In all my dreams I burn - chapter 10

The transcription is about the protagonist, Breya, preparing a romantic dinner for her friend Tara. She puts a lot of effort into the meal and sets up a beautiful outdoor setting. Breya's friend, Croydon, is impressed by her efforts and they wait for Tara and her date to arrive. Breya admires Tara's date and thinks highly of her. They eventually leave for their own adventures, but Breya stops to spy on Tara and her date from a distance to see if they appreciate the setup. The transcription ends with Breya hearing Rhiannon's voice and possibly witnessing a kiss between her and Tara. Hello and welcome to chapter 10 of my original fanfiction for 4th Wing. I've changed the title of this fanfic to In All My Dreams I Burn, because I didn't know that you should do titles and that one came to me much later. So, anyways, let's get into it. I have noted the qualities requisite in Sumay Ryan Hurtigan and a lack of continuity in exhibiting these qualities. I can only surmise this is due to beginner's luck. In addition, her ties to other Sephiroth kids is undesirable. It is my determination that Sumay Ryan Hurtigan is not fit for or suitable for the redacted. I look forward to your next recommendation. Private correspondence from Commander Panjik to Professor Emma Theriault. Sumay and I honour our promises from the second week. Sumay has recited some history and I've won my first challenge. That's a warm up compared to the third week. Sumay tries to torture a rat to dynamise sympathies and force me to be a killer trick again, but this time I won't have a bar of it. I won't condone or encourage that sort of behaviour. I don't want my best friend becoming a cold hard killer, especially not under my watch, not under my name. Sumay doesn't even have to show me the rat. I can tell by the way she saunters in my direction that she has something tucked and hidden and I walk the other way. She'll have to chase me down if she wants to subject me to that experience again. I only speak to her if I have to and there's only one reason I would before my next challenge. I put aside the my best friend the psychopath issue to focus on repaying Tara for saving my life. Because death comes easily and kindness is only an afterthought, I intend to change that. It means I lose a day of training and studying but it's worth it in my mind. I recruit Sumay to gather flowers to assemble a bouquet and I swear my parents' ashes if she comes back with another rat I will walk myself off the parapet. She doesn't mind the gardening task I've assigned to her. It's her way of saying sorry because she'll never say the words. She's not the type of person to say things she doesn't mean. She means everything she says and she will fulfill her promise to harm herself if I do not pull it together. During the day I canvass the kitchen facilities to see what ingredients are available and concoct a recipe for a romantic dinner for two. I convince Cryden to keep watch in the evening to alert me if anyone is on duty near the kitchens after hours. Then I work my domestic magic. I apply my culinary knowledge passed down to me by my traditional mother who also happened to be a cold-blooded killer feared amongst riders and dragons. Would she improve if this endeavour or would she, in Vayden's words, skin me alive for being a pacifist? That's not much food to work with but I'm a creative. I roast potatoes, onions and garlic and slice them so they're presented like an extended accordion diced, sliced, spiced and seasoned tastefully. I don't know why the food here is awful because the kitchen has enough herbs and spices for richer flavours but apparently no one cooking knows how to apply these additions. Thanks to Samaya's foraging and rummaging in the wild I have edible mushrooms that I roast alongside the potatoes and I oil them to perfection. I add a side of salad, only a handful of leaves, sourced again by the ever-resourceful Samaya. I slice two thin strips of beef, stolen from tomorrow's dinner but ever so scarcely that nobody will notice the portion missing. I marinate it gently. I rely heavily on spices for flavour and in the absence of any substantial ingredients. I consider catching a hare but the risk of cooking for that long and being caught is too high. I resort to borrowing ingredients from tomorrow. It will just have to do. Finally I spend the morning picking blueberries from a bush I spotted from my first week on campus. I load them into a small bowl for dessert with a drizzle of honey for extra sweetness. I'm all set, what about you? Samaya pops her head into the kitchen. I sure hope nobody can smell what I'm cooking. It smells a lot different to what they serve us in the day, possibly distinct enough to warrant an investigation from anyone within a depth sense of smell. Worth the risk, worth the trouble in my mind. Nearly. I assemble the meat and plates with artistic marksmanship. Everything must be perfect. Tara found me in a mess, I'll do the opposite for her. I begged her not to leave me and she stayed. I'll spend as much time as needed so that the food is placed with immaculate style. Criden walks in groaning, holding his belly. That smells delicious, please tell me you cooked extras? He whines. Shush you, you're supposed to be on watch. I scold. His eyes yearn for the assortment, his mouth agape and almost salivating. I chuckle. I'd be envious if he looked at anything else that way. I hope one day I have the opportunity to cook for him. You'll have to fight if you want to live long enough to cook. Hurry up, Breya, I can smell it two hallways away. Samaya snaps. It will have to do. I quickly clean up, leaving no trace anyone was here in the night. I didn't know you two could cook. He stares at the food like it's a long lost lover, disappointed that it's not for him. Poor boy's belly hasn't been spoiled in so long. I don't think anyone here has truly had a decent meal, not unless they've had my mother's cooking before. But of course, my mother is dead. But her lessons aren't. Breya's the cook, I'm the hunter, Samaya corrects. Hunter, not torturer, I remind her with a perked eyebrow. She shrugs sheepishly, as if it's neither here nor there. I'll cook for you, Croydon, if ever I'm allowed, I promise. I pick one mushroom from the bunch and hold it outside his mouth. He obliges with a smile that spreads far past his eyes. I pop it into his mouth and he moans at the flavour, eyes closed to savour the taste. Satisfied with his response, I