B2: Interlude 3

Interlude 3

From my perch in the crowded stands, I watched the farce unfold below. The monster, Widow, had stepped into the arena alone, declining support from her companions. Three against one. My fingers dug into the wooden bench beneath me.

A week ago, I might have felt differently. The unfairness shown to Widow by Professor Shawe and others had stirred my sense of justice. But after my meeting with Headmaster Reins, bile rose in my throat at the sight of her. This mechanical abomination was what he considered worthy? This was his idea of a true warrior?

The stands buzzed with excitement around me. Students whispered and pointed as Widow faced off against Lyman, Barkatus, and Walters. They'd come expecting blood sport. Instead, they'd witness this mockery of what the Academy stood for.

My own struggles meant nothing to the headmaster. The sacrifices I'd made, leaving my newborn child to pursue strength, counted for less than dirt in his eyes. Yet he praised this thing that dared pretend at humanity.

"You, Your Majesty, will never be a true warrior." The old man's words echoed foully in my mind. "Because you've never known true struggle. Born to privilege, raised in luxury. Even your attendance here was smoothed by your title."

I clenched my jaw as Widow took her stance. The headmaster thought this creature understood adversity? What did a monster know of duty, of responsibility? What battles had it fought beyond petty skirmishes in some backwater village?

The crowd's eager chatter washed over me, but I remained silent. Let them cheer for their pet monster. I knew better now. This display only proved how far the Academy had fallen from its original purpose. A testament to how thoroughly we'd lost our way.

I watched Professor Shawe raise his hand with barely concealed glee. "Begin," he drawled, already turning away as if the outcome was foregone.

I couldn't bear to watch. Let them finish their cruel sport quickly. The sound of rushing wind made me flinch, followed by a thunderous crash that shook the arena stands. Gasps erupted around me.

My eyes snapped open. Barkatus, the mighty Barkatus who'd dismembered Prince Antonius without breaking a sweat, lay crumpled against the far wall like a discarded doll. Widow stood several steps from where she'd started, that slim porcelain hand holding her sword extended from the follow-through.

"Impossible," I whispered.

Walters backpedaled, his hands weaving fire magic. Too slow. Widow closed the distance in two fluid steps. One precise strike to his solar plexus dropped him to his knees, gasping.

Lyman charged with a roar, blade blazing. Widow caught his sword and Pulled it from his grasp. A fierce kick sent him flying through the arena.

The entire exchange had lasted perhaps twenty seconds.

My hands trembled. Just weeks ago, Widow had barely survived a drawn-out battle with Barkatus alone. Now she'd crushed three of Dragon House's finest warriors as if swatting flies.

The headmaster's words rang in my ears with horrible new clarity. "The true gems of this Academy aren't A-rank nobility like yourself or Lyman Redflight. They're the ones you call trash. Widow. Her friends. The ones who fight against everything to prove their worth."

I watched Widow stand motionless in the arena center while Shawe sputtered through declaring her the victor. The crowd's cheers felt distant, muffled by the blood rushing in my ears.

Was this what Reins had meant? This display of overwhelming power? This creature had gone from struggling against a single opponent to demolishing three without apparent effort.

My stomach churned. If Widow could advance this rapidly in mere weeks, what heights might she reach in months? In years? The implications made me dizzy.

"The Academy exists to forge true warriors," Reins had said. Looking at Widow now, I finally understood. She wasn't just another student. She was exactly what he'd been waiting for.

I gripped the railing until my knuckles went white. Tears threatened to spill down my cheeks, but I refused to show such weakness. Not here. Not where others could see.

How dare she? How dare this mechanical monstrosity make such a mockery of everything I'd worked for? I'd left my precious child, my beautiful daughter, to come here. I'd endured the whispers, the judgment of my council who thought a queen had no place at the Academy. All to gain the power needed to save my people from their cursed short lives.

Yet there stood Widow, that thing that wasn't even truly alive, displaying strength that made my achievements look like a child's fumbling attempts at magic.

My hand trembled as I touched the unicorn horn wand at my belt. This focus, this precious magical instrument that marked me as exceptional among mages… what was it compared to her raw might? She didn't even need magical tools. She simply was power incarnate.

"It's not fair," I whispered, my voice breaking. "It should be me."

I was everything a warrior should be. Beautiful, noble, dedicated to a greater cause. My people needed me to succeed. Their lives depended on my becoming strong enough to break the curse that killed them so young. What greater purpose could there be?

What did this monster fight for? What noble cause drove her? Nothing. She was just a thing of gears and metal playing at being human.

I deserved that power. I deserved to be the one everyone looked at with awe. I was their queen, their hope, their salvation. Not this... this abomination.

My vision blurred as I watched her stand motionless in the arena center, that expressionless porcelain mask betraying nothing of what she felt. Did she even feel? Did she understand what she'd stolen from those of us who truly deserved greatness?

"It should be me," I repeated, my words lost in the crowd's continuing cheers. "It should be me!"