Raith stands waiting at the edge of the mat, power radiating from him in almost visible waves. His expression remains carefully guarded, his gaze a wall I can’t possibly see past.

Everything else fades to background noise as I desperately try to form a plan—try to figure out how I'm supposed to fight this mountain of man, muscle, and deadly intent standing across from me. My mind whirls through options, each more unlikely than the last.

The legacies have drifted closer, their silver and gold uniforms gleaming. Bastian stands among them, his expression inscrutable. Both fire and water instructors watch us intently, arms crossed in mirrored poses of assessment.

Raith settles into a fighting stance with the fluid grace of someone who has done this thousands of times before. I mirror him as best I can, trying to recall everything I've learned in the brief crash course on fighting we've all been given.

I quickly conclude that I'm royally fucked.

"Why me?" I demand as we begin to circle each other around the ring, my voice lower than I'd intended, betraying my nerves.

I expect some sort of asshole comment in response—something cutting and dismissive that confirms my expendability in his eyes. Instead, his gaze slides briefly to Serena, who is already fighting two rings over. She's on top of a muscular boy with a fire mark, relentlessly pounding her fists into his face as blood sprays across the stone in crimson arcs.

I swallow hard, my throat clicking with sudden dryness. "You challenged me so she wouldn't?" I guess, keeping my voice low enough that our audience can't hear. Maybe there's some twisted chivalry at work here—choosing to defeat me himself rather than letting Serena torture me.

"No," Raith says flatly, eyes snapping back to mine with predatory focus. "Shut up and fight, Saltcrest."

Saltcrest? How the hell does he know where I’m⁠—

He catches me mid-thought, lunging forward and straight through my guard with a speed that seems impossible for someone his size.

His first strike comes fast—a testing jab that I barely manage to deflect, the impact vibrating up my forearm and sending shockwaves of pain to my shoulder. His second follows immediately, catching me in the ribs and sending me staggering back. The pain explodes like a bomb beneath my skin, air rushing from my lungs in a harsh gasp that echoes in the sudden silence around us.

Stars dance at the edges of my vision as I struggle to breathe through lungs that feel crushed. I force myself upright through sheer stubbornness, ignoring the spreading fire across my ribcage.

"That the best you can do?" I rasp, trying to sound confident rather than breathless and half-broken after just two punches.

A shadow of a smile plays across his lips, there and gone in an instant. That brief glimpse of amusement shouldn't make my stomach flutter, but it does—a treacherous warmth spreading beneath the pain of his strike.