continue. That's all you get this time. Next time I'll have more. I hand Croydon two plates and stack three on my own. Get Tara, we'll have everything ready and set by then, I order Samaya. She nods dutifully and is on her way. I use my other hand to gather cutlery and the nicest napkins I could find. This is beautiful, Raya, and you organise all this for Tara? Croydon asks, amazed at the carpet of petals that lead us out into the fields. Samaya has done her part well. Different types of flowers bound together and decorate the settings. A sarong is spread for comfort, with cushions to rest upon and a blanket to snuggle up in. Two candle berets remain in flame, protesting against the coursing wind. I hope they last long enough for Tara's date to appreciate the set-up. It's nothing compared to saving my life. Besides, beautiful things are not appreciated or cared about enough here. It's a nice respite from the usual grind, I explain. I carefully and neatly place the plates, cutlery and chalice to set the scene and cover the food with napkins to deter any hungry, curious bugs. What's a guy got to do to be wine and dined like this? Don't think I've forgotten about you, Amar. Your time will come, if ever we get a real break, I vow. You've really set the bar high for yourself. He touches the details to take them in. The petals, the napkins, the blankets and the cushions, all laid out for sensory comfort. Thank you for this, I say, yanking Croydon's water-skin of mead. There's so much more I wish I could do. Incense, fragrance, sweets, wines, cheese, breads, fruits. But there's a limit to what one can be sourced in one day. It's good enough for a date and private enough to enjoy the night. It's late, past midnight. I doubt anyone will be looking at the fields and at the tiny candlelights. To me, it's the perfect setting to spoil someone on a date in this hellhole we call a college. Come on. I drag Croydon around, not on, the catwalk of petals. We leave the courtyard at the same time as the mayor, Tara, and her date. A sound escapes me and I'm taken back by her booty. Strongly built, wonderful features, Tara has found herself quite the catch. Everything's ready, just like you instructed, Tara, I announce. She has no idea what I have in store for her, but she's a good sport. She trusts my judgment and she plays along as if this was all her idea, ever so apprehensively. Thank you. Rhiannon, this is Ray and Croydon from my squad. They're friends with Samaya. Tara introduces her exquisite, darker-skinned friend. I like to think I can read people well. If I had to judge Rhiannon on first appearances, let's just say I'd want her to be in my squad. I'd take her over Inna, Amy, or Hannah any day. The woman has a presence about her, a commanding one. One fit for leadership. This woman can handle herself. She has an aura of confidence around her that I immediately admire. I like her, I decide there and then. I can usually tell by first impressions. I'm happy for Tara. She's a good person. She deserves someone on her level. I've heard nothing but good things. Tara's always speaking about how great you are, I start, and if looks could kill, Tara would have murdered me there. Please, don't let us hold you up. We have our own adventures to attend to. I bow out. Rhiannon trades a glance with Tara, blushing slightly in anticipation. We head our separate ways, but as soon as we've passed a corner, I stop everyone to peer back and spy. What are you doing, Rhea? Samaya whispers, crouching to my level. I try to make out whether the women like the set-up. The shadowy figures of their body language shift in a mysterious language in the distance. I can't quite make out what they're doing. It's too dark and they're too far. I just want to know I did good. It's important to cherish tender moments. Too much violence and we forget our humanity, I explain, referring specifically to Samaya. Since I can't see the women, I try to listen instead. I hear Rhiannon's voice, raised in affliction, and I think I can see them hugging. Is that a kiss exchange? I cover my face and chew for delight, suppressing a squeal. Enjoy these moments of innocence, Rhea, because they are your last. Tomorrow is your next challenge and there will be bloodshed, if not by your hand, then by mine. Samaya's threatening words contrast against her hand, massaging the tender spot in my shoulder. I shrug her off in disgust, ignoring her demands. I won't let her ruin this night for me. It's just as important to me as winning on the maps. I won't sell my good nature to this place. I don't care how much it pays. Off. I won't turn into a monster, not like Samaya is. One of us has to balance the darkness of the other. Thank you for helping me, I say when I'm satisfied. The night is a success. Do we ever get spoiled, considering we save your life every day? Cried and teases. I'll get to you. Be patient, I retort, bump into his chest playfully. Soon as I can fight for myself. As soon as you conquer those maps, Samaya says, in almost perfect synchronization with my thoughts. We did this for you, now you know what we want in return, Samaya states flatly. Ah, we're back at this survival game, it seems. No more romance, no more playfulness, back to the grit and the grind. I know what I have to do, but for tonight, can we just enjoy not spilling each other's guts? Can we just appreciate doing something nice? The two women look for connection. Can we just be happy to have played some small role in fostering love? I comment like a true romantic. Samaya rolls her eyes. I want to say more, but I hear voices coming our direction. The moment is over, ruined, never to be found again. That's what made it special. I appreciate it all the same. Tomorrow will be a different day. Tomorrow I'll confront the psychopath that is now my best friend, and whatever horrors she has in store to banish the compassion she once loved in me. Samaya will be hurt. Samaya will be hurt. Samaya will be hurt. Samaya will be hurt. Unless I do something about it and fight. The only way to de-escalate the stakes that Samaya is hinting towards is to win my next challenge, and that's exactly what I intend to do. I've trained harder with Krydon. I've practiced regularly with my squad. I avoid inner at all costs, spare myself the broken bones and hours lost visiting the Healer's Quadrant. I strike with might. I don't pull my punches anymore. I aim my daggers with Omar. I do the whole nine yards in preparation for my next challenge. It hits different when your