Welcome to hell

The headquarters of the Capital Knights was nothing like the palace, and nothing like any fortress I'd ever seen.

It wasn't cold or pretty, not a place to hang tapestries and whisper secrets behind closed doors. Here, everything was big, brash, and crackling with raw, unrestrained power.

The moment I stepped inside, I felt it a tidal wave of magic, rolling through the flagstones, buzzing in the air, seeping into the banners that hung from every wall.

The grand hall was cavernous, its ceiling lost somewhere in the shadows, supported by columns as thick as tree trunks.

Each banner displayed a different crest: crossed swords, roaring lions, stormclouds, a single dragon's eye. The air vibrated with energy—some of it bright and sharp, most of it wild and old and hungry.

Knights of every size and shape moved through the halls, some clad in gleaming plate, others in plain shirts and battered boots.

Some looked human, some didn't. A pair of half-dragons argued over a chessboard in a corner, scales glinting beneath their uniforms. An elf woman with emerald hair stalked past, eyes cold as winter.

A hulking man with the flat nose and tusks of an orc polished a spear longer than I was tall.

There were voices everywhere: laughter, curses, the clang of weapons, the hum of spells.

And woven through it all was that ocean-deep magic, that certainty that everyone here had killed and bled and survived things that would shatter the average noble in a heartbeat.

Aldric led the way, glancing over his shoulder to make sure I kept up.

"Keep your eyes open, Skyblade. This place isn't a court. Nobody here cares who your parents were, or where you came from. All that matters is how well you fight, how fast you learn, and whether you have the guts to survive."

I smirked, shoving my hands in my pockets. "Sounds better than a palace."

He snorted. "You say that now. Wait until you see the training. Everyone here is powerful—everyone. Even the cooks have some sort of talent. We don't keep the weak ones."

We passed a pair of twins sparring in the corridor, their swords so fast they blurred, magic sparks flying with every clash.

Farther on, a group of new recruits hunched over a map, tracing battle lines with fingers that glowed faintly blue. The whole place stank of sweat and steel, and I'd never felt more at home—or more alive.

Aldric continued, voice low. "You'll be given quarters. You'll train until you collapse, and then you'll train some more. We work in squads, but don't expect a warm welcome. Prove yourself, or get out of the way. And one more thing—"

I glanced at him, curious.

He grinned, wolfish. "I'm not the one who's going to take care of you. You're getting special treatment, Skyblade. The commander herself is handling your training."

I frowned. "Commander?"

He nodded, lowering his voice. "Malvoria. The Dragon."

I almost laughed. "What, a real dragon?"

He shrugged. "Close enough. She's the reason most of us walk with a limp. If you survive a week with her, you'll be better than half the knights in the city. If you don't… well, they'll ship your bones home in a velvet pouch."

That should have scared me. Instead, my pulse quickened, excitement and nerves tangled in my gut.

We moved through another set of doors and stepped out into a massive open courtyard. The sound hit me first—shouts, groans, the smack of flesh on stone.

The place was packed: knights lined the walls, some cheering, some betting, most just eager to see blood.

In the center stood a woman, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe.

She was dragon-blooded, no question. Brown skin gleaming with sweat, hair a tumble of burning red tied back with leather, eyes so red they almost glowed.

Even standing still, she radiated violence. Muscles coiled under her skin, scars crisscrossed her arms, and her smile was nothing but teeth.

At her feet, three soldiers writhed in the dust. One was already crawling for the wall, clutching a busted rib.

Another spat blood onto the flagstones. The third just lay there, staring at the sky, as if reconsidering every choice that led him here.

The rest—dozen or so, men and women, old and young—were backing away, shaking their heads, hands raised in surrender.

"Nope," one of them groaned, staggering to the gate. "I'm not dying today. Not for a fucking promotion."

"Commander's lost it," another muttered, limping after him.

Malvoria watched them go, her grin wide and wild. "Cowards! Don't come back until you grow a spine."

She turned, eyes settling on me and Aldric. I felt that stare like a punch to the chest—ancient, hungry, amused.

Aldric cleared his throat, suddenly less sure of himself. "Commander Malvoria! Brought you the new recruit."

She looked me up and down, slow and appraising. "This the half-demon?"

I stiffened. "That's me."

She tilted her head, smile never fading. "You any good, Skyblade?"

I shrugged. "Good enough."

Aldric stepped back, a glint of mischief in his eye. He leaned close and whispered, "Good luck," before turning and walking—no, running back toward the safety of the hall.

I blinked, barely processing, when Malvoria moved. She came at me so fast I saw only a blur of red and brown and muscle—a fist swinging for my jaw. I dodged, but not by much, the punch grazing my cheek and sending me stumbling sideways.

The onlookers roared. Someone laughed, delighted.

Malvoria didn't pause. She came again, a spinning kick aimed at my ribs. I blocked with my forearm, the impact rattling up to my shoulder. She grinned wider, teeth glinting.

"Not bad," she said, circling. "But not enough."

She lunged again an open hand this time, aiming for my throat. I ducked, rolled under her arm, and sprang up behind her.

My heart raced, adrenaline flooding every inch of me. This was what I lived for the rush, the burn, the knowledge that one wrong move could end me.

I lashed out, red fire flickering around my fist. Malvoria batted it aside as if swatting a fly, then caught my wrist, twisted, and flung me to the ground.

The impact knocked the breath out of me. I rolled, but she was already there, boot pressed to my chest, pinning me.

She leaned down, her voice a low growl. "I'm not your nursemaid, half-blood. I don't care if you cry. I don't care if you bleed. You want to survive here, you learn quick. Or you die."

I spat blood onto the stone, grinned through the pain. "You'll have to do better than that."

Malvoria's eyes glowed, fire dancing in her pupils. "Good. I like the stubborn ones."

She released me and stepped back, letting me scramble to my feet. The knights around us were hooting, cheering, some making bets, others just waiting for the carnage.

Malvoria beckoned. "Again."

I charged her, this time feinting left, trying to catch her with a burst of flame to the gut. She dodged, swept my legs out from under me, and drove an elbow into my stomach as I fell. The pain exploded through my torso, but I refused to scream.

I rolled away, gasping, forcing my body to move, to fight, to live. This was it—what I'd always wanted. No rules, no safety nets, no one to hold me back.

Malvoria let me come at her again and again, each time knocking me down, each time hitting harder, faster. My skin bruised, my knuckles split, my magic sputtered and flared. Still, I got up, and every time I rose, her smile grew sharper.

The crowd was a blur now, just noise and faces. It was just her and me, the world narrowed to fists and fire.

Finally, I caught her off guard—just for a second. I landed a solid punch to her jaw, red fire crackling around my knuckles. She laughed, a low, delighted sound, then caught my wrist and twisted, sending me crashing to the ground one last time.

She stood over me, chest heaving, eyes blazing. "Better. Still not enough. But you're not dead. That's a start."

I wiped blood from my mouth, glaring up at her. "You haven't killed me yet."

Malvoria's grin softened—just a hair. "No, Skyblade. I haven't."

She offered me a hand. I hesitated, then took it, letting her haul me to my feet. My body screamed in protest, but I refused to let it show.

The knights around us were silent now, watching with a strange, hungry respect. I had earned my place—barely. And I knew this was only the beginning.

Malvoria clapped me on the shoulder, hard enough to make my knees buckle. "Welcome to hell, kid. Training starts at dawn."