Chapter 20: Whispers Behind Steel
The blood had dried.
It cracked underfoot like old paint as I crossed the muster grounds toward the barracks.
The Crucible had changed.
You could feel it in the air — thicker now, heavier, electric with something darker than excitement.
Fear.
Not of the matches.
Not of the blood.
Of us.
---
The survivors.
The ones still standing.
The ones too stubborn, too scarred, or too stupid to fall.
---
I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders, feeling the weight of a hundred whispered glances.
---
"They say he lit up like a sun."
"Golden aura, clear as day."
"Westenra blood — cursed."
"Should have died with the rest."
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Good.
Let them talk.
Words never cut deep enough.
Only steel did.
---
I reached the barracks.
Simple stone walls, cracked and ugly.
Inside, it stank of old leather and cheap lamp oil.
Most of the other survivors were there already — binding wounds, muttering over knives, sharpening blades that would carve more names into the mud tomorrow.
---
I found an empty corner.
Sat down with my back to the wall.
Unbuckled my coat and peeled it away from the gash along my ribs.
The cut from Leonhardt's strike was shallow but nasty, leaking slow threads of blood down my side.
---
I cleaned it.
Clumsily.
Efficiently.
The pain was good.
It kept me awake.
It kept me sharp.
---
As I worked, I felt her before I saw her.
---
A cold presence cutting through the stink and heat like a blade through silk.
---
Serenya.
---
She stopped a few paces away, arms folded, silver hair catching the dying light.
Her sword hung at her hip, still clean, still perfect.
Like her.
---
"You fought well," she said, voice low.
---
I glanced up at her.
Met her steel-gray eyes without flinching.
---
"So did you," I said.
---
A pause.
Heavy.
Sharp.
---
"You surprised them," she said.
Not a compliment.
Not a warning.
Just fact.
---
"I plan to keep doing it," I answered, tying off the last strip of bandage.
---
A flicker of something in her eyes.
Amusement?
Approval?
Pity?
I couldn't tell.
---
"You'll need to," she said finally.
Then she turned and disappeared into the maze of broken walls and bloody stones.
---
No farewell.
No advice.
Just a simple truth left behind in her wake.
---
I finished binding my side.
Sat back.
Let the noise of the barracks wash over me without touching me.
---
I could feel the pressure building already.
Not from the next duel.
From the ones who didn't want a next duel.
---
Nobles.
Spymasters.
Lords playing games with knives and gold.
They would move soon.
They had to.
---
The Crucible wasn't about crowning heroes.
It was about finding the ones too dangerous to leave alive.
---
And right now, too many of them were looking at me like a loose fire waiting to burn their perfect little world to ash.
---
I shifted my gaze as a shadow moved near the barracks entrance.
---
A man.
Too clean.
Too steady.
Too quiet.
---
Not a fighter.
Not a merchant.
Not a gambler.
---
Spy.
---
He drifted through the room like smoke.
Pausing by fighters here and there.
Offering a word, a drink, a folded piece of parchment.
Always smiling.
Always friendly.
---
When he reached me, he didn't speak right away.
Just watched.
Measuring.
---
I stared back.
Dead-eyed.
Empty-handed.
---
Finally, he smiled.
Held out a small silver token engraved with a broken crown.
---
"House Darnet sends its regards," he said smoothly.
Voice cultured.
Practice-perfect.
---
I didn't take the token.
Didn't move.
Didn't blink.
---
"Talent like yours shouldn't go unrewarded," he continued. "Certain houses are... keen to invest in promising new blood. Perhaps a private audience—"
---
I cut him off with a slow shake of my head.
---
His smile tightened.
Flickered at the edges.
Fear?
Disappointment?
I didn't care.
---
I stood up.
Let the loose bandage under my coat show slightly.
Let the blood on my hands show more.
---
"Tell your masters," I said quietly, "that I'm not for sale."
---
I turned away before he could answer.
Didn't bother watching him slither back into the crowd.
---
Let them come.
Let them send whispers and knives and poisoned wine.
I wasn't here for their games.
I was here for survival.
For scars.
For the weight of a sword in my hand and the chance to carve my name into the bones of the world.
---
The bell tolled once outside.
Dusk falling.
New matches would be announced at first light.
---
I sat back down.
Cleaned my blade with slow, careful strokes.
Watched the bloodstains on the wood floor spread and dry.
---
And waited.
---
Because the Crucible wasn't done with us yet.
Because the real fight wasn't on the arena boards.
It was in the shadows.
In the steel behind the smiles.
In the blood behind the banners.
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And the wolves were hungry.