Forged, Not Born
I’ll win this. I have to. I wasn’t supposed to be here, none of this was supposed to happen. But here I am. In the maze. With the others. Real magic spilling out of their fingers. Me? Just an ordinary girl, no powers, with a dagger.
Focus.
The beast snarls again. Huge. Fangs like iron, dripping with venom. His whole mouth could swallow me like whole. Bulldog? Snake? Neither. Both. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that he’s fast, and I’m not magical. Not really. Just trained. Just observant. Just desperate.
As I narrow my eyes, I scan the creature’s legs, the way its left claw twitches when it shifts. Weak spot.
Father would say, “Watch everything. They blink before they strike. They lean before they lie.”
I grip the dagger tighter. The dagger with the silver hilt. The dagger my dad gave me. Remembering the times where we would play fight together. Just us, and the calming sound of blades swooshing. I almost laugh out loud from the memory, just to realize my task at hand.
Focus.
My fingers ache from clutching my dagger all day, through trapdoors and crumbling ledges, through screams and silence. I’m the only one left from the outer provinces, I think. The others had real magic. Extra strength. Healing. Teleportation. I can feel the humming of all the powers swirling around me, from the audience watching us painfully succumb to the maze.
I remember trembling against my father when the King made an announcement. He leaned against his staff, encrusted with a green emerald, and said: “Only the worthy here. Only the gifted. Ordinaries will plague our society and bring us down.”
Gifted. Right. Meaning only those born with magic, not forged. Not trained in secret behind broken houses by a father who taught you to lie about what you are. Pretend to see through the surface. Fake it like your life depends on it. It does.
The creature watches me with a scrutinising gaze. Its beady eyes stare. Blink. The beast lunges. I twist, drop, and slam the dagger up under its jaw.
The monster crashes down and shudders.
I don’t breathe yet.
Something moves beyond the archway. My heart skips a beat. Someone else. Cloaked. Another contestant. I was hoping it was just me and the exit was left.
I stand. Slowly. Blood on my face, not mine. I keep my expression blank.
He’s watching me. That boy, James. The King’s heir. Dual powers. Fire and Water. Eyes a piercing green, just like the King. The more I look at him, the more he looks like a copy of his wicked father. Haven’t seen him much, but when I do, he’s always by his father‘s side, ready to follow in his footsteps.
He squints at me. “Didn’t know psychics could kill beasts like so viciously.”
Don’t flinch. Don’t blink. “I know where to strike.”
“Right.” His smile’s sharp. He doesn’t believe me.
He studies me. And then walks away. Just like that. What if he discovered that I am just an Ordinary? I keep my sigh of relief inside.
I’m still strong. Still winning.
But I need to be the last. Need to get back to Callie. The only person I care about since my dad died. But these games are always corrupt. Twisted to show that the King’s sons are superior to the rest.
If I win, I’ll win more than just glory.
Maybe I’ll change everything.