Xenith Tournament: Embers of Earth

Metal beams flash in and out of my vision, slicing the Manhattan Battle Academy into fragments as I fly towards the clouds. At the twentieth floor, the elevator doors slide open and I am met with barrelling, panoramic flames. Highlights from the previous Tournament roar across the towering screens of our common room. Contestants hurtle down cobbled boulevards on their hover-cycles, collecting talismans that grant them strength, super-speed, or an extra life. Glowing silicone gauntlets blaze along the curves of their forearms as they unleash hurricanes of fire and air, crack open the mantle of the earth, and freeze torrents of water into towering walls of ice. Some skim across gleaming canals while others rocket up the spines of Eden’s mirrored buildings—all in search of portals that will teleport them closer to the final gate.

Xenith Tournament. The one and only key to paradise for those of us left on the ground.

Leaving my classmates transfixed, I rip my attention from crashing flame and jog across the sky corridor to our dorms. I have ten minutes until my next lesson, but I need to swing by my room to grab my tablet. I snatch my ID to unlock my door. But it seems I don’t have to.

I stop dead when I see the mess.

My mattress has been overturned and everything from my desk lies scattered across the floor. Clothes have been ripped from my wardrobe. My schoolwork is everywhere. Four idiots from my year are still kicking through it. The eternal thorn in my side: the second-year Gamma, stands in the middle of the chaos, flicking through my history textbook like it belongs to him.

My glare pins Rick like a missile. ‘What the hell are you doing?’

Rick’s gaze snaps to me, like he’s irritated by my arrival to my own room. ‘I could have sworn I lent you my history notes.’

I scoff. As if I would borrow notes from him. He has about the same IQ as my bedside light orb, which is now in pieces on the floor. ‘You don’t even take notes, asshole.’

A flash of a smile. ‘Language, Ten.’

‘Get the fuck out of my room, Miller.’

Audacity curls his lips, like he’s about to say something smart. But the first bell rings, and he throws my textbook over his shoulder instead. Rick crunches over the stuff on my floor and shoves past me. I clench my fists.

‘Don’t touch my shit again,’ I snarl.

That makes him halt. He turns slowly and takes a single step, so only a few inches separate us. He’s not much taller than I am, but he looks down at me as though I’m nothing.

‘Or what?’

On a good day I’m never in the mood for his shit, but right now, my fuse is close to non-existent. I scan the faces behind him. Four of the morons from his notorious group of tough-guys. They’re all high in the rankings. As the Beta, not as high as me, but high enough. By myself, I’m outnumbered and out-muscled. It’s also against the rules to harm another student outside of training.

You’d think that might have stopped me.

In three steps I have Rick pinned to the wall by his throat. His friends surge to haul me back, but for some unknown, and probably twisted reason, he waves them off. He only smiles as I press my forearm harder against his throat.

‘If you even walk past my room again, I’ll paste you to the window, you son of a—’

‘—Miss Addison.’

Luckily for Rick, Luke Griffin has decided to grace us with his presence. He stands tall, chest proud, arms clasped neatly behind his back. His regard is calm, as though I weren’t seconds away from crushing another student’s windpipe. Four level-one soldiers flank him like pillars, armed to the teeth.

‘You’ve been requested in Commander Shields’ office. Effective immediately.’

A low whistle cuts from one of the boys. Great. I’ve been called to the Head Commander’s office. Surely it can’t be about this. Even Shields doesn’t work that fast.

I begrudgingly remove my forearm from Rick’s throat. To my surprise, his expression turns acidic at Griffin’s arrival—shoulders stiff, nostrils flared. Miraculously, he manages to keep his mouth shut as I step back. No quips or smart-ass remarks. It’s quite out of character.

The fury in his glare burns against the back of my neck as I turn to Griffin, who has no concern for anyone else in front of him except me. Even Rick’s friends have quietened now. I expect snickers as I leave. But there’s only silence behind me as I’m led down the hallway by our Second Commander in Chief flanked by four soldiers carrying machine guns.

‘I’m sure you are well aware that violence outside of training is prohibited, Miss Addison.’

Griffin’s focus is pinned forward as we walk. He doesn’t seem overly bothered that I was about to flatten Rick. His blasé tone tells me the reminder is out of duty, not concern. I don’t offer an explanation as to why I had another student pinned to the wall by the throat. He doesn’t ask.

An easy lie. ‘It won’t happen again, Sir.’

