A girl accustomed to rivalry.
Blair Archer grew up surrounded by Elites. The father knew that his daughter was special, which means she should become the next queen and strengthen the influence of the family.
Brian was born a Mundane, but persistenc...
I come to my senses on the cold, damp ground. Sticky, wet leaves and grass cling to my skin, and for a moment, it feels as if the earth itself is trying to swallow me, like a treacherous bog. I try to move and reassure myself that I'm not sinking. My head throbs, as if a swarm of angry bees is trapped inside, relentlessly pounding against the walls of my skull. When I attempt to sit up, my arms and legs tremble. It seems that those who dragged me here didn't care much about leaving me unscathed—my split lip and the metallic taste in my mouth are proof enough. But that's a minor concern; it's the dull heaviness in my muscles and the blurry fragments of memory that truly frighten me.
Where am I?
I try to look around, but my vision blurs instantly, turning the world into a hazy blend of green and brown. The sounds around me feel unnaturally muffled, as if I'm submerged underwater, and in this eerie silence, even my own breathing seems too loud. All around is a forested landscape: tall trees stretch their canopies toward the sky, casting deep shadows everywhere. Slivers of sunlight filter through the thick leaves, casting thin golden beams that stretch like long shadows on the ground. I squint, struggling to focus, and realize with certainty: I'm in the Whispers. But how did I end up here?
I take a deep breath to steady my thoughts and push myself up onto my elbows. Every movement is met with sharp pain, like a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin. I touch my temple and find dried blood. It's just a scratch, but it feels like a reminder that I've endured something my memory can't quite grasp.
Yesterday, I simply went to bed, still reeling from everything that had happened at the ball, and then... then everything was swallowed by fog. I vaguely recall a sharp smell, unfamiliar hands on my face. Could they have knocked me out with one of the healer's concoctions? It would explain the dull ache in my head and the emptiness in my thoughts. The dizziness suggests they used more than just a sleeping potion—there was something else, something that shattered my mind into a thousand fragments.
I'm dressed in rough boots, a loose top, and training pants. Since I fell asleep in my nightclothes, someone must have changed me. My hands fly to my hips, searching the pockets for anything useful. My fingers brush against a crumpled piece of paper. With trembling hands, I pull it out, and upon unfolding it, I see black, handwritten lines:
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Damn it, they decided to deliver the message in verse. I read it over and over, feeling my heartbeat quicken with each pass. Straps... It's all about the hunt. Instantly, I picture the participants, each struggling to survive in these dense woods, tearing straps from others while defending their own. Each of us must have woken up alone, lost in this forest, playing the role of both predator and prey.
I clutch the note to my chest, a chill of fear running down my spine. They don't intend to let us simply fight in an arena like in the old days. Blood alone isn't enough for them—they want a spectacle: for us to reveal our darkest sides; for each of us to see what we're willing to do to win.
