Hyura could barely breathe. The pain in his ribs reminded him of the fall during the Skill trial, and every step was agony. His foot burned; his side felt like it cracked with every movement. The fabric of his clothes had stiffened with dried blood, stained in dark patches that carried the memory of impact and violence. When the guards saw him like that, they took him to the healers.

  They weren’t like ordinary people.

  Their bodies looked as if sickness had eaten them from the inside: grayish skin, withered wings, and fine tattoos—thin as circuits—running across every inch of them. They lived together, separated from society, and were rarely seen in public… except for moments like this, when the Coliseum opened a special chamber just for them.

  Hyura had never been this close to one.

  He’d heard the rumors—children crying when the healers passed, soldiers returning from war whispering about their cold touch. People said every wound they absorbed carved itself into their bodies like an indelible memory, and that was why their faces and wings seemed to rot before their time.

  As he limped between them, Hyura couldn’t stop a shiver from crawling up his spine. They looked more like specters than people—frail figures who nonetheless held a dreadful kind of power: returning others to life while slowly consuming their own.

  The healers’ gift was unique… and terrible.

  They absorbed their patients’ injuries and received them in their own flesh. Wounded soldiers could return to the battlefield within hours—while the healers remained weakened in the rear, forced to let their own wounds heal naturally and carry the pain as if it had just happened to them.

  That was why they looked sickly.

  That was why their bodies seemed brittle.

  They also lived under a sacred vow of silence: no matter the torment, they were never meant to make a sound.

  Their existence was a constant debate in Lybendol. Some considered them a necessary evil in times of war—because their sacrifice meant a soldier could fight again within hours. Others called it inhuman cruelty, a practice that reduced their lives into simple vessels for other people’s suffering. And then there were ordinary citizens who, in their selfishness, used them for minor injuries—colds, fevers, trivial aches—spending them slowly for nothing.

  When Hyura entered the healing ward, he noticed something different.

  The area was located in one of the lower levels of the Coliseum, beneath a row of stone arches that let hot currents of air pass through. Above, large sheets of fabric had been stretched as a makeshift roof—red and white—fluttering softly in the breeze to shield the healers from the sun.

  A young healer stood at the entrance, one arm half-extended outside, as if she were trying to feel sunlight on her skin. It gave the impression that this was one of the few chances she ever had to see the daylight.

  She was different from the others.

  Her wings, though weak, still held a trace of whiteness. Her skin wasn’t as worn. The tattoos that ran along her arms looked fresh, as if the ink still burned beneath the flesh. When she sensed him, she studied him with an inquisitive stare, said nothing, and asked with a gesture where it hurt.

  “My side… and my foot,” Hyura muttered.

  She nodded and led him inside.

  The room the healers used didn’t resemble the rest of the Coliseum at all. Where the arena was noise, shouting, and blood, this place was darker—filled with hanging cloths that separated improvised cots and low wooden tables. Oil lamps mounted along the stone walls cast intermittent flickers, and the shadows they created looked like things that moved when you weren’t watching.

  The healer stopped at a small, secluded chamber—a stone cubicle with nothing but a bench. She held out her hand.

  Hyura hesitated… but finally placed his own on hers.

  Heat surged through him instantly, so intense it felt like his blood was boiling.

  Her tattoos began to glow, a pale blue-white. Her eyes flooded with the same color, and Hyura felt his wounds sealing—first the surface cuts, then the deeper damage. But the girl twisted as if the blows were hers.

  When it seemed finished, she didn’t let go.

  The tattoos shifted color, turning gray—almost black. Thick smoke started to seep from her skin, and her eyes darkened to match it. Panic warped her face.

  Hyura tried to pull away, helpless, but it was as if his hand had been welded to hers. The tattoos on her arms flared violently, and her eyes no longer looked human.

  They were two black wells swallowing all light.

  Suddenly her body arched backward, as if something invisible was yanking her from the inside. A scream—high and unnatural—ripped from her throat, shattering the vow of silence she was meant to keep.

  Her back tightened so hard it looked like it might break. Fine blood began to seep from her pores, evaporating into dark smoke that wrapped around her like a poisoned cloak. She floated for an instant, fingers clawed, veins bulging in her neck, convulsing in the air as if something were devouring her from within.

  Hyura, horrified, reached out to free her—he couldn’t.

  And then, as if the bond snapped all at once, the healer dropped like a stone.

  The impact thundered through the small chamber—dry and brutal. She lay there, unmoving, eyes open and glassy, still wrapped in strands of smoke.