best friend threatens to hurt themselves if you fail. The anticipation fills me with a fresher drive. I try to imagine my mother, what she would do if she were in my shoes. Not as the mother I knew, but as the flyer she was at my age, before she had me. I'm still processing the idea that my mother was a cold, hard killer that put the fear of God to riders she encountered in the skies, but that's neither here nor there yet. Would she hesitate the same way I do, or would she take every and any opportunity she was given? Your mother was a cold-blooded killer that could put any of these cadets to shame if she were here at your age. That's how Zayden put it. Could I gain a reputation that lived up to my mother's? Would I then also spontaneously start a family and put that lifestyle behind me? Would I grow bored of killing the same way she grew bored of shredding dragons? She lived a lot of two different identities, juxtaposed as opposite, and she lived those lives brilliantly. So what's my excuse? I've believed myself to be just like my mother. I really have no excuses left for holding myself back. I'm given every reason to shine, and shine I will. Imagine my disappointment when my next challenge is a man on my year level, larger, stronger, keener. He wants weapons, and I have no choice but to oblige. But I refuse to be intimidated by his size. I can do this. But I can't be overly confident, not like I was with Jack. I have to be tactical, relaxed yet vicious, decisive yet not cocky. There's a middle ground, like Crichton suggested, somewhere between brutality and mercy. I stare into my opponent's eyes. Sheldon Harrington is his name. And in the distance, just behind him, stares back a beaming Samaya. Only two minutes to finish it, Samaya says ever so generously, her hand on her own dagger sheathed in warning. She'll do it. It's not a threat, it's a promise. She's a bloody menace, and she has been since she tore out of the womb. Fear and pain? Nothing more than tools in her mind. She will go to extraordinary lengths if it will stir something in me. She wants change. She wants to inspire more aggression on my part, and she'll use my empathy against me if she must. Clever, brutal girl. She's a little monster is what she is. We'll see who has the last laugh between the psychopath and the pacifist. With our daggers ready in hand, Professor Emeterio commences the match. Attack. I strike first. Sheldon slides back, unimpressed. He raises an eyebrow at me, and I grimace. Not the most tactful first move, I will be the first to admit. He shows me how it's done in return. He flashes in my direction in a frenzy, an aggrieved painter searching for his canvas. My body does the thinking for me. I slip and slide, artfully dodging. A beat guides my movements. Everyone moves to a beat, you realize, after enough practice. Everyone has their own cadence. They respond to their own unique rhythms. I just have to find the right frequency to dial into. I tune into what their body is telling me, not what they're doing. Listening is a form of defense, and I found this aspect my best skill on the mat. I can anticipate how my opponents will move before them. He pants, annoyed that his blade can't pierce my skin. I raise an eyebrow in return, and he grimaces, trying again. One minute left, I hear Samaya call out. That went fast. But I'm standing, dodging, steady, and he's swinging, huffing, and puffing. I'm wearing him down. If he keeps this up, I may have a chance. But it'll take more than a minute before he slows down. Attack. I slip in a stab to one of his strokes, but his body jumps back instinctively. I hesitate, unable to think of where to go from here. He kicks. I protect my head with my forearm in time, and I shuffle as much distance as I can between us, disoriented, the beat of our match lost to the blinding sound of pain. This is why I don't like attacking. I can dance to the beat of someone else's body, but I don't know how to impose my own song. My moves are like whispers against an orchestra. I hesitate too much, unsure of myself, and my hesitations are punished every single time. He comes for me again. I narrowly dodge, my speed compromised from the shock of being knocked. At least my nose isn't broken, but my forearm feels like it's splintering in pain. His dagger nicks the tip of my shoulder, and pain sears where blood spills, the first time his blade got me. Just attack. Dread. That's what I feel. Overboiling, and it guides my hand. I attack, but he dodges. Ten seconds. Sumaya warns. I cannot end this match in ten seconds if I can't land a single hit. He sets off into another flurry of swipes, and I realize I'm losing this dance. The song is nearly over. Sumaya has unsheathed her dagger. I can't do this. He anticipates my moves before I action them. I want out, but his blade continues chasing me. I want Sumaya to stop, but the tip of her dagger grips the apex of it in an elbow. Every time I step aside, wondering if this is where I attack, he's on me again, and I'm forced to reposition and reassess. There's not enough time to figure out how to end this. I only know dodge and dance, not attack. But the looming threat of Sumaya's self-inflicting wounds teach me fear. Adrenaline overdoses me. Attack. Sumaya will hurt. It will be my fault. I can't beat her vow, and I can't beat this man. I can't stop her any more than I can stop him. I attack. He parries me and kicks me to the ground. I tried, but I can't. I don't have an enemy. Sumaya's blade slides and reveals the color of her blood. On my ass, I only see red. Sheldon advances to me. I don't think. I just act. Attack. I backhand my dagger, sending it flying into his chest. It pierces his peck, rooting deep into his flesh. No throwing, Professor Immaterial scolds. Too late for anything to be done about it now. Sheldon freezes, shocked at the metal protruding from his torso. I cover my mouth in horror. What have I done? You attacked. Sheldon's hands hover over the dagger, unsure what to do with it. I'm not exactly sure how long we're petrified, but it's long enough for an annoyed Professor Immaterial to call it. He yields. Get him to the healers. Lyadel, you're with me afterwards, he shouts. Sheldon's hands move to pull out the dagger, deciding the foreign object doesn't belong there. No, don't, I call, rushing to my feet to aid him, but I hit an invisible wall. Pretend you meant it, assert dominance, cried a voice, consults me, his hand holding me back by the strings of my corset. My vision widens, my