A bird whistled through the sky overhead.

The thrill of battle soared in Minerva's blood, her veins. She could not stop it or deny it any more than she could halt the rising sun in its heavenly course. From her father's side flowed the blood of warriors—from her mother, the blood of survivors.

After two days spent in sleep and training, she stood on the white sand of the arena. The fine grains warmed her bare feet and the sun's touch fell on her bared shoulders. They'd cleaned the inside of the bowl after the Commoner's Tournament and now four outer-ring victors numbered among the ranks of noble-born.

Amid the thundering roar of the crowd, the rows of competitors bowed to the Emperor and Empress seated in the highest balcony. Minerva bent at the waist then straightened, taking deep breaths. The noise of the onlookers and the bodies around her—all thrumming with tension—threatened to unleash the flow of adrenaline through her body.

She could not afford to lose her composure. In a competition like this, burning out early would seal her defeat.

Above the Emperor, a white dragon rested on the balcony roof. He announced the rules, voice resounding like the starting gong.

You could not bring in outside weapons. If you killed your opponent or continued after they surrendered, you would be disqualified. The matches had been pre-determined, assigning opponents based on relative prowess and rank, among lesser factors. Seven rounds, seven fights.

One champion.

Minerva frowned. She didn't like the sound of pre-determined matches, not when she'd requested for everything to be randomized. But at least one of her demands had been met.

"All competitors who remain in the running will be sequestered below the arena and will not be allowed to spectate. If they are found on the surface when it is not their turn to fight, they will be disqualified," the dragon rumbled.

A clamor of cries surged up around Minerva. For all their supposed fortitude in the face of fire, the noble children rebelled at the thought of privation. They wished to cheer on their comrades, place bets on the matches' outcomes, sip wine and eat dainty cakes.

They considered it a game, albeit a bloody one.

Minerva planned to break them. She'd already begun the fight, whether they knew it or not—bringing down morale, taxing their minds with the environment they'd be placed in. They'd fight her blind and she would keep the edge always losing had given her.

Only a few of the competitors kept silent—the four commoners, clustered as far from the center as possible and Kodak and Brenna near them.

The Hydro prince looked at her. Minerva quickly glanced away. They hadn't spoken during the return trip to the palace and parted with only a few words. Since then, she'd slept first on the roof of the palace, then in a secluded corner in the gardens with Mala keeping her warm.

Even though she'd recovered enough to train, she did so alone instead of scheduling sparring sessions with Brenna. When she heard footsteps approaching in the corridors, she turned down another hall. Though she'd always eaten around set meals, lately she'd taken to raiding the kitchen at strange hours and never at the same time twice.

Odd behavior, Nola would remark, if she were still present to say it. Minerva had ditched her guard and assigned them to patrolling or standing outside rooms she wasn't in. Kaolin may have lingered, but Minerva guessed she'd left the palace and found another job by now. Azuki had disappeared which was the only normal and expected occurrence the past two days.

While she listened to the announcement of the first round matches, Minerva felt Kodak's stare and heard the question she knew he'd ask if she gave him the opportunity.

Why are you avoiding me?

Even though she'd thought long and hard, she didn't know how to answer it.

"Minerva Pyroline will fight Keegan Ashima." The list of names ended there.

At first listening, the pairings made sense and were based on the knot rankings of the Imperial Academy. However, Brenna had been placed much higher than she should have been and Kodak was at the very top with the most powerful fighters. Is this the result of our disagreement, you sly fox? Minerva thought, eyeing Kovine.

She might not be the only one weighting the odds. Tougher matches meant a higher risk of tiring early. Having the Hydros eliminated appeared to be the Empress' goal and that fact tempted Minerva to foil it. But if that were the case, why hadn't Kovine placed her at the top as well?

The assembled combatants dispersed. Tournament staff guided them through the gates, at times meeting more resistance than they would have with manticores. The nobles wouldn't suffer underneath the stands ... too much. Pyra had inspected the area earlier and deemed it clean and semi-comfortable.

Brenna jogged up to Minerva. "I'll keep my fingers crossed for you. It will be skill and not luck though. He is a dumb donkey so as long as you do not use the crane stance—" Brenna laughed and couldn't finish her sentence.

"You should be concerned about your own match, Bren," Minerva said. She walked to one of the smaller gates where Pyra awaited her. Her match would kick off the tournament, but she needed a few minutes to gather herself.

"You are too deep in your head," Brenna answered, still at her side. "It's as if you've forgotten how to laugh. Has that much changed between us?"

Brenna didn't know that Minerva would have given much to go back to what had been. How far back would she want to go though? Back to sparring practice with the sweat and laughter or further to when Aunt Edina had been alive? Even if she returned to the past, the pain would come and she'd once again be powerless to stop it.

She walked a tunnel and the way back led only to darkness. The only direction to take was forward, on the chance that there'd be light ahead. "I'm sorry, Bren. I'm the one who's changed." Minerva stepped through the gate and ordered for it to be shut behind her.

