Chapter 203

Chapter 203

ARIA

50%

Finished

Training was brutal.

There was no other word for it. It was designed to make people cry, out of frustration. Whoever thought of this had someone that they wanted to punish initially. The Ghost Council’s primary evaluation was designed to push us to our absolute limits, to expose every weakness and inadequacy that were present in people, and also to separate those who were genuinely capable from those who were just enthusiastic but unprepared for the real work it takes.

And I was struggling to keep up with the mere basics. Desperately, obviously struggling.

The first test was speed. The event happened to be a timed sprint across the training grounds that seemed simple enough, just to get from point A to B. That was until you were actually doing it, lungs burning, legs screaming and wanting to give out, watching everyone else finish while you were still only halfway through. I came in near the bottom of the pack, gasping for air, trying to calm my racing heart, my time was so much slower than the others that it was embarrassing to even acknowledge. Thankfully everyone else was so focused on cheering for their chosen participants, they had forgotten to gossip.

Then came strength testing which was entirely another obstacle on its own and one that hindered my strength. Lifting weighted logs, dragging heavy objects across designated distances, maintaining holds that required core stability I apparently didn’t possess. I managed to complete the requirements, but barely, and only because they’d set the minimum thresholds low enough that even inadequate participants could technically pass……. technically.

Endurance was worse. A long-distance run that separated the naturally athletics from those of us who relied more on determination than actual ability. My sides were cramping within the first mile, my breathing becoming ragged and desperate, but I forced myself to keep going because stopping would be admitting defeat. I finished-dead last among those still running, but I finished.

Combat evaluation came next, and that was perhaps the most humiliating. Sparring matches that exposed just how little actual fighting training I’d received. I knew basic self-defense from my years trying to protect myself in Blackwood, or in rogue terrorities when I was canvassing for herbs but that was nothing compared to the sophisticated techniques the warriors employed, determined to make sure that we suffered humiliation. I got knocked down repeatedly, struggled to land any effective hits, and generally demonstrated to everyone that in a real fight, I’d be useless.

But I kept trying. Kept getting back up. Kept pushing through the pain and exhaustion and the growing certainty that I didn’t belong here.

And through it all, I watched Ivory.

She was being dramatic. Outrageously, obviously dramatic in ways that should have been annoying but somehow weren’t. I didn’t even realize that was actually capable of being done. She’d complete a strength test and then immediately collapse on the ground, clutching her arms and moaning about muscle failure whining and crying about unfair it was, making a damsel participate. She’d finish the endurance run and stagger around like she was about to die, gasping for air with theatrical intensity that made it clear she was exaggerating.

The pack loved it. They were laughing-not at her, but with her, enjoying her performance, cheering her on even as she pretended to be on the verge of complete physical breakdown. Because everyone could see through it. Could tell that beneath the dramatics, she was actually performing at an extremely high level.

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Chapter 203

That her complaints and exaggerations were entertainment rather than genuine struggle.

Finished

When she “barely” managed to lift a weighted log, groaning about how impossibly heavy it was-everyone laughed because they’d just watched her lift it with obvious ease before pretending to struggle. When she crawled across the finish line of the endurance run, acting like she’d been pushed beyond all human capability-people cheered because they knew she’d been pacing herself deliberately, holding back to make it look harder than it actually was.

It was a performance. A way of being extraordinary while making it seem relatable. Of demonstrating exceptional capability while maintaining connection with pack members who weren’t operating at her level. Even though she was running against, those who were struggling to keep up, found it amusing, laughing instead of glaring at her.

And it worked. People loved her more for it. Loved the humor, the self-deprecation that wasn’t really self- deprecation, the way she could be the best while acting like she was barely surviving.

I couldn’t do that. When I struggled, it was genuine. When I finished last, it wasn’t strategic pacing-it was actual inadequacy. There was no humor in my performance, no entertainment value in watching me genuinely fail to meet standards that everyone else exceeded.

Nina was impressive throughout the evaluation, which wasn’t surprising given her position as security chief. She moved with military precision, completed every test with efficient competence, demonstrated exactly why she held the authority she did. Even when she was clearly tired, she maintained focus and capability that spoke to years of training and natural aptitude.

Even Margo was holding her own. She wasn’t exceptional like Ivory or Nina, but she was solidly competent. More competent than me. She was completing tests in such a way that suggested she’d trained for this, that she belonged in this evaluation even if she wasn’t going to be top-ranked.

Celine got disqualified early. She failed the strength requirements badly enough that the evaluators pulled her aside and thanked her for participating but explained she wouldn’t be advancing. She took it with grace, clearly having expected it, and moved to the spectator area to watch the rest of us continue.

Elite-one of the women who held some authority position I’d never quite figured out–was actually good. Not Ivory or Nina level, but genuinely skilled. Fast, strong, strategic in her approach to the combat tests. She moved with confidence that came from knowing her capabilities and trusting them completely.

By the time we broke for midday assessment, I was exhausted beyond anything I’d experienced before. Every muscle hurt. My lungs felt raw. My head was pounding from dehydration and exertion. But I’d completed everything they’d thrown at us. Had pushed through despite knowing I was performing worse than almost everyone else.

The evaluators gathered, consulting their notes and making decisions. The Ghost Council elders observed from their elevated positions, their expressions unreadable as they watched the pack’s strongest be separated from those who hadn’t made the cut.

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