval I crave, nor the disgust I fear. There's only that unnerving, clinical assessment.

"Your left arm is compromised," he states. "For the remainder of the day, you will be assigned to the healers' tents for assessment. You will not be dismissed from training. You will return and you will observe. You will learn." He pauses, his gaze sharpening, pinning me in place. "Warriors who cannot fight can still be useful. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. Observe. Learn. It's a punishment, a demotion. Being sent to the healers is what I was supposed to choose for myself, not what was forced upon me by failure.

"Dismissed," he says, and with a fluid, unnerving grace, he turns and begins to descend the tree, not back the way he came, but taking a different, even more difficult route, simply because it is there. He moves with the absolute certainty of a predator who has never once doubted his place in the world.

The trip down is a special kind of hell. With one arm useless, I'm forced to slide and scrape my way down the trunk, using my good leg and my back against the bark. By the time my boots hit the forest floor, I'm covered in dirt, sap, and blood, shaking so hard my teeth chatter.

Liora is waiting for me, her face pale and etched with worry. "Isla," she breathes, her hands hovering, afraid to touch me. "Your arm..."

"It's fine, or will be," I mumble, the words brittle. "He's sending me to the healers."

"Good," she says, her relief immediate. "You need it. That was... insane."

"No," I snap, the frustration and humiliation boiling over. "It's not good. I'm supposed to be here, training. Not... observing." The word tastes like failure.

"Hey," Liora says, her tone softening. She gently rests a hand on my good shoulder. "You climbed that tree, Limpy. With one arm and a bad leg. No one expected that. Not even him. I saw it. He watched you the whole way. He didn't just let you pass, he guided you. He's not trying to break you, he's trying to see what you're made of."

Her words sink in, a small, soothing balm on the raw wound of my pride. He did guide me. Not with kindness, but with brutal, impersonal instruction. It wasn't pity. It was a lesson. But it still hurts. The victory feels hollow.

Cedric approaches, his face a thundercloud of disapproval. "This is reckless, Fennec's approach. You could have permanently damaged that shoulder." He reaches out as if to inspect me, his movements practiced, paternalistic. "Come on. I'll walk you to the healers' tent."

I pull back before he can touch me, a flinch that's pure instinct. "I can find it myself," I say, my voice flat. His proximity, the scent of his clean laundry and self-assurance, makes my skin crawl. "I have my orders. Get healed and observe."

"Isla, don't be difficult," he sighs, running a hand through his perfect blonde hair. "This isn't about orders. This is about your well-being."

"My well-being is my own concern, supervisor," I retort, the title a small, sharp barb. I turn away from him, my gaze sweeping over the other cadets. A few are still trying to scramble up the tree, but most are collapsed on the ground, defeated and exhausted. The ones who made it to the branch are now talking amongst themselves. They don't look at me.

"As you wish," Cedric says, his voice tight. He gives me one last, pitying look that makes my jaw clench, then turns and walks back toward the rest of the new cadets, his spine straight.

Liora links her arm through my good one, steadying me. "Come on. Let's get you looked at before you pass out and prove him right."

We limp away from the clearing, leaving the sounds of grunting effort and Caelen's silent supervision behind us.