Forged in Ruin

Chapter Nine: Pushing Limits

The Academy feels like a battlefield today, every drill more intense, every command sharper, as if the instructors are determined to wring every last ounce of strength from us. The sun is high, blazing down with an unrelenting heat that turns the training grounds into a sweltering pit. Sweat clings to my skin, soaking through my uniform and stinging my eyes, but I barely have time to wipe it away. Each task is a new form of punishment—climbing, crawling, lifting weights that feel like they'll snap my arms in half. There's no mercy, no breaks, just the relentless pace of the instructors' whistles and the pounding of my own heartbeat.

I can feel my body protesting with every movement, the accumulated strain of the last few days catching up to me. My muscles burn, my hands are raw from the ropes, and my legs feel like they're made of lead. But I refuse to stop. I can't. Not when every second feels like a test of whether I deserve to be here.

We're halfway through an obstacle course that's been cranked up to a level of difficulty I didn't think was possible. Walls twice as high as before, ropes that are slick with mud and nearly impossible to grip, and tunnels that feel like they're closing in on me with every crawl. I scramble up a steep incline, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and reach for the next ledge when I feel it—a sharp, blinding pain that shoots through my left leg.

I lose my grip, slipping back down the incline, and hit the ground hard. The impact sends a jolt of pain through my body, knocking the wind out of me. I try to stand, but my leg buckles under me, the sharp, searing pain making my vision blur. I bite down on my lip, trying to keep from crying out, but the sting is impossible to ignore. My knee is twisted at an odd angle, and I can already see the bruising start to spread beneath my skin.

"Damn it," I mutter under my breath, fighting back the wave of panic that threatens to overwhelm me. I can't afford to be hurt, not now. I push myself up, leaning heavily on my uninjured leg, and try to put weight on the other. The pain shoots through me again, white-hot and unforgiving, and I have to bite down hard to keep from screaming.

Lila is at my side in an instant, her eyes wide with concern. "Ayla, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I lie, wincing as I try to straighten up. The truth is, I'm far from fine. My leg feels like it's on fire, every step sending fresh jolts of agony through my nerves, but the fear of being seen as weak is stronger than the pain. I can't let the instructors see me like this. I can't let Marcus see me like this.

Ren jogs over, his expression grim as he takes in the state of my leg. "You need to stop. You're going to make it worse."

"I can't stop," I snap, frustration and fear bubbling up inside me. "If I stop now, they'll mark me down. I'll be benched. I have to keep going."

Lila shakes her head, her jaw set. "You're not going to be any good to anyone if you tear something. Let's just get you out of here before they notice."

She moves to help me, looping my arm over her shoulder, and I lean into her support, grateful even though my pride screams at me to keep going on my own. Every step is agony, my injured leg dragging uselessly behind me, but with Lila and Ren's help, I manage to limp off the course, collapsing onto a bench near the edge of the training area. My chest heaves with each breath, the sweat and pain making me feel like I'm going to be sick.

I watch the other cadets push through the obstacles, their faces set in grim determination. Even Marcus is moving with a kind of fierce, single-minded focus, driving forward without looking back. It's humiliating, sitting here on the sidelines, feeling like a spectator in my own life. I'm supposed to be stronger than this, supposed to be better. But right now, all I can think about is how badly I want the pain to stop.

Ren hands me a canteen of water, his expression full of quiet concern. "You're pushing too hard. It's okay to take a step back sometimes, you know."

I nod, taking a sip of the cool water, but his words feel like salt in the wound. I know he's right, but it doesn't make it any easier. Every moment I'm not on that course feels like another point against me, another reason for the instructors to doubt my place here. I press the canteen against my forehead, trying to cool the heat that's pounding in my skull.