School of Affliction

4

The morning bell clanged harshly, jolting me awake from a restless sleep. My body ached from the tension of the previous day, and the stiff mattress beneath me hadn't offered any comfort. I forced myself to sit up. The dormitory was already stirring, with other girls shuffling out of bed, their movements sluggish and resigned. I rubbed my eyes and swung my legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor causing goosebumps to break out over my body. As I stood, I caught sight of a small mirror hanging crookedly on the wall beside my bed.

I hesitated momentarily before stepping in front of it, needing to see the damage the last day had done. The girl staring back at me looked familiar and foreign, as if the past 24 hours had aged her in some unnameable way.

My dark hair was a tangled mess, wild curls framing a face that bore the signs of exhaustion. My eyes were a deep, piercing blue, framed by thick lashes that only emphasized the intensity of my gaze. They were eyes that drew people in and made them trust me—until they saw the sharpness hidden beneath.

I studied my reflection, tracing the lines of my face. The sharp angles of my cheekbones and jawline gave me an air of elegance, but there was something else there, too—something feral, like the fox that lay dormant beneath my skin. My beauty was disarming, a trait that had served me well. However, in this place, it felt more like a curse. I needed to be seen as strong, not just beautiful.

I tore my gaze away from the mirror and quickly dressed in the stiff, uncomfortable uniform they'd provided. It felt like just another layer of control they were trying to impose.

I entered the hallway, joining the students heading toward the mess hall for breakfast. The scent was unbearable—overcooked eggs, burnt toast, and something that might have been bacon but smelled suspiciously off. My stomach churned, but I forced myself to ignore it. I couldn't show weakness. I grabbed a tray and made my way through the line, keeping my head down, trying to blend in.

I found a seat at the edge of the room, away from the clusters of other students. As I picked at the unappetizing food, I noticed him again—the boy from the corner. He was sitting alone, his dark eyes watching me from across the room like the night before. There was something different in his gaze this time, though—something almost...amused.

I looked up, meeting his stare, refusing to back down. His lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile as if he knew something I didn't. It unnerved me, but I couldn't let him see that.

A loud voice shattered the morning silence before I could decide what to do. "Attention!" A tall, stern woman in a severe black uniform stood at the front of the room, her presence commanding immediate silence. She introduced herself as the head of training, laying out the brutal schedule for the day—combat drills, shifting exercises, and something ominously called "the gauntlet."

I noticed a ripple of unease pass through the students. The gauntlet was something to be feared. The boy in the corner seemed unbothered, his eyes flicking back to me as if assessing how I would react to the news.

I was no stranger to physical activity; I was a shifter, after all, but I knew this would be more grueling and more like a punishment.

When breakfast ended, we were herded out into the cold, misty morning, the sky a dull gray. The training grounds were a sprawling expanse of dirt and stone, with various obstacles and arenas scattered around.

The head of training barked orders, and the students fell into line, some with resigned expressions, others with nervous glances at the gauntlet—a towering, twisted structure of metal and wood designed to test the limits of our shifting abilities.

I clenched my fists, feeling the familiar prickle of my fox trying to surface, a reaction to the stress and danger. I pushed it down, not wanting to draw attention to myself.

The head of training's voice cut through the fog. "Today, you'll be pushed to your limits. Only the strong will survive the gauntlet, and only the disciplined will control their shift. Fail, and you'll spend the night in the dungeons." Her eyes swept over the group, lingering on a few students with an almost... eager expression.

The drills began with grueling exercises meant to exhaust us before we even reached the gauntlet. Push-ups in the mud, climbing rope walls slick with mist, and sprinting through a maze of stone pillars that seemed to close in around us. Every task was designed to push us to the edge of shifting, to see who could maintain control and who would lose it.

By the time we were led to the gauntlet, my muscles burned, and my breath came in ragged gasps. I could feel the fox beneath my skin, restless, wanting to break free. But I couldn't let that happen, not here, not now. I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction.

The students ahead of me were sent into the gauntlet one by one. Some shifted almost immediately, their control shattered by the strain. Others fought it, struggling through the course in their human forms, only to be dragged away when they faltered.

Finally, it was my turn. The head of training locked eyes with me, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Let's see what you're made of," she said, her voice dripping with challenge.

I stepped up to the starting line, feeling the eyes of the other students on my back, their gaze pressing between my shoulder blades. The gauntlet loomed ahead, a chaotic mess of swinging blades, narrow beams, and shifting walls designed to break us physically and mentally.

The signal was given, and I launched myself forward. The first obstacle was a series of spinning blades, their edges catching the light as they whirred. I ducked and twisted, my movements quick and fluid, every sense on high alert. The fox inside me urged me to shift, to let it take control and navigate the dangers with ease, but I forced it down. This was my fight.

Next came the beams—thin, slippery, and barely wide enough for my feet. I balanced carefully, my arms outstretched, feeling the world tilt beneath me. A wrong step would send me plunging into the pit below.

The final stretch was the hardest. The walls moved unpredictably, crashing together and then pulling apart in a deadly dance. I had to time my movements perfectly, slipping through the gaps with split-second precision. In my fox form, I could slip through easily. But I pushed the shift down again. It was harder this time; fur rippled across my arm, but I was too far away for anyone to see, or at least I hoped so.

And then, I was through. I stumbled out of the gauntlet, chest heaving, covered in sweat and mud, but still in control. I could feel the fox raging inside me, angry at being denied, but I had won this round.

As I walked away, I could feel the other students' heated stares on me, some filled with curiosity, others with jealousy or resentment. But I ignored them all, my focus on one thing: survival. The boy from breakfast was waiting at the edge of the training grounds, his dark eyes tracking my every move. He gave me a nod, a silent acknowledgment of what I'd just accomplished.

But I knew better than to take it as a sign of friendship. In this place, everyone was a potential threat. I had proven I wasn't prey today, but tomorrow might be different.