“First trial begins now,” Xavier announces. “Reach the finish point by sunset. Anyone who doesn’t complete the course is eliminated.”

Dawn breaks cold and unforgiving over the cliffs. The Coastal Gauntlet sprawls before us—treacherous rock faces plunging toward churning waters, narrow ledges where one wrong step means death. Sea caves yawn dark beneath the morning light.

Mira appears at my shoulder. “The underwater passages are the worst,” she whispers. “Some caves flood at high tide. Others have currents that pull you toward the rocks.”

“How do I know which ones are safe?” I ask.

“You don’t. Not unless you’ve trained here your whole life.”

“Wonderful,” I mutter. “Any other comforting advice?”

“Stay focused. Trust your instincts. And don’t panic—panic kills faster than the water ever could.”

“That’s very reassuring, Mira.”

“I never claimed to be reassuring. Just honest.” She squeezes my arm briefly. “You’ll make it through this. I believe that.”

Finn leans closer from my other side. “The siren caves are halfway through. Whatever you do, don’t stop swimming when you hear them sing.”

“Sirens?” My stomach drops. “I only heard briefly about them.”

“Their songs are hypnotic,” he explains quietly. “They’ll lure you off course. People have drowned following those melodies into the deep.”

“How do I resist them?”

“Focus on something real. Pain works—bite your tongue if you must. Just keep moving no matter what you hear.”

“Has anyone survived by giving in?”

“No one who gave in has ever come back.” His expression darkens considerably. “Don’t be the first to try.”

“Any other deadly surprises I should know about?”

“Probably. You’ll discover those yourself.”

“You’re both terrible at encouragement.”

“We’re excellent at honesty.” He clasps my shoulder firmly. “Good luck, Evelyn. We’ll see you at the finish.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Then we’ll drink to your memory.” His smile turns grim. “But I’d rather drink with you alive.”

Xavier blows his horn. Competitors surge forward.

I throw myself into the gauntlet immediately. My fingers scrape raw against stone as I scramble up the first rock face. The others pull ahead—they know this terrain intimately, every handhold memorized. I navigate blind.

My muscles scream as I haul myself onto a narrow ledge. Below, waves crash against jagged rocks with enough force to shatter bone. One slip and I’m finished.

“Keep moving,” I mutter. “Don’t think about falling.”

The path narrows until I’m pressing my body flat against the cliff face. Wind tears at my clothes, salt spray stinging my eyes constantly.

Hours blur together. I scale cliffs that seem endless. I leap across gaps that should be impossible. My technique is solid, but unfamiliarity costs precious time at every turn.

Then I reach the submerged cavern network.

Dark water swallows me whole. The cold drives air from my lungs. I kick hard, following the dim glow of phosphorescent algae marking the passage ahead.

That’s when I hear it.

The singing.

Ethereal voices drift through the water, beautiful beyond description. They wrap around my consciousness like silk, urging me to stop. To listen. To follow their haunting melodies deeper into darkness.

“No,” I think fiercely. “Keep swimming.”

My lungs burn. The song grows louder, more insistent. Every instinct screams at me to turn toward those impossible voices.

I bite my tongue hard enough to taste blood. The pain cuts through the fog, sharp and clarifying. I force myself to focus on the burning instead. Pain is real. Pain keeps me moving forward.

I block out everything else and kick harder.

I surface gasping in a pocket of air, chest heaving. The singing fades behind me, disappointed and hungry.

The final stretch tests every limit I have. My arms shake as I climb the last cliff. My legs threaten to buckle with each desperate step.

When I finally cross the finish line, the sun hangs low. I collapse onto solid ground.

“You made it,” Dorian says, appearing with a waterskin. “I wasn’t certain you would.”

“Neither was I,” I admit, accepting the water. “How did I place?”

“Near the bottom. But not last.”

That night, I wait until the compound falls silent. I pry up the floorboard and lift the dragon egg carefully into my arms.

Its warmth pulses against my chest, stronger than before. The shell feels thinner—fragile. Like something waiting desperately to break free.

“I almost didn’t make it today,” I whisper.

“But you did.” Aspis’s voice fills my mind, fierce and proud. “The trials push you, and I feel everything. Every fear. Every triumph.”

“The sirens nearly had me. Their song was so beautiful.”

“Yet you resisted. You chose to survive when others couldn’t.”

“There’s still two more trials. And after that—Venna’s challenge.” I press my cheek against the warm shell. “A seasoned warrior who wants me dead. The odds feel impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible.” Her conviction burns through our bond like fire. “We grow stronger together. Soon we’ll truly be together.”

“Soon? What does that mean exactly?”

“I feel myself changing. Pressing against these walls that contain me.” Warmth floods through me. “When I hatch, everything changes for us both.”

“What if it’s not enough? What if I fail before that happens?”

“You won’t fail, Evelyn.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because I know you. I’ve touched your soul. You survived your family’s hatred for years.” My eyes fill with tears that I don’t allow to fall. “You survived the gauntlet today. You’ll survive Venna too.”

I close my eyes, letting her presence chase away the shadows. Marcus haunts me—another competitor whose dreams ended in dark water.

That could have been me. It nearly was.

“Trust yourself,” Aspis murmurs gently. “And trust me.”

I curl around the egg, exhaustion dragging me under. Tomorrow brings new dangers. Venna’s challenge looms beyond the tournament like a blade waiting to fall.

But tonight, wrapped in my dragon’s warmth, I let myself believe survival is possible.