peripherals coming to view. I'm now aware of my surroundings. Everyone seems to be watching me. Samaya has a stupid smile on her face. She's proud of what she's done. Her arm bleeds, a tiny slit on her inner elbow. I want to wipe that stupid smile. I want to smack her head and yell at her. But there's more. Inna, Hannah, and Amy mirror an astonished expression. Zayden smacks, Liam's eyes sparkle, Pamela nods, Imogen looks over her shoulder and ignores whoever is talking to her. Omar tries to hide it, but I can tell he's proud. He's the one who taught me how to throw daggers, after all. Blood jets out. Sheldon now removing the dagger. I exhale, realizing the implication of what's happened. This is my opportunity to make a statement, to send a message. This is my chance to reshape my reputation. This is the part where I craft an ugly mask and play theatrics. A show of strength and brutality. So you're slow and dumb. How unfortunate for you, I scoff at Sheldon, barely believing how naturally the mean tone is delivered. I walk off the mat, pretending I'm unbothered and unfazed by what I've done. I stare down Inna in warning. She looks away first. That's right. Try me, bitch. Quiet on his back, conversing with other friends. But he winks in approval. How does it feel to be violent? Samaya crosses her arms, hand on wound. She replicates my expression, looking mean and tough at anyone who looks in our direction. It takes everything not to shove her away. But that would undo this performance. I hate this, and I hate you, I say in a whisper, my words betraying the fierce expression on my face. You needed this. Admit it. You need me. Without me, you'd be dead. I snub her off, don't give her the satisfaction of an answer. The next match commences. The room's attention is moved on from me. I quickly undo the bandages I preemptively stashed in my pockets and snatch her arm to wrap it up. I'm sorry this hurts you, but I'm not sorry for doing it, says the girl nonchalantly bleeding. You need to learn, Raya. It's kill or be killed, she has the audacity to say. And you need to learn to pull your head in before I knock you out, I hiss, and throw her stupid arm back at her. If you could do that, I'd consider my job complete. Kill or be killed, she reminds me like it's breaking news. If only the world was that simple. You forget, I can force your hand just as well as you can force mine, she snorts. I've changed. I'm not the way I once was, she states flatly. We feign interest in watching the next match, but you could cut the tension between us with a knife. All talk. Let's see how tough you really are, my little monster, I bait her. A feather flickers across her jawline. You think I have sympathy for anyone here? I don't feel anything anymore. It means nothing to kill. I feel nothing for these people. They're maggots at best, she states matter-of-factly. You take threats by someone with a big heart, and you do have a heart. You show me that by loving me, I retort. You're different. There's nothing left for anyone else. The rest are worthless, meaningless rats. Vermin, she spits. I barely recognize this side of her, this darkness that's possessing her. It's a curious sight from the best friend I grew up with. She assesses the other cadets, mean and steely. Prove to me you're such a monster in your match, then, I egg her on, much to her astonishment. She scoffs. You think I can't hurt these bugs? You think I can't squish them under my foot? I think the brutality of this place is getting to your head. If only it could get to yours. Our arguments feel unresolved. Samaya is summoned to the mats. Watch and see how it's done, she has some nerve to say along the way. She draws her dagger, overzealous for a kill, to prove her heartlessness to me, to show me just how much she's broken, eager to demonstrate the damage she's suffered and is willing to impart onto others. I send a sarcastic thumb in return. Leanne Myrie, Professor Materio, calls forth her opponent. The change is instant in Samaya's posture. The bloodlust she's so eager to release retreats inside. She soundlessly mouths something and glances at me, a frown marking her face like an X. I just grin in return, replicating that stupid expression she had for my match. Care to explain? cried an ass by my side. Liam and Samaya were childhood sweethearts. She won't hurt him, I answer. Samaya carries the curse of beauty much to her angst. Growing up, Samaya didn't like being pigeonholed. She didn't like others deciding her destiny for her and she didn't like how people treated her due to her physical appearance. Part of the reason she learned to fight early was because she was sick of the attention boys showed her. The boys, not knowing how to flirt in any other way than bullying, incited nothing but Samaya's fury. Ignatius taught her how to deal with such unwanted advances. She lost faith in men the older she got. That is, until she met Liam. It was unrequited love to begin with. Samaya was an aggressive little girl and beat Liam, assuming he was like the rest who showed interest in her. Regardless of how many times she kicked and fought and yelled to be left alone, Samaya couldn't scare Liam away. Liam wasn't like the other boys. He didn't torment Samaya to garner her attention, but he didn't conceal his feelings towards her either. Liam adored Samaya, doted on her. He treated Samaya with kindness and patience, even if she was mean and pissy. He found a way to pass her guard that didn't involve fighting. He found a way to get through to her. It took years, but she became less explosive around boys. I don't think she's ever admitted she likes him and I don't think they ever did anything physical growing up because Liam had all the time in the world for Samaya to come around. That is, until they slaughtered our families. I have asked her if she has picked up things with Liam, an innocent question, I thought, but it was not received well. Her face stormed and she replied that she belonged to no man. I offered my shoulder for her to unload about what happened those six years, but she made it clear that she would never speak of those times again and she didn't speak again that day to prove her point. I have not made the mistake twice. She'll talk when she's ready. God knows she talks about everything and everything else, but just not that. I have no doubt if Samaya asked, Liam would be hers in a heartbeat. I have a feeling he's the reason her bed is sometimes empty at night, although she has yet to confirm