The sand here was cool as she swept her feet in neat arcs, stretching the muscles of her legs. She closed her eyes in the darkness, walls of stone lighted only by the sun streaming through the grating.

All her life, she'd been fighting. Fighting for praise, approval, protection. And all along it had been fear driving her. Fear of never being enough, of being too late, of losing what she hoped to save. And she'd been afraid of herself, what she was capable of with the hollow place but also how weak she was without it.

Today, I will fight without fear.

She had the advantage, starting at the lowest level. Though the competition would be fierce, they did not have what she did. The noble children did not possess the strength of survival—the will to be struck down and rise again, bloody and battered but breathing.

The commoners did not have the benefit of training and instruction. Their futures were now secured with entry into the Imperial Academy but they had not been raised thinking of strategy and patient, calculated action.

She had the best of both. Had to trust that did not also mean she had the worst.

"Your opponent is waiting," Pyra called.

"One minute," Minerva said.

Her parents had done her one favor. They'd gifted her with Pyroline power and a survivor's will. Not corruption, not cruelty, though they could easily become that.

I will not desire more power than I have. I will be ruthless but not for the sake of inflicting suffering.

She had nothing to prove and nothing to lose. But she did have that longing—the longing for what could be—the longing for something higher if she reached for it, strained with every fiber to take hold of it. Stepping up to the gate, Minerva threw off the chains of the past.

"Open the gate. I'm ready."

Metal creaked as it raised and she stepped out into the sun. Her eyes took a cursory glance of her surroundings, adjusting to the brightness.

This will be my goodbye to this place and people.

Her pants hugged her legs as she strode to the center where Keegan and a referee waited. Keegan also wore a light leather tunic. Hands brushing the cloth wrappings around her forearms and knuckles, Minerva took up her position and bowed.

"Not very polite of you to keep me standing around waiting, Pyroline," Keegan said.

Minerva smiled grimly. "Don't worry. You won't be standing for long."

The referee counted out ten paces while they turned and walked back in the direction of their gates. He then dashed across the sand before launching himself at the wall. Flame spurted from his heels to thrust him in the air and land him on the cliff of the stadium. Propulsion. One of the fire skills. She'd taken a trip to the palace library yesterday, intent on not letting any trick in the book take her by surprise.

Above her head, letters of fire spelled out her name and Keegan's. The nobleman settled into snake stance, ready to make it a long fight.

Minerva rocked on her feet, not taking any firm position. While his fists filled with charging fire, her hands stayed open and relaxed.

She could already sense his resolve falter.

When the gong sounded, she shot forward. The loose sand slowed her, but still she ran.

Keegan leveled his hands and fired. Two green spheres tinged with gold hurled across the field.

Minerva brought her hands up and dodged to the side. She spent energy to shield herself from the worst of the flames, but kept going. Keegan was strong enough to roast her skin to crackling bits. The full power of a Muran was only necessary if it were her bones that needed to burn.

Only a few more strides and she'd close in. At this range, when he let off another blast, she didn't have time to dodge. Instead, she slid. The burning globe arced over her face, blistering her skin.

Minerva didn't plan her moves. Glare impeded her vision even though she'd shut her eyes when dodging the last shot. Instinct dictated the sidekick she landed in Keegan's gut. He doubled over, eyes wide in shock and pain. She tackled him to the ground, locking her legs around his neck.

"Surrender," she growled in his ear.

His nails scratched at her shins and they rolled as he tried to wrench free.

Panting and sweating, Minerva dug her fingers into his scalp and yanked on his hair. He roared like a wounded lion and got one of her legs unlocked. She screamed back, wild and shrill, bringing a fist down on his face. He brought his own hand up and hooked her in the jaw.

Red stained her vision. One hand still gripped his hair. Minerva called the flame to that hand and a blazing crown lit his head. Keegan twisted and cursed and she sensed his will pushing against hers to snuff it out. She got her leg back in place and gritted her teeth.

Not this time. I'm not losing again.

Finally, before she'd burned him bald, he raised his hand in the air.

"Cease fighting!" the referees barked.

Minerva released her legs' hold and extinguished the white flames. When her fingers relaxed, a clump of hair came away in her hand.

The crowd didn't cheer, as if coming to terms with the fact they'd witnessed something resembling a street brawl more than a fair fight. If she'd fought dirty ... well, the rules didn't specify against it. Considering when she fought in earnest it meant she fought to kill, she'd held back more than anything.

Keegan rolled to his knees, gasping. He looked at what she held, mute horror leeching the color from his cheeks.

Minerva dropped the smoking tuft on the ground and stood. "Should've surrendered when I told you to," she said, giving him a wide berth on the way back to her gate. After all these years, she'd cashed in with her crumbs.

Victory tasted sweet as white bean buns but underneath an aftertaste lingered—bitter like blood and poison.