stardust chords | the darkling

1 | BLINDING LIGHT

I THINK IT'S RATHER BEAUTIFUL.

All Mal Oretsev could hear was the roaring of the crowd, each of them crammed inside of a tent and standing around a circle where he and a fellow soldier were waiting. As a bell rang, a man called for final bets, signifying that it was time for the fight to begin.

Smooth, tanned skin was revealed as Mal slid his shirt over his head, handing it to Dobrev and Mikhael, who were amongst the only ones rooting for him — his opponent was taller.

"Keep it clean, boys, go on," the promoter said, getting out of the way.

It was by no means a quick fight, and Mal felt it in his gut when he received the first punch. He let his body fall back almost dramatically — something he'd learned from Ithaca.

Never let them know how strong you really are until it counts.

Then Mal was back on his feet, blood thrumming away in his ears as he blocked a hit and then punched the man in the nose, the sickening crack drowned by the sounds of the clamoring crowd. When he rightened himself, he tried to punch Mal, who sidestepped him and then tripped him. The opponent tried to get up, but Mal was quicker, hitting him hard once more in the head until he dropped like a sack of flour.

When he didn't immediatly get up, the bell rang, signifying Mal as the winner. Mikhael and Dobrev ran over excitedly, hugging him before Mal kindly helped his opponent stand — the fight was all in good fun, after all.

"You beauty!" Dobrev said, shaking Mal heartily, who smiled.

"My boy, Mal Oretsev, wins again!" Mikhael cheered. "Who wants a go?"

The cheering died out as a man stepped forward, his station signified by the royal blue of his kefta.

"I'll take a turn," the Grisha man said, a smirk on his face. "How about it? Just you and me."

Then he used his magic — Small Science, they called it — to throw dirt as Mal, it getting in his eyes. The crowd booed, no one in the First Army a friend of the Grisha.

Mal stepped forward intimidatingly, but his Lieutenant grabbed him and dragged him back. "No, no, no. If you lose, you'll be in the medika. If you win, they'll throw you in the brig. Shut it down, boys! Shut it down!"

"You try me without that magic, huh?" Mal spat angrily.

"It's just air. Come on!" the Grisha pleaded cockily. "Anyone! Anyone!"

"I'll have a go," a firm but feminine voice spoke up, cutting through the chattering crowd clearly.

Everyone parted as they always did for their Colonel. Ithaca Zaiste had black kohl around her green eyes and dried blood underneath her nose, a sign that it wasn't her first fight of the day. She stood tall despite her lacking height, her gaze taking in the embroidery around the kefta that signified the man as a Squaller.