Pia struck first. A decisive stab made a clean tear in the fabric of Seth’s cloak before he tried to respond in kind.

  But by the time he lifted his blade, the opportunity had already been lost. Her rapier made another stab at him, this time aiming for his gut. He dodged it easily, turning and swinging his sword to the side to catch her free right hand.

  The blade, as it slid across Pia’s hand, decorated itself in a deep red that only allowed onlookers a brief glimpse before immediately parrying the next attack.

  In any regular duel, drawing blood would have ended the fight. Seth would have been disqualified, giving Pia an easy win, as the goal was not to injure but to do the exact opposite: to be able to disarm your opponent without injury. It was considered graceful by many, even an art under certain circumstances. Here, it appeared that all the classic rules were off the table. If it had been designed to allow bloodshed, Ty was sure she would have enjoyed the sport far more.

  Eyeing Seth step back with a long, dramatic draw, Pia stood open-mouthed, shocked, before lunging forward to drive her rapier into her brother’s chest.

  But it stopped short of its destination. Her clean blade met his red one as she hopped back from the recoil and swung again at his blade poised to deliver a similar blow.

  The cacophonous sound of clanging rang in the courtyard as the two parried blow after blow, Seth taking the brunt of the damage that Pia was throwing onto him with only her left hand, her right dangling limply to her side as she kept pushing him back.

  When Seth finally started looking fed up with the constant battery, something changed. He started leaning into his parries, making the slightest change in his stance.

  Adapting to her opponent’s sudden shift, she immediately stopped her offensive barrage, letting her sword arm drop while she skipped back a few steps, breathing heavily and observing her opponent.

  Seth dropped the weary act and hovered for a split second before dashing forward with his rapier outstretched towards Pia’s sword hand—only if it were that easy to land another hit.

  A heavy sigh seemed to escape from Pia as she crouched and let the blade cross her peripheral vision before slamming the entire weight of her body upward against Seth’s legs. The weight of her brother, however, was still far too much for her small frame to hold, and she lost her footing along with him.

  But she recovered quickly, raising her blade to strike his before the chance was gone, yelling angrily when he countered weakly while still down.

  With one hand on the ground, the other balancing Pia’s sword, Seth pushed himself up from the ground and propelled himself against his opponent, launching himself into a flurry of hits similar to that of his sibling’s.

  Instead of blocking and returning all the hits like his brother had, Pia dodged several before making an effort to counter; her movements, though swift and artful, could not mask the fatigue that was beginning to set in. Something had to be done, and fast.

  Cut after cut—none ever enough to matter—Seth’s hits only got weaker and weaker. He laid failed attack after attack, starting to lose focus as the onlooking students grew agitated.

  They could both continue to exchange blows. Someone sometime would have to win, give in to fatigue. What kind of victory would that be, then?

  Pathetic, Ty thought to herself. Pathetic, echoed her mother’s voice.

  Just as she finished the thought, a sharp sliding sound rang throughout the courtyard.

  Sword at her brother’s throat, Pia held out a bloody hand.

  Her brother, on the ground, watched her. She said something inaudible, stepped closer, sliding the rapier over his neck, making a shallow red cut.

  Again, she made a beckoning motion with her bloodied right hand.

  Seth didn’t even flinch, watching his sister intently as his arms did their best to prevent him from collapsing onto the floor behind him in disgrace.

  Pia looked at him for a long moment, and then, in a shocking moment of mercy, she started turning away.

  Ty clenched her fists in her lap.

  Taking the bait, Seth shifted ever so slightly in his spot, adjusting his hold on his sword.

  On that cue, Pia swirled back around, and with full force, she slid the blade across her brother’s neck.

  “Stop!”

  Pia let go of her rapier mid-flesh and started walking away.

  The older student didn’t bother to announce the end of the fight, instead watching the young physician run to where Seth now lay flat against the ground in shock.

  “Oh Graces, Elias is in trouble, isn’t he?” fretted an inappropriately excited voice from beside Ty.

  She looked at Cyril, who had miraculously appeared beside her while she was immersed in the duel.

  Alex, who was standing behind the bench, looked horrified. “I’m so glad you didn’t choose me.”

  Ty turned back to the courtyard, just in time to watch Seth get carried over to the infirmary. Nate barely gave him a glance as Halle promptly announced the commencement of the second-year duels.

  Similarly untraditional like the first, they weren’t terribly interesting to Ty, but she perked up when they finished and moved onto the first-years.

  “That’s B’s tactician,” Korinna noted seriously, nodding to the blond-haired boy stepping onto the field, a girl opposite to them. “Luci.”

  “What about him?” prompted Cyril, a gleam in his eyes.

  Korinna uncrossed and then re-crossed her legs. “People keep talking about him at the dining hall. His reputation apparently precedes him.”

  “Any good?”

  She turned to Theo and smirked. “You interested? I ain’t talkin’ about battle.”

