We sparred for a while after that. Long enough to leave us both striped with welts and bruises. It did me good. The movement eased the stiffness without tearing anything open.

  Halfway through, Rob’s pocket glowed.

  His next strike landed cleaner. His footwork tightened, the wasted steps disappearing as his weight shifted exactly where it needed to. When he glanced down at his soul card, his grin nearly split his face.

  Reaching the second stage of swordcraft was no small thing.

  For the rest of the day, we slowed down.

  I retreated to my room and buried myself in old texts. Roman records. Early Britons. Fragmented accounts of the first crossings into the spirit realm, written in the aftermath of catastrophe. The spill had come first. Chaos, panic, whole towns erased before anyone understood what was happening.

  Only later did people learn how to cross back.

  To push the creatures out. To fight on their own ground. To use the spirit realm itself to contain what had broken through.

  Most of the records were war. More than I was comfortable with. But beneath the blood and the hero names, the same purpose surfaced again and again, carried across centuries by different hands.

  A handful grew strong so the rest could survive.

  For the first time, I understood exactly what these trials were for.

  The thought stayed with me long after I closed the book.

  By afternoon, Jerald arrived.

  He looked worn through. Unlike me, he had not stopped moving since our brush with death. He handed me a small wooden box and hesitated, just long enough to speak again.

  “I don’t know much about these,” he admitted quietly. “No one really uses them anymore. Most people don’t even know they exist.” His jaw tightened. “Never seen them. Never used them.”

  That alone made my chest tighten.

  “Let’s hope it works,” I said.

  “Yeah. Let’s.” Jerald glanced over his shoulder, already shifting his weight toward the door. “I can’t stay. Just, test the effects before tonight. Okay? Use Doyle.”

  “Tonight?” I called after him.

  But he was already gone.

  I sighed. Doyle would explain.

  Taking the box upstairs I set it on my bed before opening it.

  Inside were small clips and trinkets, each no larger than a coin. Shielding pieces, most likely. The kind meant to be fixed to personal items. Coin purses. Soul cards. Anything you would not want traced.

  Then I saw the runes.

  They were identical. Every one of them.

  My stomach tightened.

  Core runes.

  The same kind I had stripped from the trolls’ ankle irons.

  This was it. The reason the trolls could not be tracked.

  “Shit,” I muttered.

  The same kind Lumi had already absorbed. I would have to tell the others.

  Later.

  Right now, it was feeding time.

  “Ready?” I asked.

  Lumi hummed.

  I fed the trinkets to the sword one by one. Each vanished without resistance, sinking into the core rune that was already there. At first, nothing seemed to change.

  After ten, the etching deepened slightly.

  After another twenty, the rune shifted again. Not dramatically. Just a faint sheen that blinked in and out of view, like light on oil.

  When I finished, I turned the black blade in my hand and studied the runes along its length. There were enough now to make a real difference.

  Still, there was room for far more.

  I hesitated.

  I wanted to feel the gap between us.

  “What are you doing?” Lumi asked.

  I set the sword on the bed and stepped back.

  Then another step.

  The change was immediate.

  Pain tore through my chest as the curse snapped awake, far worse than before. My vision blurred. The world peeled back and my true skin pushed through. Red tendrils writhed beneath the surface, moving the same way they had in the troll.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  I staggered and fell.

  Weaker than I had ever felt.

  Gasping, I lunged for the sword and closed my hand around the hilt.

  The pressure collapsed taking the pain with it.

  “That was foolish,” Lumi said.

  “I needed to check.”

  “For?”

  “You. Me. The runes…”

  The blade hummed. “The blood curse is growing.”

  I nodded. I could feel it. I just didn't know why. Proximity to the spirit realm, or something deeper. Maybe resistance to Lumi itself.

  “We need to find the one who made the blood knife,” I said quietly.

  “Agreed.”

  I lay back on the bed beside the sword and waited for the shaking to stop, watching my true skin fade as the scars slowly withdrew.

  Without the sword, I was useless.

  With it, I was bound. Perhaps chained.

  When I could finally breathe properly again, I got up and went downstairs to find Doyle.

  He was not in any of his usual places.

  I checked the kitchen. The storage rooms. The narrow corners he favoured when he thought no one was watching. “Doyle?” I called.

  A scuffling sound came from the hall. One of the paintings slid aside, revealing a narrow gap in the wall.

  “…What? Young master?” Doyle said, startled. He fumbled his way out of the opening, brushing dust from his sleeves. “Didn’t see you there.”

  I stared at the hole. “What’s that?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Shortcut to the markets. Just came back from our blacksmith.”

  “Oh?” I asked. “How’s he doing?”

  Doyle’s smile widened. “Putting the finishing touches on the first surprise.” His eyes flicked, not to me, but to the quiet weight at my hip. “And I might add, well done! You’ve made yourself… less noticeable.”

  I returned the grin. “Jerald said you could tell if it actually holds.”

  He nodded and closed his eyes.

  I waited.

  His brow creased. A faint scowl pulled at his mouth.

  When he opened his eyes again, he let out a slow breath. “That’s… perturbing.”

  My stomach tightened. “What is?”

  “I can still hear you,” he said quietly. “Smell you. But it’s like you aren’t there anymore.”

  “Does that mean—”

  “You can stop being careful?” He cut in sharply. “Absolutely not.”

  I winced.

  “But,” he went on, “it should let you walk into the trials without the guards dragging you out in the first five minutes.” He shook his head once. “So, it works.”

  “About that…” I said and told him about the trolls. The iron bands. The ancient markings worked into their shackles.

