Chapter 1
Chapter ONE
The world exploded a hundred years ago.
Not literally, obviously, because then I wouldn’t be alive.
Still, for lack of a better phrase, the world went to hell, and now the 1.3 million residents of Quinthark live in the aftermath of it. My name is Willow O’Brien, and I am one of those 1.3 million residents, in case you hadn’t guessed already.
I think this is a pretty solid first entry for a diary.
Unless someone decides to report me for heresy.
According to the teachers of the Institute of Quinthark, the administrators, the Head of Quarters, and basically every person with authority shoved up their backside, we don’t live in hell at all. We live in a world reborn from chaos and destruction.
That is the official phrase, by the way.
A world reborn.
I stare down at the words written across the page, ink still wet beneath the sunlight.
Maybe they’re right.
If you ignore the Devourers.
If you ignore the barrier failures.
If you ignore the stories about entire quarters getting ripped apart overnight.
Then sure. Reborn paradise.
A warm breeze brushes across my face as I snap the diary shut and rest it against my stomach. Above me, the sky stretches endlessly blue, so bright it almost hurts to look at. For a few seconds, everything feels strangely normal.
Then something hard smacks me directly in the forehead.
“Ow—”
“I got it!” Fawn yells triumphantly.
I press a hand to my head and glare toward the training field. “Using me as target practice for stones doesn’t suddenly make you a professional archer.”
“It does if my aim is that good.”
Fawn stands several feet away with a bow slung lazily over her shoulder, grinning like she’s just accomplished something historic instead of nearly cracking my skull open.
Trying to win arguments with Fawn is like pouring water into a basket.
Completely pointless.
I let my head fall back against the grass with a sigh. Around us, students flood the Southwest Institute training grounds dressed in white uniforms, instructors barking orders across the field while arrows whistle through the air in uneven rhythms.
Normal.
Everything here always looks normal at first glance.
That’s the trick Quinthark is best at.
I hear footsteps approaching and assume Fawn is finally coming to apologize for the attempted murder.
Instead, a hand suddenly grabs the front of my shirt and yanks me upright so violently my neck snaps back.
Gray eyes meet mine.
Cold ones.
“Hello, dear Winter.”
My stomach drops.
“It’s Willow.”
The girl holding me smiles slowly. “Like I care.”
Elena shoves me hard enough that my back slams into the ground. Before I can recover, a heavy boot drives into my stomach.
Pain explodes through me.
Air leaves my lungs in one horrible rush, and suddenly breathing becomes impossible.
Above me, Elena looks enormous against the sunlight. Six feet of muscle, tan skin, and barely restrained violence.
Whoever looked at her as a baby and decided to name her Elena must have been wildly optimistic.
Elena is a bully.
Not secretly. Not subtly.
Just openly and proudly cruel.
Unfortunately for me, she’s also decided I’m her favorite target.
I claw weakly at her boot, trying to shove it off while she watches with visible amusement.
You’d think this sort of thing wouldn’t happen in a supposedly controlled, violence-free environment like a school.
You would be wrong.
To the instructors of Southwest Institute, this isn’t violence.
It’s strength training.
A test of endurance.
An honor.
Elena is “making me stronger.”
See?
The world went to hell.
Apparently after the wars, the outbreaks, the centuries of destruction, the Devourers, and the rumors about the barrier weakening, strength became the highest virtue left in existence.
Fine.
I understand that.
What I don’t understand is what exactly Elena crushing my internal organs is supposed to teach me.
“Fight back,” she growls.
Spit lands across my cheek.
I grimace. “Kind of difficult with your foot trying to merge me with the ground.”
“Try harder.”
Her smile widens.
Then the pressure shifts upward slightly toward my throat.
Oh.
Great.
So today’s training exercise is murder.
I turn my head desperately toward the instructors scattered around the field.
None of them move.
A few are watching.
One of them actually looks bored.
My pulse pounds painfully in my ears.
There’s a stone lying inches from my left hand.
If I grab it, Elena will notice immediately.
And if Elena notices immediately, I’ll probably die immediately.
I need a distraction.
As if summoned by the thought itself, an arrow slices through the air.
The sound is sharp and sudden.
Then—
Thunk.
Elena jerks backward.
For a second, neither of us move.
A thin line of blood trails slowly from the edge of her ear, down her neck, staining the collar of her white uniform.
Her foot lifts off me.
Air crashes back into my lungs so violently it hurts.
I roll onto my side coughing hard, dirt sticking to my palms as I force myself upright.
Elena turns slowly.
Fawn stands across the field with another arrow already drawn.
“Get away from her, bonehead.”
For the first time all day, Elena actually looks surprised.
Then she starts walking toward Fawn.
Panic punches straight through me.
This is bad.
Fawn is good, but Elena is terrifying up close. She’d swat the arrow away and break Fawn in half afterward without blinking.
Move.
I reach for the stone beside me and force my aching body upright.
Every muscle protests.
Elena hears me at the last second and starts turning around—
The stone collides directly with her face.
Crunch.
The sound shoots through me like lightning.
For one horrifying second, satisfaction blooms hot inside my chest.
I swing again.
A whistle suddenly tears through the training grounds.
Not loud.
Wrong.
The vibration hits first.
The ground shifts beneath me violently, it feels like the earth is breaking apart.
My vision blurs.
The stone slips from my fingers.
And then everything goes black.