Shields’ office occupies the very top floor of our academy. I can’t say I’ve been here before, but it’s exactly how I imagined. The room is open and circular, the entire wall overlooking Central Park made of glass. Everything else in the room is white, black, or steel. Shields’ desk is situated before the vast window, but his leather chair is turned, facing the city.

I follow Griffin across the polished floor. He gestures to the seat in front of our Chief Commander’s desk.

‘Please take a seat, Miss Addison.’

I sit down and wait quietly like I’m told.

William Shields turns to face me. On appearance alone, I would place him in his mid-thirties, but I know from his profile that he’s forty-three. Dark hair brushes his temples, and beneath its sweep glowers the shallow grey gaze of some kind of predator. He lounges in the chair across from me like a very large cat. Although his manner is nonchalant, there’s an unsettling air of power that surrounds him like an aura.

He doesn’t speak right away, which only shortens the already shallow breaths creeping in and out of my lungs.

For the next ten seconds, he stares at me. I stare back.

‘Do you have any idea what this is about, Miss Addison?’

I take a moment to consider if I’ve done anything lately that he might have discovered. There are a number of possibilities. Out of seasoned experience, I don’t openly admit to any of them.

Luckily for me, I’m not entirely sure what I’ve done to warrant myself a trip to the office of the most powerful Commander in the U.S. I just hope he hasn’t found out I’ve been fighting in the Underground Rings. In that case we might have a problem.

‘Not a single idea.’

Technically it’s not a lie. I don’t have one idea: I have a few.

‘I called you here to talk about your results.’

That stumps me. We haven’t had any exams lately.

‘You mean my ranking?’

‘No.’ His gaze doesn’t leave mine. ‘I mean the results of your Aptitude Test.’

My Aptitude Test was over two years ago. He’s a little late.

‘We’ve never seen a score quite like yours, Miss Addison.’

After I was selected for the Manhattan Battle Academy, I suspected my results must have been decent. But I’m unsure as to why Shields is digging them up now.

At sixteen, every citizen in the U.S. undertakes a series of tests and simulations designed to assess their most valuable aptitude — EQ, IQ, psychometrics, physical performance, even genomics. Efficiency is the logic: people are assigned to what they’re good at, not what they enjoy. The test forms the foundation of Xenith’s ethos, the government established after Richard Auberon’s death, and its results determine your future— training, caste, residence, even the person you might marry.

Apparently, I’m good at fighting. So, two years ago, I was separated from my family and shipped across the country to train at the most prestigious battle school in the U.S.

‘With results like yours, we’ve kept a very close eye on you over the past two years, Miss Addison. And we’re very impressed with your performance thus far.’

I give a courteous nod. ‘Thank you, Sir.’

Shields smirks. A soundless purr curls from his throat, reverberating through the air around us. In one swift motion, he taps the touchscreen on his desk and pushes back his chair.

‘Follow me, Miss Addison.’

Shields leads me across the polished black floor. The golden emblem of our academy gleams beneath our feet, the epicentre of this glass room. Something shifts within its heart, and slowly, it begins to rise.

I watch silently as the pedestal clicks into place.

Shields presses his palm flat against the pedestal’s pyroglass scanner, and the circular metal vault glides open with a muted hiss. At the centre of the chamber hover four sets of Gauntlets.

And they are even more magnificent up close than I imagined.

Each is crafted from a silicon-blend technology designed to sheath each forearm like a second skin. The slanted rims are contrived of silver so bright it reminds me of the stars my brother and I used to trace across the night sky. Currently they are deactivated, and even though they do not glow with the proclamation of their elemental power, a faint shimmer glistens at their core, as though each has its very own soul.

I desperately want to reach out and grasp them. I’ve dreamed of wearing these my entire life. Instead, I keep my wrists pinned behind my back.

‘In the entire history of our planet, there has been no titan as colossal as Xenith Tournament.’

Shields strolls around the cabinet with the silk-smooth grace of a panther. I wonder if he itches to wear them as I do. He was the grand champion of the twentieth Tournament: a living legend, a master of flame.

‘Every four years, almost a billion compete in the qualifying simulation. From that, only seventy-five from Earth are flown to Eden. Fighters train their whole lives for a chance at the Tournament. For a shot at the key to the gates of Eden.’

Shields halts opposite me, and I briefly wonder why he never claimed his key.

He studies me carefully through the hovering silver. ‘Traditionally, each battle academy sponsors the Alpha from every year group to fight.’

