The morning was ghostly quiet, the kind of stillness that made sound feel forbidden. Hannah moved in silence, rolling her shoulders back, the cold air prickling against her skin. One by one, the others gathered, sleep still clinging to their eyes but replaced by something sharper—a determination that hadn’t been there before.

  Without a word, Hannah led them into their routine. The exercises were rough, a hazy memory of what they’d learned before, but each motion held weight now. They pushed harder, sharper. If they were going to do this, they’d need to make use of their old routine.

  As they worked, Hannah’s voice cut through in a low murmur, correcting Atlas’s stance, her hands clenching as the image of Mare running ahead of them played in her mind. Zephyr caught her eye and nodded; she could guide the group through the basics.

  When their breaths grew heavier, and the chill of dawn began to thaw, the group moved into a loose line, trailing toward the training room. They spoke in hushed voices, huddling close as if someone might overhear their plans. They’d spent enough time planning, and they had a solid idea of what the other groups were thinking. They needed to get themselves into shape.

  The room itself was as grim as the rest of the complex—a windowless box, its walls chipped and scarred from years of use. Stains from who knows where was littered across every surface. The room was battered from use, but a fresh layer of dust had settled on each surface. Atlas trailed his finger over the wall to observe the dust, “this place has seen better days,” he laughed bitterly. Hannah had to agree. Old mats lay scattered across the floor, and a few weights lay abandoned in the corner, dull from lack of care. But to them, it was a haven of sorts, a place where they could prepare without prying eyes.

  “We get a room to ourselves, that much is a blessing” Nia added, striding inside. As they examined the room further Ellie spoke up. “Guys…there’s something over here!” she called out, motioning for the other’s attention. The group scurried over to her side, “Looks like a scrawl of some sort?” Hannah questioned, trying to decipher the drawl. Nia peered in closer, “hold on let me take a look…” she trailed off, lost in thought. “I can make out some of it…it says, , the rest is too worn to make out”. Nia stepped away from the wall with a hum. Ellie looked at her quizzically, “what could that mean…”

  Zephyr clapped to get the groups attention, “alright guys, we don’t have long to get going. We can figure out what this means later, we’re losing daylight”. Hannah nodded, allowing her attention to leave the strange carving, “Zeph’s right, we’ve got training to do.”

  “With that said, all of you, line up!” Zephyr started, taking the head position. They had decided they’d all show what they had to offer. Beginning with Zephyr, who’d had the most experience around fighting.

  Zephyr started them off, demonstrating how to position their fists. He held his hands up, the knuckles lightly grazed, evidence of countless fights etched into his skin. “Keep your thumb outside your fingers,” he instructed, his voice steady but carrying an edge of authority. “If you hit wrong, you’ll break your hand before you even land a blow.”

  As he guided them through the motions, memories flickered in his mind—darkened arenas lit by flickering torches, the roar of a crowd hungry for blood, and the sharp tang of sweat and fear that hung heavy in the air. Each correction he offered was laced with the lessons learned from those brutal rings where survival depended on a combination of grit and strategy.

  “Brace for impact,” he continued, shifting into a low stance, knees slightly bent, muscles coiled like springs. “You don’t want to be knocked off balance. It’s about controlling the space between you and your opponent.”

  Hannah watched as he moved, his body instinctively recalling the rhythm of a fight. She noticed how he led them through each drill, layering in nuances—how to pivot on their feet, how to redirect an opponent’s force with their own weight. “It’s not just about strength,” he emphasised, “it’s about using your opponent’s momentum against them.”

  His gaze swept over the group, catching each of their eyes as he spoke, infusing them with the gravity of his past. “I’ve seen what happens when someone fights without thinking. You can be fast, but if you’re reckless, you’ll end up on the ground before you know it. Remember, it’s a dance. You need to anticipate, react, and adapt.”

  The others mimicked his movements, and Hannah could see them starting to understand, their expressions shifting from uncertainty to focus. Underneath Zephyr’s steady guidance, she felt a spark of hope ignite within her. They weren’t just training; they were preparing to reclaim what was theirs, and every punch they threw brought them closer to that goal.

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  Nia followed, her voice quiet but steady as she knelt to sketch out a few plants on the floor with a piece of chalk, her brow furrowed in concentration. The chalk squeaked against the hard surface, creating a faint, white line that contrasted sharply with the dullness of the room. She focused on the shapes, her hands moving with purpose, recalling the illustrations from the books she had pored over in her privileged past.

  “Okay, listen up,” she said, glancing up to catch their attention. “Although it’s risky, I wouldn’t put it past this place to chuck us somewhere as some sort of “survival” challenge. So we need to know our basic grab and do not grab plants.” she began, confidence overflowing.

  “Not all plants are friendly. Some can heal, and others can kill.” She pointed to the first drawing, a simple leaf shape. “This is yarrow. It’s good for stopping bleeding and can help with fevers. If you get hurt out there, this is one of the first things you’ll want to find. The flowers are small and white, and they come together in clusters.”