my suspicions. No weapons, he states. Scared I'll hurt you, she teases, recovering from her initial shock. She circles him, happily placing her dagger back where it belongs. Good girl. You've never scared me, he confidently replies, facing her, not letting her gain an angle. I've been you up before, she reminds him. I've had a growth sprout since then, he counters. Oh, I've certainly noticed, she remarks. The second Professor Emmettirio commences the match, Samaya launches into a trademark feral attack, but Liam's accustomed to such savagery. He's been on the receiving end plenty of times and he's expecting it. He blocks her, allowing her to hit him, but only on his forearms, where she can do the least damage, letting her exhaust herself. Tricks her into thinking she's hurting him when really she's just tiring herself out and conditioning her fists. She steps back, exercising her hands for feeling, irritated and snarling. Brute force won't work in her favour, as it has previously in her matches. Liam's too solid. She can't shock him. She knows what to expect with her. She needs to be technical and pass his guard if she wants to make a mark. She encircles him again, and by the way he moves, it's clear he won't let her pass his guard. I search the crowd, find Zayden, Garrick, Imogen, Pamela, Buddy and Quinn, all curious onlookers and more. Look, the whole gang's here. If only our families could see us now. Is that the best you got, Summer? He teases. She searches his stance, trying to figure out a way to do damage. Feline eyes. Predator eyes. I would have thought you have learned something new from clawing and hissing, he goes on, knowing exactly how to get a rise out of her. She has, in fact, learned plenty, but so has he. He can counter her every move. Her eyes lock on and she dives to sleep him, but he effortlessly lifts and throws her to the ground. She kicks for him as she lands, but he hops out of reach. Try again. Wildcat. He's not fazzled in the slightest. She circles him again, this time feigning direction, attempting to gain access to his back, but he mirrors her, correcting every movement so that they're front on. He smiles and cocks his head. Samaya growls. Frustrated with his immaculate defense, she launches herself at him, clambering up to tear him down. He throws her to the mat again, but she wrangles his arm and she forces him to tumble with her. An entanglement of limbs, she wants to lock him, but he grapples out of every attempt. Annoyed she can't get him, she switches to her default mode. Wildcat. She smashes her fist repetitively onto his head, but it's not a smart move in such close proximity. He punches her ribs in a flurry, and it's a game of resilience from there. Who can hurt who first? Who can take the most hits? Who can outlast the other? She has his head, but he has her guts. My heart rises watching them unleash on each other for a solid minute, and I hear bones break. As soon as Samaya's fingers go for his eyes, he tosses her weight aside, buying himself time to recover. They both need a moment to recover. He shakes his head, blinking for vision. His face is bleeding and swelling, his nose broken, but he stands to his feet all the same. Samaya doesn't show any signs of pain, but when she tries to stand, her upper body won't straighten. I realize it's because her ribs are broken. She's hurting, she's just not displaying it. She smiles instead, a psychopath smile. I don't find this nearly as amusing as she does. Yield, Samaya, I suggest, seeing how her body shakes, portraying her sadistic mask. Never, she whispers. Liam wipes the blood from his face, and it's obvious Samaya is injured because she won't initiate the next attack like she usually does. It's Liam's turn then. He feigns an attack to one side, she blocks that side, but then kicks her from the opposite side. Liam's legs have impressive reach, and she can't dodge in time, not with her ribs compromised. She flies, slamming into the mat. Yield, he recommends. Pry my defeat from my cold, dead hands. She spits out blood, crawling to her feet. He offers little mercy and kicks the other side of her head. She manages to raise an arm up in defence, but it's not enough, not with the size difference between them. His kick throws her, splaying. Yield, learn to call it, he orders. She doesn't, instead raising to her wobbling knees. Liam exchanges a look with Zayden, who lets slip a nod past his stony disposition. Liam kicks Samaya again, the side of her injured ribs, and she collapses. Yield, Samaya, I repeat, slap the match for attention. She shakes her head, attempting to rise again. She's stubborn as a moor, and I feel my heart racing helplessly, unable to help her. I want to protect her, draw her away from this fight, but I can't enter, and she won't leave. I want to save her from this pain and this place, but we're trapped. Another swing to her body, she's flattened. Still, she won't quit. Liam generously lets her find her feet, his jaw tense. I feel helpless and useless on the sidelines, like I'm watching my own child running in front of a horse. If I can't get through to her, at least I can try to get through to him. Liam, stop it, I shout. Both Professor Emeterio and Zayden shoot me a disapproving look to shut up, but I don't care. I'm not going to watch Liam beat the living daylights out of Samaya. Damn him. This match was supposed to teach her that she's not a psychopath, that she's better than some ruthless killer. She was never supposed to be a punching bag. On her feet now, Liam swings a fist. She ducks, only for his fist to whack her face, his other fist. He realises too late that she has simultaneously punched his balls. She cops his hip better than he cops hers. He groans, cups his groin. Her body shudders, but she doesn't fall and she doesn't yield. She won't yield. She's too iron-willed and uncompromising. He'll have to choke her out or knock her out. She won't yield voluntarily, not if she has a choice in the matter. She capitalises on his moment of pain and strikes repetitively at him, but he recovers almost every blow using those powerful forearms to absorb her hits. He takes hits almost as well as she does, but eventually she runs out of steam. When she does, he returns a quick succession of blows that punch through her wry, defensive arms. He doesn't relent and her dodges are now sloppy, her movements limited and delayed by broken and fractured bones. He launches her flying upwards with a fierce uppercut. My own body quivers at the memory