Phoenix Warriors

Chapter 4

Today was the day we started practicing for the first trial of the tournament. Hand-to-hand combat. Brutal, relentless, and according to Professor Frederick, the most straightforward of the three. His exact words were: "The easiest, but still brutal. Make no mistake, this will push you to your limits." If this was considered the easy part, I couldn't help but wonder what horrors lay ahead in the remaining trials.

The assembly hall buzzed with nervous energy. Trainees filled every seat, their whispers mixing with the soft creak of the ancient wooden beams overhead. I kept to the back, sitting quietly, trying to absorb the scene without drawing any attention. Frederick stood at the front of the hall, his towering figure casting a long shadow as he paced, a grim look on his face.

"This trial," he began, voice sharp and commanding, "is about instinct. It's about speed, reaction, and how quickly you can think on your feet. Without those qualities, you won't last a second in the real world, let alone as a Phoenix Warrior."

Hand-to-hand combat, I thought. Fine. I can handle that. But instinct? Speed? My mind immediately flashed to that moment on the mat with Xavier. His cold, indifferent gaze, the words he'd said—"You're not special." That still sat heavy in my chest, no matter how much I tried to shake it off.

"This is where you'll show us what you're made of," Frederick continued, his eyes scanning the room. "The first trial is designed to test your ability to think under pressure, to react faster than your opponent. Strength won't matter if your brain can't keep up with your body."

I sat there, half-listening, my gaze sweeping over the crowd. The nervous tension was palpable. Everyone around me was buzzing with anticipation, but my thoughts kept drifting back to that damn rose. The dried white rose I'd found on my desk last night. I could still see it so vividly in my mind—the symbol of death, left there for me to find. Who put it there?

A nudge at my side jolted me out of my thoughts. I turned to see Atlas, my closest friend, with a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. "You think they'll make us spar against each other?" he whispered.

I smirked despite myself, grateful for the distraction. "Maybe. Or maybe they'll toss us in a ring with a wild beast and say, 'Good luck.'"

Atlas chuckled, though there was an edge to his laugh, and I could feel the tension radiating from him. We were all feeling it—this undercurrent of fear masked by bravado. I shot him a look, a shared understanding passing between us. It was always easier to joke about the upcoming chaos, even if we both knew how serious it really was.

But as I scanned the hall again, my gaze inevitably landed on Xavier. He was standing near the edge of the room, arms folded, his usual stoic expression firmly in place. Just for a moment, our eyes locked. His face was unreadable, but it sent a shiver through me. He looked at me with that same intensity as before, the same disinterest. And then, just as quickly as our eyes met, he averted his gaze, like I wasn't even worth a second thought.

What is his deal? I thought, my stomach twisting uncomfortably. Why does he keep looking at me? His words from the sparring match rang in my head again—"You're not special." It gnawed at me, even now. He seemed determined to make me feel small, and I hated that it was working.

Professor Frederick's voice pulled me back to the present. "This practice session is not just about the trial," he said, pacing back and forth. "It's about preparing you for the real world. When you're out there, facing enemies that want you dead, you won't have time to second-guess yourself. You won't have the luxury of hesitation. Your body must react faster than your mind. That's why we're starting with hand-to-hand combat. It'll push your limits, test how well you can adapt in the heat of the moment. So pay attention."