  The other healers rushed in, horrified. They shoved Hyura back and threw him out as if he were a plague.

  Hyura stumbled into the corridor, breath ragged. His legs felt like lead, as if every step dragged him closer to an unseen abyss. The air hit his face, but brought no relief—only a cold that sank into his bones.

  Aras was waiting outside. The moment he saw Hyura, he ran to him.

  “By the skies, Hyura!” Aras exclaimed, gripping his shoulders. “You’re pale as a corpse. What happened? I heard a scream, but they wouldn’t let me in.”

  Hyura didn’t answer immediately. He swallowed hard. The image of the healer levitating—twisting in the air—was still burned into his eyes.

  “It… it wasn’t normal, Aras.” His voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. “She… changed right in front of me. Her tattoos turned black. Her eyes too. She started screaming like something was tearing her apart from the inside. And then…” He forced the words out. “…she fell. Like an empty sack.”

  Aras frowned, stunned.

  “I’ve never heard of anything like that. Yes… some healers convulse if they try to save someone who’s close to death. Sometimes they don’t even manage it. But what you’re describing… no. Never.”

  Hyura raised a trembling hand to his forehead.

  “It felt like she was dragging me with her,” he murmured. “Like something was… touching me too. As if she didn’t just absorb my wounds—she absorbed something else. Something that was inside me.”

  “Something else?” Aras’s brow furrowed. “Like… what kind of something?”

  Hyura looked away.

  “She was young,” he said after a moment. “Maybe she didn’t have enough experience. That’s all.”

  He didn’t believe his own words.

  He knew it. It hadn’t been that.

  He had felt that pressure before—in the tunnels: silent, sticky, far too close.

  Aras hesitated, as if he wanted to press him, but didn’t.

  “That doesn’t sound normal,” Aras admitted at last. “But… if you don’t want to talk about it right now, I get it.”

  Hyura looked up, surprised.

  “Just… be careful,” Aras added, lowering his voice. “Nothing about what you’ve told me today sits right.”

  Hyura nodded without speaking.

  He clenched his fists, trying to stop his hands from shaking. All he wanted was to find Vaenia—tell her what had happened—and hear her voice so he wouldn’t feel like he was slipping away from himself.

  They walked in silence toward the resting area set up inside the Coliseum. It was a wide, semi-covered space bordered by stone columns supporting sand-colored awnings that provided shade. Beneath them, long wooden tables groaned under the weight of fresh fruit, pitchers of water, and bread still warm from the ovens. A thin layer of sand—dragged from the main arena—covered the ground, and the air carried a mix of sweat, spices, and the constant murmur of young candidates reliving their trials.

  Some laughed loudly, proud of their feats. Others sat in silence, eyes fixed on the floor, digesting defeats or injuries. The atmosphere felt like a tense calm—the pause between two waves in battle.

  Seeing Hyura’s dark expression, Aras tried to lighten the mood.

  “Look at that,” he said, pointing to a nearby group. “That one swore he could clear the Skill trial without a single mistake and didn’t even get past the first guardian.”

  Aras laughed, exaggerating the gesture. Hyura’s smile barely touched his lips.

  “You can’t keep that face,” Aras added, bumping him lightly with his shoulder. “If you look like a funeral, when they pick teams for the next trial, nobody’s going to want to be with us.”

  Hyura lowered his gaze. The healer’s scream stabbed through him again like a knife.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “It’s not that easy to forget,” he murmured.

  Even so… there was a quiet relief in knowing Aras still wanted to team up with him.

  Aras sighed and changed tactics. He grabbed an apple from one of the tables and tossed it at Hyura.

  “Then chew on it. If you can’t get it out of your head, at least give your stomach something. Trust me—an empty stomach invites more ghosts than you’d think.”

  Hyura caught the fruit lazily, but for the first time since leaving the healers’ ward, the shadow in his eyes faded a fraction.

  Still, he couldn’t help noticing the sideways glances from nearby tables.

  He was still the wingless one.

  And nobody wanted that as a teammate in Strategy.

  He searched the crowd with an urgency that felt almost painful—until he finally found her.

  Vaenia sat beside a dark-skinned boy with an imposing build.

  The moment Hyura saw her, he didn’t hesitate. He started toward her.

  “Come,” he said to Aras, barely glancing back. “Let’s see how Vaenia and Bu did.”

  Vaenia lifted her head and smiled, though exhaustion was written on her face. Hyura stopped when he saw the blood on her clothes—and the fresh cut at her eyebrow.