  The more I spoke, the deeper he frowned.

  He started to pace.

  “If this is correct, then something very ugly is happening.” He stopped, muttering to himself. “No. They wouldn’t volunteer. Blackmailed? Or forced.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “Leave this with me. We knew something was wrong, but this…” He shook his head. “This means it’s far larger than we thought.”

  And it was all happening around the same time and place as the trials.

  That wasn’t a coincidence.

  Lumi hummed.

  “Well. The good news is you can go out tonight,” he added. “You three, have been invited to dinner with the recruits. I’m not sure why, maybe a bit of a meet and greet, since yesterday was cut short.”

  That caught me off guard. That was what Jerald was talking about.

  “The food won’t be up to standard,” he added dryly, “but the company should be educational.”

  “I’m sure,” I said. “And the siblings?”

  “They’ll be back in three days. In time for the first official sparring matches.”

  I nodded. That would be, as Doyle put it, educational to watch.

  And it lined up perfectly with the delivery.

  Before long, the hours slipped away and Rob and Amelia joined me. We followed the road out through the dark, following the directions Doyle had given us.

  As we drew closer, a single tent rose out of the field ahead of us.

  Enormous.

  At a distance it could have passed for a great hall, its crimson canvas stretched high and tight, heavy gold seams running up the ribs like polished bindings.

  Two guard stations flanked the entrance. Armed men, spears grounded, posture rigid.

  Their eyes moved to us. Then to the sword at my hip.

  Lumi sat dull and unremarkable in its scabbard.

  The looks were not.

  One of the guards lifted a fist.

  “Halt.”

  We stopped without thinking.

  “Names and purpose,” he said flatly.

  Amelia stepped forward before Rob, or I could open our mouths. She produced the slip Doyle had given us. The guard barely glanced at Rob and me. His attention stayed on her and the document.

  A second guard leaned in and murmured something under his breath.

  The first nodded once.

  “Right, you can go in. Remain inside the green marked lanes. Do not cross any inner cordons unless directed. A bell will signal assembly. Failure to respond will be recorded.”

  Rob blinked. “Okay.”

  The guard did not react.

  We were waved through.

  Inside, attention snapped to us at once.

  Not curiosity.

  Assessment.

  Eyes tracked our steps. Rob lifted a lazy, half-formed salute. A few nearby recruits stiffened immediately, some looking openly offended.

  The ground was covered in packed sawdust. Fire pits were sunk into the earth at fixed intervals, each ringed in stone. Above us, vents pierced the canvas roof, starlight slipping through in thin, broken shafts.

  The space felt wrong in a way I could not quite name.

  Half small city.

  Half arena.

  Tents had been raised inside the main tent itself. Narrow lanes ran between them, held in place by rope barriers. Weapon racks stood in clean, ordered rows. Training circles were pegged into the ground.

  Everything was laid out for fast movement.

  Everywhere I looked, motion waited just beneath the surface.

  People filled the space. Different ages. Some clearly young aspirants, still awkward in their armour. Others I recognised from the day before. Many I did not.

  There were far more than I had expected.

  “If they’re all recruits,” Rob murmured, keeping his voice down, “why’re they still stuck doing the trials?”

  Amelia barely looked away from the floor markings.

  “Because that’s the bit that matters.”

  Rob frowned and glanced back at the lines of moving bodies around us.

  “So, what’ve they been doing this whole time then?”

  “Stuff like us. Getting stronger. Learning how not to embarrass themselves,” she said flatly. “Drills. Forms. Classroom junk.”

  He huffed quietly. “Classroom? Ugh.”

  “Sounds helpful,” I added.

  “In the end, if they want to keep their spots at the barracks, they still have to pass like everyone else,” she said.

  I watched a pair of recruits spar a short distance away. One misjudged her footing and took a solid whack to the head.

  “Public failure,” I muttered. “What fun.”

  Amelia’s mouth twitched.

  “…That sounds exciting,” Rob said weakly.

  “A lot of these recruits are fourth or fifth generation,” Amelia said quietly. “They’ve been preparing since they were children. If they still can’t meet the standard by now, they lose more than just status.”

  Rob frowned. “That’s brutal.”

  “And efficient,” Amelia said.

  A chill slid down my spine as two figures pushed through the crowd.

  Familiar faces. Nick’s boys.

  I swore under my breath.

  They glanced at Amelia, murmured something to each other, then laughed, shoulders bumping together as they closed the distance.

  They ignored Rob and me.

  Their attention stayed on her.

  The shorter one, Corvin, let his gaze drag over her.

  “I didn’t realise we were recruiting pillow warriors these days,” he said.

  The taller one, Mack snorted. “Heard if you feed her enough, she’ll agree to anything.”

  “You fucking what now, mate?” Rob snapped.

  Hundreds of eyes turned. Some I recognised from the hill fort.

  The two cronies strode towards us. No hesitation. No nerves. Just empty, practiced confidence.

  “You walked into the wrong tent, little guy,” Corvin said, lips curling. “Mate.”

  Rob shifted. I heard his knuckle pop.

  “You talk about her again and I’ll—”

  “Recruits.”

  The single word cut straight through the noise.

  Brent.

  Heads snapped around.

  Brent stood a few paces away, expression flat. His gaze moved from Corvin, to Mack, then to us. A flicker of clear disbelief crossed his face before he straightened.

  “If you wish to measure yourselves,” he said evenly, “you will do so properly.”

  His eyes settled on me.

  “Issue a formal challenge.”

  The tent fell silent.