  The physician didn’t even bother to meet her eyes. “No thanks.”

  “What, you don’t swing that way?”

  “If by ‘way’ you mean ‘brainless’, then—”

  “They’re starting,” Faris cut in.

  After a lengthy battle, with Class 1-C as its victor, they proceeded with next the first-year duel, the last second-year duel, and then, at last, an empty stage. The last fight against class 1-A was soon.

  Against the deafening roars of almost all the second-years who cheered for their victor, Ty found her attention drifting. Elias was going to be put against Class 1-C’s duelist, Rivi, who beat out the rest of the first-year competitors. Was there anything that she could gleam from the fights that she could use to calculate the likely victor?

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  She shut everyone out, thinking.

  Halle said something that calmed down the crowd, and someone tapped her shoulder for the second time.

  Ty blinked a few times, refocused her eyes, and then spotted Nate on the stage looking in her direction. Almost straight at her.

  “Ty!” The tap grew more frantic as she turned her head to the voice beside her.

  Her classmates on the bench all had their heads turned to her.

  She turned around in her spot, oblivious, and then realized that everyone else in the courtyard had their eyes on her.

  “Elias disappeared, we need a sub,” hissed Korinna, pushing Ty away from the bench. “Go!”

  * * *

  Standing in front of the stage, she dropped her bag and cloak callously onto the ground.

  “Name and rank?” Halle offered her a smile.

  “Ty, tactician,” she snapped while clipping her hair to the side with her class pin and adjusting her blouse, stopping and repeating it softer when she realized she was addressing a superior.

  The fourth-year was perfectly pleasant, nodding. “Do you need some time to prepare?”

  Ty quickly stripped off her socks, smoothed the bandage on her leg, and then put her flats back on. Good thing that healed quickly. “I’m ready,” she replied. “Where’s my sword?”

  “Here.”

  She turned to Nate, who was still sitting on the stage. He tossed one to her and she caught it with her right hand, swinging it aggressively a few times to test its weight while Halle headed back to her position at the front.

  “I told you. Whenever there’s trouble.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she muttered dismissively, trying to remember Rivi’s moves in her mind as she continued to swing her arm. When had her last duel been? The traditional one against an adjudicator during her entrance exam, probably. She had won that easily.

  “For our final battle, we have Class 1-C’s duelist, Rivi, and Class 1-A’s tactician, Ty!”

  From the corner of her eye, Ty spotted Rivi staring indignantly at her as she stepped into the arena. Her second time fighting a tactician today, she must think we’re all full of ourselves.

  Taking a steady breath, Ty walked onto the grass with a lowered head, avoiding all the expectant faces in the audience until she reached her mark.

  She stopped and looked up. Raised her sword, focusing on her opponent’s figure across the courtyard. Saw her class and their bench behind her. Theo, with his hand over his mouth, staring at her with a faraway look in his eyes.

  Her mind blanked.

  Sword in hand, she watched her opponent steadily as they walked toward each other. She could not remember the last time she had felt so drained, so deflated, yet so steadfast.

  The tip of the gold blade dragged across the dirt, making thin, jagged lines as she stumbled forward half-heartedly, dreading the conclusion to their lengthy story, one that had felt like a lifetime.

  What did this all amount to, a tragedy?

  She finally reached the center of the courtyard.

  Silence.

  They looked at each other, one with a weapon and one with nothing.

  Steady.

  No words.

  A single decision.

  Wiping her face with the sleeve of her cloak, suppressing the immeasurable weight in her chest, she clutched the hilt of the sword with both hands, raised it high, and let—

  “Go!”

  Ty blinked and found herself in the courtyard. Frozen, feeling an acute sense of fear and doom. Seeing the blood. So much blood.

  With immense force, Rivi’s blade landed on hers as she did her best to absorb the blow, watching her opponent steadily as she felt her feet lose their grip on the ground.

  I can’t do this, her mind immediately registered, solidifying what she had seen play out in the fights before. There was no way she was going to win a head-on fight with her.

  Letting the hit propel her backward, she watched Rivi poise to land another, waiting until the last second to move away, trying to buy herself time as she analyzed her situation. Sure, she knew the traditional feints, but she had never been taught to land any.

  Missing her initial jab, Rivi followed up to the side quick enough to catch Ty unaware and nick the edge of her skirt.

  Instead of countering the attack with her own, Ty continued to back away and analyze her opponent’s movements, trying to compound her actions with those she had seen in the battles prior. Not wearing her usual dueling attire wasn’t something that had gone into her own internal calculations, but there was no time to be sorry about torn clothes when it was clear that even pure skill could not best the powerhouse that was Rivi.

  An eye for an eye?

  Ty thought she endured pain quite well.

  Rivi bolted to her right side after regaining her stance, her movement indicating that she intended on swinging upwards to catch some part of Ty’s arm; accordingly, she moved her arm just enough for the sword to swish past, which she took to launch her own attack.