  “What happened?” he asked, voice tight.

  “Nothing serious,” she replied, brushing it off. “Just a hit during the trial.”

  Hyura frowned but didn’t push. Something in him knew it wasn’t that simple.

  Bu stood and offered his hand.

  Aras grinned and dipped his head in an exaggerated greeting.

  “I was going to say something clever, but with faces like yours…” He shrugged. “I’ll just settle for hello.”

  Vaenia raised an eyebrow, amused despite the fatigue.

  Bu let out a short laugh.

  Hyura rolled his eyes with a faint smile before turning back to Vaenia.

  “And you? How did the Strategy trial go?”

  Vaenia adjusted one wing with a slow motion.

  “Fine,” she said. “Fast and clean. The way it’s supposed to be.”

  “It sounds easy when you say it like that,” Aras cut in, eyebrow raised.

  “It wasn’t,” Vaenia replied.

  For a moment, her gaze darkened.

  Hyura leaned closer, trying to read between the lines.

  “That cut… was it from the trial?”

  Vaenia took a second too long to answer. She looked away.

  “A bad encounter,” she said at last. “Nothing I can’t endure.”

  Hyura nodded, meeting her eyes.

  There was something in that moment—a silent understanding. As if both of them carried a secret of what they’d suffered during the trials… and recognized the same stubborn will to keep moving forward.

  Vaenia broke the silence, changing the subject.

  “Hyura, they won’t stop talking about what you did in Skill. It’s incredible. A lot of people are curious about your abilities.” She smiled. “I knew you’d do it.”

  Hyura lowered his gaze with a faint smile.

  “It was nothing… You know your parents trained us well. Even with my… limitations.”

  Vaenia looked at him warmly, then pulled him into a brief hug.

  “I know. And I know you’ll do great in the next one.” Her voice softened. “We have to keep our promise.”

  Those words weighed more than any bruise. Hyura nodded, holding onto that moment like an anchor in the middle of a storm.

  “He?” Kael murmured coldly. “He doesn’t have wings.”

  He looked Hyura up and down as if assessing a flawed piece of equipment.

  “He won’t keep our pace. From the air, he’ll be an easy target.”

  A pause.

  “And if they take the parchment from us… he won’t be able to recover it.”

  Selindra lowered her gaze. She didn’t speak, but doubt was clear on her face.

  “We should reconsider,” Kael added. “It’s too risky.”

  Hyura’s fists tightened.

  Before he could answer, Aras stepped forward.

  “That’s exactly why,” Aras said. “No one expects him.”

  He pointed toward Hyura without looking at him.

  “You saw what he did in the Skill trial. Without wings.”

  “On the ground, he moves faster than most of you do in the air.”

  Kael clicked his tongue.

  “Fast?” he repeated. “That’s not enough.”

  Aras raised his voice, smile still in place.

  “Not enough?” he echoed. “He cleared it better than any of us.”

  “He didn’t stop once. While others with wings hovered, searching for angles, he kept moving.”

  Hyura looked down, but the tightness in his chest began to loosen.

  “And when he fell,” Aras continued, “he got up faster than anyone expected.”

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  “He’s not just fast. He’s smart. And he endures.”

  Aras stepped closer, pointing again.

  “He might not have wings, but he has something heavier: instinct and resilience.”

  A brief pause.

  “If he carries the parchment today, I’d bet he carries it to the end.”

  Kael stared in silence, jaw tight.

  Then Lorien—who had been quiet the entire time—let out a small laugh.

  “He’s right. I saw it too.” Lorien crossed his arms, eyes fixed on Kael. “Hyura’s agility is well above average. If anyone can dodge ambushes on the ground and keep the parchment out of rival hands, it’s him.”

  Selindra’s brows lifted, surprised by the firmness in Lorien’s tone. The three of them had been friends since childhood, and they rarely contradicted Kael—but they trusted Lorien’s judgment.

  Kael clenched his jaw, silent a few seconds longer. Finally, he looked away with a snort.

  “Fine. Let him carry it.”

  His eyes pinned Hyura—cold as blades.

  “But if we fail, it’ll be your responsibility.”

  Hyura gripped the parchment tightly, fully aware that if he fell… it wouldn’t just be him who went down.

  The trial began, and suspicion quickly turned into astonishment.

  Selindra covered the flanks from above. Kael calculated every movement with precision. Lorien spotted ambushes before they could unfold. Aras improvised with sharp energy—and at the center of it all, Hyura became the axis of the group: agile, unpredictable, untouchable.

