Mayhem

My footsteps pound against the tile, each one echoing far too loudly in the long hall. The sound bounces off the stone walls, chasing me like an accusation. Late, late, late. The word clammers through my mind with every jolt I feel as my tattered boots meet the tiled floor. My chest tightens, not just from running but from the knowledge that I should have been here minutes ago.

The corridor stretches ahead of me, endless, lined with tall windows and faded paintings. Sunlight slices through the glass in bright rectangles that shimmer across the floor. For half a heartbeat, I glimpse the garden outside—splashes of yellow and violet flowers, winding paths dotted with benches where people might sit and breathe in the early summer air. It’s beautiful, calm, the exact opposite of how I feel as I barrel past. For a moment I wonder how I must look to anyone who may be out there enjoying the afternoon’s last light. I do not give myself enough time to dwell on the fact, as I nearly stumble into one of those windows.

On my left, doors break up the stone wall at intervals, each one leading to someplace I don’t have time to think about. My gaze keeps snapping forward, searching for the end of the hall. My pulse hammers in my ears, almost as loud as my steps, and I mutter a curse when I glance down at my phone screen. Too late. I’m already too late. I push harder, rounding the last corner where the corridor suddenly widens. At last, I see them. The three massive doors ahead, each carved with patterns that mark the entrance to the training room. My heart leaps, a wild mix of excitement and nerves tangling together in my chest. This is it.

I slow to a walk, forcing air into my lungs, trying not to look like I’ve just run halfway across the castle. My eyes flick toward the farthest door on the right. That’s the one. I drift toward it, pausing at a window just beside the frame. The glass is cool when I steady myself against it, and outside, the garden stretches in perfect order, as if the whole world has time to breathe except for me. I close my eyes for a moment, willing my heartbeat to steady, trying to gather the fragments of my thoughts.

My hand lingers against the cool glass as I stare out into the garden. Two small birds dart between the rows of flowering bushes, hopping from branch to branch, so careless and free it makes something twist inside me. It feels surreal, standing here again. Two years. Two years since I last stood before these doors. I never thought I’d be back, not like this. Excitement prickles under my skin, but it’s tangled with something heavier—apprehension, a tight knot in my stomach that refuses to loosen.

The sound of footsteps cuts into my thoughts. Not mine this time. Someone else. My heart leaps into my throat, hammering for an entirely different reason than before. I whirl around. Sharp. He’s at the head of a group, striding toward me with the same easy confidence I remember. His warm, dark skin seems to catch the light from the high windows, and his large brown eyes are as kind as they’ve always been. His hair is shorter now, cropped so close it almost shines, and he’s dressed simply—loose-fitting jeans, a light jacket. When his gaze finds mine, his entire face breaks into a wide smile, and for a moment the years between us feel like they never existed.

“Elara!” he calls, and just like that, any chance I had of slipping quietly into the room is gone. I can’t help but smile as he closes the distance, pulling me into a quick, friendly hug that knocks the breath out of me in more ways than one. The familiarity of it makes my chest ache. When he pulls back, his hand rests briefly at the small of my back, steadying, before he turns to the others trailing behind him. The group numbers seven in all. I notice two of them immediately: the blonds. They are striking in their similarity: same pale hair, same green eyes, same rounded faces. But the girl, shorter, wears both a trainee patch and a healer’s mark stitched beneath it. The boy, taller, bears only the trainee patch. My brow furrows. Odd. The resemblance between them is uncanny, but the difference in their badges nags at me.

Sharp’s voice flows easily as he introduces them by name, each name I am too distracted by the reunion to even hear, then gestures to the others—four more faces, parents and two older brothers who, he explains, have already been through the training course during the years I was gone. I take them in politely, but my mind sticks to the odd little details, cataloguing them the way it always does. Sharp’s voice flows easily as he introduces them by name, then gestures to the others, four more faces, parents and two older brothers who, he explains, have already been through the training course during the years I was gone. I take them in politely, but my mind sticks to the odd little details, cataloguing them the way it always does.

“And this,” Sharp says at last, turning back to me, “is Elara, one of my most promising trainers. If not the most troublesome when paired with Dean.” At the sound of the name, my heart stutters. Dean. The air seems to thin around me, as if someone pulled it straight from the hall. My palms dampen. I thought… I thought I’d never have to face him again. But here I am. And he’s waiting just beyond those doors.

A choked laugh slips out before I can stop it. “Troublesome, huh?” I shake my head and smile at Sharp. “It’s good to see you again.”

His grin softens, the corners of his eyes crinkling in that way that always made him seem older and wiser than he let on. “When did you get in?”

“Just long enough to throw my things down in my room and come straight here,” I admit, a little breathless still, though not from running anymore.

“Of course you did.” Sharp chuckles and squeezes my shoulder. “Welcome back, Elara. Truly.” His voice carries that weight he uses when he wants you to know he means it. Then, with a tilt of his head toward the doors, he adds, “Go on inside, find your spot. I’ll get these folks settled.” I nod, though my feet feel heavier now than ever before. As he herds the group toward the doors, I trail a few steps behind, lingering.

Sharp’s voice carries easily: “Since you’re siblings, we’ll be splitting you between groups—one with Peak, one with Brook.” The twins groan in unison, shoving at each other with an easy, playful roughness. Their laughter echoes in the hall, a light contrast against the weight pressing down on my chest. One of their older brothers turns at the commotion. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with the same pale blond hair but piercing blue eyes that catch the light as he glances back. For the briefest moment, our gazes lock. His expression is unreadable, but I force the friendliest smile I can manage, hoping it reaches my eyes. After a heartbeat, he turns away again, following the others inside.

The hall is quiet now, save for the muffled shuffle of footsteps fading beyond the heavy doors. I wait, breathing slowly, steadying myself against the tide of nerves swirling inside me. And then, finally, I push against the familiar wood, the door giving way with that same weighty groan I remember from two years ago. The air beyond smells the same. Feels the same.

And waiting inside is everything I told myself I’d never face again.