of nearly biting my own tongue off because of Jack. Please tell me she's knocked out. Against all odds, she stirs and my stomach drops. I hate this feeling. I hate watching my best friend, my own family, being beaten up. I can't take it anymore. I need to put a stop to this torture. I rush for Zayden, but Imogen intercepts. Don't, she warns. He needs to be stopped. She won't quit, I argue. I glance long enough to see Liam circle around to axe kick the top of her head. I wince, vicariously hurting on her behalf, since she doesn't seem to care. Samaya might not be showing any pain, but this is killing me. I can't live through watching this anymore. Call it, Samaya. You can't win this, he commands. I don't need to look at her to know that she does no such thing. The monster that is Samaya smiles instead. Scared I'll get you, big boy, Samaya slurs, blood pouring from her mouth. She spits out a tooth. I shudder and look at Imogen, proving my point. She needs to learn, Imogen whispers. Have you met Samaya? She will never quit, I retort. I try to march on over to Zayden, but Imogen has me in a viflike grip. Know your place, Raya, she hisses, digging her nails deep enough to draw blood. Liam, enough, I shout. He spares me a glance, his eyes swollen from the blows. There's no anger or pleasure in those bloodshot eyes. He looks worn and mournful, and there's a blue fading half of his face. He doesn't want to do this either, I can tell, so why the hell won't he quit it? She yields, Professor Emeterio announces, after Samaya takes too long to rise. No, she croaks, chokes on her own blood. On your feet, then, he commands. Professor Emeterio has shown a macabre fascination for Samaya's resilience more than this occasion, and he allows it. He's rather impressed with her, like she's some kind of special specimen of a cadet. I don't like the way he looks at her. I never liked the way men looked at Samaya, but Professor Emeterio takes it a step further. It's like he wants her, not for his own pleasures, but to satisfy his curiosity about her strange style. Samaya, I don't want to hurt you anymore. Please stop, Liam negotiates. No, she repeats, ironclad, finding her fighting stance. She's hunched over, her elbows tucked in, her fists on her chin, her body too fractured and broken to straighten any further. Liam looks between me, Zayden, and Professor Emeterio, looking for a way out of this fight. Face me, Liam. Samaya's voice is coarse, her words slurred. She's bleeding from the nose and the mouth. Half of her one eyeball is red, almost black. The other are swollen, sharp, her short hair upheaved, but her expression is fixed, stoic. Please, Samaya, he begs. Fight me, she spits back. He decides to end it, going for her neck. A struggle ensues, and I don't know how she does it, but she breaks his nose the other way, his hand and a finger. She even manages to bite off a mouthful of meat off his forearm, achieving a howl of pain on his part. His flesh hangs from her mouth like she's a rabid dog. The only reason her mouth releases his meat and her body relaxes is because he has her airways. She yields, Professor Emerito pries her defeat from her cold, bloody, unconscious hands. Liam has her swept into his arms by the time I'm by his side, and now it's my turn to fret about whether she'll make it alive to the healer's quadrant. A trail of blood follows our footsteps. I can't tell if it's from her or Liam. Blood is pouring from every hole, including her ears. Her eyes won't open once her airways are clear, and her face remains serene like she's sleeping. I panic about what's happened to her. Is she concussed? How many bones are broken? Why isn't she responding? The healers separate her from us, demanding we wait elsewhere. I want to go with her, but they won't let me. I'm livid. I want to shout at them. I want to yell about Nolan and how he takes his sweet, precious time whenever there's a rebellion kid wounded, but never a Nevarian. But my mouth remains shut. I now understand why Samaya kicked up such a fuss the first time I was here, and it requires all self-restraint to not do the same. I reserve my anger, bide my time to unleash my anger on someone deserving of my outrage, someone like Liam. Is this how she feels every time I'm in a match? Does her heart feel like it's ripping out of its chest because she doesn't know if I'll be OK, if I'll make it? Does it also drive her crazy not knowing if I'll live? And does she dread those maps because she's afraid she'll lose her best friend? At least with Liam, I don't have to worry about her life. But it was good old-fashioned brutality. I can't believe he would do this to her. I never thought him capable of abusing the love, trust, and size he has over us. I can't believe him, of all people. Fuck Liam. Liam is pale and haggard, like he just walked out of hell. He is patched up sooner. He is forearm wrapped up until his flesh can be mended back into it. If he's well enough to walk around, barely, that means he's well enough to get an earful from me. And boy, do I have words to spar with him. He sits to wait for the mender. What is wrong with you? How could you do this to her? You're supposed to be her friend. You were supposed to humble her, not beat her unconscious. I scold him and whack his much larger body with the side of my fist. I want to punch him. I kick his shin instead. Then I slap him. Please, Raya, I'm in considerable pain. He's feeble in his attempts to bat me away, and I stop out of pity. He deserves it. But he also looks like a horse ran over him three times. Oh, you're in pain. Imagine how Samaya must feel. I wonder how many ribs you broke, I retort. I was just following orders, he whispers. Fuck orders. Fuck you and fuck Zayden. She would never do this to you, I snap. But he doesn't want to hear it. He just rests his head in his hands, his elbows and his knees exhausted and defeated by the day. If I didn't know any better, I think he was about to cry or that he felt sorry. Not sorry enough, not to my liking. Is that all you have to say for yourself, I sneer. You can't always protect her, Fangsy. Samaya thinks she's invincible. She's reckless. She's cocky. And you're too soft on her. Some things she'll just have to learn for herself. That doesn't justify what you've done. Hasn't she been through enough? Have you any idea what she's had to endure, I bark. My anger is rising and I don't want to swallow it down. I want to vomit it out over him. He's supposed to be the gentle one of us three. The