  Still, too late.

  Her sword ricocheted off Rivi’s, and she leaned forward into the hit before coming to the same conclusion as before. It was a losing battle.

  She bounced back again, letting her arm drop as she tried to breathe in evenly, standing completely exposed while she studied Class 1-C’s student.

  There. A slight twist in her right leg, the tiniest movement in her eyes.

  Ty moved appropriately, this time a second before the hit registered, managing to sidestep and use her sword to barely graze the side of Rivi’s hip—missing her arm completely.

  Tch.

  It didn’t even seem to bother Rivi at all as she continued to swing with a fierce look in her eyes. Ty clutched her sword to her side, stepping back and dodging the attacks as artfully as she could with her drastically decreasing stamina.

  Another swipe. Another dodge. They were stuck on repeat, with Rivi showing no signs of slowing down, no signs of making any more mistakes in her footwork. But Ty, she had made many small mistakes, slip-ups that Rivi capitalized on, landing cut after cut.

  After another parry, Ty feigned another mistake and let Rivi land another hit. The burning felt like another dull pain now, all coalescing together.

  In truth, the mistakes weren’t all on purpose; she was truly tired, and she could feel the audience growing antsy. The atmosphere had lost its excitement and instead, with bated breath, the audience watched 1-A’s tactician get knocked around effortlessly, waiting for the one hit that would end it all.

  Pathetic, her mother’s voice echoed.

  Ty reached out again to try and steal another hit, reclaim part of her dignity by hoping that her classmates who wanted little to do with her might accept her a bit more if she won, only to see, at the corner of her eye, Rivi’s sword puncture her lower left abdomen. Far too swiftly for her to dodge the hit.

  Too soon, her mind cried.

  Her thoughts were replaced with chaos as she let out a gasp and faltered, dropping down on one knee and trying to still her breathing, doing everything to not let her brain go into shock as she sought her answer: grabbing her own sword with both hands, she drove it through Rivi’s bare leg.

  Blood. So much blood.

  All-too conscious about how much time she had left before the adrenaline left her system and her body realized what was happening, she released her left hand from her sword and reached for Rivi’s, which was conveniently still resting in her.

  Rather than dislodge the rapier, Ty reached forward to try and grab the hilt, underestimating Rivi’s resolve when it began to pull away from her.

  Ty would not have come so far, endure so much pain and humiliation, to be the only one to fall. She used her right hand to drive her sword into the ground and used her left to clutch the sword exiting her by the blade so that her opponent could not retract, throwing away all common sense as she held it back.

  “What?” Rivi burst, losing her balance and falling onto the ground.

  This is it. Ty held onto Rivi’s sword tighter, the feeling in her hand starting to melt and become numb in the mess of blood and pain. She continued to try and breathe in, barely counting to two before finding that there wasn’t enough air.

  She clenched tightly on the blade and tried to pull it back again.

  Still, Rivi would not let go.

  Ty looked up and tried to catch her opponent’s gaze, the open-mouthed, wide-eyed, fearful Rivi.

  Oh, that’s satisfying.

  It only lasted for a moment before she caught the horrified expressions of all the students by the edge of the courtyard, watching this show of unrelenting avarice.

  Then, there was only fear. She couldn’t see her classmates anymore. She couldn’t find the bench or their tree no matter how hard she tried to search for it in the mess. She couldn’t make out any of the faces. She could only see the bodies. The flesh. Shadows of what were once people.

  And suddenly she remembered where she was, what she was fighting for, how minuscule this small fight was in the grand scheme of things.

  She remembered her classmates’ words from the night before, the Headmistress’s words, Nate’s words. The words of all those who spoke of people like her. Behind closed doors, to her face, while she endured it all. While she began to believe that all the rumors were, no matter how hard she tried to fight it, true.

  How much of a monster she was. The monster she was born to be.

  I’m not a monster, she told herself. I’m not a monster, I’m not a monster, I’m not a monster.

  You’re a monster, screamed Rivi’s eyes.

  With trembling hands, she let go of both swords and brought her hands in front of her face. Desperately seeking something human in them, desperately trying to find the human in her that she wanted to be.

  “I’m not a monster,” she cried softly, trying to wipe away the blood on her hands with more blood. So much blood. So much pain. But her hands were shaking too much, her vision too blurry with tears that would not obey. Tears that would not wash away her existence.

  Finally realizing that it was futile, she used her hands to feel for the ground underneath her to stand up, dislodging the sword in her side, staggering like a newborn calf, walking past Rivi, going straight even though she couldn’t see where straight was. She had to move forward, she had to walk away. Walk away from the monster she was, the tragedy she left behind. The tragedy she always left behind, ever since she was born.

  Tragedy, her birthright.

  Just a few more steps, she told herself. Keep going, and everything will be okay.

  Theo caught her as she collapsed into her tenth step.