“Let’s go then,” said Scorio, and he really opened his stride. Felt his heart pounding in his chest, a joyous, riotous beat, his body alive with strength and resilience, the endless Eighthdays he’d spent racing through the ruins coming to him, filling him with certainty and speed.
The pack had pulled nearly around the curve, but now it slowly drew closer once more. Scorio paced himself to keep them in sight, not wanting to just sprint past them and wind himself, but to maintain, to hold them close.
“Third lap,” said Naomi, words clipped. They passed Lianshi and Leonis, who stared at them in alarm, but were past before they could say anything.
“One more lap at this pace,” said Scorio, chest starting to feel tight, “and then we show them.”
A few at the rear of the pack had seen them; casual glances had turned to amused stares, and they’d picked up the speed themselves, compacting the pack which as a result transferred the energy to the lead two; eventually, Jova and Ravenna glanced back as well to see what was going on, and made eye contact with Scorio.
He gave them a predatory grin.
Jova seemed to dismiss him, while Ravenna frowned before turning back.
“Fourth lap,” said Naomi. “Can’t go much faster.”
“Do your best,” he said, and as he pushed himself, the very act of running began to feel effortless, as if it would be harder to stop now than to go faster. His body seemed to fade away, and with it his awareness of his breathing, his tempo. The world reduced itself to his feet impacting the ground, his mind crystal clear, his body strong, his being driven, energetic yet strangely relaxed.
It felt as if he were floating, his body surging and perfectly in harmony, capable of devouring endless miles, of outrunning anything and everyone.
He drew abreast of the rearmost Great Soul in the pack, a reed-like, dark-skinned man who studied him with wry amusement but made no attempt to run faster. Past him, past the next woman, worked his way up the pack, taking them from the inside on the right.
He leaned into the curve, almost at a sprint now, chest expanding, a smile plastered on his face, sweat running down his back, alive, so painfully alive.
Everyone on their right was staring, eyes wide, as he drew up beside Ravenna and Jova, and then passed them.
If only for a second.
Neither woman was about to let him by so easily. The air seemed to grow denser, and then as one they lowered their chins, gained more speed, and in a dozen strides caught up to him.
The three of them ran. Scorio had never run like this before. He’d always either sprinted for his life, or jogged steadily, but this incredible, all-out race was a new experience, and he relished the challenge, felt a strange joy and camaraderie with both women, as if they were in it together, sharing something incredible, an impossible talent. But when he looked at them, smiling, he saw that they were ignoring him.
“Ready?” he heard Jova ask.
“Ready,” said Ravenna.
And they somehow went faster. Smoothly pulled ahead of him, running so swiftly the balls of their feet barely touched the ground.
Scorio scowled, dug deep, tried to keep up. But they seemed to glide ahead effortlessly, going so quickly he had no choice but to give it all he had. Let loose with the last of his reserves, and for a glorious second, he began to catch up again, was going faster—but then a deep cramp stabbed into his side, right under his ribs like a knife sliding home, and his euphoric sense of invincibility began to crumble.
His breath rasped in his throat, his chest grew tight, and his thighs began to burn. He strained to keep going, but Ravenna and Jova continued to pull away, fleet as thought, rounding the curvature of the hall even as he went ever slower, losing speed.
The next person in the pack passed him, then the second and third. He had nothing left to give. Had scraped the very bottom of his reserves, and could now only struggle along, losing momentum, till the last of the pack had passed him, the slender man flashing him a victorious, caustic smile as he did.
“Fifth lap,” gasped Naomi, coming up behind him and pointing at a crimson lantern that slid into sight. Jova and Ravenna had already left the circuit, and the last of the pack was following suit; everyone else continued to run past it, at least one lap behind.
“Argh,” gasped Scorio as he ran through the archway into the dimly lit hall and staggered to a stop. He bent over, hands on his knees, and just stood there gasping, sweat dripping from his nose.
“What… was that?” asked Naomi, stepping up alongside him.
“What?” He straightened, wincing, and kept walking, his legs feeling loose and strange. “The way they just went… impossibly fast, as if they didn’t need air like the rest of us?”
“That,” agreed Naomi, wiping the sleeve of her robe across her face then just coming to a stop, both hands pressed to her hairline, chest rising and falling. “That… I didn’t sense them ignite.”
“Nor me,” said Scorio, lowering his voice as he saw the pack up ahead. They’d come to a stop as one and were stretching, everyone talking lightly. A dozen or more of them in all, two of the women chatting with Jova who was smiling at their commentary, Ravenna off to one side, drinking from a water skin.
“Nice run,” said Scorio, giving them a chin-up as they walked by.
Someone made a soft, scoffing sound, but Scorio didn’t see who. Jova and Ravenna simply stared at him, not with hostility, but something akin to indifference. It made him feel small and cold, and he was glad when they’d walked past the group and out into the intersecting hall that led back to their quarters.
“And what was that about?” asked Scorio, bewildered, once they were out of earshot.
“Simple,” said Naomi. “They’re the top predators of the school. You tried to threaten their dominance. They crushed you as was right, and now you’re a nobody to them again. No, worse than a nobody—an upstart nobody.”
“That how it works?” Scorio grinned and inhaled deeply. “Well, I hope they enjoy owning the roost while they can. I’m coming for them.”
Naomi snorted. “Give yourself a few months of ingesting the best elixirs and pills that Academy has to offer, along with whatever their House sponsorships give them. Then make Emberling, and maybe you’ll develop the reserves and strength they’ve got.”
Scorio frowned. “That’s what’s going on?”
Naomi scratched briefly at her scalp, then shrugged. “It’s the rule of the Academy. The best get the greatest rewards to maximize their potential. The weak? They’re left to fight over the scraps. The Academy’s meritocracy system is a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“Well, we’ll see about that,” said Scorio with a smile. “You know I like a challenge.”
“It has been a while since you’ve had a suicidal cause,” smirked Naomi. “I’ll give you that.”
Protocol involved returning to their rooms, cleaning up, and putting on fresh robes before heading down to the mess hall for breakfast. Leonis and Lianshi arrived some ten minutes after Scorio and Naomi, and consequently rushed to get ready so that they could all go to the mess hall together.
“It’s fiendish,” grumbled Leonis as he led the way to breakfast. “The faster you run, the more time you have to bathe and eat. Whereas we poor souls who are built like champions—”
“Built like what?” asked Lianshi innocently.
“Built like mighty oxen, and not meant to race about like fleet-footed deer—”
“Can I call you that?” asked Lianshi, elbowing him in the ribs. “Mighty Ox?”
“Scorio, save me from this harridan,” begged Leonis.
“Not I,” said Scorio, laughing over his shoulder at them. “Lianshi might shift her tender attentions to me as a result.”
“Coward,” muttered Leonis. “But as I was saying, those of us who need the most food to get through the day are consequently deprived of essential sustenance! How am I meant to maintain peak condition when I can only bolt down a bowl of gruel before classes begin?”