  No one managed to take the parchment from him.

  They reached the end with overwhelming efficiency.

  The crowd erupted into cheers.

  After the success, Hyura and Vaenia found each other again. This time there was no rush. For a few minutes they walked together between the tables, away from the noise. The group scattered to drink water and rest, and for the first time all day Hyura could breathe beside her without feeling time pushing him forward.

  “I’m glad you’re in one piece,” Hyura said quietly, eyes on the cut near her brow. “For a moment, I thought the worst.”

  Vaenia gave him a tired smile.

  “I’ve had tough opponents…” She held his gaze for a beat before continuing. “But today wasn’t easy for anyone.”

  A short pause.

  “And you… you always find a way.”

  “I wasn’t alone,” Hyura replied, thinking of Aras and the others. “If I made it, it’s because they trusted me… at least some of them did.”

  Vaenia looked at him seriously.

  “And for good reason. You’re stronger than you think, Hyura.”

  The silence between them turned comfortable—like shelter.

  Aras stood thoughtful for a moment, as if he didn’t know how to dress his words with humor this time.

  “I’ve never seen anyone move like that at our age,” he admitted.

  He shook his head slowly.

  “There were moments I thought you were going to fall… and you still kept going.”

  He looked up at Hyura, honest.

  “I thought you’d be carrying a disadvantage. I was wrong.”

  A crooked smile.

  “I couldn’t be happier I ended up in a team with you.”

  Vaenia’s eyes widened at the bluntness. Then she smiled—a quiet pride—and looked at Hyura as if that confirmation only proved what she had always known.

  Heat rose to Hyura’s cheeks. He wasn’t used to hearing things like that… especially not in front of her.

  “I… just did what I had to,” Hyura murmured, lowering his gaze.

  Aras chuckled softly and smacked his shoulder.

  “Don’t play modest. If you want people praising you in the next one, you’ll have to learn to accept a compliment without looking like you’re at a funeral.”

  Vaenia sighed and rested her hand on Hyura’s shoulder for a brief moment.

  “He’s always been like that,” she said. “Either way, what matters is we’re still here. And whatever comes next—we face it together.”

  Hyura was about to answer, but instead he let himself sink into the moment.

  The group gathered around one of the tables loaded with fruit, bread, and pitchers of cool water. For the first time that day, they could sit without the immediate pressure of an instructor or the sound of a horn calling them back.

  Bu tore off a piece of bread with his massive hands and devoured it in a single bite.

  Aras burst into laughter.

  “With strength like that, you don’t even need weapons. Poor soul they put in front of you in the Combat trial.”

  Bu laughed deeply.

  “The truth is… I’ve never been good at fighting,” he admitted. “I don’t even like it.”

  Aras lifted an eyebrow, surprised.

  “Then what would you rather be?”

  Bu thought for a second.

  “A blacksmith. Or a miner.” He shrugged. “I love magical stones. I want to understand their power… and how they might help us in the future.”

  Vaenia nodded, genuinely interested.

  “And the Skill trial?” Aras asked. “How did it go for you?”

  Bu scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable.

  “I finished… but I was slow. My flight isn’t great.” He waved vaguely. “When I reached the tunnel guard, I shoved him all the way to the finish with me.”

  Aras whistled, impressed.

  Vaenia smiled.

  “I think that’ll be enough for what you want,” she said. She looked at him with certainty. “And you did well in Strategy. I’m convinced some guild will see it.”

  Bu nodded, thoughtful, staring into his cup of water.

  Aras raised his pitcher in an exaggerated toast.

  “To that. Let no one say we don’t know how to get back up.”

  Laughter spread. For a while, they talked about their mistakes—ridiculous falls, badly timed hits. Even Hyura, who had been quiet at first, ended up telling them how he’d tripped during one section of the Skill trial and still managed to recover before anyone could catch him.

  Vaenia smiled with pride, and Aras teased him affectionately.

  “See? That’s the story right there. The wingless one who refuses to be caught.”

  Hyura rolled his eyes, but inside he felt—for the first time—that he wasn’t just a stranger among them.

  When the pitchers ran empty and the laughter began to fade, silence slowly took its place. The five of them looked at each other with something new in their expressions. They weren’t just rivals.

  They were companions who had shared something more than trials and bruises.

  That was when the trumpets blared through the entire Coliseum, calling everyone to the last—and most feared—trial.

  Combat.

