The Competition

"It should have been me." The words were poison in my veins, a riptide crashing into my lungs, blades cutting into my heart. "It was a mistake." My voice- barely more than a whisper. "Turn around. Now." Harsh. Cold. Unyielding. Numbly, I turn to face her.

Helene. My dearest friend. My recent rival. She stands with her arms crossed, her mouth fixed in a scowl. Her straightened back and squared shoulders give the illusion of cold apathy. Jet black eyes bore into my skull like twin daggers. Those eyes. So familiar and yet so foreign. I meet her stare. Nothing but a glittering wall of obsidian. I search her face. Nothing but a blank slate. She had shut me out. Of course she had.

"I demand an explaination. Why." Not a question. A demand. I oblige. "It was a mistake. It was never my intention." A pause. "I'm sorry." I force the words out of my mouth. A moment's pause. "You alone knew how much it meant to me. I worked hard. Hardern than anyone. Even you." I was stunned into silence. She was never this open. Not with me.

Not with anyone.

"I was prepared to do anything for this. Even waste away my life. I practiced for hours on end, sleeping late and waking up early just to train. My body was breaking, and I would have let it." Guilt crept its way down my throat, constricting it, clawing its way into my lungs. "And then you found me in the training room, exhausted, my body on the verge of collapsing. And you saved me. Trained me yourself. Showed me that there was more to life than just this. Taught me to have fun. To enjoy myself. You taught me how to truly live. And for the first time, I understood what it meant to truly live." It sank its claws in my heart, gleefully ripping it apart, shredding it to pieces. "You said that you would do anything to help me. Anything. Including failing on purpose." There was a hole in my heart, an empty void that could never be filled. "You promised. Promised that you would do it at all costs. That I could stay, that I would stay, even if it meant you would lose. But when the test was over and the results came out..." Helene laughed, a laugh filled with bitterness. With rejection. With resentment. "When the results came out, you were still in. And I... was not."

The remnants of my heart shattered, splintering into fragments. Memories raced across my mind, to fast for my mind to follow.

Memories of when I first saw her, so weak she could barely stand, her shallow gasps and the whites of her eyes speaking for themselves. She had looked so fragile then, so easily broken.

The time when I first introduced her to books, she had stayed up late reading Pride and Prejudice. She never spoke of her love of reading. She never had to. Soon, she was taking piles of books off my shelves, and when she finished with the books I owned, she walked all the way to the nearest library 5 miles away just to borrow more. Soon, she moved on to poetry and literature, often reciting her favourite quotes off by heart. The way her eyes sparked when I bought her a book bound in leather, with her favourite author's signature. The way she perked up whenever she heard any mention of a new release.

That was nothing compared to when she discovered music. I had my headphones on when she burst into my room. She had laughed at how ridiculous I looked with them on, but quickly fell silent when I let her listen to some of my favourite songs. The next day, I caught her using my laptop to listen to some of the songs I downloaded. From then on, she had blasted different genres throughout her room, her head bobbing up and down to the beat. After that, she started humming the melodies during training, and would quietly sing them to herself when she was alone. When she lost in a match, I pretended to leave the hall, but I hid behind a wall and listened as she sang, the soft melodies countering the darkness engulfing her small frame.

Then, the numbness after the results were posted. I faintly recall my knuckles bleeding as I punched the wall over and over again. Images flashed in my head. The sudden change in her expression as the truth sank in. The anger and rage that overwhelmed me. Marcus screaming as I pinned him to the ground and punched his face again and again for laughing.

Her face filled with fury.

At me.

The same face that haunted my memories flooded my vision, and I forced myself to meet her gaze. This time, I saw the flames of fury that engulfed her being, the same passion and anger that burned so brightly it consumed her. She met my gaze, and extended a hand. "Until we meet again." A final farewell. And a promise of vengeance.

I took her hand. We shook.

"Good luck. Work hard." There were so many things I wanted to say. I wanted to apologize in my false hopes and failed deliveries. I wanted to embrace her once more, to breathe in her scent one last time. I wanted to explain, to tell her about my own expectations I had to uphold. But there was something lodged in my throat, preventing me from saying more. So I didn't.

The next day, the students at Ashwell Academy filed into the training hall. Or, at least, those who weren't eliminated. I looked to my right, expecting a flash of raven black hair and a confident smirk.

All that was left was the foreign face of emptiness.

3 years later

This was it. The most prestigious competition in the entire realm. The Tryce. Every year, the best from around the world come to our city just to have a chance in competing. Those who make it have to be the best of the best, the elite members of at least 10 different fighting styles, familiar with at least 20 different weapons. You had to be able to hold your own in a fight against insane numbers, and had to be able to scale 10 storeys in a maximum of 15 seconds if you wanted to apply. Every year, millions apply. Only 15 make it in to the competition.

I was the only student from our sector to enter.

I glanced around, impatient for a look at the other competitors who made it in. Slowly, they entered, stone faced and impassive. There were the strong ones, with pounds of muscle clearly visible. The wiry ones, agile and lean. Then there were those who had an average form, yet I sensed there was something deadly inside, that they were little more than a spring ready to snap. As each competitor filed into the room, I sized them up, one by one. They all posed a potential threat, but I was sure I could take them down. I counted the numbers. Only one more competitor left.

Suddenly, a flash of dark hair and jet black eyes caught my attention. The familiar scent of mint triggered flashes of bold smirks and sarcastic exchanges, sending a jolt through my spine. No. It couldn't be. She had grown taller, her height almost equivalent to mine. Her false bravado was now replaced with steely swiftness, and she carried herself with an air of confidence. All eyes were on her as she stalked past them, making her way to the allocated space. Her footsteps stopped. The silence hung in the air, making me all to aware of her presence. I looked up, only to be met with cold amusement. Our eyes met.

"Hello Cyanthe."

I smirk.

"Hello Helene."