most sensible one. He's usually the voice of reason. He drops his hand, stares at me in disbelief. You think I don't know that? You think I wanted to do this? You think I enjoyed hurting her? Oh, I'm sorry. Are you the victim here? Poor Lieb has ordered to hurt Samaya. Poor Lieb committed atrocities of his own free will. You'll excuse me if I have little sympathy to spare for you. I'm so mad that I can't stand to look at him anymore. Otherwise, I'll punch him myself. He doesn't say anything, just hides his face in his hands again. Coward. I thought you were our friend. But I guess I was wrong. Maybe the apple doesn't fall far from the tree after all. I shove him for good measure. No damage. Just to let him know I've had enough of his bullshit. And with that, I storm out. But I'm not done. It's a mean thing to say. A low blow, really. A low-hanging fruit. But it's not as mean as beating up the childhood sweetheart. Next up, Zayden Ryason. He deserves a lot more than I've dished to Lieb, and I am more than happy to serve. He finds me before I hunt him down, having already predicted I'd be searching to blame someone else for what's happened. He indicates with his eyes a direction, and a slightly raised hand insists I should be discreet. He leads me to his private quarters, image and followers in tow. I say nothing, avert my eyes from unsuspecting cadets and riders until the doors are shut and a ward of silence protects the room from sound, but more specifically, my loud brewery. How could you? We trusted you. I start pointing a finger at him. Shut the fuck up and listen, Raya, he says at the exact same time. I open my mouth to yell some more, but he beats me to it. Don't rip into me until you hear me out. He has his wing-leader voice on and he slaps my finger out of his face, squeeze my hand until it hurts. Despite the crush, I instinctively relax to his touch, but I'm perplexed. There's nothing he can say that will make this okay. I snatch my hand back, cross my arms, furious at the suggestion. Any of this can be explained or justified. There's something wrong with Samaya, he begins. That's it, I've had enough of his bullshit already. I look for something to throw at his head. Done with this day, done with this man. Fuck you, she's perfect and you're supposed to protect us. You, I yell, searching. Imogen slaps, finds my face. Not hard, just enough to stop me in my tracks. Smack some sense into me. I blink, my train of fury derailed. You're behaving like a child. Enough. Sit down and shut up for once. Imogen chastises me and guides me to a seat. I bite my bottom lip. Catch all my fury that's blown up and blowing like confetti around me. I contain myself into that seat. My hands are tight, sweaty fists, ready to burst. Breathe, relax, she orders. I flare my nostrils, breathe consciously, controlling my lungs and heartbeat. I don't remember ever being this scared and angry, not even with Jack or Leonard. I could expect as much from those two, considering they were cadets who voluntarily joined the Rite of Quadra to be glorified murderers. But these people, Zayden, Liam, Imogen, I grew up with these people. They're supposed to be my friends and family, and instead they just gawked and encouraged Liam to beat one of our own, my own best friend, and I could do nothing to stop it. I couldn't protect her from them. I couldn't protect her from herself. I'm shaking with anger, and I ground my teeth in an effort to ground myself. I can't bear to look at them. I feel so betrayed. Samaya has an abnormal pain tolerance, and it's been noticed by commandment. Zayden speaks to me slowly, the way one might instruct a small, confused child, maybe because I am acting like one. I twist my face in doubt. I know you've noticed it as well. She's in danger, he explains. What do you mean she's in danger? I shake my head, trying to get a handle of myself and my emotions to better listen. Samaya has an extraordinary ability to suppress pain, and you know why. She's had a six-year head start. It takes cadets years to build that level of tolerance, and many die trying. This is her third week. It's been noticed. My mouth opens to say something, but he only raises his voice to cut me off. Professor Emeterio has already written a recommendation, and the only reason Ema's partner swap suggestion for Liam was approved is because Liam is the best fighter of our year level. Your year level. Did you not notice Panchak on the maps today? I didn't because I was too busy fearing for Samaya's well-being, in both my fight and in hers. Did you not notice how Emeterio let the match drag on? No. What recommendation, for what? I mumble. My peripherals come into view, my thoughts no longer in shambles. Turmoil turns into linear thoughts. Samaya's in danger. Where I see darkness in Samaya, commandment sees potential. Somehow, this feels even worse than before. Before it was just the idea that Samaya was hurt unjustly that made me feel sick. Now it feels like the whole world is plotting against her. We don't know, Zayden admits. Fear strikes my heart. They're going to take her away again, the way they did my family. She's going to be tortured again. I'm reliving this conspiracy. It's eating us up, and I feel helpless to stop it. There's something wicked and evil coming to take the people I love again. I hate the military. I hate this war, and I hate there's nothing I can do about it. The room spins, and Zayden raises his voice another notch from my attention. It could be a hand-selected program for exceptional cadets. It could be nothing. We just know that there's special interest in Samaya, and it's good that Liam tested her rather than another cadet. You did very well organizing that for Samaya. Anyone else, and they could have killed her. He tries to be encouraging, but this isn't what I want to hear. I want to hear that she's safe and that no one will hurt her like that again. That's not why I wanted Liam to fight her. I wanted him to prove that she's not a psychopath, and I thought he couldn't hurt her either, but I was wrong. And now she's going to experience perpetual pain for the next 24 hours, and it's my fault. I organized this outcome for her. I'm supposed to protect her, and I nearly got her killed. They were assessing her in that challenge not for a skill, but to see if she could feel. They were monitoring how she experiences pain, seeing if she's a good candidate. Pain is not so easy to teach. We now need to prove that she is not a good candidate for whatever they have