  Matchups were announced one by one, and the anticipation in the stands grew with every name. When Hyura’s was spoken—followed by Vhas’s—a murmur raced through the Coliseum like lightning.

  Vaenia went cold.

  Her entire body tightened, and the memory of Vhas’s brutal attack in her own trial ripped through her mind like an open wound. She didn’t want this fight to happen.

  Not Hyura. Not him.

  During the rest period she had told him everything, between whispers and sidelong looks—how Vhas had hit her without mercy, how he didn’t just want to win… he wanted to humiliate, to destroy. Hyura had listened with his jaw tight, disturbed, and even if he didn’t admit it aloud, the thought of facing Vhas had been eating at him.

  When the announcement hung in the air, Vaenia leaned in, her voice barely a breath—urgent.

  “You have to be careful.” Her eyes shone with fear. “He’s cruel. He doesn’t stop when he’s already won.”

  Hyura clenched his jaw. He didn’t know Vhas beyond what others said, but he knew he wouldn’t be an easy opponent.

  And still… he couldn’t allow someone to hurt the person he cared for most and walk away unpunished.

  Vaenia carried a terror she couldn’t bear. She had seen Vhas in motion. She knew he didn’t fight just to win… and she feared—though she wouldn’t say it—that he might be beyond even Hyura’s reach.

  The fights began.

  Vaenia went first. Her opponent was fast—but Vaenia was faster. She slipped away with fluid movements, disarmed with a precise turn, and dropped her rival with an elegance that felt merciless. A clean victory. Almost perfect.

  Aras was next. He feigned clumsiness, luring his opponent into a trap. With one unexpected move he took him down, then celebrated with an exaggerated bow—earning laughter from the crowd without disrespecting his rival.

  Bu faced a brutal duel. Blow against blow, strength against strength. The thunder of their impacts echoed across the arena. Finally, with a roar, Bu drove his opponent into the sand—exhausted, but victorious.

  And then it was Hyura’s turn.

  The Coliseum fell silent.

  Vhas spread his wings with theatrical grandeur. His shadow stretched across the sand as he smiled down in contempt, utterly sure of himself.

  The horn sounded.

  The clash was immediate.

  Vhas dropped like a winged beast, striking with savage brutality. Hyura rolled across the sand, dodging by inches. He sprang back to his feet and countered with speed that forced Vhas to retreat—only for Vhas to beat his wings, rise, and fall onto him again and again from above.

  A punch drove the air from Hyura’s side.

  Another dropped him to one knee.

  The crowd roared.

  Hyura rose with anger. Something burned inside him. His movements sharpened—faster, cleaner, almost unnatural. With a kick he sent Vhas crashing to the ground, and for the first time, the certainty in Vhas’s eyes cracked.

  Hyura didn’t stop.

  He pressed him with impossible speed—until he caught Vhas by the ankle mid-flight and slammed him into the arena with such violence the Coliseum cried out as one.

  Hyura’s eyes had turned black as night.

  He had lost control.

  He raised his arm for the final blow.

  “Hyura!” Vaenia’s voice tore through the Coliseum—broken, desperate. “Stop!”

  For an instant, a spark of light returned to his pupils.

  But the shadow inside him roared, urging him to finish.

  The wooden sword came down.

  At that speed, it would have been lethal.

  Before it struck, a figure dropped from the sky like a gray arrow. Wings cut the sunlight, and a shadow fell over both fighters. A firm hand caught Hyura’s wrist inches from Vhas’s body.

  The Coliseum erupted into stunned murmurs.

  It was Dahrion.

  The most famous guardian in the kingdom. Lord Arion’s defender.

  His presence alone demanded silence.

  With a sharp motion, Dahrion twisted Hyura’s arm and forced him back, restraining him with inhuman strength. The black eyes blinked—confused.

  Hyura snarled and lunged at him.

  Dahrion sidestepped without effort and struck precisely at Hyura’s neck.

  Hyura went unconscious instantly.

  His body hit the sand like a puppet with its strings cut.

  Silence.

  Vaenia, Aras, and Bu had reached the edge of the arena, unable to look away.

  Hyura lay unconscious.

  But he was himself again.

  The Fury of the Wingless. Hyura’s secret is becoming harder to hide, and the shadow inside him just made its presence clear to everyone in the coliseum. The arrival of Dahrion sets the stage for a whole new level of conflict—Hyura is no longer just another competitor.

  Follow and leave a comment—your thoughts mean a lot and help shape where the story goes. What do you think scares Vaenia more: Vhas’s cruelty, or the darkness stirring inside Hyura?