Page 27 of Angel of Ruin

As I near the finish line, I notice something odd. Kira, a girl I've trained with before, breezes past me like I'm standing still. Her movements are fluid, almost graceful, as she conquers obstacles that left others gasping for breath.

I frown, pushing harder to keep up. But it's not just Kira. As I look around, I see a handful of candidates moving past obstacles like they are nothing. They clear hurdles in a single bound, scale walls like they're walking on flat ground. Like they are harder for others but not them.

My heart sinks as I watch them finish the course in record time. Something's not right here. It's like each obstacle's strength changes per person. But how?

I stumble across the finish line, my chest heaving. As I catch my breath, I can't shake the feeling that I'm missing something crucial.

"Barely finished," Sariel sneers as he walks past. "If you think this will get you through the trials, then you might as well beg for an easy death now."

His words sting, but they also fuel my suspicion. I've trained hard, pushed myself to the limit. So have many others. Yet some candidates are excelling far beyond what should be possible.

Are the trials rigged? The thought sends a chill down my spine. I've always known they were difficult, nearly impossible. But unfair? That's a whole different level of cruelty.

As we move on to the next exercise, I keep a close eye on my fellow candidates. The pattern repeats itself. A select few breeze through challenges that leave the rest of us exhausted and demoralized.

I catch Sariel watching these candidates with a satisfied smirk. Does he know something we don't? Is this all part of some sick game?

The suspicion gnaws at me, threatening to unravel everything I've worked for. If the trials aren't fair, what chance do I really have? What chance does anyone have?

I drag my aching body towards the water station, desperate for a drink after the brutal training session. My mind's still reeling from the strange discrepancies I noticed during the obstacle course. As I approach the corner, voices drift my way, making me pause.

"We need to increase the difficulty," a deep voice says. "The losses aren't high enough."

I freeze, pressing myself against the wall. My heart pounds in my chest as I strain to hear more.

"Agreed," another voice responds. "We should aim for at least a third of them to fail at the next trials. That should be enough acceptable losses in the next phase."

Acceptable losses? My blood runs cold. They're talking about us, the human candidates, like we're nothing more than numbers on a page.

I lean in closer, desperate to catch more of their conversation. But the voices start to fade as footsteps echo down the hallway, moving away from me.

"...sabotage the weaker ones..."

"...make it look like accidents..."

Their words become indistinct, leaving me with fragments that chill me to the bone. I stand there, rooted to the spot, long after their footsteps have faded away.

My mind races. Sabotage? Accidents? Is this why some candidates seemed to breeze through the obstacles while others struggled? Are they deliberately setting us up to fail - or worse?

I feel sick to my stomach. All this time, I've been pushing myself to the limit, believing that if I just tried hard enough, I could earn my wings. But what if it's all a lie? What if we never stood a chance?

The weight of this revelation threatens to crush me. I've sacrificed everything for these trials - my relationships, my health, my safety. And for what? To be another "acceptable loss" in their cruel game?

But then I think of my family, still struggling in poverty. Of all the other humans who've pinned their hopes on these trials. If I give up now, what happens to them?

I clench my fists, conflict raging within me. Do I continue, knowing the deck is stacked against us? Or do I walk away, potentially saving myself but abandoning others to this fate?

As I finally make my way to the water station, my throat parched and my heart heavy, I realize I don't have an easy answer. The trials have always been dangerous, but now they feel downright sinister.

That night, I lay in bed awake, now having a room to myself with so few candidates. I wait until I am certain that no one else is awake before I make my move.

The training room is dark, lit only by the faint glow of moonlight filtering through high windows. My heart pounds as I slip inside, my eyes darting to every shadow.

The bracelet case sits on a pedestal, gleaming in the dim light. I hesitate, my hand hovering over the lock. This is it. If I'm caught, it's over. But I have to know.

With trembling fingers, I pick the lock – a skill born from years of desperation. The case opens with a soft click, and I slide a bracelet onto my wrist. Its weight is familiar, yet somehow different. And it makes me wonder if there is a reason that only the first day I could use the magic…

If the bracelets — like the obstacles — were changed to make it harder for me. Impossible for me.