  She moved on to the next sketch, a spiky flower. “And this one,” she continued, her tone shifting as she elaborated, “is foxglove. Beautiful, but deadly, it comes in purple mostly, but it can also look pink or white. Just a few leaves can cause heart problems, and it’s easy to mistake it for something harmless. Always double-check before you pick anything. If you see it, steer clear”

  Nia’s eyes sparkled with a mixture of passion and urgency as she detailed the differences. “Knowledge is as important as strength,” she reminded them, her hands gesturing emphatically. “Out there, a single mistake could cost you your life. This isn’t just about fighting; it’s about survival in every sense.”

  The others leaned in closer, their attention fixed on her as if she were casting a spell. Nia took a breath, feeling the weight of her responsibility settle over her like a cloak. She had come from relative privilege, the knowledge of how to read hung heavy on her shoulders. But now she was determined to ensure that each of them had the tools they needed to navigate the dangerous world outside their walls.

  “Herbal medicine isn’t just a trick for healing,” she explained, her voice growing more animated. “It’s a way to turn the tables when you’re in a tight spot. Knowing what’s safe and what’s not could save your life. And if you need to poison someone...” She hesitated, the thought making her stomach churn, but she pressed on. “Just remember, it’s all about the dose. A little can be a remedy; too much is deadly.”

  And so she continued, answering questions as they went before the kid’s heads were aching from concentrating. Nia looked over the group before huffing, “seems like everyone’s pretty fed up for now. We’ll keep going tomorrow, but for now…” she gestured to Atlas, who stood proudly, coming to the front of the group.

  Atlas began gathering scraps from around the room, his eyes scanning the floor with a keen focus. He knelt beside a tattered mat, lifting a frayed piece of rope and holding it up for the others to see. “Look at this,” he said, excitement sparking in his voice. “This isn’t just trash. With a little ingenuity, we can turn it into something useful.”

  He moved with purpose, collecting bits of metal and twisted wire discarded in the corners. As he worked, he demonstrated how to twist the rope into a simple sling, the fibers catching the light as he deftly knotted them together. “You see?” he explained, his fingers flying over the materials. “A sling can be a powerful tool. It allows you to launch small stones with force, giving you some distance in a fight. Sometimes, it’s not about being the strongest; it’s about being smart.”

  The others gathered around him, their curiosity piqued as he continued to transform junk into something practical. He showcased how to create knotted ropes, wrapping them around metal scraps to fashion improvised defences. “A well-placed knot can be the difference between capturing an opponent and letting them slip through your fingers,” he said, demonstrating with a series of tight, precise movements. “You just have to think outside the box.”

  Atlas’s focus was intense, his brow furrowed in concentration as he guided them through each step. “If we ever find ourselves cornered, we need to be able to defend ourselves,” he urged. “Every little piece can be repurposed—just like us. We’re not just victims; we can become warriors if we put our minds to it.”

  As he demonstrated the final touches on a makeshift sling, he looked up to see the determination in his friends’ faces. “Remember,” he said, his voice steady and encouraging, “what we lack in brute strength, we can make up for with creativity. We have to be adaptable, ready to turn any situation to our advantage. Nothing is wasted if we learn to use it.”

  With that, he handed out the slings he’d crafted, a sense of pride swelling within him. Each piece of equipment was a testament to their resilience, a symbol of their commitment to fight back against the darkness surrounding them.

  Ellie stepped forward, her short stature making her acutely aware of the need for stealth. “Okay, so I think being sneaky is really important,” she began, her voice brightening with enthusiasm despite her slight shyness. “I mean, I’ve had to be quiet a lot to avoid getting caught. If we want to escape, we have to be smart about how we move.”

  She looked around, a mischievous smile creeping onto her face. “When I used to sneak around the streets, I learned to pay attention to the little things. Like, if you stick to the shadows and move slowly, people won’t see you. It’s all about being aware of where you are.”

  Ellie knelt down, mimicking the movements she practised. “We should practise moving silently, like this,” she said, demonstrating how to tread lightly. “And keep an eye on our surroundings—like, if there are any creaky floorboards or loose stones. You want to know where to step so you don’t make noise.”

  As she spoke, Hannah stepped forward, her expression shifting to one of focus and determination. “That’s great, Ellie,” she encouraged, her voice steady and commanding. “But being sneaky isn’t just about moving quietly; it’s about being aware of everything around you. We need to observe the guards’ patterns, find out when they’re most distracted.”

  She gestured for the group to gather closer. “If we can learn their routines, we can strategize our movements better. We need to plan our escape like a game of chess—every move should count.”

  Hannah continued, her confidence growing as she addressed her friends. “Ellie, your experience is perfect for this. While you practise stealth, we can also think about our exit routes and where we might find cover. Together, we can create a plan that uses all of our strengths.”

  Ellie nodded, her initial hesitation giving way to determination. “Yeah, we can work together! If we all keep our eyes open, we’ll be ready for anything,” she said, her excitement bubbling over.

  As the others rallied around them, Ellie felt a sense of belonging. She might be short, but she had something valuable to contribute. With Hannah leading the way and their combined skills, they were becoming more than just a group of kids—they were a team ready to fight back.

  They worked with purpose, each bruise, each scrape, each movement a promise: they would survive.