In Dauntless halls, where shadows danced,
There lived a boy, with mischief glanced.
Peter, they called him, a wicked name,
For chaos and trouble, his only aim.
With smirk so sly, and words so biting,
He mocked and taunted, pure delighting
In others'...
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The rhythmic clang of metal on metal tore Y/n from a dream of sun-drenched meadows and the soft murmur of a summer breeze. Her eyes snapped open, the harsh glare of the dormitory lights a jarring contrast to the idyllic world she'd just left behind.
A groan rumbled in her chest as the reality of her surroundings crashed down: cold steel, not plush carpet; the scent of sweat and fear, not honeysuckle and freshly baked bread her father was known to make. Dauntless.
She sat up, the thin blanket slipping from her shoulders, and squinted towards the source of the insistent clanging. It was Four, his face illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights, a metal ladle in his hand, the source of the incessant noise as he banged it against the metal railing.
"I want everyone in the pit," he commanded, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "Two minutes."
Y/n scrambled out of bed, her limbs heavy with sleep. She quickly pulled on her training clothes, the rough fabric a far cry from the soft cotton nightgowns of her past.
She shoved her feet into her boots, ignoring the way the laces dug into her skin. There was no time for comfort, not here. Not in Dauntless.
She rushed into the communal bathroom, the smell of stale water and sweat assaulting her senses. Ignoring the other initiates, she splashed water on her face, the coldness a shock to her system.
She hastily brushed her teeth, the minty taste doing little to erase the metallic tang of anxiety that coated her tongue. Two minutes. It was barely enough time to wake up, let alone prepare for whatever Four had planned for them.
-
The air in the pit crackled with tension. All the transfers, buzzing with nervous energy only moments before, now stood frozen, their gazes darting between Four, Eric, and the Dauntless-born initiates that were at the side, laughing and chatting.
Four stepped forward. "There are two stages of training." He started, "The first is physical."
He paced in front of the transfers as he talked. "Push your bodies to the breaking point...and you'll master the methods of combat."
"The second is mental. Again, breaking point. You'll face your worst fears and conquer them...unless they get you first." Four continued.
Four, his voice steady and firm, outlined the grueling training that awaited them. Two stages, both pushing them to their absolute limits, physically and mentally. The words hung in the air, a promise and a threat.
He paced like a caged predator, his eyes scanning the faces of the transfers. "You'll be trained separately from the Dauntless-born...but you'll be ranked together."
All eyes instinctively shifted towards the Dauntless-born initiates, a mixture of awe and apprehension on their faces. The weight of competing against those born into this life, those who had breathed and bled Dauntless since childhood, settled heavily on the transfers.