I nod, lips tight, slightly unsure of where this is going.

‘Tradition, unfortunately, sometimes loses its momentum.’

There’s a bite to his words as he gazes into the Gauntlets. I swear I can see the flicker of a flame reflected in his clear grey stare. The corner of his mouth curls slowly, like a coil of smoke.

‘So. On behalf of the Manhattan Battle Academy, Tennessee Addison, I would like to offer you full sponsorship for Xenith Tournament.’

The Gauntlets in front of me stretch away, tunnelling into the distance as I grapple with the weight of his words.

What.

‘I’m only a Beta.’

A wisp of a smile plays along his lips. ‘We are aware.’

‘What about Scott?’

Scott Harrison is the current second-year Alpha. He has been since our first year. I’m still working on it.

‘He will retain his sponsorship.’

But there are only four sets of Gauntlets.

Shields looks a little amused. ‘Thoughts, Miss Addison?’

‘Who misses out?’ The question is out before I can clamp it behind my teeth.

Traditionally, every Alpha is offered sponsorship. It’s up to them whether they accept it or not. But nobody ever turns it down. You’d have to be insane to turn it down.

‘We’ve decided that it’s a more efficient use of time and resources to sponsor you instead of our third-year Alpha.’

The frown hijacks my expression before I can school it into neutrality. Something in the pit of my stomach twists at the incongruence. The third-year Alpha is one of the most lethal to ever walk these halls.

‘What makes me so special?’

For someone who’s just been handed a free ticket to the most prestigious event in the entire world, you’d think I would have bolted out of Shields’ office before he had the chance to change his mind. Instead, I’m questioning him on his decision to sponsor me.

Shields tilts his head. The timbre of his voice drops, and it’s as if the air temperature around us falls with it.

‘Miss Addison, in the entire history of not only this academy, but every other academy in the country, no female student has made the top ten. Some have come close. But none have secured a place.’ He lets the words settle. ‘So how is it, that in over one hundred years, you have not only made the top ten in your first year, but are also on the margins of becoming an Alpha?’

The question hangs, heavy and unanswered.

Rick’s stupid face flashes into my mind and I can’t help the grin tugging at my mouth. ‘Maybe the boys in my year are just particularly useless, Sir.’

The air suddenly loses its chill as a rolling chuckle escapes Shields. ‘We’ve run the stats, Miss Addison. Your year is one of the finest we’ve ever seen.’

I don’t know how to respond. So I keep my mouth shut.

‘And that brings us back to your aptitude results—a number of perfect tens, and exceptional scores in every other division. A result rarely achieved by anyone.’ He pauses. ‘Including every male to have taken the test in the hundred and five years of its history.’

That definitely can’t be right.

‘You can see why we have high hopes for you, Miss Addison.’

I swallow hard. No pressure.

‘Will you accept the sponsorship?’

Again, by some odd lapse in character, I’m a little lost for words. I thought I would have to qualify the hard way. Sponsored fighters are guaranteed a place in the top one hundred.

The obligatory look on Shields’ face tells me he’s only asking out of protocol. He already knows my answer.

‘Of course, Sir. I would be honoured.’

Shields gives an approving nod. ‘I’m pleased to hear that, soldier. From now on, you and Scott will have extra training sessions with Griffin. In the Sphere. With the Gauntlets. In the arena.’ He pauses, a faint glint in his eye. ‘Everything we’ve got.’

A bubble of excitement blooms in my chest. The Sphere and the Gauntlets are reserved exclusively for sponsored fighters.

‘We are very confident in our selection of fighters for this tournament,’ he continues. Suddenly his gaze turns heavy. ‘All of them.’

I nod.

‘And of course, you will be aware that the academy will receive a percentage of your monetary winnings if you win a stage or the entire tournament.’

‘Yes, Sir.’

I don’t care about the money. He can have every last cent, for all I care. That’s not the prize I have my eyes on.

Shields assumes a more casual air. Formalities over. ‘I’m sure you and Scott will handle the extra training with ease. And of course, your other classes will be put on hold for the time being.’

I smile. Little does he know that I have had extra practice in the Underground Rings for the past six months.

‘It won’t be easy.’

The Gauntlets before me gleam in the light.

Nothing’s easy, Shields, I think. Not in this world. ‘I’d be disappointed if it were.’

Shields smiles slow and cunning, like a large black panther. ‘Welcome to the team, Miss Addison.’