Phoenix Warriors

Chapter 7

The first trial room was nothing like I expected.

When I stepped inside, the sheer size of the arena stole my breath for a moment. It was vast, more like a gladiator's pit than anything else, with towering pillars circling the space, each carved in intricate detail that almost made them look delicate. Almost. They were as white as bone, as was everything in this arena—a pristine, shining white that stretched across the smooth floor, up the walls, and into the open ceiling.

The heat hit me first. I hadn't anticipated it being so warm today. The sun blazed down through the open roof, casting sharp rays onto the arena floor. It felt like stepping into an oven, the heat making my skin prickle under my leather vest. I could already feel the sweat starting to gather at the back of my neck, dampening the edges of my braid. The air was thick, almost oppressive, as if the heat itself was preparing for the carnage about to unfold.

I scanned the room, taking in the absurd contrast of how perfect and untouched it looked. It was like walking into a palace hall, with its gleaming white and soft pearl tones, so clean it almost felt sacred. And right in the centre of it all, surrounded by all this sterile beauty, was a giant mat. The mat was black, stark and ominous against the sea of white surrounding it, as if it was the one dark spot in an otherwise flawless world.

I swallowed hard, the sight of it setting my nerves on edge. That's where it's all going to happen.

The realization that this immaculate space would soon turn into a battlefield made my stomach churn. This pretty white room wouldn't stay white for long. I could almost see it—blood splattered across the perfect floors, streaking down those pristine pillars, soaking into the mat beneath our feet. A violent red that would stain this place, a reminder of what it was truly meant for. It won't take long for this room to turn different shades of red.

In my head, I wondered how long it would take for someone to clean up the mess afterward. Would they scrub the blood from the marble floors, or would it always leave a faint reminder, like a ghost of those who had fought and fallen here?

I nearly laughed at the absurdity of my thoughts. Here I am, minutes away from fighting for my life, and I'm thinking about cleaning. It was a brief distraction, but one I clung to. That's me, always noticing the little details, even when I'm about to face death.

As I stood in the expansive arena, the gravity of the situation pressed heavily on me. I took in every detail, every movement around me with an intensity that bordered on paranoia. Xavier's words from last night echoed in my mind like a haunting refrain: "Everyone tomorrow is going to try to kill you, not just the cadets." Was it a warning or just a cruel attempt to unsettle me? I still couldn't decide, but I knew one thing for sure—I wasn't going to take any chances.

The arena was filling up with spectators and participants, each of them buzzing with an energy that seemed to pulse through the air. The cadets, a mix of tense anticipation and nervous energy, were gathering in clusters, their faces a tapestry of fear and determination. I scanned them carefully, noting every shift of their posture, every flicker of their eyes. They were all potential threats, and I needed to stay alert.

I focused on the six—the top echelon, the ones who had been overseeing our training. They moved with an aura of authority and power that was almost tangible. Their presence commanded respect, and they were now observing us with critical eyes. I found myself constantly glancing in their direction, trying to read their expressions, to discern any hint of favouritism or malice. They were the gatekeepers, and their judgment could make or break us.

In particular, my eyes kept drifting to Garick. He was conversing with some of the other senior members, his demeanour relaxed but sharp. There was a confidence in his stance, a readiness that seemed almost palpable. I remembered our training sessions—how his guidance had been both brutal and encouraging. I wondered if he would see me differently today, if our previous interactions would affect how he perceived me in this trial.