Turon greets me with a nod as I enter the chamber. His hands are clutched behind his back. His posture and stance toward me are identical to how they had been the day before—before the events of last night.
For a split second our relationship feels the same. Then I see the sadness in his face, hear the disappointment in his voice. I stand uneasily beside him while the rest of the Serpents stream into the chamber.
“Ms. Bluehair, you look terrible. I certainly hope you have not chosen these last twenty-four hours to engage in unadvisable extracurricular activities.”
“No sir.” I breathe deeply and relax. Perhaps Turon knows something I don’t—that even after life altering events, routine can still be grasped. “My looks, good or bad, I assure you are due to genetics. Nothing more.”
“Then I hope I haven’t given offense,” he smirks.
“No sir. I’ve been told beauty is only skin deep.”
“Sometimes.” He turns toward me before continuing, “One thing of which you can be certain, training reaches to the bone. Do not disappoint me today, Ms. Bluehair.”
“Yes, sir. I won’t.”
With that, Turon strides toward a nearby dais jutting from the floor of the chamber.
Out of habit, I examine the visible terrain. Normally, I would already be devising cunning stratagems or figuring possible scenarios. Not this time. The layout of the chamber will be different for the final round, and there’s no point in worrying about the final round yet.
I turn toward the entrance and watch the remaining Serpents as they pass. Some of them return my gaze. Some are already in a far off place, preparing psychologically for battle. Most are smiling.
I smile too. Why not? We know something no one else knows. The feeling is empowering. I’m hoping that feeling of empowerment will carry us through. Because when you live in a world where the future couldn’t be less certain, the present becomes precious. Right now, the present belongs to us.
Serpent 6 enters the chamber last. Bringing up the rear, Cera, Neca, Olin, and Yetic join me. The door closes, locking us in for the duration of the battle.
“Serpent barracks, I thank you for your attention,” Turon starts class the exact same way he has for the last six months. “Today I have a special exercise in store for you.”
My breath catches in my throat, as I worry the admin has preempted us.
“A combat tournament.”
I relax.
“Round one will commence directly. Forty-nine individuals, or a 49 if you prefer, will advance for the second and final round during which you will compete against 49’s from each of the other four barracks. Are these parameters understood?” He turns toward me as Captain of the Serpents.
A new panic forms deep in my gut. What if my speech that morning hasn’t had the desired effect? If even one dorm group revolts, my plan could result in a total disaster. I’m shocked I haven’t thought through the possibility until now. I sense every eye staring at me and realize Turon is waiting for my response. “Yes, sir. Fully.”
“Good. Upon my exit from the chamber, the contest will begin.”
While listening to Turon, I reassure myself. Each of the commanders is onboard. They are excited. They are thrilled. The plan will work. Before I have time to worry further, the moment has come.
Turon finishes with the words, “Round one will resolve when forty-nine cadet signals remain or after the expiration of 45 minutes, which ever comes first.”
I tense, preparing myself for the unexpected.
“Serpents, remember your training.” Turon nods and steps off the dais. After two steps, he hesitates ever so slightly before continuing his steady stride toward the exit of the chamber.
The smile on my face grows nearly as large as the pride swelling in my chest. Not a single Serpent cadet has budged from his or her place gathered around the dais.
Normally Turon’s nod would have initiated a melee as cadets scrambled for cover or joined the ranks of their 49 and prepared for battle. Instead, we have stood together in solidarity. We have begun rewriting the rules in our favor.
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