planned, he says. I start out over my next words. Are you insane? Of course she feels. She feels pain. She worries every day. She's not a monster. She's just traumatized. My little monster. That's what I called her. But I didn't mean it literally, unless I also knew deep down that something was wrong with her and just hadn't accepted it yet. They noticed how she subjected herself to pain for you. Think about what that means to commandment. Think about how they might refine her into a military asset. They will ride her potential to its fullest extent. If you're hindering her growth, they will separate you, or they will use you to force her to obey. What do you think would happen then? Smea wouldn't allow it. Exactly. And Smea will get herself killed or tortured for resisting command, Pain explains. The other shoe must never drop. We must never allow that to happen. Why didn't you come to me earlier, I yell and stomp her foot. Because we don't want to risk it, not with your boyfriend closely tied to commandment, Imogen answers. Fuck you, I sing. The less people know, the better. They don't know we have this intelligence, and I wasn't going to risk Smea's life to assange your feelings. I thought you, of all people, would appreciate that, Zayden bites back. I glower in response, unable to argue with that logic. Imogen hands me her water skin to freshen up, to cool down. I sift at it, mince the water, and process what he's saying. This is why I never wanted to be in leadership. I was quite content playing a supportive role in the family business, but never front row and centre. It's too confusing and inhumane, and there's so many considerations to be made, so many precious lives at stake. I just want Smea to be happy and safe by my side. I don't want her shaped into a military weapon. But that's not the only issue, Imogen starts. Oh, for fuck's sake, what else? I mumble at the end of my tether. If Smea doesn't process pain, then she's at risk of burning out. When she comes into her palace, depending on her signet, my eyes flash up at her. It's a small risk at this stage, because we don't know what Smea's power will be. But if she has an active signet, ice-wielding or fire-wielding, she could burn out quickly if we don't train her now. A rider needs to feel pain and fatigue, otherwise they won't recognise if they're pushing themselves too far. If she can't quit, she will overload, and there's nothing you can do to help her then. Imogen lays it out plainly. Smea can feel tired just fine, that's not a problem, she'll know when to stop, I protest, denying the possibility. But in my heart of hearts, I realise they speak the truth. Smea's not one to quit, or slow down, or ease off. She's fierce, strong-willed, unrelenting to a fault. There was never a tree too tall to climb, never a forest too deep to explore, never a lake too big to swim in. She's been too large for life since she was born, and after the last six years, I have a feeling the rider's quadrant is child's play for her. The only thing that seems to tether her to this earthly plane is me, and I'm a hot mess right now. Now that we understand her pain tolerance, we can help her, you can teach her to display it more. Coach her to slow down, Zayden says. It took you bashing her black and blue to be satisfied with her pain tolerance? I could have told you what her pain tolerance was, if only you asked, I snap. I needed to see for myself how much you could mask. Because of that fight, Commandment believes she doesn't feel pain, but we can spin that fight around, pretend it scared her straight. She needed that match to have a convincing reason to change trajectory, to make it believable. You will talk to her, explain that she needs to fall in line with everyone else, teach her to express more pain and to tap out at the first sign, not the last. She needs to lose challenges, maybe even shed some tears, Zayden goes on. Oh, I see, and I'm the crybaby, so naturally the task falls on my shoulders. You're her best friend. She sees you as a sister. She listens to you and respects your opinion. They will separate you two if she doesn't learn to respond to pain the way everyone else does. If all else fails, Imogen will take away her memories, Zayden declares. Wait, what? I freeze at the suggestion. He can't, that's not his memories to take. They're not good memories, but there's still not a reason to take them. That's wrong, he has no right. Can you do that, I ask Imogen. She shrugs. I haven't wiped years off, but if that's the reason she is the way she is, then she has those memories. The alternative is commandment taking her away. Is that what you want? But you don't know what taking years off someone's past will do to them, do you? I clip. They both shake their heads. Which is why we need you to talk to Smea, explain to her what she needs to do if she is to stay with you. Feed information into your boyfriend's ear. He has connections to commandment. Anything to convince them to lose interest in her, Zayden finishes. I close my eyes, lean back into the seat, thinking. It's coming together now. It doesn't make it feel any better, but at least I can make sense of what's happening. I didn't think what Liam did to Smea could ever be justified, but I can see it now. Smea is different, and that's not necessarily a good thing in a place like this. Smea needs to be reminded of her humanity, the very same humanity that made it impossible to survive the last six years in foster care. She needs to reconnect with that fragmented part of herself she's marooned off, or at least pretend. I can help her do that by not giving her a reason to hurt herself. I need to be self-sufficient on those maps. If I didn't have enough reasons to get my act together, this is what seals the deal. I understand what I need to do, I decide. That's right. See Professor Emmettirio, because he'll notice that you didn't go straight to him after challenges, Zayden reminds me. Oh, man, I forgot about him. That feels like a lifetime ago. You did the right thing to throw that dagger. Other cadets will think twice now. The punishment will be worth the reward. You just need to work on your menacing face. Stop bowing your head so much. Show them your fangs, Imogen recommends. I snarl at her. Hide no distaste for the situation I'm in. That's the one. She smirks. Thank you for joining me for Chapter 10 for In All My Dreams I Burn. I don't know if I like it yet, but I think I do. Anyways, thank you for listening. Have a good rest of your day.